His Poppy: Furious Daggers MC

by Brogan Riley

  “Where’s Jackson?” I ask with a full mouth.

  “He’s busy.” She plants a kiss on the back of my hand. “Let’s go out on a short trip when you’re finished.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “How old are you?” It just slips out of my mouth. I can be a very nosey person.

  She smiles at me. “I’m thirty-one. Too old to be your girlfriend?”

  I shake my head. “I want to have an older friend.”

  She bursts into laughter.

  Jackson

  I want to rip the motherfucker’s throat out. He shouldn’t be here. That’s not according to our deal. We met up in my office four months ago. Ricky offered his protection as long as we laundered his money. I’m on his turf so I had no choice.

  I laundered money for the previous mobster residing in the area. No big deal.

  I have to tolerate Ricky. He’s a smart gangster with numbers and connections. He’d smashed Antonio within three days. They were cousins, but that’s none of my business.

  We sit at the bar, and Shirley pours us two shots of tequila.

  “You have something alive some people want to be dead,” Ricky says, lowering his voice so that only I can hear him. He’s always straightforward and it’s useful when we do business. “But we have a deal, so I’m gonna keep quiet.”

  Yep, his minions are everywhere—a few pairs of eyes always watch my club as well as Tank’s. His rats are scattered in the area and keep him well informed.

  Ricky wants something from me—my instincts warn me.

  The dick downs his shot. “I want to pop in twice a month and have Shirley for two, three hours.”

  “You’ve already had her,” I say. “Aren’t you bored with her?”

  I see Shirley stiffen in the corner of the bar.

  He pats my shoulder. “She’s not boring at all. We got a deal?”

  “I need to speak to her first.”

  I never force my girls to serve clients in a way they disapprove. She’s pregnant. She may not like the idea of being Ricky’s lay.

  I wave my hand to her and we move towards the storage room. The smell of liquor hangs heavy in the air as we enter it.

  “You heard the motherfucker,” I say.

  She nods, her big grey eyes filling up with tears.

  “You don’t want him, do you, Shirley?”

  She shakes her head and then nods. Shakes her head again and nods several times.

  I’m a bit confused. “Is this because of Declan?”

  She sucks in a breath, tucking a few wisps of her blonde hair behind her ears.

  “I know you’re pregnant, Shirley. Does Declan even know?”

  “He does not.”

  “You should tell him. I can’t promise he’ll marry you, but I can have a chat with him.”

  He won’t marry her, but he’ll take care of the baby. I know he wouldn’t abandon his own kid. He doesn’t do relationships, but he has a very strong opinion on how a man should take care of his offspring.

  “He’s not the father,” Shirley whispers.

  Now, I’m very fucking confused. “No?”

  “I didn’t know what to do, you know. And it’s always fun with Declan, so I thought—“

  “Who is the father?”

  Her eyes widen as tears stream down her cheeks and her chin trembles. I can sense the battle inside her head.

  “Shirley?”

  “I—“

  “Who is the father?”

  She starts panting. “Ricky.”

  “The fuck what?”

  “I’m so sorry. I forgot about the pill and he wanted without…” She starts sobbing and waving her hands. “And the baby needs a father. So I—“

  “So you told Fiona Declan was the father, right?”

  She nods. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You want Ricky or not?”

  She twines a few wisps of hair around her fingers. That probably should be taken as a yes.

  Ricky is twenty-six at most and he’s a handsome guy. He has a wife and two mistresses though.

  “Yes or no,” I demand.

  “Yes.”

  “Go upstairs,” I say. “Ricky will join you in a moment. Be nice to him.”

  She’ll be very nice to him, her eyes say it all.

  My head throbs as I walk back into the bar. I stand beside Ricky. We’re the only occupants of the bar so I can speak to him openly.

  “Shirley’s pregnant,” I say, “so you’d better be gentle with her.”

  He threads his fingers through his black short hair as his jaw muscles twitch. “Who’s the father?”

  “Why the fuck would I tell you?”

  “Who?” There’s a warning in his black eyes.

  “She said it was Declan.”

  He jerks his hand up and rubs it against the side of his chest where his gun is attached. I know the movement. Fucking hell. What a comedy-drama.

  “But,” I continue, “I know that’s not true. You’re the father.”

  Emotion paints his face for a split second, but the next moment he’s a ruthless gangster again. “I’ll sort it out.”

  “She’s under my club’s protection. You don’t want to start a war with me.”

  “It’s my baby,” he says in a dry voice as he moves back and rushes upstairs, his movements chaotic.

  What the fuck? I could have sworn the dick cares.

  Poppy

  Fiona shoves a gun into my hand. “It may save your life one day, Poppy.”

  We’re on the beach and it’s deserted. High walls of white rock surround us as streaks of mist fall off them in delicate wreaths. The landscape looks like an eerie dream. Low trees and bushes dot the rock, their leaves in all shades of green. The ocean’s grey waves crash on the rocky shore, the sound enthralling.

  “Today, you just hold it in your hand, okay?” Fiona says. She sits down on the sand and pulls her knees to her chest. “I taught every girl to shoot, you know. In case there was some really bad shit in the compound.”

  “You’re very caring,” I say.

  She gestures for me to sit beside her. I lower to the ground and she takes the gun from my hand. I exhale with relief.

  Fiona throws her arm over my back, putting the gun into the holster attached to the waistband of her jeans with her other hand, and we sit in silence.

  I clear my throat. “Are we really friends?”

  “I think we are.” She kisses my temple and strokes my breast with her thumb. A pause hangs between us. Fiona sighs. “My wife has been moody recently, you know.”

  “You have a wife?”

  “Yes. She works at my hotel as a manager. She’s beautiful and smart.”

  “I understand,” I say. “You can have a wife. That’s okay. I really understand.”

  Fiona bursts into laughter. “You’re sweet.” She nods a few times. “Diana doesn’t want me to work here, but I love this job and this life.”

  “It’s nice here.”

  “You feel free here.”

  “Jackson is nice.”

  She strokes my head. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I do like him. Love him.”

  “Ah, so this is what it’s all about.” Her arms wrap around me and she kisses my lips. “We’re gonna have a party tonight. I’ll make you look beautiful for him. He’ll be absolutely crazy about you, you’ll see.”

  “Thank you.”

  The wind grows in strength, chasing off the clouds. The sun’s rays slice the misty air and burn the nape of my neck.

  “You’re welcome,” Fiona says.

  We glance up at the blue intensity of the sky. It reminds me of Tyler’s eyes.

  “Tell me about the people living here,” I say.

  Fiona tilts her head. “Sure. I’m the bartender here. Shirley, the girl with blonde hair, is a waitress and entertainment. Cara has red hair. She’s only entertainment. Eve has pink hair. She’s the cleaner and entertainment. Gina has brown hair and she’s the cook. Amy is everything—a n
oisy bird with colourful plumage. Tracy has short black hair, a waitress and entertainment.”

  “Jackson is the leader.”

  “He is indeed.” She tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear. “The best we could wish for.” Respect coats her voice.

  “What about the bikers?”

  Fiona laughs. “Declan is a man whore, but he’s nice. Tyler? He’s very very sweet. If you needed anything, just ask him. The rest? You’ll meet them as time goes by. A bunch of freaks I’d say.” Her eyes wander off. She puts on a serious expression. “The girls are like cursed souls, excluded from the outside world. They know how to keep quiet. They know staying with the club comes at a price. You’ll know this too. One day.”

  Chapter 7

  Jackson

  Poppy sneaks into the kitchen with Fiona following her.

  “Where have you been?” I growl.

  “On the beach,” Fiona says. “Girls’ day out. Come on. Nothing wrong with that.”

  They grab a few sandwiches and go upstairs, leaving me pissed off.

  I want my wife only for myself, but she’s either asleep or busy. Or scared of me.

  I respect Fiona as my friend and business partner, but the way she looks at Poppy makes me feel uneasy. I’ve seen Diana on a number of occasions. She’s an elegant young woman who wants an elegant house in the suburbs and an elegant safe life. Fiona is all wildness, all need to have fun in life. A house in the suburbs? No, this is not Fiona.

  Diana has been to the clubhouse only a few times. She didn’t like it here. Not to mention that Fiona never tells her anything about the club.

  Poppy is a challenge for her.

  Poppy is intriguing.

  Poppy is so lovable.

  Flexible.

  I hear them giggle upstairs.

  Maybe I could shave my gob, so that Poppy likes me more than she likes Fiona. Fucking hell. My boys seem to be harmless compared to my bartender.

  I step into the bathroom that’s situated downstairs, next to the kitchen, and I shower first. My hard dick demands that I sink it into a tight cunt. I’m crazy about one special cunt. Poppy’s to be precise.

  Tonight, or I’ll fucking go mad.

  I need to fuck my wife.

  I repeat in my mind ‘my wife’.

  I was so fucking lonely until I met her. She has filled the hollow in my chest I wasn’t even aware of.

  I grab a towel and pat myself dry. I brush my teeth and reach for a razor blade.

  Poppy has beautiful tits and a round ass. Her mound is unshaven. I don’t mind. She’s a fawn. She should be wild and pristine.

  She has three thick scars on her lower back. I’ll kiss each of them tonight. Fuck. I’m gonna feast on her pussy tonight.

  I walk out of the bathroom with the towel wrapped around my hips. Squeals and screeches come down to my ears. I climb the stairwell and enter my bedroom. Fiona obstructs my way.

  “No men allowed,” she says as she puts her hands on her hips.

  “I want to check on my wife,” I say.

  Fiona rolls her eyes. “She’s breathing and her heart is still beating. And we’re very busy.”

  “I—“

  “I’m just trying to do my job to the best of my ability.” She winks at me. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

  “Alright,” I say, raising my hands in a warding gesture.

  “See you at the bar.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Alright.

  I go downstairs and grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the living room that opens into the conservatory. Three grey rocks of my height stand in the garden as two palm trees give it a holiday feel.

  I slide my feet into my boots, grab my jacket, and go to the clubhouse. As I enter the bar, the boys rumble at the sight of me. The girls bustle around a long table, delivering food and drinks.

  Ricky is sitting on the bar stool and Shirley is sitting in his lap. Okay, I didn’t expect that, but I guess, nothing wrong with that. They look… happy. Okay. Something is wrong, but I don’t give a fuck tonight.

  Tyler moves closer to me, a wide grin crossing his face. He nods several times.

  “What?” I growl.

  “Everything was kind of quick, Prez.”

  “So what?”

  “Nothing.” He waves his hands. “Nothing.”

  I should smack the back of his head, but I don’t. I practically raised him. I’d found him wandering on the streets. He was thirteen then, the son of two drug abusers. He’d been raped twice by his mother’s shitty boyfriends. He’d been hungry and lonely his whole childhood.

  Now he’s twenty. My very talented enforcer. He yearns for his own family—a pretty wife and a bunch of badly behaved kids, but only I know about it.

  I lay my hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. “You okay, kid?”

  He nods. “Yeah, Prez. Everything’s as it should be.”

  I pat his shoulder. “She likes Italian cuisine.”

  “Who, Prez?”

  I squeeze his shoulder again. “Go help with the liquors.”

  “Aye, Prez.”

  I drop on the couch, and Amy delivers a glass of beer to my table. Declan sits down beside me. He strokes his unshaven gob as his blue eyes flicker. He’s my vice. In his previous life, he was a young gangster.

  Six years ago, he was driving after drinking too much alcohol. He killed a young woman. I was travelling by. The road was deserted, the woman was lying on the side, decapitated, and Declan was kneeling beside her with a gun trained on his own temple. I brought him to the compound and gave him a purpose in life. He’s saved three young women so far. No need for him to rot in jail. He is more useful for society this way.

  A few curls of hair obscure his face, so he tosses them back.

  “A new trend in the club?” Declan asks.

  “A healthy trend,” I say. “One healthy hole in life.”

  “Diversity is fun.”

  “It’s boring when you’re my age.”

  He nods several times. “Where do they sell such sweet flowers as yours?”

  “Such flowers are a true rarity, Declan. I was lucky to get my own. You need to put in more effort.”

  He nods as his eyes wander off before they meet mine. “How’s Alexandra?”

  “Go visit Tank and check it for yourself.”

  “Maybe I’ll visit him.”

  “Visit them next week.” I pat his shoulder. “Just to make sure everything is as it should be.”

  “Thanks, Prez.”

  I sigh as I sink my fingers into my hair.

  I sometimes feel like the boys and girls’ momma not their President.

  Poppy

  Fiona fills the bathtub with hot water and ushers me into it. I stretch my body out in the pleasant warmth as steam rises in magical clouds scented with strawberry. Fiona shaves my legs with a razor and shoves a toothbrush into my hand.

  “So what’s your story, Poppy?”

  “I’m just Poppy.” I sit on my heels. “My dad died and my stepmom wanted to kill me. Tank saved me and then Jackson saved me.”

  “You poor kid.”

  “I’m rich. I mean I was rich before. We had maids and cooks and a big house. As big as a castle. But I love it here. I love it much more here.”

  Fiona puts some shampoo onto my hair and massages my skull with her fingertips. “Is Jackson gentle with you?”

  “He’s very nice. Weird but nice.”

  She chuckles. “Is he nice in bed?”

  I think feverishly because I don’t know whether I understand her question. “You mean…?”

  “Yes, I’m asking whether he’s not too rough with you. You’re not one of the club’s sluts. He should be gentle with you.”

  “We never…”

  “No?” She rolls her eyes and lifts herself, reaching up for a towel.

  I step out of the bathtub and she throws the towel over my back.

  We exit the bathroom and she chooses the cloth
es for me. I put on a black dress with the tulle hem exposing my thighs. It has a tight leather bodice. It’s very indecent, but Fiona nods at me. She dries my hair and straightens it. I start protesting when she tries to apply make-up to my face. She looks at me sternly.

  I clench my hands in front of my stomach. “I’ve tried mascara a few times and I always rub my face and there’re black smudges. I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on you, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not good at being a woman. I can be Poppy, but I can’t be a woman.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m here to help. Always.”

  Her words fill me with courage and strength. She’s like…

  Stop thinking, Poppy.

  I bob my head. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Jackson

  Silence falls upon the bar. It’s a strange silence as though time has stopped and the people have frozen. I raise my eyes and see my flower walk over to my table. Fuck me. I knew Fiona would make her look beautiful, but what I can see is much more. My wife is a sexy little temptress. I rise to my feet and shoot my arms towards Poppy, yanking her to me.

  We sit down on the couch and I pull my little wife into my lap. I nuzzle my nose against her neck and breathe her in. She smells of jasmine and her own musk. Delicious.

  Fiona disappears upstairs. Amy delivers a bottle of vodka to my table.

  It feels so good.

  Quiet tunes of sensual music float in the air, muffled by the voices of my boys. The girls sway their hips, delivering more food and drinks.

  Everything seems to be as usual. No, everything is different. It’s so new because of Poppy. No naked boobs. No fucking out in the open.

  So damn very good.

  The chick in my lap moves as the tulle hem of her dress rustles. I tip the bottle up to my lips and take a decent sip. The alcohol burns down my throat.

  “Are you having fun, Poppy?” I bury my face into her neck.

  Her body shivers in my arms. I want her to relax, to enjoy me as much as I’m enjoying her.

  Fiona returns to the bar. She’s changed her clothes and her hair is still damp. Poppy waves her hand to her. I don’t like the prospect of their friendship. Poppy is mine. Only mine. She and Fiona seem to be getting too close.

  “You want a glass of wine?” I ask.

  Poppy shakes her head. “No, thank you.”