Blood & Bones: Trip (Blood Fury MC Book 1)

by Jeanne St. James

  “Trip,” she breathed.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “You going to take all day?”

  He snorted and stilled deep inside her. Tilting his hips sharply, he reminded her who was on top. “Goin’ too slow for you?”

  “I’d like to come before I have to open the bar. Or I grow cobwebs.”

  “You came when I ate your pussy and fingered your ass.”

  “And?”

  “And you got yours the way you like it, lemme get mine now.”

  He was only fucking with her because he damn well planned on making her come again. This woman got as slick as shit, and when she came...?

  Fuck.

  Trip just about lost it immediately every damn time. He struggled to hang on, to give her one more. If he could give her a dozen, he would. Unfortunately, he couldn’t because she drove him to the brink way too easily with the way she responded.

  Fucking her certainly wasn’t an effort on his part.

  Though, last night they had crashed as soon as they got to the house. Both of them just about unconscious when they hit the mattress.

  He never fucking slept so well than being curled around her, holding her tight.

  Holding on to what was his.

  He grinned.

  “Should I worry about why you’re grinning?”

  “Nope. ‘Cause I’m about to make you come again.”

  “Big words, little results.”

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  She grinned. “See? Now I’m grinning.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  She released a loud dramatic sigh. “Good.”

  He chuckled, making her breath hitch with the way his body shook, causing his dick to vibrate inside her. “So fuckin’ hard for you, baby, you feel it?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  “You make me that hard.”

  “Less talk, more action.”

  “Just like in the Marines.”

  Her brow furrowed. “How much sex did you have while in the Marines?”

  “I meant... Never mind. Jesus fuck, woman.”

  “Jesus isn’t fucking me, Trip, you are. So, let’s go.”

  “Christ,” he muttered.

  “Kiss me, fuck me and make me come,” she demanded.

  That he could do. And that’s what he did.

  Twice.

  The whisper of the bedroom door opening had Stella opening her eyes and rolling over to see Trip walking in wearing nothing but a worn pair of jeans.

  Just the way she liked him.

  He was carrying a huge tray with what looked like two plates of food and two steaming mugs of what she hoped was coffee.

  As he got closer to the bed, she smelled it.

  Bacon and coffee.

  Best morning ever.

  He slid the tray onto the antique nightstand and then dropped his jeans to the floor.

  Yep. Best morning ever.

  At least in the last year.

  There had been plenty of early mornings when Kade had snuck into bed with her and cuddled. She’d smell his hair and stroke his back until he’d fallen back asleep clinging to her.

  She missed that.

  She missed him.

  Her heart had been ripped out that day.

  Trip was trying his best to shove it back into that empty cavity. Great sex and breakfast in bed was a good start. Him throwing her a life preserver ring to keep her from going under the surface and never coming back up also helped.

  She sat up against the headboard as he slid in beside her, then carefully placed the heavily burdened tray between them.

  “You’re trying to make me fat,” she said. Her plate was piled with three pancakes smothered in maple syrup and two thick pats of butter. There had to be a half dozen strips of bacon on the side. And her coffee was just the color she liked it.

  Damn.

  He snagged a slice of bacon off his own plate and crunched on it.

  “I could’ve come down to the kitchen.”

  “Yep.” Just “yep.”

  “Are you trying to seduce me, Trip Davis?”

  He lifted his mug, blowing the steam off the surface. “It workin’?” He took a long sip before putting it back down.

  Yes. “Maybe.”

  “Remember what I said about liars?”

  She shoved a large piece of syrup-soaked pancake into her mouth and only shrugged.

  “You drip syrup on your tits, and we might not make it through breakfast.”

  She shrugged again. “Okay.”

  He chuckled and she smiled around a bite of bacon.

  Once his chuckle died, his face got serious. “Need to explain some shit. Been meanin’ to, but other shit keeps happenin’.”

  “Shit happens,” she agreed, because that was only too true.

  “But I need to get it out. You haven’t asked but you need to know.”

  “About the charges you caught.”

  “Yeah.”

  She looked at her plate and then at Trip, who was shoving a pancake-packed fork into his mouth. “Is it going to ruin my breakfast?”

  “Maybe,” he said as he chewed.

  “Maybe I should eat more bacon first.” She lifted a crispy piece and studied it. “This come from the Amish?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The syrup?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you going to be buying from them on the regular?”

  “Plan on it. For us and for the barn.”

  Us.

  “Maybe even some stuff for Crazy Pete’s.”

  That drew her attention away from the “us” part. “Like what?”

  “Thinking about getting a kitchen installed. Serving bar food. Potato skins, wings, whatever. Something other than pretzels, chips and those shitty orange balls. It’ll help draw in more people.”

  “We don’t have the money to install a kitchen or hire cooks.”

  “We will. Gotta start slow, refurb the bar, get a team working it. Run specials. Run pool and dart leagues, like I told you. A regular night of fuckin’ Karaoke,” he winced, “even if it’s goddamn country music. Whatever does it.”

  “That’s a lot of work.”

  “Yep.”

  “They’re good ideas, though.”

  He smiled as he shoved more bacon into his mouth. “Yep.”

  “Again, it all takes marketing and money.”

  “We’ll get it done. That bar and The Grove Inn’s gonna be a good source of income. Just gotta get it workin’ for us.”

  Us.

  He continued. “Bring money into the club coffers, put money in the brothers’ pockets, put money in our pockets. Invest back into the businesses.”

  Our pockets. “You want to build an empire.”

  He nodded. “A fuckin’ empire. With you and me at the head of it. That make you wet? Because it sure as fuck gives me a hard-on.”

  She stared at him, ignoring the food on her plate. He had his hair up in a ponytail, probably to keep it out of his face while he made breakfast. But the back of his neck had a few small scratches on it.

  She reached out and ran her thumb over them. “Lean forward.”

  His brow rose but he leaned a bit forward. He had scratches on his upper back near his neck, too. “Damn. Did I do that, or did you get into a fight with a cat?” She looked closer. “No, they’re not fresh. I’m guessing a cat.”

  “Somethin’ like that.”

  She pulled her hand away just in time as he pressed his back into the antique wood headboard which matched the nightstands.

  “Gettin’ off track again.”

  “You were the one who mentioned empires and hard-ons.”

  “Right. Need to get this shit out, Stel.”

  She frowned, lifted a wait-a-minute finger, quickly gobbled down her last two slices of bacon, chugged a mouthful of coffee, said, “Okay,” before bracing.

  “There’s gonna come a day where I’m not gonna wear a wrap and will come inside
you. That day’s gonna be soon. So, do whatcha gotta do to prepare for that.”

  What? That was the big talk? “Trip, are you serious?”

  He lifted a let-me-explain hand while holding a strip of bacon between his fingers, then he shoved it into his mouth. “No. I mean, yes, about that. But that’s not what I need to tell you. Just wanted to get that out while you were payin’ attention.”

  She whacked his arm and rolled her eyes.

  “Seriously, though,” he continued. “Whatever you need to do.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’ll get it done.”

  “I don’t have health insurance.”

  “Whatever you need done, get it done, baby. Got it covered.”

  “Trip, you can’t pay everything for me.”

  “You bust your ass in that bar, you stick by my side, I got your back.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand again to stop her, this time without the bacon. “Off track again.”

  “Go,” she said, then shut her mouth and waited.

  He ran his finger through the syrup on his plate, then stuck it in his mouth, sucking it clean.

  “Well, fuck, Trip...”

  “Sorry. Know I’m hot and irresistible. Didn’t mean to distract you.”

  “Christ,” she whispered. “You’re going to cause me eye strain from how hard I’m rolling them.”

  He grinned, leaned over, gave her a maple-flavored kiss, then settled back against the headboard.

  He put his massacred plate back on the tray and grabbed his mug, wrapping his long fingers—the ones he was so skillful with—around it. She placed her plate of half-eaten pancakes next to his and did the same with her coffee.

  She waited.

  And waited.

  His body jerked next to her, like somebody had pushed his start button. He blew out a long breath, sucked in air, then began. “Was seein’ a girl when I enlisted at eighteen. Once I was done with boot camp and found out I was headin’ overseas, she begged me to marry her before I left.”

  Stella didn’t like the direction this tale was going already. A woman should never have to beg a man to marry her. To her, it always seemed like a bad start to a relationship.

  “I did.”

  Fuck.

  “Was over playin’ in the sandbox when she told me she was pregnant. Didn’t think much of it since I’d been home on leave just a few months before. She was on birth control, but that’s no guarantee...” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d want a kid ‘til I heard those words.”

  Ice slithered through Stella’s veins.

  “My original plan was to reenlist, but that news changed everything. Wanted to be there to raise my kid right. Be a real father. So, when my time was up, I headed home. My time wearin’ fatigues, combat boots, gettin’ shot at, and eatin’ MRE’s came to an end.” His fingers tightened up on his coffee mug to the point his knuckles turned pale. “Wanted to surprise her. To do that, told her the wrong date for when I was hittin’ American soil.” He was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, but his expression blank. “You already know the ending to this story. It’s a common one. Mine’s no different... Came home. Caught ‘im in the house I paid rent for every fuckin’ month, drinkin’ my motherfuckin’ beer. Eatin’ the food I paid for. Fuckin’ my goddamn wife. I’d put my life on the line every fuckin’ day over there. Every fuckin’ day to provide for her. Saw red and wanted to kill her. Was close to it, too. Took it out on him instead, even though she also lied to him. Never told ‘im she was married. Was a liar all the way around. Lived off the sweat of my brow, ate sand while she ate fuckin’ steaks, paid for her A/C while I lived in a goddamn sweat box of a tent for months. Had to fist it while she was home gettin’ fucked.”

  Then he just stopped talking. His chest rose and fell several times, his muscles were tight. He was struggling to hold his temper. And it seemed as if he was failing.

  She quickly pried the half-empty coffee mug from his fingers before it went flying across the room. She set it on the tray, then slid the tray onto the nightstand on her side of the bed, out of reach and safe from him making a mess.

  “Trip,” she whispered, and he only blinked in response.

  He was back there, standing in his bedroom of a house he paid for, seeing another man fucking his pregnant wife.

  He was reliving it for Stella, when he didn’t want to.

  He was reliving it for her, when he just wanted her to understand.

  He was reliving it for her, so there were no secrets between them.

  But she felt his pain, his fury, his disappointment.

  He hated liars because he’d been told some big lies. And she waited for him to tell the rest of the story. But like he said, she already knew where this was going. It was an old tale no one wanted to live.

  When the silence continued, she prompted, “What happened with the baby?”

  He turned his head to look at her. “What do you think?”

  “Wasn’t yours,” she murmured, already knowing the answer.

  His jaw worked and his fingers curled into fists against his bare thighs. Another sign he was struggling to keep from exploding. “Right. Wasn’t mine. Wasn’t his, either. Don’t know whose it was. Don’t fuckin’ care. Caught a four-year stint in the joint for agg assault with a deadly weapon. While inside, caught two more years ‘cause of my temper.”

  She closed her eyes and whispered, “What did you do to him?”

  “Pistol-whipped that motherfucker. Totally fuckin’ lost it. Broke his eye socket, a few ribs, broke every one of his fingers for touchin’ my wife. He’s lucky I didn’t cut off his fuckin’ dick.”

  “You had a gun but didn’t shoot him.” Thank fuck he didn’t because his term would’ve been a lot longer than the initial four years. It would’ve been a very long time, or even life.

  “It was close but wanted him to live with what he did. Know what he did was wrong, even though she lied to him, too. Shoulda known somethin’ was up when she was livin’ large without a fuckin’ job. Shoulda asked how she was payin’ the bills, feeding her fuckin’ ass, drivin’ around town in a decent cage. He didn’t give a fuck. Why? ‘Cause he was all about the easy pussy. Now he’ll think twice before stickin’ his dick where it don’t belong.”

  Unfortunately, this was too much of a similar story to Trip’s father. In that nightmare, it was Buck doing a woman he shouldn’t have for years. It was Buck who was stupid enough to fuck a woman when he knew the consequences if he got caught.

  He got caught.

  He paid the price.

  The rest of them in the Fury also paid the price.

  Only Razor got shot dead for doing what he did to Buck. Unlike Trip, who ended up in prison for losing his shit. Similar scenarios, which ended up destroying families, but with two different consequences.

  Trip probably didn’t want to hear it, but Stella was glad he ended up in prison instead of six feet under. There was an end to a prison sentence, there wasn’t an end to being dead.

  “After catching that extra time, I got smart. Began to work on myself. Body and mind. Do my best to control the temper I got from my fuckin’ father. Swore to myself I’d never land behind bars again.”

  “Did she have the baby?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. The fuckin’ greedy bitch used me. She begged me to marry her and I did so, thinkin’ she...” He shook his head. “Now I know it was just for her to collect the death benefits if somethin’ happened to me over there. She was hopin’ I wouldn’t come home unless I was in a box. Even told me so to my fuckin’ face durin’ my fuckin’ trial, where she also served me the divorce papers. Death bennies are a hundred grand. That’s how much my life was worth to her.”

  Stella reached out, grabbed his clenched fist and squeezed it. He uncurled his fingers and, turning his hand over, intertwined them with hers.

  “Don’t ever lie to me, baby. Don’t care how fuckin’ hard the truth is. Don’t care
how much it’ll fuckin’ hurt. Just don’t lie. Won’t tolerate that shit for a second. I’ll lose my shit and it won’t be good for either one of us.”

  That last part made her chest tighten. “I’m asking you to do the same.”

  His brown eyes met hers as he lifted their clasped hands to his mouth and he kissed her knuckles. “Promise you here and now, I’ll be brutally honest. I’ll give what I get. Remember that.”

  “I promise, too. Kellan lied to me about his sobriety. The result just about destroyed me. If he’d only been honest...”

  “If he’d been honest, your son would still be with you.”

  “Yeah,” she breathed.

  “Make you a deal. You ever have to tell me somethin’ you think will flip me the fuck out, then you do it with Judge at your side. I’d rather that man kick my fuckin’ ass than me hurt you ‘cause I lost my shit.” He reached out and slid his fingers into the back of her hair, finding her scar and tracing it with his fingertip. “Never wanna fuckin’ hurt you again. Hear me?”

  “I hear you.” She should be worried about being with a man with a temper like his. But he recognized his problem, dealt with it as best as he could and was openly honest about it. He wasn’t hiding his faults.

  It was something he inherited from his father, a man who had an extremely short temper and used violence to rule the club. Stella remembered always being afraid of Buck. The man could be loud and brash, and quick to punish someone without hearing both sides. That punishment was usually pretty harsh.

  She wondered how Buck’s ol’ lady, Trip’s mother, dealt with it for all those years. “Did Buck hurt your mother?”

  “If he did, she hid it well. Know she miscarried two babies after me. Not sure if he was the cause of it. Because after we left and landed in Wisconsin, she married another man, had two more kids without a problem.”

  Jesus. She wasn’t expecting that. Trip had two more half-siblings beside Sig.

  “Did you ever ask her?”

  “Yeah. But once we left Manning Grove, she wanted to forget that life. Wanted to live her new one and put the old one behind her. Never wanted to talk about what happened. Had a good relationship with her ‘til I told her about resurrectin’ the Fury. She had warned me about Deb, and I didn’t listen. She used that against me about not only doin’ time but rebuildin’ the MC. Said I’d end up just like Buck.”