by Zoey Derrick
I’m formulating my plan to get Sticks’ help when I doze off.
I’m awakened by the sun the next morning. I move around upstairs, hitting the shower and getting dressed as quietly and quickly as possible. I want to make him breakfast this morning.
I got here too late last night to make him a proper dinner, so breakfast will, with any luck, make up for it and put him in a talking mood.
I move around the kitchen and I can’t help thinking about Sticks’ wife and old lady. I wonder why he never took another one. It’s not uncommon for members to take old ladies and lose them, either by their own stupidity or something awful happening to them, and then they find new ones. Sticks isn’t like most members, though. He loved his old lady more than life itself.
Just as I’m finishing up the bacon, Sticks sits down at my breakfast spread. I can’t help smiling as he devours the entire table in a matter of minutes. Grunting and groaning in appreciation of my cooking. “Yeah, you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he smirks.
“For now,” I remind him.
“Listen, buttercup, you want revenge on these assholes, you’re gonna haf-ta find a way to toughen up.”
“So, show me.” I smile at him.
He grunted with a smile on his face. “When you turn eighteen?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, fuck me sideways,” he laughs. “I’ll find you a job, get you something inside the club walls, and give you a chance to learn the ropes, but you’re gonna need new threads.” He looks at my clothes again before dipping into his back pocket for his wallet. I notice then that Sticks’ standard attire is a black t-shirt, black jeans, black motorcycle boots and his cut, but unlike most of the men, no chain on his wallet. Then again, he’s pushing sixty.
“I got money,” I tell him as he brings his wallet out.
He tucks the bills back in his pocket. “You sure?” he asks.
“Yeah, Tryke didn’t leave me empty handed.”
He nods before he takes off toward the front door. “We got some business at the compound tonight. I’ll be home late.”
I shake my head with a smirk on my face and off he goes. The familiar roar of his Harley brings a strange sense of comfort I didn’t realize I needed.
I’m not sure I’d be able to live my life away from motorcycles, despite the wishes of my brother.
After more than six hours of shopping, a couple stops ended up being Wicked Angels owned shops, and more than a thousand dollars, I have enough clothes to get me started. After I start working, I’ll work on enhancing some, but for now, this will have to do.
I haul all my new stuff up into my room and am trying shit on when the roar of a Harley coming down Sticks’ long driveway captures my attention. I know almost immediately that it’s not Sticks. I know enough about bikes to distinguish one from another and this one is alone.
“What are they doing here?” I mumble. Is it a club member coming by? They’ve got no business here without Sticks. Then again, he could be running late. I walk quickly and quietly over to my window and pull back the curtain enough to see out.
I narrow my eyes. “No way,” I whisper as my heart leaps into my throat and I watch the man on the bike pull of his helmet.
Chapter Seven
LOKI
3 Hours Earlier
I turn off my engine, throw the stand down and look around, taking in the two prospects who are keeping an eye on the bikes parked outside the clubhouse. They’re young and smaller than I’d have thought, but then again, things are done differently up here. The family genes don’t run as deep here as they do down in Roswell or Tucson and they bring in real recruits off the streets. It works. The more the merrier.
The door to the clubhouse pops open and the man I’m here to see comes out to greet me. “Loki.” He grabs my forearm and we bump chests.
“Sticks,” I smile. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I should ask you the same. Come on, let’s talk.”
He leads me inside the clubhouse. Not much different than Roswell just shaggier. Maybe even a little dirtier. Judging from the couple of club whores, they’ve been around way too long.
Sticks leads me back toward an office in the back of the main floor of the clubhouse, past the common room. I’ve been here before and have stayed upstairs where there are loaner rooms to crash. They’re nice enough, but not something I’d want to stay in long term. Roswell, at least, has that going for them. Each room is equipped with its own bathroom and fridge, making long term stays easier.
Regardless, Boulder is a nice house.
Sticks ushers me into his office. “Beer?”
“Yeah.”
He reaches into the small fridge behind his desk, producing a beer and he hands it to me after I close the door behind us. “She make it up here yet?” I ask softly. I don’t have to go into details about who I’m referring to, he knows. I called him a couple days ago.
“Yup, at my house right now.”
I nod, pulling a long drag on my beer. “She alright?”
“All things considered, she’s fine. She’s planning on staying here a while,” he tells me as he takes a seat behind his desk. “What about you? You gonna transfer up here?”
I snort a laugh, “You really think Rooster would let me?” He answers my sentiment with his own humorless laugh. “He needs me too much,” I remind him.
“Tell me what happened,” Sticks says, not as a question but rather, in a spill your fucking guts kind of way.
So, I launch into the details surrounding Tryke’s death while he sits behind his desk hemming and hawing with forced interest. I knew that Big Daddy got a hold of him the moment I showed up. I’d stopped there a few days ago, following Kiwi on her path. I needed to make sure she got here and that she finds what she’s looking for while she’s here.
Another two hours pass as Sticks and I exchange words and club business, before I’m kicking my bike over and headed out of the compound. I’m not staying long, but I do have some business to attend to while I’m here in the form of a five foot, six inch nearly eighteen-year-old.
Chapter Eight
LILY
Present time
I surge down the stairs and out the front door.
Loki doesn’t know what hits him when I slam into him.
I should be furious with him.
I should hate his fucking guts. I should want to add him to my list of revenge targets, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. Not today, at least.
“Jesus, Kiwi, knock me on my ass, why don’tcha.” His voice is meant to be hard, pissed off, but I can tell he’s just as happy to see me as I am to see him when he wraps his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. He squeezes the air from my lungs, and he doesn’t let me go.
Fine with me.
He’s all well-defined muscle, long brown hair, and sleeve tattoos and madness. “Why are you here?” I ask him softly.
He sets me back on my feet, then brushes the hair from my face with a gentle touch that sends my heart into its own orbit. “I got business with Sticks,” he tells me.
“He’s not here,” I inform him.
“I know, I saw him already.”
“Then why are you here?” I emphasize.
“You eighteen yet?” he asks and I blush.
I shake my head then look at my watch; it’s just after five in the afternoon. “Less than seven hours to go,” I tell him.
“Jesus, that’s too fucking long,” he groans.
“Why is my turning eighteen so important to you?” I ask with a little sass in my voice.
“Don’t worry about it.” He takes a step back. “You gonna make me dinner or what?”
I smile at him. “Come on.” Grabbing his hand, I lead him into the house. As I climb up the steps to the porch, I turn back slightly and the big bad biker dude’s eyes are locked on my ass. “Enjoying the view?” I ask with a sultry tone, or what I think is. He snaps to attention and comes with me.
I make Loki hi
s favorite- roasted chicken with ranch potatoes and green beans. He stoically sits in the kitchen while I cook for both of us. Then as we eat, we talk about all kinds of shit. Everything from Roswell to my brother. The way he talks about my brother makes me miss him so much more. Loki knew him better than I did and I want to be angry at him for that. But then I remember that the two of them have something in common, the Wicked Angels.
The more he talks about my brother, the more pissed off I become that he doesn’t seem all that emotional about his death.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks.
I glare at him. “You killed him, for fuck’s sake, Loki. How the hell can you sit there like nothing’s happened?” I snap.
“Because I took care of business, I didn’t have a fucking choice,” he bites back. I can see the anger in his eyes.
I pull my eyes away from him and shake my head back and forth more than is necessary, trying to find my voice and hide the tears.
“Look, it’s club business, and you know better than to ask too many fucking questions, Lily.”
The use of my real name sends a slice of anger through me.
He never calls me that.
I realize arguing about this isn’t going to get us anywhere. I’m left suffering the consequences of ‘club business’ while he gets to hide behind it like it’s an iron curtain.
I turn to the sink and start washing dishes and loading the dishwasher.
All while I work, he doesn’t leave the kitchen, in fact he hardly moves unless it’s to grab a new beer from the fridge. I want to throw a knife at him, but a part of me is afraid I’m going to really hurt him. My reaction is irrational. I should want to hurt him, kill him, make him suffer. If he were suffering emotionally from what he’s done, it would be easier, but he’s not. So, it makes me want to hurt him that much more.
I close the dishwasher and start it before double checking I didn’t miss anything. I set the pans to soak in the sink before drying off my hands and turning to him. “You staying here tonight?” I ask.
“I’ve got more business with Sticks, so yeah, I’m staying here.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him, false anger in my voice, before I stomp up the stairs and into my room.
When he showed up, I abandoned all the clothes I had bought in the middle of my bed, so I shove them onto the floor before I strip out of my jeans and t-shirt in favor of short shorts and a tank top for bed.
I can’t wrap my head around what he’s done.
I can’t imagine it’s easy for him.
He killed his best friend for crying out loud.
Fuck.
I can’t wrap my head around why in the fuck I can forgive him so easily. I know Kellen wanted it that way, but fuckin’ A. I’m the one left behind, alone, without a family because of some fucked up ‘club business’ bullshit that no one seems to want to talk about. I basically handed them everything they need on a silver platter, the least they can do is let me in on the details of what’s happening, right?
I roll my eyes at myself.
That’s never going to happen.
At best, if I manage to weasel my way behind club doors, I’m a club whore. Unless, by some miracle, someone decides to make me an old lady, but even then, I’d be out of the loop regardless. Unless the Wicked Angels magically decide to start allowing women into their inner circle, my only hope is as a club whore. At least in that capacity, I’m capable of keeping my head down and my ears open. If someone claims me and I’m privy to information shared between the old ladies, which is like a gossip circle. Sometimes they know more than their men do, but still, it doesn’t get me any closer to Rooster.
I shudder at the thought of being a Roswell club whore.
The idea of being a whore, period.
My eyes land on the clock sitting atop the nightstand next to my bed. The minutes slowly tick by until it hits eleven fifty-eight. Two more minutes. Then it hits me.
Loki will return to Roswell, Kellen is dead, and my parents are gone. I’m all alone and I feel every bit of that loneliness as the clock ticks closer to midnight. No one should ever feel like this, regardless of how old they are.
I miss my brother most of all. I miss his smile, the way we laughed, the way we were just Kellen and Lily, brother and sister, surviving the loss of our parents. But now it’s just me.
Twelve o’clock strikes on my clock and I quietly wish myself happy birthday before rolling over and closing my eyes.
My eyes squint tight. Despite my best efforts, I hadn’t fallen asleep, when blinding light brings my eyes to the door. The light coming off the hallway is blinding me as I try and see who’s standing there. At first I think it’s my uncle come to check on me, though I didn’t hear him pull up. Then the figure shifts, and I can see better as his body blocks the light. The light illuminates him from behind, casting his face in shadow. “Loki,” I breathe. “What are you doing?”
He steps into the room, his boots hitting the floor heavily as he turns back toward the door and closes it.
He hasn’t answered my question, nor does he say a single word to me as he strips off his cut and lays it across the foot of my bed. His shirt comes next. My eyes adjust slightly to the change in light, and I can see the moonlit outline of his pecks and abs. “Loki,” I whisper as my body ignites with a desire I’m unfamiliar with. My clit aches to be touched as he pops the buttons on his jeans, followed by kicking off his boots. He slides his jeans down his legs then stands back up. His father’s dog tags clinking together and the sound of my breathing are the only noises I hear in the house. As long as I can remember, he’s worn his father’s dog tags. He never takes them off. I wonder if he’ll take them off now.
Through the dim light of my alarm clock and the moonshine coming through the window, I can see he’s completely naked. “Loki, what are you doing?” I ask again but my voice is weak, laced with an unwanted attempt at stopping him.
He walks over to the side of the bed, grabbing ahold of my covers before throwing them back, exposing my shorts and tank top clad body to him.
The bed dips as he climbs into bed.
In the next heartbeat he’s rolling over, holding himself just above my body. His father’s dog tags fall on my chest, right between my breasts. His proximity and warmth sends a wave of goosebumps across my flesh and hardens my nipples.
I catch the scent of beer on his breath, but it’s barely noticeable with the scent of musk, wind, the road and Loki.
A new thrill roars in my veins as I breathe him in deep. Committing his scent to memory.
He leans down and gently brushes his lips over mine. The sparks of desire ignite everywhere as he presses his lips to mine. They’re soft, gentle, and passionate at first, but then he fights to deepen the kiss by nipping at my lower lip. His legs shift, separating mine and then he’s between them, pressing his hips into my core, stroking along my center.
I gasp.
He steals his chance and slides his tongue into my mouth, flicking it against mine.
I moan when he thrusts his hips again, his cock stroking along my covered slit.
His kiss, the thrust of his hips and my labored breathing makes my head spin. I can’t stop myself from pulling away from the kiss to suck in a deep breath. When I turn my head to the side, he takes the opportunity to kiss along my jaw, down my neck, to my shoulder where he pulls the strap of my tank top down along my arm. His fingers hook into the top seam before he pulls it down, exposing my left breast. He wastes no time sucking my hard nipple into his mouth.
I moan again as he sucks and licks my pebbled flesh. I can’t help the flick of my own hips against his and he grunts. The vibration sends a new sensation through my nipple that roars through my body before settling in my sex.
Once he’s satisfied, he releases that nipple and moves across my chest to the other. He quickly pulls my tank down, exposing it and pulling it into his mouth in the same manner as the other. With his right hand, he pinches my left n
ipple between two fingers, rolling it around while he licks and sucks on my right.
I slide my hands into his hair, holding his head to me, keeping him in place as he flicks his hips again. His cock is hard, thick and long pressed against my slit and desire explodes. I suddenly need him inside me as fast as possible.
I let my hands slide down his neck to his shoulders and I push him toward my crotch, gently. I manage to mask the fact that my hands are shaking, or at least if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
He grunts again but releases my nipple. His hand pushes my tank up toward my breasts so that he can kiss my stomach on his way south. My nipples are wet and exposing them to the cold air makes them pebble further and ache to be sucked again.
Loki reaches the waist of my shorts with both his hands and he tugs them toward my knees. He’s smothering me, making it impossible to move, but I manage a little leverage to lift my ass and he rips my shorts down just below my crotch. He has his eyes locked on the apex of my thighs. I fight the urge to cover myself up. There is a strange look in his eyes, but I can’t make it out because of the darkness in the room. Still, he’s says nothing.
The next thing I know, my legs are in the air, my ass is falling back to the bed and my shorts are hitting the floor. His hands creep in under my ass and he lifts me to his mouth. Loki’s tongue slides flat, hot and wet down the center of my folds. I cry out and my legs twitch when he sucks my clit into his mouth.
He slowly lowers me back to the bed.
His mouth never leaves my clit as he does. With his hands still under my ass holding me to his face, I slide my hand down my body, feeling the wetness left on my nipple. The light touch of my own fingers sends a ripple of goosebumps over me and my nipples harden again.
I reach out, putting my hand in his hair as his tongue starts flicking, sucking and nibbling on my clit. Wave after wave of pleasure rockets through me and I lift my hips against his mouth.