Clutch
Page 2
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she smarted, but she finally climbed her ass out of my bed.
“That ain't a secret.” I grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor and yanked them up, pulled a shirt out of the closet, and threw on my cut before I went to the door. “Get yourself dressed and get gone.”
Without waiting to see how she was going to take that, I walked out into the main clubhouse. The prospect had his work cut out for him. The whole damn place was a mess, not that that was uncommon after a party. The smell of pussy and stale beer still clung in the room. A couple of the brothers and a handful of the club sluts were still passed out. I made it to the kitchen before I ran into anyone else this side of consciousness.
“Figured I’d be the only one up,” Tank said by way of greeting. He got the nickname after fixing up his bike to add a suicide clutch with a tank shifter. Story goes that he used to have his old lady shift it with him, with her hand under his on the knob, while they road together. She passed years before I earned my patch, so I never saw them in action, but by the length of the shifter and the way he had it angled, I could buy it. I couldn’t imagine trusting a chick like that.
“Wish you were,” I told him. It was going on ten. After tying one off, I could use a few more hours like the rest of the boys seemed to be getting. “What’s got you up, anyway?”
“Ridin’ out to visit my girl today. I like to get out there earlier so I can have some time before her punk-ass fiancé gets home.” I’d never met Tank’s daughter. She’d gone off to college and then gotten herself tied down before I rolled into town. From what I knew, she grew up around the club, but she never came around these days. To hear Tank tell it, that was all on the punk-ass fiancé. Then, he stated, “Taking a guess it’s pussy problems that have you up.” I stared at him blankly. He was right, but I didn’t know how he knew that. “Man, wasn’t exactly hard to miss Stacey acting as your personal thigh warmer all damn night. Bad idea to hit that.”
“Where the fuck were you with that advice last night?” I shot back. Shit, least the asshole could have done was knock some sense into me.
“Not my place to police your dick, brother. Figured you were making that choice one way or another.” He was probably right about that.
“Guess I should make myself scarce today,” I said. “Roadrunner’ll be after me before long.”
“Welcome to ride out with me. My Cami won’t mind. The douche she’s shackin’ up with might, but I don’t give a fuck.”
Well, who was I to deny my brother a hand in making the asshole unhappy? It wasn’t like I had much else to do, avoiding Roadrunner aside. “Sure. Why the fuck not?”
Riding was life’s purest form of freedom. Even with a destination, the road laid out before your handlebars, the rumbling of the engine, the air lashing against your skin, that shit was nirvana. Plain and simple.
Riding with the Savage Disciples’ patch on your back? That was power. The club may not have dealt in smack or nines—anymore—but we still answered only to our brothers. Citizens knew we were separate from them, that their world was not ours. The patch we wore commanded respect. Drivers pulled their cages into another lane when we were in their rearview. Even the cops let us ride free without interference.
Nothing came between a Disciple and the road.
The hour ride from the clubhouse to the uppity neighborhood Tank directed me into was enough to get the whiskey fog and Stacey’s bullshit out of my head. The sound of my baby purring could cure anything that ailed me.
That feeling of freedom died a quick death as we passed house after identical fucking house. Cookie-cutter monstrosities on over-landscaped lawns. Just riding past all of them felt like suburbia was suffocating me. It felt like the cut on my back might burst into flames at any moment from extended exposure to such a place. The few citizens unfortunate enough to be out in their yards as we made our way through purgatory looked on like the very lords of hell had escaped their confines and came invading. Some retreated into their homes in terror from the sight of the beasts on wheels coming to call. I chuckled at the sight.
Tank pulled into one of the drives a few minutes later, and I followed him up as I wondered how he even knew this was the right place. It looked exactly like the houses on either side. How the hell had Tank’s daughter gone from growing up around the Disciples to this suburban nightmare?
We barely dismounted and made it to the door before it flung open and a female collided with Tank’s front.
“There’s my baby girl,” he said in a voice too soft to recognize from the crotchety fuck I knew. Directed at anyone but his own flesh and blood, I’d have been ragging on him hard.
I couldn’t make out what his daughter looked like with his body between us, but I could hear Metallica’s “Wherever I May Roam” blaring from inside. Bitch had good music taste, at least. Maybe there was still some Disciple blood in her, after all.
Tank pulled away and announced, “Need to piss somethin’ fierce.”
His daughter led the way through the front door and stepped aside. “You know where to find it, old man,” she said. He took off without another word, and I got my first look at the girl.
Fuck.
Tank was sharp as a tack, but he’d made a real stupid move bringing me. She was a fucking wet dream walking. Tits nearly breaking free of the tiny tank she had on, hips wide enough to hold a man just right, a mess of brown hair begging for a good fucking to muss it up. It wasn’t cool to want to bone a brother’s family, but I could give a shit. If she gave me the indication, I’d fuck her with no remorse. The woman was too hot for self-control.
Only when I stopped perusing her sweet body did I notice the way she was looking at me. Her eyes roamed like she was looking at a feast and deciding where to dive in first. I had a suggestion, if she needed it. Her lips looked like they could bring a man to his knees, but I’d put up a good fight to stay standing. By the look on her face, I’d bet her mouth was watering. Hell, I’d bet her mouth wasn’t the only thing getting wet and ready for me.
She needed to snap out of her daze before I hauled off and fucked every part of her right there. Tank’d probably shoot me. Hopefully I’d get my dick between those puffy lips first. It seemed like a decent way to go. I cleared my throat. It seemed to do the trick. Her eyes came back to my face and cleared a bit.
“Hi. I’m Cami,” she greeted without even a hint of embarrassment over the way she eye-fucked me. That confidence was the last thing I needed if I was going to keep from attacking.
“Gauge,” I replied. Her eyes flickered to the 00 gauge plugs in my ears. They were half the reason behind the name, the other half being the variety of gauges involved in working with cars and bikes at the shop.
“You’re new,” she said as she led me into a living room that looked like a staged area in a furniture store. It didn’t look like there was a whole lot of “living” going on in there at all. She tagged a remote from the coffee table and dropped the sound a few notches. I saw her eye the front of my cut, looking for a prospect patch.
“Been a full brother for three years, darlin’.”
That news seemed to hit her and cut something inside. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been home long enough for us to cross paths.”
“No shit,” Tank stated as he walked back in. “You’ve hardly been back to visit since college. I’m always hauling my ass out here to see you.”
“It’s not like I can take Nathaniel back home to the club,” she muttered.
“You could leave his ass,” Tank offered. She didn’t argue that point. Clearly, she wasn’t shitting rainbows of joy from the love she felt for her fiancé. “When’s he get home, anyway?”
“A bit after five,” Cami answered. “He wants to do dinner at the country club.”
I wasn’t raised in an upper-class family, but I knew enough about country clubs to see a glaring issue there. Tank voiced it before I could. “Not exactly dressed to get in, kiddo.”
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��I can make a call and have something delivered that will fit,” she explained. Shit. I realized the house was massive, but apparently the asshole fiancé made bank.
Tank didn’t look fucking thrilled at all, but his desire to spend time with his daughter won out. He turned to me, and said, “You can head back whenever you want. I guess I’m going to a country club tonight.”
I couldn’t say what possessed me to answer the way I did, but the words left my mouth either way. “I’ll stick around.”
It was nearly five o’clock and I was upstairs getting ready to go to dinner. A personal shopper from Neiman Marcus had dropped off appropriate clothing for my dad and Gauge over an hour ago. Dad willing to remove his cut and worn out Levis in favor of slacks and a collared shirt was a testament to his love for me. Though, I was completely unsure what it said about Gauge. If I were honest, I hated asking them to change as much as they hated doing it. The sight of ratty jeans, faded t-shirts, and weathered leather cuts was comforting.
Both men were no doubt waiting for me. My heart rate quickened when I remembered showing Gauge to one of the guest rooms with an en-suit bathroom so he could change. Dad had abandoned me and taken off on his own. Gauge was not a man I needed to be spending time alone with. I was in a relationship, whether that notion thrilled me or not, and Gauge was a man built for getting women into trouble.
He was tall, muscular…immediately imposing. Many of the club members were. Gauges, several small piercings, and one industrial decorated his ears. There was another piercing through one side of his nose I could see. I forced myself to stop short of considering what other piercings he might be hiding. Tattoos adorned his skin from neck to wrist, and I imagined much—if not all—of what was between. His skin was tan in such a way, it was clear the tone came naturally, not from the sun. His hair was a deep brown that looked nearly black. It was shorn close on the sides in an undercut, while the top had grown so long, the wavy length nearly hit his shoulders. A short beard cover his jaw, completing the scruffy, but undeniably sexy man. He was the hottest fucking man I had ever seen. From the moment I got a good look at him when they arrived, I wanted him. And he knew it.
When I led him into the room, there was an assaulting weight to the tension between us. He walked close to me, so close the smells of motor oil, tobacco, and an underlying spice invaded my senses. I had been carrying the clothes I ordered for him, so when we arrived at the door, he turned to me to retrieve them. Only…Gauge was no gentleman who would simply take the items and step away. Gauge was a Disciple. He was a biker. He was a man very used to getting any woman he wanted to fall at his feet—or, more accurately, jump on his cock. He wanted me, and he was not above seducing a taken woman.
As he stepped around me, he placed one large, warm hand on my lower back and traced it along my hip as he moved. He stepped in front of me, so close, he pervaded every sense. His hand did not move away to take the hanger and shoe box from my hand, but ran up my side and along my arm to get there. I scarcely contained the whimper that bubbled up within me. There was nothing I could do about the goose bumps.
I felt compelled to break the silence before I did something drastic—like throw myself at him. “You can get ready in here. There’s a full bath attached.” Wonderful. I’d gone from being somewhat comfortable around him for the last few hours as we relaxed with my dad in the living room, to an awkward, babbling fool when we were alone.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he murmured in that husky voice of his.
I was so screwed.
As he turned away, my eyes could not help but linger over the bed visible through the open door. Illicit images of what Gauge could do to me in that bed had my temperature rising so quickly, I thought I might combust. And that thought had me hustling away before it was too late.
Gauge brought out a lot of feelings I had not experienced in a long time—lust chief among them. Having him and my dad around for the day made me feel like the girl I was before I left for college. The girl raised by a band of bikers. The girl whose “uncles” were rough, tattooed men with a penchant for booze and pussy. The girl I left behind since I met Nathaniel. The girl who was tank tops, metal music, and tight jeans.
Then, there was the woman staring at me in the mirror. That woman was class. That woman was cashmere and satin. That woman slicked her hair into a perfect chignon and wore makeup only in neutral tones. That woman did not curse or drink hard liquor. That woman felt like an imposter, and the girl I once knew felt like a stranger.
I spun in the mirror, inspecting my silk blouse and the skirt it was tucked into. The top was not one Nathaniel would particularly like. It was black with white polka dots. Nathaniel thought polka dots were a juvenile pattern. I would tell him they were set to be very fashionable this season. The idea of being at the height of fashion would be enough for him. In truth, I had no idea what the current trends were. I had a personal shopper to deal with that since I could hardly have cared less. She was more inclined to pick items meeting Nathaniel’s standards anyway. She had chosen the blouse and the high-waist, eggplant-colored skirt I wore with it. The skirt looked like someone stole it from the closet of a 1950’s housewife. It flared out a good deal and fell midway between knee and ankle. It was one of the few items I actually liked, but only because of its seemingly vintage look.
When I was certain I looked the part, I made my way downstairs. Nathaniel would be home any minute. It was best I not have him greeted by Dad and Gauge alone.
Even dressed in proper business-casual attire, the men in my living room looked prepared for anything but an evening at a country club. Dad looked out of place, though that may have been me projecting a lifetime of him in jeans onto the situation. Gauge did not look particularly comfortable, but even the change of attire could not hide the blatant, savage sexuality to him.
“Hope you know how much I love you, baby girl,” my father said. Tank was not a man who did what he did not want to do. There were three people in his life he made an exception for: his mother, my mother, and me.
Sadly, I was the only one left.
I moved to where he sat and kissed his cheek. “I know, Daddy.”
At 26, I did not call him “Daddy” much anymore, but I knew it meant something to him. It reminded him of when I was still a little girl, chasing after him and begging for a ride on his Harley.
Just then, I heard the quiet hum of the garage door over the music. I reached for the remote to shut off the stereo, reminding myself to unhook my iPod later rather than deal with another lecture from Nathaniel about the “noise” I had on it. Calling Metallica and Zeppelin “noise” should be a crime. With the men I grew up around, it was.
Nathaniel entered the house with an air of superiority I had come to expect. Ordinarily, he received an underwhelming response from me, one verging on total apathy. That afternoon, he met two bikers rising to their feet. The men might have shed their cuts, but there was still a brutal masculinity to their presence simple clothing could not tamed. Without needing to look at either of the men behind me, I knew both could feel the self-righteousness radiating from my fiancé, and neither were going to allow him to play at being the dominant male in the room. Nathaniel was a beta-male who fashioned himself an alpha. It was uncommon for him to face off with a true alpha male and that had allowed him to presume he would be able to pass himself off as a dominant force in any situation. It was a dangerous mindset to have when confronting two of the real thing. Nathaniel was too thick to sense the warning Dad and Gauge radiated at a man they instinctively knew was outmatched.
Respect was everything in the Disciples’ world, and Nathaniel had no concept of giving or earning it.
Nathaniel said nothing to me as he came into the room. He was going to address the men first, as was his way. He had managed to disguise his chauvinistic tendencies when we met. It was only after college, after I accepted his proposal, after I uprooted my life and settled in to his, that he deemed it was time to allow his true colors to fly.