Last Mile

by Katie Ashley

  With a chuckle, I motioned to one of our newest patch members, Crazy Ace. “He’s a real hustler.”

  Marley groaned. “Don’t I know it?”

  Motioning to the pool table, I said, “Rack ’em up. Let’s see if you can do any better against me.”

  Samantha shook her head. “He’s just going to end up embarrassing himself by having to bum money off me.”

  “Hey, now,” Marley countered with a smile.

  “Truth hurts, babe,” Samantha said before leaning up to kiss Marley. I fought the urge to toss my stick on the table and walk away. Instead, I took the chalk and rubbed some on my cue.

  A tap on my shoulder had me whirling around. It was Joe Casterini, or Jolting Joe, our newest prospect. He was also the bartender when we had parties. “Hey, B, we’re just about out of beer on tap.”

  I nodded. “Take one of the other prospects and run down to the warehouse. There should be some kegs there.”

  “Sounds like a plan, except I’m the only prospect here tonight,” Joe replied.

  “Shit. That’s right.”

  Holding up his hand, Joe said, “I can totally handle it alone.”

  Even if he couldn’t make it up the hill with the steel keg, he knew as a prospect he shouldn’t try to pussy out of a situation. I glanced over at Marley. “Hey, man, want to help out?”

  He grinned as he set his beer down on the pool table’s edge. “You bet your ass I’m down for anything that involves more beer.”

  With a laugh, I said, “Glad you’re so eager to help.”

  “Seriously, though. I’ve been thinking about what you said about joining up with the club. Figure that helping out and pitching in is all part of it, right?” Marley asked.

  “Yeah. It sure as hell is.”

  “Then I’m always down for that.”

  I smacked him on the back. “Can see that one.”

  Joe waved his hand. “Come on, man. Let’s get this shit taken care of before the natives get restless.”

  “Okay,” Marley said. He then followed Joe out of the roadhouse. When I turned back to the others, I noticed it wasn’t just Crazy Ace and Samantha anymore. One of the newest sweet butts appeared to be glued to Crazy Ace’s side. As she whispered in his ear, his eyes got glassy, and I knew that pool was the last thing on his mind. “See ya later, B,” he said as he let the girl lead him away to one of the back rooms.

  That left me all alone with Samantha. We stood in awkward silence for a few seconds before I held out a stick to her. “You play?”

  She shrugged. “A little.”

  “Then let’s have a go.”

  Samantha took the stick. “Just promise you’ll go easy on me.”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  “Good.”

  As I racked up the balls, I said, “Marley hasn’t told me too much about you.”

  “Glad to know he’s keeping my secrets.”

  I cocked my head at her. “You got secrets?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe . . . maybe not.” After tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder, she pinned me with a stare. “Don’t we all have secrets?”

  “I guess so.”

  “It’s been my observation that everyone has his or her own set of personal secrets. Hell, we even have some professional ones along the way.”

  “That’s an interesting thought.” Placing my palms on the edge of the table, I smiled at her. “Wanna trade some secrets?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  I jerked my chin at the table. “For every ball the winner sinks, the loser has to give up something about himself.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “I thought as much.”

  Samantha leaned in on her cue, swaying her hips as she looked at me. “How can I be sure the odds aren’t stacked against me? You know, since I’m new to the game and all.”

  “I said I would go easy on you.”

  She gave me a skeptical look. “Hmm, we’ll see.”

  “How about this? To demonstrate my good intentions, I’ll let you go first.”

  “Aren’t you being sweet?” she teased.

  “I try.”

  She took me off guard when she asked, “Stripes or solids?”

  “Huh?”

  With a grin, Samantha replied, “I was asking which balls you wanted—stripes or solids?”

  “If I were really being sweet, it should be lady’s choice, shouldn’t it?”

  “My, my, you sure are a gentleman,” she mused as she brushed past me. It didn’t go unnoticed how her breasts felt as they made brief contact with my chest. I was still thinking about her fabulous tits when she said, “I’ll take solids, then.”

  I cleared my throat while I also tried clearing my mind. “Sounds good.”

  When I had suggested playing with her, I hadn’t stopped long enough to think about what she was going to look like bent over the pool table. If I’d had any idea what a vision of pure sex she would look like, I would have tucked my tail between my legs and headed for the hills. Samantha’s tight-as-hell pants gave me a great view of her perfectly rounded ass cheeks—the kind that when you were fucking doggy-style, you wanted to smack until you left a red handprint. When I leaned forward, I saw how her almost-double-D tits were spilling out the front of her shirt. There was no doubt I was going to end the night with balls as blue as some of the ones on the table.

  When Samantha called, “Blue ten. Corner left pocket,” I couldn’t help noticing the irony. After she knocked the ball effortlessly across the table and into the pocket, my mouth dropped open in utter shock.

  “Why am I thinking that wasn’t beginner’s luck and you’ve been hustling me?” I asked.

  She batted her eyes innocently at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I’ll start calling you Fast Eddie.”

  “Ah, after Edward Felson?”

  My jaw dropped in surprise. “You know Fast Eddie, the pool hustler?”

  Samantha laughed. “Actually, it’s more like I know my Paul Newman, and since he played Fast Eddie in The Hustler and The Color of Money, I know the character.”

  “I see.” Closing the gap between us, I asked, “How did you learn to play pool?”

  “Uh, uh, uh. I believe by the rules of your game, I’m the one who gets to ask the question.”

  I grunted in frustration. “Fine. Ask away.”

  Samantha drummed her bloodred nails on the edge of the pool table. “Hmm, this is harder than I thought it would be. I feel a little pressure to not ask some bullshit question.”

  “You can always forfeit and let me go.”

  “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy.”

  “Damn. At least I tried.”

  After momentarily closing her eyes, she opened them. “Okay. I have one.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you came up with.”

  “What’s something you’re good at that I wouldn’t be able to guess?”

  With a smirk, I replied, “I don’t think you really want me to answer that.”

  While I expected her to roll her eyes in exasperation when she got my meaning, she surprised me by pursing her lips. “I would think you being good at fucking would be a given. Right?”

  I laughed. “Damn straight.”

  “So, what’s something else—something that sets you apart from your MC brothers?”

  After thinking for a moment, I answered, “Boxing.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I like to think so.”

  “Do you do it as an amateur or professionally?”

  “Professionally. Or I used to.”

  “Why aren’t you doing it anymore?”

  “Whoa, I thought this was a one-ball, one-question kinda thing?”

  Samantha hopped up on the table edge as if she was settling in to hear a long story. Swinging her legs back and forth, she said, “I’ve never known any real-life boxers before, so you can’t fault me for being intrigued.”<
br />
  I tapped the bottom of my cue stick on the floor. I had never talked to anyone outside the club or the gym about boxing. None of the women I had dated, or I guess I should say fucked, gave two shits about it. Mama Beth wanted nothing to do with it, considering that it was a blood sport that got her baby boy injured. But for reasons I couldn’t possibly imagine, Samantha seemed seriously interested.

  “The main reason I’m not doing it so much anymore is I’m ready to do something else. It doesn’t hold the same excitement for me that it once did. I guess you could say I want to do more with my life than beat the shit out of dudes.”

  “I think wanting to do something else besides fighting is totally understandable—if not commendable. I’m just not sure how you’ll be able to do that with the lifestyle you’re in.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Isn’t throwing punches all part of being in an MC?”

  “Ah, I see you’re subscribing to the shitty image most people have of bikers.”

  “I’m sorry if it sounded like I was stereotyping you. I guess I’m just ignorant when it comes to what real MC men are like.”

  Leaning in closer to her, I said, “Since Marley is considering joining an MC, it’s probably a good idea if you take the time to really know what you’re talking about. We’re not all gun-wielding hell-raisers who terrorize towns.”

  “You’re not?”

  From her tone and expression, I didn’t know whether she was serious or teasing me. “Last time I checked, we get along pretty well with most of the people here in town—you know, the law-abiding ones.”

  “Bishop—”

  “As for a weapon, I would ask you to pat me down to check for one, but I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

  “No. It wouldn’t.”

  “At least I offered.”

  With a genuinely apologetic look, Samantha said, “I’m sorry if I insulted you and your club.”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s not like I’m not used to it by now. Even before I patched in to the club myself, I saw the way some people treated my dad. Then as soon as they heard I was John Malloy’s son, they treated me differently, too. That kinda shit happened from the time I was in school.”

  “That was a really shitty thing to do to a kid just because of who his dad was.”

  Staring down at the floor, I replied, “Yeah, when I was young, I got my feelings hurt easily. By the time I got to be a teenager, I probably gave them a reason to judge me by having a chip on my shoulder.” When I dared to look at Samantha, she was looking at me with respect.

  “How did you get over it?”

  “I finally decided that I didn’t give a shit what people thought about us, because deep down, I knew who we really were.” After Samantha and I stared at each other for a few seconds, I shook my head at her. “Damn, five minutes alone with you and I’m singing like a canary with all my secrets.”

  Samantha chuckled. “I’d hardly say you’re giving away anything too revealing—like the club’s secret handshake.”

  “True. It’s more like I don’t usually talk like this to women.”

  “Let me guess. You don’t do a lot of talking period when you’re with a woman.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I can’t say I’m too surprised by that.” She hopped down off the table. “So since you said you were always beating the shit out of guys, I guess it’s safe to say that you were pretty good at boxing, huh?”

  “I won a lot of division titles back in the day.”

  “Were you as good as José Legrá?”

  I widened my eyes in surprise. “How the hell do you know who José Legrá is?”

  “Don’t all women know their Cuban boxers?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Truth is that I wouldn’t know my boxers if it hadn’t been for my father. He always watched the Friday-night fights. Even if he was working, he would tape them. He was a huge fan of Legrá as well as Luis Manuel Rodríguez, Kid Gavilán, Sugar Ramos—”

  “The fourth greatest boxer named Sugar after Robinson, Leonard, and Mosley.”

  Samantha smiled. “I’m not sure my father would have agreed with you on that one.”

  “Give me a chance, and I would set him straight.”

  Samantha’s expression darkened. “He passed away.”

  Fuck. I had a special gift for being an insensitive asshole. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

  “Well, I sorta know what it feels like to lose your old man.” When she stared expectantly at me, I said, “My dad was killed six years ago.”

  She surprised the hell out of me by forgoing the usual bullshit “I’m sorry for your loss.” Instead, she looked me straight in the eye and said something so few had ever said to me. “You must miss him.”

  I nodded as the familiar ache of grief clenched in my chest. No matter how old you are or how big a man you think you are, there’s nothing like losing your father. “I miss him each and every day. The years go by, but it doesn’t really get easier, even though people love to spout that ‘time heals all wounds’ bullshit.”

  “I know what you mean,” Samantha murmured.

  Wanting to change the subject, I said, “Unless you have any more boxing questions, looks like it’s my turn.”

  “Nope. I think I’m good. Of course, if you’re ever in the ring again, I’d love to come see you in action.”

  “Seriously?”

  Cocking her head at me, she countered, “What? Don’t I look like the kind of woman who would enjoy a good fight?”

  I grinned. “Not exactly.”

  Samantha wagged a finger at me. “Now you’re the one using stereotypes.”

  With a snort, I replied, “Whatever. Most of the chicks have to be dragged by their old man to watch a fight.”

  “Trust me. If you were going to be there, no one would have to drag me.”

  The conviction in her tone had me licking my lips in anticipation. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Then she cut me off at the knees when she said, “I’m sure Marley would love to see you, too.”

  Somehow among all the talk of boxing and flirting, I had forgotten all about him. On the one hand, I felt like a complete and total bastard for wanting him out of the picture so I could have Samantha all to myself, and on the other, I resented him for being Samantha’s boyfriend. I wanted to believe he wasn’t good for her—that he probably cheated on her or mistreated her. But knowing Marley as I did, I couldn’t imagine him doing anything like that. He might be a tough talker, but he was a grown-up Boy Scout at heart.

  To get my mind off Marley and lusting after his girlfriend, I leaned over the table and positioned my cue. Needing to prove myself, I said, “Orange five. Left corner pocket.”

  “Going for a challenge right out of the gate?” she asked innocently.

  “Damn straight.”

  After sinking the ball with ease, I righted myself and met Samantha’s expectant gaze. I knew I needed to find a question that didn’t sound remotely like I was coming on to her. “So, what’s your family background like?”

  Her eyes widened as if my question had taken her off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, like I’m a little English and Scottish with maybe some German thrown in way back in there. But you look like you have an exotic background.”

  “Ah, I see what you’re asking now. Actually, when it comes down to it, I’m more a mutt than anything.”

  “Funny, that was what I was thinking, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to call you that.”

  Samantha laughed. “Wise choice there.” After shifting the cue in her hand, she said, “Let’s see. I’m pretty much pure Cuban on my dad’s side. Then my mom’s family is mostly Irish Catholic.”

  “You’re not as much of a mutt as I thought you were.”

  “I guess not.” With a wink, she added, “Thanks for the compliment about being exotic-looking.”

  “I just call
it as I see it.”

  “Well, I like the way you see it. No one has ever called me exotic before.”

  I shifted on my feet as electricity seemed to pop and crackle all around us. For a moment, I questioned if it was because I truly wanted Samantha, or if it was more that I wanted what I knew I couldn’t have.

  Waving my cue stick at Samantha, I said, “You’re up again.”

  She once again effortlessly sank her ball. After lifting her gaze to the ceiling and appearing deep in thought, she asked, “If you could have one dream come true, what would it be?”

  With a grunt, I replied, “Wow, that’s the fucking cheesiest question I’ve ever heard.”

  She poked me in the shoulder with the end of the cue stick. “Oh no, you don’t get to judge the question. By the rules of your game, you have to answer it.”

  I held up a hand. “Fine, then. I’ll answer your hokey little question.”

  “I’m waiting,” she said while tapping the toe of her boots. Damn, if it wasn’t both cute and sexy.

  After fighting the urge to growl at her, I decided to answer her honestly. “The one dream I want to come true is to open my own motorcycle shop.”

  Samantha blinked at me in surprise. “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. What did you expect I would say? That I wanted a threesome with two Playboy models or to have a ten-inch dick?”

  “Well, you can’t blame me for being surprised after your initial response to my first question.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And you mean you don’t have a ten-inch dick?” she questioned teasingly.

  I laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  She grinned. “I’ll admit that my curiosity is certainly piqued.”

  “Let’s just say the size of my dick will stay a secret for now.”

  “Such a pity,” Samantha replied, before winking at me.

  Since I knew we needed to get off the subject of my dick, I leaned over the table and positioned my cue. “My turn again.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I questioned, “What?”

  “I want to know more about the motorcycle shop you want to open.”