by Bijou Hunter
“Can you stick a dick up a woman’s ass when she’s got a baby in her?”
River acts like he’s thinking. “Probably, but not when she’s huge. I don’t know. We can google it.”
“Why would we do that?”
“I feel as if we’re bonding. Since I don’t want a bullet in my head when I’m about to be a dad, I feel as if bonding with you is a smart move.”
“You’re worried about me?”
“Why, are you worried about me?” When I shrug, River grins. “Dude, I’m the reason you weren’t killed after your release. Shane didn’t think it was worth trusting you. After all, you were tight with Swamp Thing and Grabby. Those motherfuckers sent an asshole to kill our women. So, yeah, Shane had a point, but I was the one who said we should give you a chance.”
“Because of my size?”
“No, dumbass, because of what you did for Lineke.”
Shrugging, I mutter, “Yeah, well, she asked, and I like killing.”
“You and me both, brother. But that doesn’t mean you’re not my fucking hero.”
“Now you’re being an ass,” I grumble.
“I see you’re unaccustomed to compliments. Good to know.”
“I killed some middle-aged loser.”
River studies me with his light eyes. “Did Lineke explain why she changed her mind about killing him?”
“I assumed he smacked one of her kids like he was always doing to her.”
River’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t explain. I assume the asshole—whose name I don’t even remember—crossed a different line.
“How did you kill Norman?”
“I just stomped on him,” I say, shrugging. “I broke in and waited for the asshole. Then I dragged him into the yard and smashed my foot down on his body until he stopped moving. If it makes you feel better, I stomped on his crotch for a while. Probably dislodged a ball.”
River smiles like a little kid on Christmas. “That’s a beautiful visual. I didn’t want him going quick.”
“No, he lasted around a half hour. I took breaks, so he’d think it was over. I knew he beat on Lineke more than once. Figured I’d beat on him more than once too.”
“That’s how I would have done him,” River says and sits forward. “You need to pull the stick out of your ass, Goliath. You’re the kind of man I need in my club. Right now, you’re acting as if you plan to ditch Shasta.”
“What about Shelby?”
“What about her?”
“So that whole deal doesn’t matter?”
“Shelby isn’t a child. She wanted you. She fucked you. She ended up knocked up. She’s going to have a baby. It’s not complicated unless you make it complicated. Do you want to make it complicated?”
“Nomp.”
“Then that’s fine. So, back to Norman. Do you remember where you dumped his body?”
“He’s in a hole nearby in the woods.”
River gives me a weird look and then suddenly stands up. “Is it close enough to walk to? I want to piss on it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Does that offend your delicate sensibilities?”
Rolling my eyes, I’m unsure about a man like River Majors. In my life, there’s been soft, handsome men or hard, ugly men. This pretty badass feels like a lie.
“It’s not far,” I mutter and head for the door.
There’s a part of me that’s uneasy about walking in the woods with River. I’ve spent months on edge. I can’t turn shit off after a few nice words.
The stuff River said about Shelby and Lineke, though, makes me willing to turn my back to him. We walk for maybe five minutes before I spot the dead tree near where I dumped Norman around fifteen years ago.
“Right there,” I mumble and point at the grassy area.
River does like he said, whipping out his dick and pissing on the grave. I realize in that moment that Ellsberg people are different. Just like Hugh said the other day. People from that other town work different. That’s why he’s pissing on the grave, and Shelby didn’t send her brother after me when I got her riled up. They aren’t looking for me to fail. While I’m not stupid enough to feel a part of the gang, I’m realizing how I shouldn’t assume I’ll be dead any moment.
As we walk back to the trailer, I say, “How come Shelby won’t give blowjobs? Is it a size thing?”
River drops the hippie act for a moment, and I see the man capable of taking over Shasta. “Let’s just say the first graves I ever pissed on belonged to the reason why she’ll never suck a dick.”
I don’t need shit spelled out. Shelby’s difficult to read, but I get it now. Not that it matters. Yet her fear that day makes sense. I could’ve been different with her. Treated her softer, but I didn’t trust her. She didn’t trust me either. Nothing’s really changed.
But that don’t keep me from spending the next two days working up the nerve to drive to that fancy house of hers.
THE WEIRDO
River Majors is the oldest of eight towhead children. Each of them is another slice of blond hotness. The second boy in the family now sits in my office—aka the basement—watching me work. Maverick is like my kid brother, except he’s also hot, and I like to pretend I could hump him under different circumstances.
Sitting in a rolling chair, he stretches out his long legs and studies me while I work on my Shasta Slasher suspect list.
“Why Goliath?” he asks despite me singing along to “Poison” by Bell Biv DeVoe. I don’t think he’s picking up on my “I’m not in the mood for conversation” signals.
“Why whatever woman you end up with?” I ask while shaking my ass to the beat.
“But you haven’t ended up with him.”
“I got his giant seed growing in my belly,” I say, patting my bloated gut. “What did your future woman ever do for you?”
“She loved me more than she loved any other man.”
Smiling at his answer, I walk over and tousle his recently cut hair. “I’m sure she will.”
“Do you think Goliath will ever love you like that?”
“Way to kill my mood, dingus,” I say and flick the end of his nose.
“I just want you to have everything.”
Back in my chair, I roll on the laminated floor toward Maverick. “Oh, honey, are you in love with me?”
Maverick grins. “I wish.”
“Me too. I’ve always wanted to fuck a younger man. Being a cougar sounds fun.”
“I bet you’re hot in bed too.”
“I think I mostly just watched him do the work. Is that wrong?”
“No. It was your first time. You’ll be more involved next time.”
“What if there’s no next time?”
“Then you didn’t overwork yourself on your only time.”
“Good point,” I say, rolling back to my desk. “Are you lonely living in the apartment?”
“I never get lonely.”
“Are you dead inside?” I tease, grinning at him over my shoulder. “A little ice princess.”
“Prince,” he corrects but lets the rest go. “I like the trains racing by the windows.”
“You’re such a sweet boy,” I say and rush over to give him a nuzzle. “An ice prince with a warm, fuzzy child inside.”
Maverick lets me wrap my arms around him and give a tight hug. He’s far more patient with me than he is with his four sisters. Though they did hound the crap out of him when he was a precious youngling.
“I’m gonna love the girl you love,” I promise as I dance back toward my chair. “I’ll smother her with affection until you’re forced to knock her up to keep her from running in terror.”
“I don’t think that’s why Ramona or Max stick around.”
“Yeah, they just love biker cock,” I say, and he chuckles. “Want me to dance for you?”
Maverick has never told me no. At least, I refuse to remember any time when he’s denied me. He really is a sweet boy.
Taking a break from my s
earch for the Shasta Slasher, I dance around the partially remodeled basement. I didn’t dare change the creepy wall maze area down here. The ghosts wouldn’t approve. Dead people just aren’t flexible beings.
My absolute favorite thing about Maverick—other than his inability to tell me no—is his power to never move to music. Nicki Minaj’s “Starships” plays loudly, and I bounce around like a drunk stripper. Through it all, he doesn’t even tap his tiniest of toes. The man is a rock against the world’s desire for him to dance.
“Shelby, are you wearing pants?” Ramona calls from upstairs.
Turning down the music, I shout, “No! Why?”
“You have a visitor,” she says, and then Iggy yells something because he enjoys copying his mommy.
I frown at Maverick because the only people who visit me know that sometimes I can’t deal with pants.
“Can’t you wear shorts?” Shane asked many years ago.
“I can do whatever I want, baby bruv,” was my gentle version of “no fucking way.”
Now I look down at my bare legs and wonder if I should cover up. “I didn’t bring anything to wear,” I tell Maverick.
“Your shirt is long enough, and you’re wearing underwear. Who gives a shit?”
“I’m a private person,” I say, and he smirks at my bullshit.
“Goliath is coming down,” Ramona calls down as my final warning to cover up.
“Am I going to die?” I ask Maverick in a panic as I look around for pants.
“Everyone dies, Shelby. If today is your time, why worry about your bare legs?”
Grinning, I shrug. “You’re so wise, Mav.”
Goliath’s huge build maneuvers the narrow stairwell, down to where I stand in my oversized “Fright Night” T-shirt. His gaze falls on me, warming at the sight of my bare legs. Or maybe he likes me now. Or maybe he’s stoned. As if I can read him at all.
Then he notices Maverick. Goliath nods at the other man. Maverick gives him a head gesture back. With them gushing over each other, I feel a little jealous. Where’s my curt head nod?
“Are you busy?” Goliath asks.
“I was working,” I say, catching the smallest smirk from Maverick, “but I can take a break.”
“Did you want to put on...?” he asks and gestures to my bare legs.
“I’m bloated.”
Goliath nods as if he gets it, but he’s doing that male stance that guys get when other alphas are in the mix. Sometimes, back in Ellsberg, I’d end up in a room with a bunch of the older Reapers. Guys like my dad, Vaughn Majors, Cooper Johansson, Judd O’Keefe, my uncle Jace Todds, and Tucker Johansson. They’d be fine, relaxed, normal until a new male entered their territory. Then they’d all get that puffed up, arrogant, almost hostile vibe. Much like Goliath gets while giving Maverick the side-eye.
“Should I leave?” the blond enforcer asks me.
“Only if you feel emotionally satisfied with our time together.”
Maverick smirks, stands in a smooth motion, and slides past Goliath like a ghost. I wait until he leaves. Then I force myself to look at Goliath, who is most definitely now only focused on me.
“What’s up?” I ask, going for casual and sounding constipated instead.
“I wasn’t gonna punch you that day.”
“I know,” I lie, thinking back to his huge fist pointed at my precious face.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t then, but I figured it out later.”
Goliath’s expression remains frozen, revealing no particular emotion. “I wasn’t gonna make you suck me off either.”
“I know.”
“Now, but not then?”
“Sure.”
“You and me,” he says, gesturing between us, “gotta figure out things, you know? I’m trying to be a part of this club, and you’re like management or whatever. And we’re having a kid, I guess.”
“You guess? Which part don’t you believe? That I’m pregnant or that it’s yours?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem real.”
“Then why did you get so pissed that day?”
“I don’t like women fucking with me.”
“But men can fuck with you fine, huh?” I say, sitting down and crossing my legs without thinking. I’m not trying to be sexy. I mean, if I was, then I would have tugged my hair loose from its bun and shook it free. I’m very appealing when my hair hangs around my shoulders. Yeah, that’d sex this meeting right up, but I can’t do it now. It’d be too obvious, and I’m trying to act casual.
Goliath, though, admires my bare legs as if he’s morally against the word “subtle.”
“Well?” I ask when he just horndogs.
“You’re not a man.”
“I know that. I check every morning when I get up.”
“Funny,” he says, wearing a grim expression, which means I’m not funny at all. How can he not find me hilarious? Maverick often smiles at my bullshit, and he rarely smiles for anyone.
“Why would I be fucking with you, Goliath?”
His eyes narrow. “Why do you call me that?”
“Everyone calls you that.”
He nods as if I’m so full of shit, and he can’t deal with the stink anymore. “You aren’t the kind of woman I deal with. I thought you were fucking with me, but I guess you weren’t.”
“Was it Jaymes or Becklyn that fucked with you, Dean?” I ask, really emphasizing his name.
I get the tiniest smile for my efforts, then he scowls. “I don’t like how you know all my shit.”
“I only know the superficial stuff. I bet you know almost as much surface-level crap about me.”
“Nomp.”
“You know my family, my friends, my dogs, where I live, what I eat, how I sound singing Ariana Grande on the karaoke machine. That’s the kind of stuff I know about you.”
“You talked to my mom.”
“I know, but that was about Reapers’ business, not my horniness for your hot bod. I wanted to know what kind of man was getting out of prison. I did the same for Swamp Thing and Grabby.”
“Then, you killed them.”
Losing my relaxed demeanor, I mutter, “They tried to kill Iggy and the Band.”
“Band?”
“That’s what Max, Ramona, Hugh, and Kelsi call themselves. Like how my friends call ourselves the Fearsome Foursome.”
“That’s dumb.”
Shrugging off his comment, I explain, “We came up with it when we were teenagers and obsessed with superhero crap. Don’t judge us for being cool.”
“Why do Hugh and those girls call themselves Band.”
“The Band and I don’t know. I think it’s because they’re in a band.”
Goliath nods but remains restless. I don’t know if he wants to leave, or if someone put him up to coming here. No matter why he made this visit, he isn’t comfortable.
“Did you want to sit down?”
Goliath glances around the room at the various rolling office chairs. He crosses his arms as if disgusted. But then he looks at me and relents to the pressure. I listen as the chair creaks in horror under the weight of the giant. His isn’t the first big man’s ass it’s survived.
“Why did you pick me?” he asks, going from a frowny-confused expression to a hyper-alert and ready to attack one.
“I told you. You have a handsome face that makes me feel funny inside. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Because I’m not smart?”
“No, because my handsome face doesn’t make you feel funny inside. That’s why you look at me as if I’m crazy.”
“I look at you like that because you’re a woman, and women fuck me over.”
“Men fuck you over too.”
“Yeah, that’s why I always look like this.”
“I feel like someone put you up to this,” I say, holding his gaze. “You showing up seems like a con.”
“Now, you think I’m conning you,” he mutters, cocking an eyebrow.
�
�You have always been honest about your interest level. This here feels as if you were pressured to act this way. Or maybe you misunderstood someone’s advice. No way would any of my friends want you to fake anything and get my hopes up.”
“I’m here because you and me are having a kid.”
Still suspicious, I try to act relaxed again. “Okay. That makes sense. We should be friendly. Plus, like you said, we wear the same patch. No reason for us to be hostile. I’m not even that way with Pom-Pom, and that guy annoys the shit out of me.”
Goliath leans back in his chair, hears it scream, and decides sitting upright is safer. While he struggles with it, I admire his tanned skin in stark contrast to his white Budweiser T-shirt. He stops frowning at the entrance to the wall maze and sees me watching him.
“You think I’m an asshole,” he grumbles.
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“I got reasons.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
“My mother didn’t want me. You met her. She only had me because her church said I was her punishment for being a slut. That’s why she didn’t give me up for adoption. I was a burden she had to bear. But I didn’t let that shit hold me down. I found the Skullz, made a new family.”
He doesn’t finish because we both know how that ended.
“The Reapers aren’t the Skullz,” I say when he remains silent.
“People like you talk big about loyalty, but that’s because shit is going well. When there’s a threat, people bail.”
“I’m glad you’re going on the three-day ride with River and Shane. You need to understand the Reapers. You’re not a member of the Skullz anymore. We don’t pin shit on our people. I mean, damn, that was a dumb move anyway. What if you, Swamp Thing, or Grabby decided to make a deal by ratting out the club? Fuse was a fucking moron for putting his men in situations where turning on the club would have been the right move.”
“I don’t rat.”
“Well, good for them, huh?”
“You think I should have?”
“No, but fuck them for setting up their own people.”
“Unlike you, who would have just shot me.”
Sighing, I feel like there’s no winning with Goliath. He wants to distrust me, so nothing I say will change his mind.
“We’d only have you shot if you crossed certain lines like raping a chick, stealing from the club, or killing the wrong person. You know, fucked-up stuff. Not because your giant balls intimidated my president’s giant balls.”