by S. J. Blaze
“It’s true,” I jest while shaking his hand with my left as the right has been Coen confiscated. “I do leave it on the rare occasion.”
Coen shifts his attention to the new intrusion. “Brantley, how are you? Thank you for all of your hard work on the account.” Apparently, holding my hand wasn’t enough, because he releases it and puts it around my shoulder, drawing Brantley’s attention.
“Of course, but as you know, it was really Charlie that took this merger to bat.”
“Yes,” Coen agrees and kisses my cheek, in front of my boss. “She’s quite a woman!”
“She’s quite a lawyer,” Brantley corrects him. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get on without you for the summer,” he says to me, shaking his head.
I feel the pressure on my shoulder double and Coen stiffen. “Yes, it’ll be quite challenging for all of us to manage without her.” He nods while forcing a half smile.
After Brantley leaves, Coen whispers in my ear. “We’ll talk about this later.” Then he continues his conversations without me. Business as usual.
If we ever did get together, have an actual relationship, with dates, dinners, theatre, would this be my life? He’s here and he’s not. He wants to be with me and then I don’t see or hear from him for weeks. I know he’s upset now, but he doesn’t have any right to be, does he? What is it with these men?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Today is a perfect example of the juxtaposition of my life. Yesterday, I was on a yacht with some of the most influential people in the north-east US, while today I’m on a bike heading for a barbeque with a bunch of tatted roughed up bikers.
Bully showed up at my place at around ten ready to go. And despite some intense arguing, I got my way and rode Abbey here, solo. Bully rides up first, nods to the Prospect who opens up the gates, then we are through and parking our bikes side by side.
As I’m making my way off the bike, Bullet comes over and unclips my helmet. He starts with the rules. I can’t drink, I can’t talk, I can’t fight, I can’t…I can’t…I can’t. Why the hell did I come, again?
I roll my eyes. I’ve been here enough times over the years that he’d know I got this by now.
He grabs my chin and sternly looks me over.
“I’m serious, Shooter. Can’t have anything happen to ya!”
“Then why’d you bring me?”
He shakes his head and starts rummaging through my saddlebags. I bought some stuff for Harley and for Rage and Big D for their ceremony naming thing.
Instead of walking through the clubhouse, we walk around to the back. There are tons people here today. Lawn chairs are lined up in circles filled with all types of grizzlies, children chase each other screaming, and against the fence there are tables covered with food and the women standing guard over it.
“Auntie Shooter,” is screamed from the sweetest little voice. I bend down and pick up the little thing running towards me and smack kisses all over her. At only four and a half, Harley has long dark blonde hair that’s always a loose mess around her perpetually dirty face. But what I love the best about her is her eyes. She has her uncle’s eyes. The world calls the color hazel so monotonous and uninspiring. But in my world it’s interwoven strings of golds, bronzes, and yellows all ringed in glossy black. And at times, it’s pure fire and rage.
I grab the gifts for Harley out of Bull’s hands and run off to play. It’s the safest route. I’m here loving my girl and staying out of trouble.
After we stuff our faces with burgers and chips for lunch, we end up on the ground with Harley doing all sorts of dreadful things to my hair. I have a backwards braid in the front, like a unicorn horn, and several barrettes, bows, and ponytails all around. Thank goodness she forgot to bring her makeup case today or I’d look like a Goth Barbie clown right now.
Zoning out, I watch Bull as he speaks animatedly with Rage. Bullet is wearing his cut today over a white tee. He looks to be in his element; he looks happy and he must feel my stare because he turns in my direction and smirks, then winks while he says something to his brother. Rage stretches his neck to check out his daughter’s handiwork. They both start chuckling and resume their talk.
“Pssttt, Harley. Let’s go tickle Uncle Bullet.” It never hurts to have a coconspirator.
We stay low to the ground as we jump out and surprise Bullet and start tickling him relentlessly. We’re screaming and laughing, and of course, over powered. Now on the ground he looms over us readying for another round.
“Run Harley, save yourself!” I scream and she runs towards her mom screaming about how ‘Uncle Bull is gonna tickle kill Auntie.’
“Dirty girl, what have you started?” I stick my tongue out and he jumps on top of me straddling my legs and goes back to his torture. “Had enough?” He laughs out.
“Never!” I shake my head. “I’ve endured worse ticklers than you!”
He digs in for more when a booming voice above us shouts, “What are you doing to that poor girl, boy?” It’s Dallas, Rage’s stepdad.
“Well, sir, you see it’s like this.” I bat my eyes and play innocent. “I was just minding my own business when this biker mauled me and began his vicious attack.” I’m trying and failing to keep a straight face.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re full of shit, Shooter girl?” Ha, you’d think these hams were blood related the way they treat me. Bull laughs a real deep belly laugh and helps me off the ground.
“Oh, he’s got you pegged, baby!” Bull slaps my ass. I glare at him and then turn my attention to the old man.
“You’re real funny, Dallie.” I lean over and give the bear a hug. He pats me on the back, laughing.
“You’re just too easy little girl.” He winks and then sits next to Rage, who has been laughing at us.
I straighten up and tuck a freaky ponytail behind my hair. “Ohhhh, you messed up my hair. I’m gonna tell Harley, you’re in so much trouble.” I give him the middle finger salute and saunter away.
As the sun sets and the air chills, the kids are forced to go home and go to bed. One of the old ladies is on babysitter duty, so Big D and some of the others can stay and party. I feel an immediate shift when the kids leave. The music is turned up, food is replaced with spirits, and the club whores plow in. There’s a fresh round of men piling in, too.
Pretty soon, I notice everyone is forming a circle outside and Rage’s hog has been moved to the center. I’m not sure where to stand since Bullet disappeared, so I join Star and Dallas. I skim over every face as we stand nearly facing each other and awaiting. I finally spy Bullet across the way, when Dallas stretches over Star to ask if I’ve ever been to an Old Lady patch ceremony. I shake my head, which results in his cackling into near convulsions.
“Oh, you’re gonna love this girlie.”
We wait a few more minutes when I notice Big D walk out in a robe. Wasn’t she wearing jeans seconds ago, why’s she dressed that way? She continues her journey until she’s in front of Rage. Together, they listen intently as the Prez speaks quietly to them.
They both nod and Big D drops her robe in the middle of all these people staring at her. Holy fuck. I see all the men start smiling and grabbing at the girls around them.
Rage is wearing nothing but his cut and jeans. He grabs Big D’s hand and leads her to his bike. He climbs on, unzips his pants, and pulls his cock out. I slap my hands over my eyes and I know Dallie saw because he’s in near hysterics. He knew I’d react like this. Why the hell did Bull bring me to see this? I mean, I’ve seen sex tons but not Rage or D. Even with my hands over my face my eyes are squeezed tight with trying to block out those images.
I part my fingers to take a quick peek. Despite my disgust with this little ceremony, I’m still curious. Yup, they’re going at it on top of his bike. I hear moaning but it isn’t only coming from the center of the circle, it’s coming from all around. I remove my hands and notice several sweet butts on their knees already sucking guys off. Is this a fucking orgy? Did Bul
let really invite me to an orgy? No fucking way!
I look back to the spot where I last saw Bullet and notice he’s watching me. There are people fucking and touching all around him, but he’s watching the chicken shit with her hands over her eyes. He looks tense, too. His shoulders are pressed back and his hands fisted at his side. Raging Bull. He notices the shock still apparent on my face and walks over to me, cutting right through the circle to reach me. He passes right by his brother fucking his old lady but manages to keep his eyes on me. Grabbing me by one of the many braids that Harley gifted me and wrenching my head back, he smacks his lips hard onto my own. A hard possessive kiss.
Dallas starts laughing next to us. “When are you gonna lock yours down, Bullet head?”
Bullet glares at him. “Mind your own fucking business, old man.” His gaze softens when he turns back to me. “You okay, baby?” I nod and swallow. This little event caught me off-guard. Why would anyone ever want to be an old lady? I mean look how you’re treated. “You’re wrong,” he whispers closer to my ear. His soft words drown out the moaning and debauchery of everything surrounding us.
“This is the highest compliment a brother can give his lady. Their names will be tatted on each other forever. It isn’t like divorce. You’re a brother for life, an old lady for life. Some women wait forever to be given a property patch. It’s an honor, baby. You should view it as you would a religious ceremony or something. With reverence.”
“So, if you were in love with someone and wanted her to be yours you’d have to fuck her in front of all your brothers and whomever was there to watch and you’d be cool with that?”
He pulls back, his eyes brighter, the golds reflecting the moon’s light. Fucking stunning. His thumb lazily traces my nose and down to my lips. “If I loved someone enough to promise them forever, I don’t know, I think I wouldn’t be able to share her. But then again, the thought of her wearing my patch, the thought of her branded with my name…” He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. After a moment of silence, he opens them and they laser in on me powerfully. “Anything would be worth that,” he grinds out hoarsely. With that he kisses me firmly and walks into the house.
The ceremony finishes with a loud crescendo. There are screams of passion from all directions, including Dallas. Gross. Big D gets her property cut presented and after she puts it on, everyone cheers and officially welcomes her into their family. I run to the bathroom to take down my sexy hairdo and freshen up. I don’t want to look like a total outsider, I already stick out enough.
Hair brushed, makeup on, clothes straightened and fixed, I’m feeling like myself again. That is until I walk out and notice the lights are dimmed low, and who do I see on Bullet’s lap? Tricks. The whore who doesn’t quit, like herpes or some other STD, which she probably has.
He’s so engrossed in his conversations that he’s not paying attention to her. Yet, there she sits, her stench lingering. I walk to the bar, hoping for a little something to ease the nasty that has crawled up my spine. Next to the bar, a rugged looking guy, who I’ve never seen asks, "Pussy or property?"
I know what he's asking. He wants to know if I'm a sweet butt or an old lady. "Neither."
"Can't be neither. Either you're property or you are pussy."
He eyes me up and down, stopping at my tits. I don't know what he sees. Compared to the other ladies here, I may as well be wearing a bourka. I'm in skinny soft denim jeans and a loose fitting V-neck black thermal t-shirt, partially tucked in the front. Nothing about me says sex kitten here. Normally people know to not fuck with me, but this guy appears to be new...not a Prospect, though. He's wearing the same cut as Bull and the rest, but he seems rougher.
May as well have some fun, it looks like everyone else is. "Well there..." I raise my brows expectedly waiting for him to provide his name.
His gruff voice spits out. "Gage." He quirks a shapely brow with a deep scar running through it. I notice his murky brown eyes and his tan weathered skin. I can't make out his age since it’s clear the road hasn’t been kind to him; maybe late twenties to mid-thirties. He's nicely built, though, and stands close to six feet tall.
"Gage. I assure you, I’m not pussy!" He doesn’t look like the type of guy who's used to hearing the word 'no '.
"Well, sugar, I think it’s time to change things." He grabs my arm and pulls me to him, handling me much rougher than I'm used to. I land harshly against his chest and I feel his big meaty hands on my ass. I can't see anything around the bear, so I don't know if Bullet or his family notice.
I give him one warning. "I really don't like to be touched. You should back the fuck off before you force my hand." I’m not in the mood to cause a scene, nor do I want to piss Bully off and break one of his rules.
But Gage laughs. "Oh, you sure are cute, sugar. I think we’re gonna have us some fun together." He leans in trying to shove his tongue in my mouth.
Jerking out of his reach, I jab my palm into his chin, thrusting him marginally backwards. Before he registers my next attack, I land an uppercut and cross, throwing him off balance. Next comes a knife-hand strike landing half an inch below his Adam’s apple, which instantly closes his throat. Unable to breathe, he lands on his knees while gripping his neck and hyperventilating. I hastily spin around as a Tornado Axe kick strikes across his chin. Hands loose, eyes roll back, and he lands flat on his back, motionless. Only seconds have elapsed since the onset and poor Gage is out, at least for the next few minutes.
I stand, straightening myself, and timidly look behind me. I’m hopeful this little interlude went unnoticed until I detect the unwanted attention. Eyeing the crowd, I’m yearning to avoid an irate Bully. No such luck. The snarl on his face substantiates that he bore witness to the entire debacle. Even the prominent vein in his forehead looks like it’s reaching out to lash at me.
Where’s a cute four-year-old to save me when I need one?
I should stick to tickle fights and unicorn braids.
I might not be equipped to navigate the adult world.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The week flew by. I was pulling ten-hour days on top of my time in court and had barely heard a word from Coen. He was mad that I was leaving for the summer, so instead of spending what little time we had together, we were apart. Man logic?
By Friday, I had endured enough and was determined to see him. We were leaving for the airport and on my way out I decided to stop in at CC and hand deliver the ‘engagement ring.’ Just knowing that I still had it, made me nervous. He needed it back and I needed to give it to him.
When I reached the receptionist’s desk, I gave them my name and waited to get thrown out. I was struggling to come up with a legal reason of why I should see Coen, when the receptionist politely said to go right on up.
On the thirty-fourth floor, I walk down the hall with that creepy déjà vu feeling lingering. Bypassing his vacant secretary’s desk, I knock on Coen’s closed door and after almost a minute, heard his call for me to enter.
He was on the phone barking orders at the caller. Unsure what to do, I stood in the door frame fiddling nervously with my fingernails. Is this what people feel like when they visit my office? Waiting for permission to move about the space freely? Finally glancing my way, he breaks out into a brilliant smile. His eyes light up and then...they turn cold. His face hardens and he abruptly ends his phone call.
“You’re leaving,” he says flatly, while studying whatever work lay in front of him.
I clear my clogged throat. “Yes. I wanted to stop in and say goodbye.”
He doesn’t respond, but continues working. Frustrated with being ignored, I walk around the desk and place the ring on the paperwork he’s so focused on. As I turn to leave, he grabs my hand and pulls me onto his lap. His hand rubs across my cheek, his thumb padding the bridge of my nose. He looks lost and sad as he sighs, leans his head onto my shoulder, and whispers, “Don’t go.”
I want to ask him, why? Why does he need me to stay when we never s
ee each other? When I don’t feel like I matter in his world. But instead, I rest my head next to his. I play with his hair at the base of his neck and enjoy this moment. It would be peaceful if I didn’t feel his sadness slinking into me. He inches his head to the side and begins peppering my neck with sweet little kisses. His hand that has been playing with my cheek glides to the base of my neck, holding me closer.
His lips part and charge into mine. I taste him and can’t help but emit a soft moan. I feel him smile against my lips and then he dives in for more. The pressure on my neck, the pressure on my lips, everything feels like its swelling and pulsing. He’s so slow with his movements, so careful, I can’t help but fall into it. His tongue sweetly tangles with mine and his left arm lowers to slide up my bare back. His skin on mine is sinful. Everything is buzzing and electrified. I pull him closer to me and shift on his lap so I can feel more of him against me.
I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to pull away. I want to dive. I want to drown. I want….
“Coen, this shit-storm you’ve got brewing with that…”
Oh shit…oh, shit, shit, shit! Greyson just barged into Coen’s office and is staring at us.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demands.
“You should really learn to knock, father,” Coen says flatly still clinging to me. I try to get out of his lap. The bucket of ice chilling my veins has ensured that happy times are indeed over, but I can’t budge.
He squints his eyes and points. “Is that the little lawyer? The one you were trumpeting around with all weekend?”
Okay, so he’s not a fan.
“You damn well know her name, father.” Coen sighs. “What is it that was so important?”
Greyson glares at me and puckers. “Why’s she here?” She? I thought I had a name? One Greyson couldn’t wait to get his hands on.
“Can this wait? I’m in the middle of something.”