Exactly the kind of shit most true bikers hate. “Yeah, and it encourages every fool who buys a Harley to LARP around at being a biker.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Live action role play,” I explain.
“Heh. I like that.” He grins. “Exactly, they’re even on those stupid reality shows. People treat them like celebrities. And yet, they’ve never gotten out of guns, extortion, and a host of other shit. They just do it in plain sight now.”
“Yeah, until the government goes after their colors.”
“Government lost that battle, don’t forget.” He sets the magazine down. “Why do you think that is?”
“Like you said, they treat their club like a business.”
“Right. But there’s something else. They’ve infiltrated government agencies in some way at every level. Their women work in courthouses. Family members in law enforcement. Bribing people. Forming relationships. Maintaining those relationships over years.”
I don’t know if I’d call bribing elected officials with tapes of them in bed with young women who aren’t their wives “maintaining relationships” but, whatever.
“Ice has made significant progress with a few agencies,” Priest says.
He sure has. And here I was worried Ice’s ties to ATF and the FBI were a bad thing, when all along, it sounds like Priest’s been encouraging it.
“That’ll benefit all of us.”
“Or get us all sent to prison.” Shit, I can’t believe I said that out loud.
“I understand your concern and it’s not without merit.”
“What’s any of this have to do with me?”
“This.” He taps the magazine cover. Christ, I want to hunt down every copy and toss them in a bonfire. “Doesn’t bother me. It normalizes us. Puts people at ease. She has a lovely wholesome image.”
Why do those words sound creepy as fuck coming out of Priest’s mouth?
“It’s not a negative to be seen with her. Makes the big, bad bikers seem less scary.”
I think I liked Priest better when he threatened us to keep a low profile and didn’t want us to draw attention to ourselves.
“I thought the whole point was to fuck everyone’s opinion and live outside the bounds of society?”
“Times change, Rooster. We can adapt to the world around us. Or rot in prison.”
Adapt it is.
Chapter Fifty
Rooster
After we leave Priest’s compound we head to the ranch where Dawson and his guys are hanging out.
Along the way, our caravan pulls into a rest stop to say goodbye to Wrath, Trinity, and Hustler. They’re headin’ home from here.
Shelby and Trinity share a teary goodbye.
“You’re going to come visit us for Christmas, right?” Trinity asks.
Thank you, Trinity.
Shelby takes my hand, pulling me closer. “Sooner, I hope.”
I definitely like the sound of that.
They hug and promise to get together for online yoga practice at least once a week.
“Be fabulous, flamingo,” Trinity says, pulling away.
Wrath even wraps her up in a hug that almost swallows her whole. “Don’t take any shit, kid.” He glances at me and smirks. “Not even from Rooster.”
Shelby sniffle-giggles as she pulls away. “I won’t. Promise.”
Hustler shakes her hand and wishes her luck.
After another round of hugs and goodbyes, we’re back on the road and arrive at the ranch before sunset.
It’s a party again. Music’s pumping. Bonfire’s roaring. Drinks flowing. Shelby stares at the scene in front of us and yawns.
“Not in a celebrating mood tonight?” I ask.
“Honestly, no.”
Still, we do a lap around the party. She checks in with her band. I talk to some of the roadies. Then we head to the RV for the night.
“I need to give Z a call, you all right?”
She holds up her ear buds and her lyric notebook. “Trent sent me some files. I’m gonna give ’em a listen.”
“You remember to write down that ‘diamond in the dust, I’m about to combust’ line?”
She throws a pillow at me. “Hush your mouth, Logan Randall.”
Laughing, I take a seat at the dinette and call Z.
“My hero!” Z says so loud, I can picture his big ol’ dimpled grin. “What the fuck you been up to, motherclucker? Priest had all sorts of glowing compliments for you and me.”
I’m not feelin’ like much of a hero. “Jesus, brother. That visit to Digger’s was a clusterfuck of epic fuckery.”
I relay a sanitized version of what went down. Never know who might be listening in on our calls. But I’m able to give Z the general gist of things.
“I didn’t want to say anything, but I saw the hit piece on Shelby,” he says when I finish. “You think it’s gonna hurt her?”
“Don’t know. Her manager seems to think so.” I glance over at Shelby but she’s absorbed in whatever she’s listening to and scribbling furiously in her notebook. “I didn’t get to tell you the best part. Priest’s fine with the exposure. He’d now like us to follow in the footsteps of the Eighty-Sixers.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
Again, I give him a general outline.
“Has he lost his mind?” Z yells. “That reality TV shit is half the reason they’re at war with every MC in the country.”
“I didn’t want to question him too much, Z.”
“No. You did fine.” He cackles. “I can’t wait to tell Rock this little gem.”
“Glad I could amuse you.”
“Well, I guess it’s a relief.”
“Trust me, I still plan to lay as low as possible.” I have my own reasons for not wanting my face in magazines that have nothing to do with the club.
Finally, we hang up. Shelby’s still awake, so I ask her to come outside with me.
We stop at the truck where I pull a blanket out of the back seat.
The guys have settled down somewhat but the bonfire’s still roaring. We walk away from it toward the open field.
“Where are we going?”
I stop and stare at the sky. This should be a good spot. I spread the blanket out and drop down, holding my hand out to her.
“We have a perfectly good bed in the RV, you know.”
I roll onto my back, pulling her with me. “I know, sassy pants. But I wanted you to see this.”
Together, we stare up at the stars. So many of them.
“Ohh,” she breathes out. “It’s beautiful. Thousands of tiny diamonds and cosmic dust on inky satin.”
Who else would describe a simple night sky so poetically? “I know I was teasing you before. But your line about diamonds made me think of this.”
She rolls to her side, so she’s facing me. “Really?”
“I used to like sleeping under the stars sometimes when I was a kid.” I turn to her. “I know that’s not your thing so we won’t stay long.”
“With you, it could be my thing.” Her velvety voice caresses my very soul. “The whole world seems less scary when I’m with you.”
“The stars scare you?”
“Not the stars. The things that lurk in the darkness.” She rolls onto her back and slips her hand in mine, softly running her thumb over the back of my hand. “The universe is so big, I feel like it could swallow me whole sometimes.”
“I’d never let that happen.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Shelby
By the time we pull into Baton Rouge a few days later, Greg seems to be over the stripper pole fiasco, as I’ve named the incident.
Sippin’ on Secrets had the nerve to DM me on Instagram for a comment. I may or may not have answered with an unladylike middle-finger emoji.
No regrets.
Tonight, I’m pacing around my dressing room humming my scales when Greg busts in.
“Knock much, Greg?” Rooster growls. “That’s a good way to wa
lk in on something you don’t wanna see.”
I snicker into my hand. “He ain’t lyin’.”
“Neither of you are funny,” he grumbles.
“Hey, Shelby.” Cindy breezes into the room, bumping Greg out of her way. “How’re we feeling tonight?”
“Nervous.”
“Oh, hush, honey. You’re gonna be great as always.” She pats the chair. “Come on now.”
Rooster continues working, ignoring Greg’s presence as much as one can in such a small room.
After seeing all the work he did for Anya’s website, I’d asked him to update mine. Between the photos Trinity took and other content we added, it’s looking a lot more professional. It’d probably be less annoying if Rooster didn’t have to run all of it by Greg. But so far, they haven’t murdered each other.
“You want me to add the pages for each of the guys, right?” Rooster asks me.
“Yup. Trent should’ve sent you pics and bios.”
“I got ’em.”
Trinity and I have been going back and forth on more flamingo pun ideas and illustrations. Rooster’s planning to add a merch shop on my website to sell the stuff once we figure out the designs. We added a few flocking fabulous tank tops to my merch booth and so far, they’re selling well.
“What do you think about putting your hair up tonight?” Cindy asks. “It’s so hot out there.”
“Sure.”
While she works on me, I stick my ear buds in and listen to the pieces Trent and I recorded together earlier on my phone. The quality’s crap. But it’s good enough to get the general feel and make some notes.
“You’re wearing the purple dress tonight, right?” Cindy asks.
“Can we do big, glam eyes with that metallic gold and purple combo we did in Atlanta?”
“Sure.”
When she’s finished, I scoot into the bathroom to change into my dress. I strip down to my bra and panties. I kinda miss the days when we didn’t have so many people in and out of my dressing room before a show so Rooster and I could fool around.
Laughing to myself, I pick up my phone and send him a quick text.
Me: I miss pre-show orgasms.
Five seconds later, he knocks on the door and opens it.
“You rang?” His mouth twists into my favorite cocky smirk as he swaggers into the room and closes the door behind him.
Nervous laughter bubbles out of me. “Is Greg still out there?”
“No, I told him to get lost.” He flips the lock on the door.
“You did not.”
He stalks closer, backing me up against the sink. “I absolutely did.” He runs his gaze over me from head to toe. “Why didn’t you ask earlier? I don’t want to mess up your makeup and stuff before you go on stage.”
“We were busy.” I shrug, feeling a little silly now. “I wasn’t serious. I don’t expect you to deliver orgasms on demand.”
He meets my eyes. “Oh, I plan to deliver.”
That damn confident, cocky statement makes my knees wobble. The dull ache between my thighs intensifies.
“Hmm.” He slides his hands over my shoulders and down my arms. “Slide your panties off,” he says in that low, hypnotizing voice that melts me like butter. My panties hit the ground faster than a shooting star across the sky.
“Nice,” he praises.
He runs his hand over his chin and strokes his beard as his gaze roams over my body. “How are we gonna make this work?” The question’s low and more like he’s asking himself the question.
“You look like you’re doing mental sex physics in your head or something,” I tease.
“I am.” He cups my hips and lifts me onto the sink, then kneels in front of me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, raking my nails through his hair.
“Well, I’m not here to paint your toes, chickadee.” He picks up one foot and kisses the top. “Put your legs over my shoulders.” His voice dips to a slow, seductive note.
Excitement thrums through my veins. While I had a stab of guilt about treating him as my own personal orgasm delivery service, his enthusiasm erases my doubt.
With the tight space and awkward angle, it takes some effort to do as he asks and there’s nothing graceful about the process. He pulls me to the edge of the sink and crams his head between my thighs.
“Oh!” My body jolts as his tongue sweeps over my flesh. None of the usual soft kisses and nibbles along my thighs tonight. Logan’s getting right down to business. I brace myself with one hand behind me and the other on his head, my fingers curling into his hair.
Even though he’s laser focused, he’s gentle as he sucks my clit into his mouth and strokes with the tip of his tongue.
“Holy moly. You are so fucking amazing at that.”
He answers with a dirty, rumbling laugh.
I’m throbbing with need. He strokes with the perfect cadence to set me off.
“Right there.” My fingers curl in his hair. “Oh!” I yelp as my body convulses with release. My thighs quiver as the sensation explodes through my body.
He kisses the inside of my thigh. “That was quick. You did need me.”
I realize how tight my fingers are curled in his hair and release him, stopping to touch myself.
He groans. “Fuck, that’s beautiful.”
“What?”
“Your fingers on your pussy.”
“Like this?” I tease, dragging one finger through my wetness.
“Shelby,” he groans, not taking his eyes off me.
“Fuck me, Logan,” I whisper.
He slips my legs off his shoulders and rises from the floor like a warrior about to conquer and claim his territory. I meet his eyes and shudder with excitement as he unbuckles his belt.
“Take your shirt off.”
With a playful slowness, he eases the shirt up over his head, leaning over to drape it over a hook on the wall. “Better?”
I run my hand over his stomach, over his rippling abs. Our eyes meet again. “I could do our laundry on your abs.”
He laughs, his muscles tightening and flexing. Continuing my exploration, I flatten my palm over his chest. He’s broad and thick with muscle. I trace my fingers over lines of ink. His eyelids lower like a content lion as I curl my hand around his neck and draw him closer.
He hurries to finish undoing his jeans, freeing himself. His hips jerk as I work my hand up and down his cock in a steady rhythm. He lets out a tortured groan.
“Come closer,” I whisper.
My invitation snaps him out of his trance. His hands are on my hips, pulling me to the edge of the sink, but it’s not quite the right height. He lifts me, shuffling to the side, bracing me between his hard chest and the wall. His cock presses against me and I wrap my legs around his hips. He drives in inch by inch, staring into my eyes the whole time, backing off if I flinch, waiting until I’m ready to accept all of him.
“How’s that?” he asks.
“Really good.” I brace my arms on his shoulders and roll my hips. He digs his fingers into my skin, holding me tight while matching my slow tempo. Another orgasm slowly builds. He drives into me harder. Faster. I’m climbing higher and higher but not quite there. What I need seems out of reach.
“Logan, I can’t,” I whisper breathlessly.
“Am I hurting you?” He loosens his grip on my hips.
“No, no. Don’t stop.”
“I’m not. I got you.” He reaches between us to stroke my clit.
I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating on his touch. “That’s good.”
His thrusting slows and I open my eyes to find him focused on the counter. “What?”
He holds out his hand. “Give me that thing.”
“What thing?” My eyes land on what he’s pointing to. “No, that’s for my face!”
He digs the little egg-shaped silicone facial brush out of my makeup bag. “Not anymore.”
With a wicked grin, he flicks it to the highest setting, then presses the flat,
smooth side against my clit.
My body jolts. “Shit!”
“Fuck,” he groans. “I feel it vibrating down my dick.”
“I’ve never used it that high. It’d probably rattle my teeth out of my skull.”
He laughs and leans in to kiss me. “Hold it there.”
I take my poor, violated face brush and slide it to a spot that feels good. Rooster’s big hands roam over my body as he pounds into me harder.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fully understanding what it means to be nailed.”
His thrusting slows. “Is that good?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He mashes his lips against mine—there goes my lipstick. I tighten my arm around his neck and keep moving my hips, trying to match his frantic pace, shifting the vibrating brush a little lower.
My back bows.
“Yes,” Rooster’s deep raspy voice fills me with pride. “Fuck yes.”
“Uh.” I can’t form any words. My legs shake and I stretch them straight out, allowing Rooster to take my full weight.
“That’s it. Keep coming. Fuck,” he groans.
Suddenly, it’s too much. My body jerks. I toss the vibrator toward the sink and wrap my legs around Rooster again.
“That’s my girl.” He kisses my forehead. “That was fucking beautiful.”
“Still feels so good,” I whisper.
I can’t even begrudge the cocky smile that returns to his face. The man deserves all the praise.
“Shelby,” he whispers urgently. “I want to come on your tits.”
I reach behind me and somehow wiggle my bra clasp loose, strip it off and toss it toward the sink. “Please don’t shoot in my hair.”
“I’m aiming for those pretty pink nipples baby, trust me.”
He pulls out and sets me on my feet. I lean against the wall, arching my back to give him an easy target.
He lets out a long primal groan. Warmth hits my stomach and between my breasts.
A few seconds later, he braces himself with an arm against the wall and touches my cheek, tipping my head back. Our lips meet. A soft, sliding kiss. “Don’t move,” he whispers.
Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17) Page 37