Blood & Bones: Deacon (Blood Fury MC Book 4)

by Jeanne St. James

  “What’s that?”

  “Get that fuckin’ stick out of it first. You’ll enjoy the ride more if you do.”

  “There wasn’t a stick up my ass when I rode you.”

  He had not expected that comeback, especially when she said it with a straight face. “Fuck, woman. If you weren’t so sore from that motherfucker, I’d drag you somewhere where we could do what everyone else is doin’ or about to do.”

  A small puff of breath escaped her parted lips. The eye that wasn’t still swollen and various shades of purple, became heated.

  Heh. She liked that idea. So did his dick.

  “You would have to take me from behind, so you don’t see my messed up face.”

  “Babe, I got no problem seein’ past those war wounds.”

  “Deke,” she whispered.

  “Can’t wait to feel your tits pressed to my back, your arms wrapped around me and your hot pussy against my ass. Gonna warn you now,” he whispered, “probably gonna be hard the whole fuckin’ run ‘cause I’ll be thinkin’ of you ridin’ me on that deck chair or me slidin’ inside you on that rug. I’ll be rememberin’ how hot and wet you were.” He tucked a strand of her long hair behind one ear and put his mouth to it. “You were wet for me, Reese.”

  Her breath hissed from her. He grabbed her unbruised wrist and slid her hand along his hard-on. He held it there for a second and her palm curved around him, making him want to thrust. He gritted his teeth instead.

  “Is that what Cage will feel against him, too?”

  “Damn right. And he’ll enjoy every fuckin’ second of it, like I’m gonna.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go, then.”

  “It’ll be fun. Promise.”

  “He’ll be a gentleman with her?”

  Deacon bit back his snort. “Fuck no. But I promise he won’t step over the line. Look, they’ve been workin’ together for the past week. If somethin’ was gonna happen, it woulda happened by now, right? And believe me, Cage ain’t doin’ nothin’ with your sister that’ll have Judge whuppin’ his ass.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m going on my first motorcycle ride.”

  “Every time you call it a motorcycle, I see that stick slidin’ up your ass a little higher.”

  She laughed, then hissed with discomfort. “What am I supposed to call it, then?”

  “Bike. Or sled, if you wanna sound like a real biker bitch.” He grinned.

  “Sled,” she repeated, like she was tasting the word. “I guess I’ll be straddling your sled.”

  He groaned. This might end up being a rough ride for him. “Fuck yeah. And if you relax enough and let it, the vibrations might give you an orgasm.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I’m told. Maybe today you can test that theory and let me know.”

  “I’ll be sure to give you a full report.”

  She dropped her hand from his dick and stepped back when they heard the bathroom door open. “I need to unpack my things and hang up the couple of suits I brought so they don’t wrinkle.”

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You do that. We’ll be ridin’ out soon. I’ll stop back and grab my shit later. Wear jeans, layers, closed-toed shoes. I’ll find a brain bucket—a helmet—if you want it, otherwise I got a face coverin’ you can wear with your sunglasses. Up to you.”

  She nodded and, as he turned to leave, she called out, “Deke...”

  He paused and glanced over his shoulder at the woman he never expected to walk into his life.

  Funny how fucked up life could be. Didn’t take much to stumble on the road called life.

  “Thanks. I thought I could do this on my own...”

  She probably would’ve died trying, too, that was how stubborn she was.

  “Now you don’t have to,” he murmured and walked out the door.

  Reese squeezed her arms around him a little tighter, causing him to grin. She had left the stick she had a close relationship with behind at the farm.

  Hell, she’d left it back in Mansfield.

  Deacon didn’t care where she’d left it, he was only glad it was gone for now.

  He glanced into his Low Rider’s mirror and saw how carefree she looked with her chin on his shoulder and long blonde strands of escapees from her tight bun whipping around her face. She decided not to wear a helmet since she didn’t want it pressing on her injuries, but instead tied one of his bandanas loosely around her nose and mouth to keep from swallowing bugs.

  He could only imagine she was smiling under it. Even with the face covering and the sunglasses, it was obvious the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Even though, in reality, it still existed. But right now, on his sled, that burden had become weightless. At least for a few hours.

  The heaviest burden being Warren, of course, who was still out there. Deacon wouldn’t rest until he got the bastard.

  They were in the second row behind Cage and Reilly because Reese insisted they stick close so she could keep an eye on her sister.

  Reilly seemed to be enjoying the run, sometimes sticking her arms out like an airplane and throwing her head back so the April sun would light up her face. Deacon had no doubt she’d caught every man’s attention on that run, even the ones who had ol’ ladies clinging to them. Seeing Reilly’s blonde hair flowing freely behind her in the wind and hearing her carefree laughter was hard to ignore.

  Cage led the pack in the opposite direction from Mansfield since their ride would be a few hours long and Deacon didn’t want to risk being seen by Warren if he was still lurking around town. Two blonde sisters riding with a bunch of bikers was hard to miss.

  His preferred method to catching Warren would be to ambush the motherfucker, so he didn’t want to give Warren a head’s up as to where Reilly was. Since they were all wearing their club colors, it wouldn’t be hard to figure that out.

  The man might be a piece of shit, but he wasn’t dumb.

  The ride did more than help Reese relax. Seeing Reilly on the back of Cage’s sled gave Deacon an idea of how to set that trap for Warren. He’d run it by Judge first, then the exec committee Monday night when they met to discuss the situation.

  Come Tuesday, he hoped to have the trap baited and set. Then they’d just have to wait to see if Warren took the bait. If they did it right, Deacon hoped the fucker wouldn’t be able to resist tracking Reilly down.

  If Reilly would’ve taken the beating and let it go, Warren would’ve just moved on. But Reilly had the same blood running through her veins as Reese. And Deacon now saw why Reilly had fought back. Plus, she wanted her hard-earned money returned. She wasn’t going to get it by staying quiet.

  Today’s club run took a route that would last about four hours total and when they finished, they’d end up back in Manning Grove and at Dino’s Diner.

  Sometimes they ended up there. Sometimes back at the farm, depending if someone had thought to get the sweet butts organized to set out a spread for them.

  And the sweet butts could not be called dependable. Motivating them wasn’t an easy task. Sig had joked that they needed a head sweet butt who’d be responsible for not only keeping their asses organized and in line but be able to vet them.

  It wasn’t enough that they’d put out whenever and wherever, they had shit to do to be able to get and keep the privilege of hanging around the club. In exchange, they got free booze, free food and plenty of free dick.

  Ozzy had mentioned that back in the day, the Originals had one of the ol’ ladies in charge of the sweet butts. Problem was, as of now, the MC only had three ol’ ladies. He couldn’t see Red or Cassie dealing with managing the club girls.

  And Stella had her hands full with Crazy Pete’s since the bar was busier than ever. In fact, as soon as Tater and Possum became prospects, she claimed them as free labor for the bar.

  The Fury still needed more prospects to do their dirty work. Some shit the sweet butts would never do. And a lot of shit they shouldn’t even know
about.

  A husky, “You were right,” filled his ear, drawing him out of his thoughts.

  Of course he was. He was rarely wrong. She just didn’t realize it yet.

  As they headed toward Manning Grove on a back road that wound through the valley, he squeezed one of her hands planted on his gut.

  “You hungry?” he yelled over the wind.

  “Not yet.”

  “Good.” He motioned to the pack behind him, signaling that he was cutting out of line. And he did so at the next crossroad.

  He’d find a quiet little spot to relieve the hard-on he’d been sporting long before she’d whispered in his ear. Him being right about her getting off on his bike meant her pussy and panties were wet and that thought made him hungry. But not for food.

  They’d catch up with the rest of his brothers at Dino’s because they needed to make a quick pit stop first.

  And it wasn’t to smell flowers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Reese stared up at the dark ceiling. She was lying in Deacon’s bed, but instead of Deacon, her sister slept next to her.

  It had been a long day and as exhausted as she was, she still couldn’t sleep.

  Less than two weeks ago, her life consisted of going into the office, dealing with clients and then home to sleep, only to turn around and do it again the next day.

  Now she was on a farm, sleeping in a biker’s bed in a building full of bikers, and she had not only gone on a club run but had a quickie on a bike.

  Sex on a bike.

  She never thought that was possible. Deacon proved her wrong.

  Again.

  It was crazy and spontaneous, and the fear of getting caught made it even more exciting.

  She couldn’t believe she was thinking it, but...

  It had been a great fucking day.

  Watching Reilly around the club members proved her sister could fit in with anyone and anywhere. Her sister had never been as rigid about life or goals as Reese. She’d always been more of a free spirit.

  Sometimes Reese caught herself being envious of her sister.

  Today showed her what being a free spirit would feel like. Reese liked it, but knew it wasn’t practical. Today was just a momentary “vacation” from her real life and responsibilities.

  That was all it was.

  While the guys could be crude, rude and loud, Reese had still enjoyed spending time with the club. And she loved Autumn, Stella and Cassie. The three women, while all so different, meshed perfectly.

  No jealousy, no cattiness, and they respected and supported each other.

  Plus, they loved their big badass men and it showed.

  Even better, their big badass men loved them back. They weren’t embarrassed about it, nor did they hide it.

  Reese noticed it was rare the men were far from their “ol’ ladies.” They were always touching them in some way. A hand wrapped around the back of the neck. An arm casually thrown over the woman’s shoulders. Fingers intertwined. Some sort of constant connection.

  And when their women weren’t within reach, they kept one eye on them at all times.

  Reese wondered if that kind of attention became smothering. She’d always been independent and couldn’t imagine what it would be like where a man insisted on some sort of constant “attachment.”

  Reese and Reilly had been the only two other women on the ride and once she and Deacon had caught up with everyone at Dino’s, she had watched Reilly interact with them all.

  In about a week, Reilly had become a part of the club.

  Reese thought it would bother her more than it did. But she still worried. Her sister needed to find her way and being a part of an MC—however she’d fit in—was not one of Reese’s dreams for her.

  After returning from the diner, everyone had gathered downstairs in what Deacon had called The Barn, which, she was told, was the Fury’s clubhouse.

  The club’s “home” was not dirty. It wasn’t disgusting. Admittedly, it was pretty cool. Planted in the center of the floor was a see-through fireplace that wasn’t currently burning. Two large side doors and another door at the front were open to let in the breeze of the comfortable spring night. Fifty-five-gallon drums sat scattered outside in a courtyard burning bright. The place reminded her of a rustic ski or Midwest hunting lodge complete with a bar, pool tables, dart boards, and old green bus benches lining the walls.

  Seeing those had brought back some memories of making sure Reilly was dressed and fed before putting her on the bus. If Reese hadn’t gotten Reilly going every morning, her sister never would have gone to school. Most of the time their mother was gone before they woke up or she hadn’t even bothered to come home.

  Or she was home and unable to function.

  Reese pushed the distant past out of her head and went back to just a little while ago, when she and Reilly had taken quick showers before heading down to the barn together.

  Reilly had thrown on a long, flowy skirt with a wide belt, cowboy boots, and a Harley Davidson tank top Reese didn’t even know her sister owned. Or maybe she borrowed it from one of the other ladies, since Reilly didn’t have a lot of clothes with her due to leaving the Philly area so quickly.

  But once again her sister looked carefree and happy, and Reilly was practically skipping alongside Reese as they made their way around the backside of the building and through the big, open double barn doors along the side.

  When they stepped inside, the deep bass of the loud rock music had hit Reese right in the chest. Since there wasn’t a live band, the club had to have some insanely large speakers.

  “Hey, there’s Deacon,” Reilly announced close to Reese’s ear.

  The man, wearing Levi’s that fit his ass like a glove and a snug T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and biceps and showed off his arm tattoos, sat in front of what looked like a long, handcrafted wood bar. The shelves behind it were packed with all sorts of liquor bottles, mugs and everything else a typical neighborhood bar would need.

  Though, this bar wasn’t in any kind of neighborhood, or open to the public. Reilly had mentioned that hanging out in The Barn was by invitation only.

  Since Deacon’s back was turned toward Reese, her gaze landed on the black leather vest he’d worn on the run and still wore. What he called his “cut” which displayed his club’s “colors.” What identified him as a “brother,” or member, of the Blood Fury MC.

  His cut was the same as all the other “brothers” who had been along on the run, and the patches also matched the large tattoo inked into his back.

  She’d heard of college fraternity and sorority members getting matching tattoos, and sometimes even being branded, but she wasn’t aware of any type of “memberships” requiring them.

  She wondered if it was a requirement of this MC.

  Her sister leaned into her. “Isn’t Ozzy really cute? He’s about your age.”

  Reese turned her head toward the biker, who sported a short salt and pepper beard, and did not look her age. He wasn’t much older, but still...

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Reilly shrugged. “Just in case it doesn’t work out between you and Deacon.”

  Reese frowned. “What doesn’t work out?”

  “Whatever you two have going on.”

  “There’s nothing going on.”

  “Well, good. Because it looks like one of the piranhas is ready to nibble on him.”

  Piranha? “What are you talking about?”

  “One of the sweet butts.”

  Reese stared at her sister like she was an alien. “Will you speak English?”

  “A sweet butt. That’s what Brandy is.” Reilly tilted her head toward the bar and Reese glanced that way again.

  It was kind of bothersome that her sister was already speaking their language. That did not give Reese the warm fuzzies.

  Reilly nudged her forward gently. “Better go claim your man before one of the piranhas do.”

  “Reilly, what the hell—�
��

  Reilly jerked her head toward the bar and bugged out her eyes. “Go! Don’t dawdle, or he’ll be diddling someone else.”

  “I—”

  “Go!”

  Reese snapped her mouth shut and glanced at the girl approaching Deacon. Looking like a...

  Hungry piranha.

  Damn it.

  “Why is she called a sweet butt?”

  “If you keep standing there like a dumbass, you’ll find out firsthand.”

  Reese pressed her lips together and checked out this Brandy, who was unashamedly topless and wore a very short, pleated schoolgirl skirt with thigh high socks. Her brandy-colored hair was pulled into two long pigtails coming out of the sides of her head. She was also cracking her gum with an open mouth.

  Apparently, she couldn’t afford panties—or at least had forgotten that part of her outfit—since every time she flounced another step toward Deacon, Reese could see the bottom curves of her bare ass cheeks.

  Had Reese stepped into some sort of cheesy porn?

  Was the girl even of legal age?

  God, she had really nice, young perky breasts. Even if her age was legal, her breasts shouldn’t be.

  How could Reese compete with that?

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. What was she thinking? She wasn’t in competition with anyone. She was here on this farm, with these bikers, only to stay safe from a violent psycho. Never in her life had she tried to “get her claws into a man” and she certainly wasn’t planning on doing that now.

  She was turning thirty-five next month, not fifteen.

  She sighed and opened her eyes. Setting her sore jaw, she strode across the barn and stopped just a couple feet behind Deacon. Close enough to see Brandy press her perky breasts into Deacon’s arm and purr, “Hey, baby, where’ve you been?”

  Deacon turned on the stool to face his visitor, breaking the nipple to bicep contact. “Not tonight, Brandy.”

  Lithe, young Brandy did a sexy little pout. “You already have plans? I bet mine would be better, handsome.”

  She reached up to touch his braid and he jerked his head back. “No plan yet. Just chillin’.”