by Cathryn Cade
"Oh, my God," Sara breathed. "These are just ... I can't—you can't give me all this, it's too much."
Lindi and Kit grinned, although Lindi wrinkled her nose. "The top and jeans are from us," she said. "Not the jacket."
"Well, who paid for that?" The jacket alone must be worth a few hundred dollars.
"Stick," Kit said. They both watched Sara closely.
Sara stared. Also, her mouth may have been open.
Kit winked. "I think somebody wants to take you on the back of his bike."
"No way," Sara said, shaking her head vehemently. "That certainly is not it." He must be thanking her for helping the boys.
Kit had explained to her early in their friendship the significance of a real biker inviting a woman to ride pillion on his motorcycle, that to many it was a declaration of intent.
"No," Sara repeated. "Um, no."
"Well," Kit said, grinning, "Just be ready for whatever comes your way, sistah. 'Cause you may be in for a few more surprises."
"Oh, no." Sara put her feet on the grass and stood, hands up. "No, no. He cannot just ... buy me things and think I'm going to forgive him. No, no."
"Forgive him for what?" Lindi asked. "What else has he done?"
"What hasn't he done?" Sara demanded, hands on her hips. "Sheesh. I need another margarita."
They trooped into the house and put together another pitcher, along with a tray of Lindi's delicious cold supper, and brought it all outside.
Over various little wraps, veggies and chips with three kinds of fresh dips, Sara told them about the second time she'd allowed Stick to seduce her right here in this yard, and then the inexplicably cold way he'd treated her afterward.
By the time she'd finished telling them about the blow-job she'd witnessed on his porch, her friends were so indignant on her behalf that Lindi flung a chip-load of dip clear across the yard—to Blackie's delight.
"That is such a crock," Lindi said. "Oh, he needs to learn that no man gets away with that kind of shit. Not with one of us!"
"I'll say," Kit said, scowling. "That's low, even for Stick."
"He's burned his bridges to this woman, that's for sure," Sara stated, pointing at herself, then wincing when she poked herself in the chest. "I want nothing to do with a man who refuses to keep his penis in his pants, except when he needs it out for me."
"Although," Kit said, tossing another chip to Blackie, who had moved stealthily nearer their feast. "Stick's going through some major shit right now. His ex is up for parole, you know."
"Seriously?" Sara demanded. "After she tried to knife him in his sleep? He has a scar. Right across his throat. She could've killed him."
Her friends looked at each other and then back at Sara. "Really?" Kit said. "I've never noticed, with the beard and all."
"Well, I saw it." Up close and personal, when she was nuzzling his throat as he—well. "And the idea of knifing a guy on purpose? One who wasn't trying to hurt innocent little boys, that is—God. I can't even ... it was the grossest feeling ever. Like cutting a—a raw chicken, only alive." She shuddered, remembering.
Lindi, who was an experienced chef, nodded, while Kit grimaced.
"So anyway," Lindi went on, “Jack said Stick was all dark and moody about her maybe getting out, and trying to see the boys, just to get money out of him. And then that whole thing with the Rattlers—I guess that's been coming on for a while. It's been a tough time for all the Flyers, but especially Stick."
"That does not explain why he felt the need to be such an asshat to me," Sara said, sneaking a rollup off her plate to Blackie, who wolfed it down and eyed her hopefully for more. She shook her head at him. "You're done, mister. You'll barf in my yard."
The dog licked his chops, and then sank to the grass at her side with a heavy sigh.
"Well," Lindi said slowly, "Speaking for myself, I tried to push Jack away because of old reasons that had nothing to do with him."
Kit nodded. "And I was gonna run from Keys and Remi instead of working through my fears about being with them."
"So maybe that was just Stick's way of pushing you away when you got too close," Lindi said. "The b.j., I mean."
Sara snorted. "Well, hooray for him. It worked." She slugged back another drink of margarita.
"So," Lindi asked Kit. "Does he buy gifts for many of his, uh, hookups?"
It was Kit's turn to snort. "As if! He pats 'em on the ass and tells them to get lost—that's the biker m.o. And since he can have pretty much any unattached woman who walks into the club ... he doesn't really need to buy 'em stuff."
Sara opened her mouth to say he was welcome to keep on keeping on, but Lindi waved her down.
"So-oo," Lindi prodded Kit, "If he buys a woman, say a four-hundred-dollar leather motorcycle jacket, that might mean something?"
"It might," Kit said, smirking at Sara. "It just might."
Sara had a strange, light, sweet glow in the middle of her chest. She pursed her lips, but her smile sneaked out anyway. When her friends smiled back, she started to giggle like a teen.
She hugged the jacket, and shook her head. "Oh, God, this is just crazy. I feel like I'm back in high school again, wondering if Trace Harker is going to ask me to home-coming."
"Well, did he?"
"Yes, but then he got drunk on the flask the boys were passing around, and we hardly danced at all—he was too busy puking."
"Typical high school dance," Lindi said. "It's good to be a grownup."
"And you would know this how?" Kit asked.
Lindi threw a chip at her, and Kit retaliated with a grape. Blackie politely helped clean up.
"Stop," Sara called. "You're gonna make my dog sick as a ... a dog."
"Well, that will never do," Kit said to Blackie, leaning over the side of her chair. It tipped, and she fell over with a yelp, landing in the grass.
Lindi and Sara laughed so hard they nearly joined her. Blackie grabbed the last few bites of food from Kit's plate and trotted away into the darkness. For some reason this was even more hilarious.
It was a long time before the three of them traipsed into Sara's house, where her friends informed her they were spending the night.
Sara gave the two of them the bed, made up the old sofa with a sheet and pillow, and stretched out in her little red nightie with the matching panties.
The leather jacket was draped carefully over the back of the sofa, where she could stroke the sleeve. She could also see it, because she'd left a lamp on in one corner of the living room. She was not ready to try sleeping in the dark, and she wasn't sure when she would be.
Her phone played the first few notes of a country song, and a deep voice invited her to 'come a little closer, baby'. Sara grabbed her phone to find Stick's name on the screen. As the voice moved on to an invitation to do even more, she pushed the answer button.
"How did you get a ring tone on my phone?" she demanded.
He chuckled. "While you were sleepin' in my house, milaya. Do you like the jacket?"
Sara touched the sleeve again. "It's gorgeous, thank you. But I can't keep it. You can't give me things."
"That's bullshit," he told her. "I already did."
"Well, I'm not keeping it. I'm bringing it over in the morning."
"You do, and I'll spank your pretty ass."
Did he just say that? And why was she squirming on the couch a little bit at the thought? "You most certainly will not."
He chuckled again, and that happy little glow she'd felt earlier intensified. She scowled to herself. He was a big, Russian rat, and she needed to remember that, despite his deep, rough voice and panty-melting accent.
"You know what I like about fucking you—other than your tight, little pussy and your big tits, and your sweet smell?" he asked.
Reeling from all the information contained in his query, Sara couldn't even speak. No guy had ever called her up and talked dirty to her. And most of all, she'd never dreamed she'd actually want to hear more. It was the margaritas, that
was all. If she was sober, she’d never keep listening.
He went on as if she'd invited him to. "I like how surprised you look when you come. Like other men haven't bothered to wait for you, haven't had the stamina to last till you come apart around them, squeeze them like a hot fist and then make those sounds in your throat. I like it so much I want to make it happen again, over and over. So I will."
Sara closed her mouth, which unfortunately had been open in shock, so hard her teeth snapped together.
"Right," she snorted. “Like I'm going to give you another chance to do—well, any of that.” He might be big and fabulously brawny and masculine, but no. "You are not worth the heartache." Oh, shit, had she just said that? "I mean, the headache! The irritation. Now just—hang up your phone and don't call me anymore."
"I might give you heartache, milaya, because a man like me can't help it sometimes, but I'll give you so many orgasms you won't care. Now go to sleep, and I'll see you tomorrow."
He ended the call, darn him. She'd wanted to hang up on him. Sara lay there on the lumpy sofa, the quiet house settling around her.
"What the heck was that?" she whispered. "What is he up to now?"
Not surprisingly, no one answered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
"No, it could never work. Stick and me—we're just too different," she told Kit and Lindi over breakfast the next morning.
The little house had blessedly cooled off overnight, and Sara had awakened to the yummy smell of Lindi fixing pancakes in her kitchen. The three of them sat at the kitchen table with coffee, pancakes, syrup and fruit. It was as much fun as Lindi's bachelorette party at the Coeur d'Alene Resort. Better, because no embarrassing photos this time.
"We're ... opposite in so many ways," she went on. Insurmountable ways.
"Keys and I are opposites in a lot of ways," Kit said, selecting another berry from atop her pancakes. "But it's like ... we fill in each other's gaps in a way. He's calm when I'm ready to fly apart. He says I give him a fresh look at things. And even though Remington and I are more alike, we fill in some gaps, too. I can make Remi smile when he gets all grim, thinking about the dark side of life."
Sara and Lindi both stared at her.
"Get you," Lindi said admiringly. "We have a sage in our midst."
Kit wrinkled her nose. "You calling me a weed?"
Lindi shook her head. "No, I'm saying you're wise. Jack and I are really different too. He spends money, I save it. He says exactly what he thinks at all times, I shut down and then wish I'd spoken up. And he's never met an obstacle he doesn't think he can beat, whereas I worry about everything."
"I hear you both," Sara said. "But at least the moral structures you live by are the same. Stick and me? No. I'm law-and-order, he's vigilante justice. I'm 'drive within the speed limit', he's 'make sure the cops owe him so they'll look the other way'. I'm polite, he's ... just rude and abrasive! And worst of all, he's a—well, he's a man-whore. That's all there is to it."
"And you don't believe he can change?" Kit asked.
Sara threw up her hands. "He hasn't offered to, except his generous offer to give up b.j.'s from other women on his back porch. He simply informed me that he wants me, and what he wants he always gets. Then he had the nerve to say I'll be so sexually enthralled I won't care about his behavior."
Kit and Lindi looked at each other and then grinned, although Lindi at least had the courtesy to try and hide hers behind her hand.
"Oh, my God," Kit chortled. "From what I hear, he's probably right, too."
Sara glared. "See? You prove my point. Every unattached woman who's been around the club knows how big his cock is, and—and how his accent gets thicker when he's turned on, and everything else. He's like the town pump. Everyone's gassed up there."
Lindi winced. "I see your point."
"Well, I don't," Kit announced, her smile gone, her gaze now stormy. "I get that you grew up in a nice, church-going family and I didn't, but seems to me you're being all holier-than-that. So what if Stick's been around? So have Jack, and Keys, and you don't see them looking at other women anymore. They're with us now."
Sara's face flamed. Kit had never rebuked her before, and it was like being snarled at by a doted-on child.
"Holier-than-thou," she corrected automatically. "And that's my point! Jack and Keys and Remi are with you now—exclusively. Stick has said nothing about limiting his famous cock to just me. I mean he said no more b.j.s on the porch, but that leaves a lot of possibilities, don’tcha think? And I won't share ... I just can't."
Lindi laid a warm hand on hers. "Honey, maybe you should ask him if you'd have to. Even wild bikers can settle down—as we know."
"Yeah," Kit agreed, waving her fork. "And Stick actually has a proven track record, when you think about it. I mean, he was with the twins' mother. And before she went all psycho-bitch on him, pretty sure he was faithful to her. She's the one who cheated."
Sara could hardly breathe. She shook her head, and stared at the lovely bouquet in the middle of the table.
Her and Stick ... in a long-term relationship? Could it ever work? Oh, hell to the no. The only thing she even liked about him was his penis. Okay, and he was great at the other sex they'd done too.
And he was a great papa, from the little she'd seen. The boys were healthy, sturdy and well-adjusted, although rowdy.
He was also a protective leader of his club. He was certainly faithful to them. The brothers looked up to him, even Jack and Keys. And while their partying was wild, she'd seen no evidence that any of the women, old ladies or 'friends of the club' were mistreated or unwilling to be there.
And he could be really sweet, protective and caring when he wanted to.
She frowned at Kit. "You've been around him more than Lindi or me," she said. "What do you really think of him?"
Kit looked thoughtful. "Well, I think that for the right woman, he'd be one hella old man. His old lady would be safe as body armor, and never have to worry about money. She'd also be the first old lady of the Flyers, which would mean nobody would dare look down on her."
Lindi and Sara exchanged a quick look at this. Kit and her mother had existed on the fringes of the club most of Kit's younger life, and they were sure Kit and Deni had taken plenty of crap.
At least neither would never have to worry about that again. Deni was now with Bullet, a nomad who lived in the Tri-Cities, and Kit was with both Keys and Remi. Both women were secure in the club hierarchy.
"Of course, she'd have to be tough enough to dish back whatever shit Stick shovels her way," Kit went on. "And learn to run him without him knowing she's doing so."
When Lindi raised her brows at this, Kit held up her hands, palms out. "Hey, I'm just sayin'. According to some, the smart old ladies truly run a club, through their men."
"I see that," Sara agreed. "A woman can certainly influence her husband—er, old man. In good and bad ways."
"And is there a woman alive who hasn't said to her guy, 'Oh, honey, you're so big and so strong, I just know you can handle this'?" Lindi asked, her eyes twinkling.
"Pretty sure not," Sara agreed wryly. "And it gets them to take out the garbage—at least it worked on my dad."
They all snickered at this.
"But one thing," Kit said, shaking her head. "Whoever chooses Stick will have to take the twins with him. And those two are little biker hellions."
"That's for sure," Lindi agreed.
"Kick and Dash are absolutely adorable," Sara protested, scowling at her friends. "They're just normal, high-spirited little boys. Honestly, I'd take Stick just to get them."
Her friends gazed at her. Kit raised her brows innocently. "Oh, really?"
Sara opened her mouth and then closed it. She narrowed her eyes at Kit.
Lindi grinned. "I think you've been had. But this is great, Sara. You love the twins, you love Stick's cock ... so there ya go. Perfect relationship."
Sara face-palmed, shaking her head. "I can't even ... you two
are impossible."
"And one final point," Kit added, with the air of delivering the game point. "The president's old lady? What she says goes with the other old ladies and a bunch of other people. Perfect for you, Ms Bossy-pants.'
Lindi nodded. "She is right about that."
"You're all against me," Sara complained.
"Only 'cause we love you," they chorused.
And since she knew this was true, Sara quit arguing.
* * *
Her friends went home just before lunch time.
Sara called Seth, who sounded great—as he should. He and Margarita were in Grangeville, being cosseted by Seth and Sara's mother. He was feeling good, although hungry all the time and embarrassed that he'd been driven home by his girlfriend in her car.
Sara told him not to be an idiot, that he'd find another good job, although she couldn’t resist telling him to let Margarita help him pick out his next vehicle to avoid being cheated again. He snarked back and she grinned. Good to have her pesky little brother back.
She called her mother next. Carlene was happy to have her baby boy home to spoil after he'd been mugged by those awful gang members—Seth had prudently not shared with her the part about being held captive for 4 days and nights—and she thought Rita was the cutest little thing. She also thought Sara should come home for a visit, as there was a new youth pastor at her church, and he was single.
Sara winced at this news. Once, she might have been happy married to a pastor ... maybe. But now, her taste in men had been ruined for good by the wild biker men of the Devil's Flyers.
She wanted what Lindi and Kit had, she'd come to realize. And even though she was an idiot to hope Stick could give her that, she just might let him try for a while. Enjoy the ride ... and then hop off when it got too rough.
Because, wild was one thing. Unfaithful was something else entirely.
"Maybe I'll drive down next week," she told her mother. "I have plans this weekend."
She soon would, anyway. Because she didn't need Stick Vanko to make her life fun and exciting—she could do that for herself.