by Hart, Lane
When Malcolm does finally come into the bedroom minutes or hours later, I hold my breath to see what he’ll do, hoping — hell, praying — that he’ll touch me.
But he doesn’t. His weight shifts the mattress in the dark, and then…nothing.
I wait and wait, hearing his heavy exhales in the dark before I finally cave. Rolling over to his side of the bed, I throw my arm around his naked waist as I spoon him from behind. Like the other nights, at least he’s still sleeping in the nude and didn’t feel the need to come to bed in jeans to add a barrier between us.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks gruffly.
“Cuddling.”
“I don’t cuddle.”
“Okay,” I reply, but I don’t move an inch.
“Naomi?”
“Yes?” I ask, my chin resting on his shoulder.
“Give me some space.”
“No.”
“What did you say?” he asks.
“I said no, I’m not going to give you space. You’re angry at me and maybe pissed about losing your custom bike, and so I’m going to cuddle you until you fall asleep. Hopefully tomorrow you’ll wake up and want to touch me again.”
Malcolm’s quiet for several long minutes, so long I think he’s not going to say another word. Then, I hear a mumbled, “I don’t share.”
“You don’t share?” I repeat.
“That’s right.”
“Okay.”
“I hate that he had you first,” he explains, the he obviously referring to Fiasco. And I can’t help but grin to myself, because this big, bad ass man sounds like a pouting child who had to share his favorite toy. That’s me. At the moment, I’m his favorite toy, which is incredibly wrong but still makes me feel invincible.
“You had me best,” I tell him to try and appease his ego.
“Damn right,” he mutters.
Does Malcolm think I still want Fiasco? If so, he’s crazy not to see just how hard I’m falling for him.
Chapter Eighteen
Malcolm
* * *
The next morning, I’m sitting in the chair at the head of the Dirty Aces’ meeting table bright and early, waiting on the rest of the crew to roll into the clubhouse. I sent them a text late last night letting them know to be here early, before any of them had to get to their day jobs. Since it’s an unusual meeting time, I brought some biscuits and have a pot of coffee and aspirin on standby for any hangovers that show up.
Devlin, Silas, Wirth, and Nash all show up together, which only leaves Fiasco missing. I’m not particularly worried about him being late, as he often doesn’t respond to text messages. I’m not one hundred percent convinced he can even read.
“Hated to call you all in this early,” I begin once they are all seated, “but I need to make some calls today, and I wanted to speak with you about it together before I get this started. You guys all know we have been talking about opening up our membership a bit and getting some new blood into the crew, most likely by merging with some other clubs. Nash has been helping me narrow down some prospects, and we wanted to see what you guys thought about hosting the Knights of Wrath this weekend.”
“The Knights?” Devlin asks. “Isn’t that Robert Greene’s crew out near Fayetteville?”
“What’s left of them,” Silas snorts. “I think there are only three or four that aren’t in prison for the rest of their damned lives. Those were some dumb mother-fuckers for cooking heroin."
“The dumb ones all got arrested,” Nash interjects. “What’s left of Robert Greene’s crew are the good ones, the ones that might make good Aces, if we decide we can get along with them.”
“Did someone say Bobby G.?” Fiasco exclaims as he bursts into the chapel. “We thinking about getting Bobby G. and his guys out here to party with us? Those boys are wild; we have to do it!”
“Thanks for joining us and offering your opinion,” Nash scowls.
“No trouble,” Fiasco replies as he takes his seat. “Is that all this is about? Inviting those guys out for the weekend? Shit, in that case, thanks for the free biscuit!”
“Well, that’s Fiasco’s vote,” I tell the table. “Silas, you don’t sound too impressed. What do you say?”
“I vote no,” Silas shrugs. “I didn’t have a very high opinion of that crew before, and hearing Fiasco vouch for them sealed the deal for me.”
“Fuck you, Maybelline,” Fiasco grins as he throws his half-eaten biscuit at Silas, who manages to knock it to the table before it explodes all over him.
“Goddammit, Fiasco, I’ve told you it’s not mascara. I’ve just got dark eyes!” Silas growls in reply.
“So you say,” Wirth interrupts. “Maybe you were just born with it?” he adds, making all the guys chuckle.
“Fuck you, too,” Silas sulks as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Enough,” I silence them with a wave of the old, unloaded revolver we use as a gavel at the table. “Wirth, what’s your vote?”
“Tell them to come on over, I don’t mind,” Wirth replies. “I don’t know the boys, so it won’t hurt to meet them.”
“Same for me,” Devlin agrees. “I vote to at least host them and see how we get along.”
“All right, since Nash and I brought it to the table, you know our votes. That settles it,” I confirm as I drop the butt of the pistol onto the table before tossing it down. “I’ll make the calls, and we’ll plan to have them out here next Saturday night. I want all of you to plan on being on the boat that night, and don’t hold anything back. Act like you always do, so we can see how they react to us. We’ll take another vote afterwards and see if we feel like they’re a good fit for a patch over.”
As the rest of the crew stands up and files out the door, Nash lays a hand on my arm to stop me from leaving. “You follow that advice yourself, you hear me, Malcolm? Be our president and represent us well. No more of this bullshit like we’ve had with Fiasco, okay?”
“You telling me you don’t want Naomi working that night or something?” I ask him.
“I’m not telling you shit, just pointing out that she has caused problems…” Nash stops mid-sentence when he sees my face darkening. “Rather, there have been some problems, when she’s been around. Just something to keep in mind,” he finishes lamely before letting me go.
I sit back down at the head of the table as Nash leaves, trying to decide which way to go. I know Naomi needs the money, and the weekends are always when we bring in the big bucks on the gambling cruise. Fuck, when it comes down to it, the MC needs the money too, and she’s by far the hottest girl we’ve got working right now. I’d be a fool not to let her work next weekend, I finally decide. Really, what’s the worst thing that could happen? She already worked two shifts nearly naked and put up with people who have to be worse than the Knights of Wrath. She’ll be fine, and it will work out best for everyone, I’m almost sure of it.
Naomi
* * *
The next week with Malcolm goes by in a whirlwind of laughter, quickie sex, drinking, hard-core fucking, partying with the MC, working on the boat and, on a couple of occasions, gentle intimacy that felt very close to…well, if not lovemaking, it was the closest a rough biker like Malcolm could come.
By the time Saturday night rolled around, I was thoroughly confused about what had started off as a very black and white transaction. Malcolm had gone from just using me whenever he felt the urge to taking me out to dinner with him, having real discussions about his plans for the club with me, and he had stopped cringing away when I burrowed in next to him at night.
I wasn’t sure what was going on in his head right now, but I certainly knew what was going on in my panties. My pussy was sore. I mean, I felt like I had ridden bareback across the wild west kind of sore. My entire crotch and even my ass cheeks felt inflamed and sensitive from the constant pounding they’ve taken.
As I move through the tables on the gambling cruise Saturday night handing out drink orders, the ache beco
mes even more pronounced, and I realize I still can’t wait for more. What Malcolm and I have been doing together is so amazing that even though I need a rest, my body is positively quivering in anticipation of our next encounter.
As I come to the table where several members of the Dirty Aces are seated with the three members of the Knights of Wrath they had invited out tonight, I force my thoughts away from Malcolm Hyde. Unfortunately, just thinking about the way he had manhandled me earlier in his office before we left the dock causes my nipples to become puffy and swollen, rubbing almost painfully against the satin of the black tube dress I’m wearing tonight. At Malcolm’s insistence, I haven’t been wearing a bra much lately, and the three members of the Knights are eyeing my chest with interest.
“You see something you like here, huh?” the oldest of them asks me, a craggy-faced, bearded man I guessed was in his forties.
I flash a glance at Malcolm, who is sitting on the other side of the table, but his face is completely expressionless as he looks at the cards in his hand.
“Nothing like that,” I demur. “I was on deck a moment ago, and the breeze is a bit chilly tonight.”
“That’s all it is, eh?” The scraggly old pervert scratches at his cheek as he pulls a small wooden box out of the leather cut he’s wearing. “Well, stay a moment after you pass around those drinks. I want to pick your brain about how you feel working for these fine gentlemen.”
As he’s speaking, he lays the small box he had produced on the table, lifting a clasp and opening it to reveal a black, powdery substance. Dipping a tiny spoon concealed inside the box into the powder, he lifts it to his nose and snorts it with a ripping, sinus-grating gurgle.
Before I can ask what the hell he’s doing, Silas, who’s sitting beside Malcolm, speaks up. “You still cooking that stuff up, Bobby? Thought you gave all that up after your…troubles.”
“Bah, we don’t cook it in bulk anymore,” Bobby laments. “This is just for personal use only these days. Of course, we still have a little income coming in from it here and there. The way we grind it means you don’t have to inject it, which brings in a surprising amount of what I call ‘health-conscious consumers.’”
“So you are still cooking enough to sell?” Silas persists, before I see Malcolm gently elbow him in the ribs.
“Their business isn’t our business,” Malcolm says softly. “At least not yet. If we all decide to move forward with any sort of arrangement, we can all sit down another time and work out business dealings. Tonight is just about having a good time.”
“I’ll drink to that, Mr. President,” Bobby says as he rubs at his nose and snorts, before lifting his glass of whiskey to his lips and finishing it off in one swallow.
There is a palpable tension at the table as Silas, Nash, and Malcolm all sit in silence while Bobby looks around after finishing his drink. The two guys he brought with him are both staring at their cards when one of them says quietly, “You gonna call the pot or fold, Bobby? You’re holding up the game.”
“Oh, well, hell, I am,” Bobby sneers, before looking over at me still standing beside the table. “I know a fine pot when I see one, and I tell you, boys, I’m all in on this one!” Laughing, he reaches over and slaps his hand, each finger adorned in a different gaudy ring, on the back of my thigh. “My god, what an ass on this one!” he exclaims, running his hand up the back of my dress, over my bottom before I can even move or protest. His fingertips drag right up the crack of my ass!
I leap forward and bump the table, letting out a tiny, surprised squeak as the old biker’s hand gropes me. Before I can get a handle on the situation and slap him away, bodies seem to blur into motion all around me.
Malcolm erupts from his chair first, slamming his knees into the table and sending drinks, cards, and chips flying everywhere. Silas and Nash both try to grab at his arms as he storms around the table, but he shakes off both of them without even sparing them a glance.
“Malcolm, don’t!” Nash manages to yell as the two other Knights scoot their chairs back and I grab helplessly at the edge of the table, still pinned there by the hand grabbing hold of my ass. The pressure disappears almost instantly as Malcolm whips around the bottle of Jack Daniels he had been sipping from on his side of the table, shattering it over the old biker’s head and sending him sprawling to the floor!
“Malcolm!” I exclaim as he follows Bobby down to the ground, straddling him and slamming both of his fists into his face, one right after another. “Malcolm, stop it!” I shout when I grab his elbow and pull it back. “Please!”
Finally, he pauses long enough to look over his shoulder at me, strands of his long hair falling in his furious eyes. “He needs to learn a fucking lesson about touching shit that’s not his!”
“I think you’ve made that lesson very clear. He’s asleep, so you can stop hitting him now.” I keep pulling on Malcolm’s arm until he finally gets to his feet. “It wasn’t a big deal. He just caught me by surprise, and…oh shit, Malcolm!”
When I glance around, everyone in the entire casino is gawking at us. Most of the other MC guys look a little on edge, but Malcolm’s brothers? Well, Nash and Silas look pissed off at me more so than Malcolm, and I didn’t even do anything!
“Come on,” I tell him as I start pulling him in the direction of his office, his boys following behind us.
“We’ve got this,” Nash says with a nod of his head toward the bar.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Get back to work,” he snaps.
“Hey, it wasn’t my fault that prick grabbed my ass!”
A humph is his response before the three men disappear.
“Whoa,” Ronnie whispers when she comes over. “I’ve never seen Malcolm lose his shit like that before, especially not on the freaking president of another MC.”
“What? You said he shot someone once...”
“Yeah, that was different. He calmly removed his gun from his pants, cocked it and then pulled the trigger. Tonight? Well, he looked like a rabid dog, all fists and no thought.”
“Some jerk grabbed my ass!” I tell her in case she missed that part.
“That’s what set Malcolm off?” she asks as if it’s ridiculous. “Crazy. I thought the fight with Fiasco was just a pissing contest, but maybe it was more…”
“More what?” I ask in confusion.
“He must actually care about you,” Ronnie says. “You’re his old woman.”
“His old woman?” I seethe.
“It’s not a bad thing. It means he’s laying claim to you as his publicly so that everyone knows you’re taken. You should be flattered. It’s not like the Aces to settle down.”
Settle down?
The words repeat in my head over and over.
Is Ronnie right? Does Malcolm feel the same way about me as I do for him?
In just two days, our two-week arrangement is going to end. I’ve been dreading it all week because I’m not ready to lose him.
And maybe that feeling is mutual.
Malcolm
* * *
“What the hell were you thinking?” Nash asks as he paces in front of my desk. “Robert Greene is the goddamn president of the Knights of Wrath MC. There might not be many of them on the outside, but you better hope his crew doesn’t retaliate like we would if someone beat the shit out of you!”
“He reached under Naomi’s skirt and grabbed her ass!” I mutter, clenching and relaxing my fist, my knuckles burning and bleeding as I think back to the moment I saw that motherfucker’s hand disappear under her dress. I was on the other side of the table, so all I could do was watch as Naomi startled in surprise that someone was touching her so intimately without her consent before her stunned face looked like she wanted to vomit. “No, he didn’t just grab it. He fucking fondled it.”
“So?” Nash says.
“So, I taught him a lesson about touching shit that doesn’t belong to him!”
“Oh, so Naomi belongs to you now?”
&nbs
p; “Maybe.”
“I thought she was just paying off a debt she owes you,” he mutters.
“Right. She is.”
“Until when?” he asks.
“A few more days or whatever.” I act like I don’t know the exact date that our deal ends when it’s all I’ve been thinking about lately, wondering what happens afterward.
“And then what?” Nash asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Then what happens? You gonna cut her loose?”
“I haven’t thought things through that far.”
“That girl is fucking with your head, man,” Silas says. “You’ve never let pussy mess you up like this before. That’s why you’re the one in charge.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The cage fight with Fiasco?” Nash remarks. “Throwing punches at the president of another MC? Those are not things a cool, rational leader does.”
“Are you saying I’m doing a shit job?”
“Yeah, we are. Because lately you’ve been off your game. We all voted on this expansion, but now the Knights are probably going to back out of the patch over. You’re trying your fucking best to get in the way of what’s best for the club,” Nash says.
“I’m not doing anything on purpose. Hitting Bobby was a one-off,” I tell him. “Besides, you saw him snorting that shit, and you heard him admit they’re still producing weight. There was never going to be any merger with those back-wood hillbillies.”
“Maybe not!” Nash exclaims. “But there are diplomatic ways to handle that shit! You’re supposed to know that; that’s why you’re the goddamned president!”
“Fuck you,” I tell him. “I’m the president of the Aces because none of the rest of you could be bothered.”
“Malcolm, man, you need to lose the girl,” Silas speaks up and says, which isn’t at all surprising coming from the man who treats all women like they’re single-use condoms. Every woman is disposable to him, only good for spreading their legs.