Gunner (Devil's Tears MC Book 1)

by Daniela Jackson

  I see Sol sitting on the floor with one knee bent. There is a pond of water around her. Her right ankle is swollen and a delicate streak of redness encircles it.

  Sol is naked.

  I’ve never seen her naked, but I’ve imagined her naked body a thousand times. I’ve been jerking off thinking of her almost every evening since I turned fourteen.

  The sight of her naked body almost knocks me off my feet. She is more beautiful than I imagined. Her tits are perfect—large, topped with pink areolas, my erotic fantasy personified. My eyes flick over her slim thighs and fix on her dark pubic hair. Heat rushes to my dick.

  My hand jerks up and I put it on the back of my neck. I’m mesmerised.

  Our glances meet, and Sol winces. She braces her ankle with her hands.

  I wake up, grab a towel and lean over her, wrapping it around her, then I squat down to examine her ankle. My fingers palpate the site for any signs of fracture, but it’s only twisted.

  “It’s only twisted,” Sol growls my diagnosis out loud, tears trickling down her cheeks.

  I put a hand on her stomach. “Is the baby okay?”

  “It’s fine.”

  I massage her pregnant belly for a moment to soothe the baby then slide my arms under her knees and back, and lift her up. She feels weightless in my arms. She feels so fucking right in my arms.

  I carry her to the bedroom as the water dripping from her hair marks my way, and I lay her gently on the bed, tearing the towel off her. I dry her hair and cover her with the comforter.

  “Show is over,” Sol says with a delicate rasping. “You can go now.”

  “I just want to make sure the baby is okay.” I perch on the bed and smooth the comforter with my hand. “And your ankle needs some bandaging.”

  Sol rolls on her side and rests her cheek against the back of her hand. “You’d better fix the door in the bathroom.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  She’s so fucking beautiful. Perfect like an angel or a nymph.

  I lean over her and kiss her cheek then freeze for a moment, inhaling her tantalizing musk.

  “I can give you a hand job, that’s all,” Sol says.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, shithead.”

  “Fuck off with your hand job, Sol.”

  I rise to my feet in one motion and leave the bedroom, pushing the door on my way so it bangs against the wall.

  Like I said, I’m not a decent man.

  I bounce off Auntie Sive in the corridor.

  “How is she?” Sive signs.

  “Moody.” I kiss both her cheeks. “She’s just twisted her ankle in the bathroom.”

  Sive sighs as her hands collapse. Her good eye twitches and the muscles of her neck waver.

  “I’ll take care of her ankle,” I say and stroke her arm. “Don’t worry. I’m good with twisted ankles, remember?”

  I’ve twisted both my ankles many times. I know what to do.

  Sive rises on her tiptoes and pulls my arm to stroke my head. “I will make us some tea then.”

  I learned sign language when I was a kid. Every member of our family speaks that language so Sive doesn’t have to struggle while talking to us.

  Sol and Sive are very much alike—they share the same shade of hair and the same intriguing colour of the iris. They look like sisters. Sol is a bit taller than her mom is though.

  “Sure, Auntie.” I go to the bathroom and collect two rolls of elastic bandage with clips.

  Sol greets me with a glance of hatred as I pull at the comforter to uncover her legs and lean over her ankle.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “Just do your job,” Sol snaps.

  I wrap the bandage around her ankle in a spiral pattern, starting beneath the toes. My fingers tremble as I fasten it with the clips.

  “Done,” I say.

  “Get lost,” Sol says as her thank you.

  I salute her and walk out of the bedroom.

  Sive and I have our tea in the kitchen then I go to my house.

  My house is a tomb too.

  My mom is dead even though she’s still breathing. My dad is so sad I feel like there is a rock on my chest each time I glance at him. He always has a kind word for me though, like I’m a fucking saint, or a good kid. I’m a killer. A killer who killed his own brother. Why can’t my dad see that?

  I walk into the kitchen and see him wiping the kitchen worktop with a dampened cloth.

  “There’s food in the oven,” Dad says.

  “Thanks.”

  “She’s been difficult today, huh?”

  “No, not really.” I shake off my cut then remove my t-shirt stained with curry sauce and put it into the washing machine. “I can do the ironing tonight.”

  “Nikko has just done it.”

  “I can clean the bathroom.”

  “What about watching a movie and going to bed earlier?” Dad pours me a glass of apple juice.

  “I’ll sit with Mom then.”

  Dad nods, his green eyes glassy.

  I grab the glass and empty it in three gulps then go to my parents’ bedroom and perch on the bed. Mom is numb, lifeless, like a fucking embalmed corpse. Her wide cobalt eyes stare at the ceiling.

  I stroke her hand. “Sol’s baby is growing fast. It’s very healthy.”

  “Good,” she hums.

  “Are you tired?”

  “Yes.”

  I sit with her in silence for an hour then I go to have a shower. I can’t stop thinking about Sol’s tits. I can’t stop thinking about her little cunt.

  I jerk off as fantasies of her naked body fill my mind.

  The next morning, I go to the garage and Uncle Axel orders me to work with Hawk and learn about bike engines.

  “My sister still mean to everyone?” Hawk asks.

  He sweeps his shoulder length hair of almond shade away from his unshaven face as his grey eyes blaze with anger.

  He’s angry with Sol and her attitude. I know deep down he’s very worried, but his worry turns into anger each time we talk about her.

  “She’s tired, that’s all,” I say.

  Hawk nods several times. “I’m going for a drink with a few boys from the garage tonight, if you want to join us—“

  “I’m looking after Sol tonight.”

  Hawk raises his hands in a warding gesture. “Say my hello to her then.”

  “No problem, bro.” I rub my greasy hands against my jeans, leaving two black shiny smudges on the fabric.

  We bend forward to look into an SUV engine and we work in silence. Axel joins us fifteen minutes later, with two bottles of spring water in his hand.

  “How is Carrie?” Axel asks.

  Even though there is no emotion on his scarred face, I know he cares. He cares a lot.

  “Mom’s not eating, not sleeping, not talking,” I say.

  “It will be alright,” Axel says. He huffs out. “Heard about Sol’s ankle.”

  “I took care of her ankle,” I say.

  Axel nods as his jaw muscles twitch. “Good.” He threads his greasy fingers through his hair. “Tell her...” His voice falters and he clears his throat.

  “I will,” I say.

  Axel pats my shoulder. “Get back to work.”

  We work until 6 pm then I go home and have a shower. Dad gives me a basket filled with food for Sol and I go to her house.

  Sol

  Everything is grey.

  The heaviness sitting on my chest is suffocating grey.

  My surroundings are translucent grey.

  My future is mortally grey.

  Carrie would probably be shimmery grey for me, but she’s not visiting so I can’t tell for sure. I’d like her to visit, but she’s too weak, too broken. I killed her son, after all.

  I killed my baby’s father.

  I made an abrupt manoeuvre on my bike, a manoeuvre I shouldn’t have made, and that distracted Shay. My husband died because of my mistake.

  He was someone’s so
n, brother, friend. My husband.

  Gunner walks into the kitchen and puts a big basket on the table. The smell of homemade cake settles in my nostrils.

  “Dad’s made you some snacks,” he says.

  “Say my thank you to him.” I finish wiping the kitchen worktop and throw the dampened cloth into the sink.

  “How is your ankle?”

  “Fine.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “No.”

  I can see him grit his teeth.

  It’s been like a dance of destruction, this thing between us since Shay’s death—Gunner is nice and caring, and I’m pissing him off. Anger will seep out of him and I will retreat. He will cool, and I will simmer. It’s like we kill each other every day, but we never clash and never disconnect either.

  I hate him because he reminds me of what I did. And I need him because he feels as guilty as me. We’re in this shit together. I need someone to carry this enormous bag of guilt with me. It’s selfish, unfair. It keeps me sane.

  Our hell of pain and rage.

  “How is the baby, Sol?”

  “Naughty.”

  His eyes fill with concern and that really pisses me off.

  Gunner Junior is a tough guy who can slit a man’s throat if that was needed.

  He is soft only with me. He’s always been soft with me. Aphrodite, my cousin, hates him. Cindy and Daisy, my two other cousins, have always kept their distance. Only I’ve had the privilege of being with the soft part of Gunner.

  He steps forward and leans towards me, putting his palm on my pregnant belly.

  I’ve always felt like a dwarf in his presence. He is tall like his dad, and nicely built, but not massive. His muscles have been shaped by regular workout, but Gunner has never been addicted to the gym or obsessed with dieting like most guys. A tattoo adorns his back—it’s a wolf’s head.

  He has Carrie’s beautiful blue eyes, but his hair is auburn, like leaves in autumn. He has his dad’s sweet gentleness when he is with me and nobody can see us. Women would kill for his boyish allure and his kissable lips. I don’t blame them. He is a pretty boy.

  Shay had this allure too and he had very kissable lips. He was a nice guy with me and with the whole world. He didn’t kill anybody. He never ended up behind bars. He wanted to be a doctor like my aunt, Athena.

  Gunner Junior? He has a dark side no doubt. He likes living on the edge.

  Gunner inhales deeply and his hot breath puffs on my cheek as his hand massages my belly. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I feel suffocated by his closeness.

  “Get off me,” I say.

  Jeez. His care for me is sometimes unnerving. He likes touching my pregnant belly at every opportunity for some mysterious reason.

  “Just wanted to make the baby feel happy,” he rasps.

  “They say happy mom—happy baby, right?”

  “Something like that.” He pinches a wisp of my hair then sweeps it away from my face.

  There is something dark in his eyes. It’s hinted with menace; it’s primal and it’s burning, like yesterday when he stared at my naked breasts and my pussy.

  Our glances collide. He bends his neck and slams his lips on mine. I manage only a sigh as his tongue thrusts in and he grips the back of my neck. My knees bend and I feel dizzy. The kiss deepens as his mouth almost violates mine.

  Heat surges through my veins. My heart races. My body shivers at Gunner’s wildness and dominance. My mind screams ‘no’.

  I pull away, limping on my injured foot. Then I sweep my hand, slapping him across the cheek.

  He glances at me as though he wants to kill me, so I step back and turn around, but his arms wrap around my chest from behind and we bend over the kitchen table. My elbows rest against the top.

  “Are you mad?” I gasp.

  “I’ve changed my mind about that hand job.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Sol,” he rasps into my ear and growls.

  He nibbles on my earlobe as his scorching breath tickles my skin.

  Fucking hell. He’s never done anything like this before. He’s never touched me like this before. I know he had a crush on me, but that was a long time ago. We grew up in one MC, after all.

  I feel his hips moving against my ass. I feel his hard dick through the fabric of his jeans and my dress. His erection is massive.

  “Gunner, I’m warning you.”

  Shay never did anything like this to me. He was so gentle, so patient. So sweet.

  Gunner is dangerous.

  Yet, I feel myself getting wet between my thighs.

  Gunner is wild like the wind howling in the high mountains and that primal wildness of his is infecting me, breaking me, killing me. Making me crave more and more of him.

  Chapter 2

  Gunner

  She gasps as I loosen the grip around her chest. I’m fucking insane.

  She’s pregnant and injured, and I’m behaving like a fucking ravenous animal.

  “Sol, baby…” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Okay,” she says and straightens as her hand dives under her dress and she wiggles.

  I freeze at the realisation of what the meaning of her movements is—she’s sliding her panties down. They wrap around her ankles and she steps out of them clumsily, guarding her twisted ankle.

  Her fierce gaze shifts to mine as one corner of her lips rises.

  “So, are you going to fuck me or not?” She winks at me and puts her elbows on the table as her ass rubs against my dick.

  My heart races like mad. “You want to go to bed?”

  “No.” Her voice has this sultry rasping of hers, making me feel absolutely mad.

  I don’t hesitate.

  I open my trousers as my rationality evaporates without a trace. My hard dick springs free and I hold it, stroking myself up and down. I gather Sol’s dress up to her waist, exposing her perfect round ass.

  My fingers travel to the back of her neck, and I brush her skin with my fingertips, delicate circles.

  “No,” she says.

  She doesn’t want any foreplay? Fine. We can snuggle after we have sex. Now, I need to fuck. I need to fuck her. That’s my most primal and my most important need.

  I line up my cock with her entrance and push in. She gasps as her shoulders dip and she stretches her arms out on the table.

  “Sol,” I rasp.

  Her cunt clamps around me, so hot and tight that I see stars in my head.

  “Jeez, you’re big, Gunner.”

  “We don’t have to—“

  “Don’t stop.”

  Heat shoots to my toes as I push my dick deeper inside her then thrust into her gently so the baby in her womb doesn’t get hurt. I’m on the brink just being inside her. She’s the love of my life, after all.

  Her breathing accelerates, becomes sharper, louder.

  “Harder,” she gasps and pushes her ass against my hips.

  “Sol, baby, you’re pregnant.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I chuckle, stroking the lower of her back. The dense power of my desire for her is all that guides me. I cup her ass cheeks in my hands and thrust into her harder, faster. She starts panting.

  It’s so good with her.

  No—

  It’s never been this good because all the other women I’ve had were not her.

  Her breathing halts, and she arches her back, letting out a moan of pleasure. Her inner walls contract around my cock, pushing me over the edge. I growl as I empty myself into her cunt and an earth-shattering orgasm surges through me.

  There is blackness in my head, deafening nothingness, then the sensation of something ultimately pure and good.

  My cock slips out, and I pull Sol up, enclosing her with my arms. I kiss her cheek and massage her stomach.

  “Sol, baby, I love you so much. It will be alright. I’m gonna look after you and your baby.”

  I will buy a small house.

  I will marry her in a nice chapel.

 
; I will cook for her, clean for her, even iron for her.

  I will carry her in my arms so she won’t get tired.

  I will look after the baby like it’s mine by blood.

  She will rest and maybe ride her motorcycle if she feels like it. Or on my motorcycle. Hell yeah. I’d love to have her on my bike with her soft body clinging to mine.

  “Get off me,” she growls and separates herself from me like I’m some fucking tarantula.

  Her hands rise dramatically as she looks at me with such repulsion that my blood turns into ice.

  “This...” she gasps. “This didn’t happen.”

  “Oh really? My cum is trickling down your thighs, Sol.”

  She sweeps her hand. “It didn’t happen.”

  “Yeah, really. What was that ‘harder, harder’ of yours?” I mimic her voice.

  She shows me her middle finger. “Get out of my house.”

  “Let’s talk, Sol.” My jaws clench as my fingers roll into fists.

  “Fuck you, Gunner. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want your fucking help.”

  “Fuck you, too, Sol.”

  I back up and leave the house. A decent man would have probably begged her for a sensible conversation, but the angry animal inside me wanted to force her on all fours and fuck her again to punish her, so it was better to leave.

  I wander around the garage like a brainless zombie until it’s dark and chilly. Ominous clouds layer the sky, obscuring the silver crescent of the moon. As I walk towards the front door of my house, I see my dad sitting on the stairs leading to the veranda. His frame is illuminated by the light penetrating the glass in the front door.

  I drop onto the lower step and a cloud of vapour leaves my mouth. The chill bites my face like tiny needles.

  “How’s Mom?” I put my hands on my knees.

  “Asleep.”

  “Good. She needs some rest. Yeah, it will do her good.”

  “How are you, Gunner Junior?”

  Right, this question means he already knows I have just fucked something up.

  He knows everything, always, like he can read my mind.

  His long grotesque body waves as he squeezes my shoulder. My mom loves him so much and he’s so fucking ugly. The doctors he saw two years ago suspected he had mild Marfan Syndrome, but it’s not confirmed. He’s in good shape, so we’re not overly worried about it.