“Anything,” she whispers.
“I can’t look at you, though.”
A drop of wetness touches my shoulder and I know she’s crying. I feel like a dick, but I can’t look at her face, not now and definitely not while I’m inside of her. She releases me, and I feel her shift.
I close my eyes, inhaling through my nose, then sit up. Standing, I turn around to see that she’s on all fours, her ass in view, and her pussy gleaming with wetness.
Silently, I drag my fingers through her wet pussy, swirling them around her clit before I slip two inside of her. She moans, pushing against my hand, as my fingers fuck her.
I watch her body, her hips moving back and forth, fucking my fingers and my cock aches to be inside of her. I know she’s warm and tight, and no matter how pissed off I am at her, nothing is better than the feel of my woman.
Sliding my fingers from her center, I move my hands to her hips and jerk her entire body back to the edge of the bed. Slamming my cock inside of her, I groan when I’m completely at the root, her body enveloping my own.
“Fuck,” she hisses.
Reaching back, I slap her ass, watching as a red handprint appears. “I don’t want to hear your voice,” I growl.
Using her hips, I push them forward as I pull out of her, then I wrench them back as I surge forward. I’m fucking her harder than I have in weeks.
The guilt that I should have, doesn’t make any type of appearance. I expect her to scream, to cry out, or to ask me to be more careful. She doesn’t, so I don’t control myself.
There’s no other word for what I’m doing right now, other than, angry fucking her. I am pissed, too. Each time I sink inside of her my anger hitches higher.
How fucking dare, she hide something this important to me.
How fucking dare, she leave herself and our child in danger.
How fucking dare, she not trust me.
How fucking dare, her.
Closing my eyes, I fuck, and I fuck her hard. I give not a single shit if she’s in pain, even if in the back of my mind I know that I should. I’m too livid to care right now.
I slap her ass again, then the other cheek, over and over. I’m slapping her too hard, fucking her too rough, but I can’t stop. I need to punish her and make her feel as fucking shitty as I feel right now.
When I’m close I don’t come inside of her, she doesn’t deserve it. I feel her pussy flutter and then it clenches around my cock as she rears back and screams with her release.
Pulling out of her immediately, I jack my cock and watch as my cum shoots in ribbons all over her ass, dripping down the crack, and I wish I would have fucked her asshole instead.
My eyes scan over her. Ginger’s ass is painted redder than I’ve ever left it before, there’s cum leaking down her crack and her pussy looks swollen.
I stumble backward, disgusted with myself for leaving her that way, especially since she’s pregnant. I had no fucking control and it makes me sick to my stomach.
When my back hits the wall, I sink down to my ass. Placing my arms on my knees, I hang my head in shame.
We stay silent, unmoving, our breathing being the only sounds in the room. About fifteen minutes go by before I hear her moving around.
I don’t look up, not wishing to see the hurt in her eyes or the sadness in her face. Then I feel her sink down next to me, she rests her head on my bicep and I hold my breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, repeating her words from earlier.
“Me too,” I grunt.
We don’t say anything else. We stay quiet until my ass goes numb and I’m sure hers is too. Lifting my head, I look over at her. I expect to see her differently, but she still just looks like my woman, my Georgia peach.
Moving my arm from where her head rests, I wrap my hand in the back of her hair and press my lips to hers in a hard, bruising kiss. “I’m still pissed off,” I growl against her lips.
“I know,” she breathes.
“I fuckin’ love you, peaches,” I whisper, resting my forehead against hers.
She smiles, it’s sad, but her lips tip in a grin anyway. “I love you too, Pres.”
That’s it.
No more words are needed.
We have shit we definitely need to discuss, but at the end of the day we love one another, and that is all that matters. I don’t want to lose her over something like this, and yet, I want to be clear that if this shit happens again, she will lose me.
It sounds harsh, but the way I live my life, I cannot have a woman who hides things from me, no matter the intentions.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GINGER
Warmth slides through me when I glance at the man at my side. We’re on our way home with a can of light pink paint in the bed of his truck. I thought that I’d messed up to the point where I lost him. I didn’t.
After we fucked yesterday, and that’s exactly what we did—fucked, or rather he fucked me, we went home and laid low all day long. I’m wondering when Free will give him the notes he hasn’t seen, and although I’m anxious, I’m not scared. He needs to see them and be fully aware of what we’re dealing with.
Today, he and his father are painting the nursery, and I’m making both of them dinner. I didn’t think they would both sit at our table, ever.
Something has changed between them, but Prescott hasn’t told me what, or why. At this point, I’m kind of afraid to ask him about it.
Pulling into our driveway, I’m surprised to see that both Free and Orville are standing on our front porch. I smile and wave at them, but both look like they’re pissed off, so my hand slowly drops to my side.
Glancing over to Prescott, I notice that his jaw is clenched, and his hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white.
“What’s going on, Pres?” I ask, shifting my gaze from his hands to his profile.
He shifts the pickup into park and slowly turns toward me. “Not sure yet, but something, and I have a feeling it has to do with your admirer.”
My eyes widen, shaking my head once before I lift my fingers to my lips. “Prescott,” I whisper.
He reaches up and wraps his hand around my wrist, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Nothing is going to hurt you, peaches. I won’t allow it, and my club won’t allow it. You’re safe and had you told me about this shit from the beginning, you’d be safer. That’s done though, and we’ll work with what we got.”
“I was trying to be brave,” I murmur.
He snorts and lifts his chin, his lips tipping into a grin. “Georgia peach, you can be the bravest girl in the cemetery, or you can be the smartest one breathing and living a good life.” I bite the corner of my lip thinking about his words. He’s right. I feel stupid, really stupid, and selfish—so fucking selfish. “Let’s go see what they have to say, then we’ll paint this room, and enjoy a first-ever Gordon family dinner,” he shrugs.
I watch him jump out of the truck, his words, seemingly light and easy, but the depth is there. First ever Gordon family dinner. He wants more, and he’s hoping for more, especially now that we have a baby coming.
He wants his father back. I don’t blame him, not a single bit. Fifteen years apart has left a nasty open wound between one another, and the only thing that can fix it is time and stability.
“Lucifer’s been spotted in Shasta by the original charter. Don’t know if he’s got a lead up here, but that’s a little too close for my personal fucking comfort,” Orville growls.
This man sounds terrible, and I don’t know much about him, but the way he has everybody on edge, and Hayden in hiding, I know that he has to be pure evil. Plus, I doubt his road name is a joke, like some of the other men’s names. I have a feeling that he earned that shit.
“What about the Aryan?” Prescott grunts.
Orville looks down at me, then back at Pres. “Let’s get inside before we talk,” he sighs.
I have a feeling that it’s bad, in fact, all of this is bad. Between the Aryans, an
d Lucifer, we’re in a heap of shit. It’s as if the nightmare with the Aryans will never end. Just when I think it’s over, and start feeling comfortable—poof, they appear.
Unlocking the house, I let Orville and Free inside while Prescott grabs the pale pink paint from the back of the truck. He’s bound and determined to get this baby’s room painted today, and the fact that he is, makes me fall for him that much more.
“How are you doing, Ginger?” Orville asks, glancing from my stomach to my face. I give him a shaky smile and a shrug. Not able to speak, my emotions are rolling through me like a freaking roller coaster. “Figured as much,” he mutters.
We all make our way into the living room and I sit down in my favorite chair, kicking my shoes off before curling my legs beneath me. Prescott walks into the room a few seconds later and walks directly to my side, not skipping a beat.
“She don’t know who that guy is, just that she remembers him. I think it’s time you tell her,” Prescott announces. I glance up at him, but he’s staring directly at his father.
Orville clears his throat, then he lets out a long sigh. “That man, the one who came into the bar. He is the head of the entire Canadian Aryan Brotherhood, Samuel Jones. They’re a fairly newly formed white-supremacist organization, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. They gave your information, and your whereabouts, to Cartel who took you and smuggled you over the border. Those fucks in the US may be hiding and scared shitless, but he’s not, and he’s on a mission, still.”
Hugging my belly, I don’t look anywhere but Orville when I speak. “I thought all that stuff, with the Cartel and the Aryans, that it was all done and over with?” I whisper.
Orville shakes his head once, his eyes staying on me. “It is, darlin’. Problem is, Samuel Jones is a sick and twisted motherfucker. Rumor is, he didn’t like the way shit went down and wants to keep the mission going. He has a record and can’t get to the US to harvest women, so he’s starting in his own backyard. And rumor also is, he liked you when he had you, and you’re going to be his queen.”
My stomach immediately revolts. Jumping to my feet, I run as quickly as I can toward the bathroom and make it just in time. Prescott is on my heels and gently pulls my hair back from my face as I finish emptying the contents of my stomach.
Standing on shaky legs, I splash water on my face as he flushes the toilet. Then I cup my hands and swish water around in my mouth. When I finally lift my head, I look at myself in the mirror. Prescott is behind me and he looks like a mixture of pissed off and worried.
“I didn’t know.”
He grunts. “No shit, peaches. If I thought you knew, I’d be handling us much differently right now.”
Tears fill my eyes, then anxiety fills me up. All of his letters and pictures, they weren’t just to scare me, he’s going to try and take me.
He’s letting me sit and think about it, torturing me, and then he’s going to strike. That man is pure evil, I remember him, and I know that there is no way there is enough protection to keep him away from what he wants.
“I got you, Ginger. Nothing will happen to you,” he whispers.
I turn around and press my palms to his chest, tipping my head back. “I want to believe you, Pres. I really, really do. But that man, he’s fucking crazy,” I breathe.
Prescott lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine. “I know, peaches. That’s why you’re staying with me, or two of my men, always, until we catch him.”
I want to tell him that it won’t matter, that he’ll just bowl them all over. I saw him in action, only once, and that was enough to scare me for the rest of my life. I want to have faith in Prescott and in his men, but I can’t, not when it comes to this.
Prescott wraps his arm around my shoulder and guides me back toward the living room. Free and Orville watch me walk into the space, pity clearly written all over their faces and I hate it. Inhaling a deep breath, I slowly sit down in my chair again.
“Now, what happens next?” I whisper.
Orville lifts his chin. “We need to draw him in and take him down. He cannot have the upper hand.”
“Not using my woman as bait,” Prescott growls.
Orville shakes his head, his green eyes directed right at Prescott. “Are you going to hide and wait? Because he’s a snake in the grass and he’ll strike when you least expect it. Then what will happen when your woman is gone, your baby is gone, and you have no fucking clue where he is?”
“That shit won’t happen, she’ll have protection,” Prescott shouts.
Orville looks down at his feet, then his gaze lifts again and his voice softens. “Don’t know much about your crew, son. Been around them a little bit, see that they all seem loyal. But honest to shit, it only takes one who isn’t to fuck you over.” He speaks like he has experience in this, and the sadness that’s pouring from him, it makes me believe that even more.
Reaching up, I wrap my hand around Prescott’s wrist. “They lie in wait, Pres. All the women they took, they took them when they were the most vulnerable. When their Old Men died, or when they were fighting with them. When they were broken up and alone. Most of the men that were still alive were like you, thought the women had just run off,” I whisper.
“I know you ain’t going anywhere ever again, so I won’t fall for that,” he states.
Shaking my head, I squeeze his wrist again, giving it a small shake. He closes his eyes slowly and then turns back to his father. “What’s your plan, old man?” he asks.
SNAKE
My father looks between me and Ginger, then tells us his plan. It’s fucking crazy, just like the old coot. I want to tell him no, absolutely not. However, Samuel Jones is also crazy, and no sane plan would ever work to get rid of him.
My dad knows more than I’m comfortable with about Jones’ crew. His numbers are small but growing at a rapid pace. His army is building slowly but surely, and he’s beginning to infiltrate the bigger cities and gather backing from a few of the larger clubs.
I was stupid to believe that the changes in times, that they were making the Aryans obsolete. However, that’s not the case and I fucking hate it.
The thought of their group, existing, it makes me physically ill. Then there’s the fact that he wants my woman, mine. Fuck him. He’s dead and I’m going to enjoy being the one who puts him down.
“Let’s do it,” I grunt.
“Snake,” Free warns.
He knows how dangerous this could be, and it puts Ginger at a huge risk, but I need this fucker off my back and six-feet under. Shaking my head, I hold up my hand.
“I want him gone, brother. I want that group scrambling and hurting when I take their leader out. Then, I want to dismantle the rest of them. One by one. There’s no place, or need for them in the world.”
“You ain’t God, brother,” Free murmurs. If I didn’t know him better, I would ask if he was a sympathizer of their cause, but I’ve known Free my whole life and there’s no way that’s possible. “Might not be God, but this group is full of sick fucks. I will not have a repeat of what happened the last time. They want to breed, they do it by getting their own women, not by taking ours.”
“Fair enough, let’s kill some neo-Nazi scumbags,” Free growls.
My dad smirks as Free leans over and rests his elbows on his knees. “This plan is kind of scary,” Ginger whispers from next to me.
“You trust me?” I ask her, lifting my hand to wrap it around the back of her neck.
Her body tenses and then it melts as her eyes lift to meet mine. “Always, Prescott,” she whispers. Her words, they wash over me, and I needed them. Fuck, did I need them. Giving her a nod, I grin.
“Trust that I’ll take care of you, peaches. The plan may be unorthodox, but we got this, and you’ll have every Devil in my club at your back.”
She gives me a jerky nod. “I want him gone,” she whispers.
“Go upstairs, rest for a while. Me and Dad are going to paint the nursery, then we’ll do d
inner,” I instruct, and she sucks her lips in.
“Aren’t you going to devise your great plan and give instructions?” she asks. She looks adorable, determined, and downright fearless. I fucking love it.
Squeezing the back of her neck, I smile. “We will, but first, painting our baby girl’s room takes priority,” I wink.
I help her stand, and watch as she walks up the stairs, her gorgeous ass swaying with each move she makes. Staying silent, I wait until I hear the bedroom door close behind her. “When do we do this shit?” I ask in a low grumble.
“I say two weeks from now,” my dad shrugs.
I run my hand over my face. “He’ll think we’ve lightened security on her because he’s going to lie low until we do anyway. Is two weeks enough?”
My dad shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not, but the longer we wait, the more chance we have of Lucifer showing up. Honest to shit, I don’t know how any crew can hold off two demons at the same time.”
He’s right. I’m going to need all of my men for both jobs. Samuel Jones and his Aryan bullshit needs to be dealt with first, then I can focus on Lucifer and whatever bullshit he brings to my backyard. I let out a sigh, sitting down in the chair that Ginger just vacated.
“Call emergency church tonight to go over all of this shit,” I order Free.
He lifts his chin and stands. “I’m on it, Snake. We got this, and we’re going to get your woman taken care of.”
I watch Free turn and walk out of my house, the front door closing quietly behind him. Turning to my old man, I have to admit that I’m glad he’s here. I haven’t forgotten, nor have I forgiven him for anything—but I’m glad he’s here during all of this turmoil. “Let’s get this granddaughter of mine’s room painted,” he grunts as he stands from the sofa.
“You gonna stick around to meet her?” I ask.
I’ve been wondering it for the past few days. Wondering if he’s going to just jet out of here as soon as this shit is over, or when he’s had enough and doesn’t want to do the family thing anymore.
He shakes his head. “Not going anywhere, son, not now, and probably not for a long fucking time.”
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