Switch

by Jennifer Ryder

  “What’s that mean for him?”

  “He’d be moved to the protected section. Protection orders get reviewed after fourteen days.”

  “And then what?”

  “He either stays on, or comes back. You need to understand though, if we do this, it can make it harder for him assimilating back into the mainstream.”

  “Then I can only hope you keep him in protection, can’t I?”

  “I can’t make any promises.”

  He stands and walks over to the door, holding it open. The fucker doesn’t even extend his hand for me to shake. He simply nods and ushers me out.

  “We’ll be in touch,” he says, and disappears behind the desk.

  I draw in a deep breath and try to gather my shit as I focus on my dusty black boots all the way to my truck.

  I’m walking around, a free man. As much as I know I’d hate being locked up, I’d rather change places with my brother. There are some fucked-up people in the world, and unfortunately V is locked in a prison with some of them.

  I drive out to the workshop. There’s that much shit I have to organise, and I know Jones and Mac will be out there. I’ve got some serious sucking up to do after my effort last weekend.

  ****

  I fit the new air filter to Jones’s bike, and then call and order the spare parts on my list. It’s been a long day, one re-build after another, but at least I feel as if I’ve accomplished something.

  Mac has been quiet. It’s hard to tell if it’s because he’s busy with paperwork and talking to sponsors, or if he’s still pissed with me.

  The phone rings, and I grin with satisfaction when I see who the caller is.

  “Rocco,” she grunts out.

  “You ringing to tell me that you’re finally giving in?” I reply, cocky as ever.

  After this morning’s conversation, just hearing her voice again has my dick commanding to attention. I know I wasn’t imagining that blush to her chest and cheeks when we’d talked about tongue and pussy and …

  “You’ll die waiting for that phone call, De Loser,” Suds says, and coughs. Her voice seems hoarse.

  “Ha ha. So what’s up?”

  “Can you get some tissues on the way home, please?”

  “And what’s in it for me? A blowy?”

  “I asked you for a bloody box of tissues, not to rob a bank.” I bet she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. I can picture it, plain as day. Is she wearing those glasses again? For the purposes of this phone conversation and the hardening of my dick, she is.

  “That’d be what it takes, huh?”

  “You should know by now that I don’t do anything I don’t wanna do.”

  “Ah, but that’s just the thing, Suds. You do wanna do it. You’re just having trouble admitting it to yourself.”

  “Tissues. Please.” She sniffs back.

  Wait a sec. Normally she would have fought harder. Is there something wrong? Has she been crying? Maybe I should stop giving her a hard time. Did someone upset her? Her parents?

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get your tissues. I’ll be home in about half an hour.”

  “Thanks,” she says, and disconnects the call.

  “You know she’ll be getting you to grab tampons next,” Jones says, a cocky smirk remaining on his lips long after speaks. The bastard thinks he’s funny.

  “I’ll die in a ditch before I buy plugs for a chick.”

  “Boy, I can’t wait to see you eat those words.”

  “I never will, so you don’t get your hopes up.”

  There’s a long silence between us as I pack up the last of the tools.

  “That phone call sounded pretty chummy, if you ask me,” Jones taunts.

  “Shut the fuck up. It’s what we do. I rile her up, she bites, and I bite back.”

  “Don’t you ever wonder about settling down with a girl? I mean, I had my fair share of women before April, but there was something about her. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”

  “I’m happy for you, buddy. I really am, but I’m not the marrying kind. As far as I’m concerned, all a man needs is Patron and pussy.”

  I say that, but why do I feel like I’m a walking shell of a man?

  “Then tell me this. When was the last time you hooked up with someone?”

  “I dunno. I don’t keep a fuckin’ journal.”

  “Take a stab in the dark.”

  How the fuck would I know? There was one after Jacinta, she screamed like a banshee, but that was, what, a month ago?

  “Last week,” I lie. I shrug, in some kind of show of body language to portray that I don’t give a shit.

  Ever since the incident of which Suds made me swear never to speak of, I haven’t been with anyone.

  I’ve been wanking off to visions of Soph, and I know for a fact she’s been busy with her toys next door. The looks we share in the morning, and the “Had a good night, huh?” kind of banter we get into when Soph makes coffee before she goes to work have taken my mind off other chicks. Why would I wanna bring some fuckin’ airhead into the mix and ruin this cat-and-mouse play we have going on? Besides, it’s fun hanging out with her, and I haven’t felt the need to go out and …

  Whoa. Just whoa.

  This is not me. This is not the hardened Rocco De Luca who drinks like a fish and fucks like a demon. It’s not the guy who is the life of every party, and doesn’t get home until the sun is poking its head over the horizon. Having a chick living with me is turning me into something I’m not. I need to remedy that shit.

  “Don’t worry, bro. Won’t be long before my dick gets wet again.”

  Jones shakes his head as he carries his bag of gear out to his car.

  ****

  The apartment is quiet as anything. Suds’s bedroom door is shut, so I’m guessing she’s probably sleeping or something.

  I dump the tissues on the kitchen bench, take a shower, and throw on a fresh black T-shirt, dark blue jeans and my Docs after giving them a dust off with a rag.

  “Oh, hey,” Soph says from the couch, as I’m tying my laces.

  “Tissues are on the bench,” I say, robotic and void of any feeling.

  “Thanks.” She gets up and grabs the box, and then tucks herself back under the blankets on the lounge.

  “What you doing tonight? You know The Goonies is on later. I thought I’d make us nachos.”

  “I need a drink,” I bark out and snatch up my keys.

  “Oh,” she says, almost in a whisper.

  On my way to the front door, I refuse to look back, because I know her face will be riddled with disappointment.

  I don’t need to see that.

  ****

  Beer.

  Shots.

  Grope a hot blonde girl by the bar.

  Shots.

  Shots with blonde.

  Finger a girl in the laneway behind the pub.

  Taxi home.

  I’m about to bury myself balls’ deep and bring the old Rocco back.

  ****

  Pants around my ankles, I wind my hands into the hair at the nape of her neck as she runs her tongue over the head of my throbbing cock.

  “I can’t wait to fuck you senseless, Suds,” I mutter into her ear, tugging at her long hair, exposing her neck to me.

  “My name is Tarryn,” she says, her words carrying one hell of a bite. Shit.

  “I fuckin’ know that,” I lie.

  “Then why did you just call me Suds?”

  Whoa. I fuckin’ did, didn’t I?

  Jones would have a field day with this.

  “Baby,” I say, because I’ve forgotten her name, again, “how ‘bout you take your G-banger off and let the stud do the rest of the talkin’?”

  She huffs and then slowly lifts her short-arse skirt and tugs her underwear down. I grip her arse cheeks and pull her pussy to my face. She jerks her hips as I roll the stud around her clit. The greedy bitch grips the back of my head and holds me there, spreading her legs wider. I grip her arse chee
ks tight. She groans as I work her to the point where her legs are shaking.

  “Been wanting this puss for too long, Soph,” I mutter against her wet lips.

  She takes a step back, draws her arm up, then releases. My head swings violently to the side as her open palm slaps my cheek with full force.

  “Soph now?” she shrieks. “Way to make a girl feel special, you douche.”

  She snatches up her underwear and heels from the floor and storms out of the apartment. I throw my head back against the soft padding of the lounge.

  I have a big fucking problem.

  What the hell is going on inside my head?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SOPHIE

  I wake up at eleven. I’m so glad I finally got some sleep, because this cold has knocked me off my feet. I think I’ve turned the corner, though, which is good, because I can’t afford to take a sick day from work.

  I have a hot shower, and give my hair some attention, blow-drying it and straightening it. I’m meeting up with April for lunch today to talk hen’s party arrangements, which I’m pretty excited about. We never get to go out anymore, which is mostly my fault, so it’ll be good to have something planned, and something I can have a bit of time to save for.

  Walking into the lounge room, I gasp. Rocco is sitting on the couch, his pants down around his ankles. He’s passed out, and his giant-sized cock is standing hard and proud. “Jesus,” I mutter. It’s like a fucking snake crawled over his lap. An angry snake, at that.

  I’ll admit it. A certain, very needy lady part of me is turned on, but I’m more pissed than anything else. I thought maybe Rocco was turning a corner but then yesterday it was as if the tequila devil possessed him again. He couldn’t wait to write himself off.

  I take my blanket from the other lounge and toss it at his crotch. Has he no self-respect?

  “Wake up,” I yell at him.

  Rocco mumbles and wipes the drool from the side of his mouth, grips the blanket and slowly peels opens his eyes.

  “What’s … what’s the time?” he says, and groans.

  “Will you look at yourself?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a mess. What the fuck are you doing with your life, De Luca?”

  He widens his tired, bloodshot eyes, and drills me with those cold dark orbs. “I’m just following in my father’s footsteps, darlin’.”

  “That’s a piss poor excuse, if ever I’ve heard one. You’re wasting an opportunity that others would kill for.”

  “What the fuck kind of opportunity?”

  “The job with Mac.”

  “Mac’s fine. He knows I’m not perfect.”

  “Mac’s a good man. He’s given you a chance; don’t fuckin’ waste it.”

  “What the hell do you know about my life?”

  “I know you have no respect for yourself or for the girls you fuck. I heard her slap you and storm out of here last night. The only place you’re going is to an early grave with a fucked-up liver and a serious case of STIs, and that’s a real shame, because I know you’ve got a heart in there somewhere. You should try wearing it on your sleeve sometime.”

  “And what are you doing with your life?” he accuses me. “You’ve got dreams, whatever the fuck they are. Surely they don’t involve living with a drunk like me and scrounging for every cent.”

  “I want kids,” I blurt out, and then instantly regret it. “I’m going places,” I say to cover up.

  “Places? How? You’re studying to help people get a job, yet you don’t even try to get a decent one? How do you think you’re gonna help people?”

  “My life is none of your business. You don’t know half the shit I’ve had to deal with.”

  “You’re right. I don’t, but I can’t understand why you’re not trying.”

  Not trying? He might as well have just stabbed me in the heart.

  A flush of heat rushes to my face. “I am. How dare you say that I’m not?” I shout.

  “You’re playing the martyr. You’re letting your past hold you back.”

  I take a step closer and point an accusing finger at his face. “People in glass houses, fuckwit. Don’t try and pretend you know what it’s like to be me, to have been through the shit I’ve been through.”

  He leans in, and huffs. “I should say the same fuckin’ thing.”

  I take in a deep, shuddering breath, aware that my chest is rising and falling rapidly. He’s just slapped me in the face with the harsh reality that is my life. I’ve got a right mind to slap him back with one mother of a backhand. Arrogant fucker.

  The house phone rings. Rocco scrambles with his jeans and nearly trips over on his way to the handset on the end of the kitchen counter. He couldn’t get off the lounge quick enough to answer it. Someone important? Probably the next fuck in line.

  “Yeah,” he answers the phone with. Not hello, but yeah. Typical Rocco.

  “Fuck … yeah I’m here,” he says after a pause. “Why? What’s happened?” Rocco storms to his room. He shuts the door, but I can make out the anger in his tone as the call continues.

  It’s his place, and he’s entitled to his privacy, so why am I pissed that he had to leave the room? Am I just a busy body wanting to know what’s going on?

  ****

  ROCCO

  “Something’s up, Roc. I don’t know what, but I feel like there’s a big fuckin’ target on my back,” V says, his voice carrying his anxiousness. Shit. I’ve gotten him into trouble.

  I stride down the hall to my room “Why? What’s happened?” This does not sound good. I close the door behind me. Soph doesn’t need to know about this. I don’t want her exposed to this side of my life.

  “I’m scared to look anyone in the eye. Some cunt from the Rebel Raisers MC was moved into B Block and the whole fucking dynamic has changed. I won’t go into it, but some shit went down between our clubs a few months back, and anyone wearing my cut is in the firing line.”

  Maybe the fact that they monitor these calls will help, give them more of a reason to move him out of harm’s way.

  “Fuck me.” I let out a laboured sigh. “What can I do? Tell me, brother. You know I don’t wanna have anything to do with the MC, but if I have to go into that clubhouse swinging, I will. What is it gonna take to keep you safe?”

  “There’s nothing you can do. I just have to ride it out. I’ll try and get a message back to Maddog and see if he can talk to the pres and make some kind of deal to get me protection.”

  “I’ll see what I can do from my end,” I tell him before we say our goodbyes.

  “Don’t. This shit is hard enough.”

  Too late, brother.

  V made no mention of moving into protection. How long does it take the fuckin’ paper pushers to take action with something like this? Every minute counts.

  I can only hope that V taking the wrap for the drug offence is gonna get him some leeway with the club, and that somehow I can pay them off. When this is all over, they have to let him go.

  With heavy steps, I rush to the bathroom and lift up the toilet seat, which is down for once. I empty what little contents are in my stomach. There’s a red tinge to the water, which is weird, considering I didn’t drink anything red. Fuck. The dry-heaving subsides after a while, and I’m left shaking in a cold sweat.

  Using the sink as leverage, I pull myself up and rinse the acid from my mouth with cold water. I gulp down enough liquid to try and settle my stomach.

  “You okay?” A quiet voice comes from the doorway.

  Suds is standing there, arms folded across her chest, her shoulders slumped, almost in defeat. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks flushed. I’ve just had a go at her, and somehow she still gives a shit. She cares enough to ask when she could’ve ignored me. I don’t understand women—not one iota.

  “Brand new,” I mutter and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  My mobile in my pocket rings. “Christ, what now?” I mumble to myself as I dig it from my jeans. If
it wasn’t Jones, I’d be ignoring the call. I’m in no fucking mood to talk.

  “Yeah,” I say, answering the call. I grip the sink to steady me. I’m light-headed all of a sudden. My drab reflection in the mirror explains why. I’m pale as fuck.

  “We need to get together to sort out the bucks. You doin’ anything today?”

  The last thing I feel like doing today is being sociable, but I can’t let him down. “Not a fucking thing.”

  “Meet you at the Royal? We can have a counter lunch and some beers.”

  I guess I’d better put some food in my stomach.

  “I’ll see you there.”

  When I look back to the doorway, Suds is gone.

  I brush my teeth and splash cool water on my face.

  Time to ring that fucker at Long Bay and find out what the hell he’s done with the information I gave him.

  ****

  “We’re doin’ Vegas for the bucks,” Jones says, as he hands me a beer. The bright smile on his face tells me that it’s gonna happen whether I want it to or not.

  “Vegas,” I say, with a slow nod.

  I’m not impressed about going overseas. I’ve never been in a wedding party, and I’d do anything for this bloke, but V is shitting bricks right now. I could hear the trembling in his voice over the phone today. He sounded like he did that day when he was seven years old and he got lost in the bush for five hours. He was just a scared kid then, and today felt no different. I’ve never felt so helpless. How the hell can I protect him behind bars when even the wardens can’t seem to do it?

  “We’ll make it a flying visit. Three or four days. Stone has been looking into a deal for us so we can drive Ferraris in the desert, and I figure we can hit a strip joint or two and a couple of casinos. ”

  A few days I can handle.

  “Sounds like a dream. Whatever you want,” I say.

  “They’ve got some decent-priced flights in a month, so we thought we’d get onto it.”

  “Yup. Let’s book this shit.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SOPHIE

  Thank God Rocco left after that phone call, because I was about to burst into tears in front of him. I don’t cry in front of anyone.

  So much he said is true.

  How can I get to where I want to be if I haven’t even got a decent job? How am I going to support myself without one? How can I even contemplate having a child if I can’t even take care of myself? I can’t even afford one. I’m daydreaming when I should be pushing myself.