by Zoey Parker
He’d been gone all day, and Cleo was more than a little suspicious all of that time had been spent gathering information. At this point, she wasn’t even as concerned about Spike cheating on her, per se, than she was his seemingly general disregard for the fate of Satan’s Disciples. She strode over to the front door, opening it as Spike’s heavy boots clomped up the porch steps.
“Where have you been?” Cleo demanded when he walked into the house.
“Uptown,” he answered shortly.
“You went into Ivan’s territory?” she asked, surprised.
“That’s where I said I was gonna go, isn’t it?” he retorted. “Get everyone together in the living room. I’ve got news,” he ordered her.
Cleo gave him a harsh glare, her black hair whipping through the air as she turned on her heel and stomped out of the room. Spike looked after her guiltily. He hadn’t meant to be so short with her, but just seeing her face right now made him irritated.
Spike threw himself down on the beaten up couch, waiting for the gang to gather around him. Once enough of them were in front of him, Spike stood up, getting up on the couch so he could see all of them and be seen. He spotted Cleo glowering at him from the doorway and he looked away, ignoring her.
“Earlier today I told you all that I thought Ivan was too much of a problem to keep around any longer, and some of you,” he glanced at Cleo, “think I’m doing this for the wrong reasons.” He noticed a few people seemed to be muttering—mostly the girls, Cleo’s friends. Spike briefly wondered what she’d told them.
“Well, today I went Uptown, and I found Ivan’s warehouse,” he continued, “and I discovered that he has been jumping his own runners.” Spike met Cleo’s eyes as he said this, enjoying how they widened in shock.
The murmuring increased as people whispered agitatedly to each other. Just as Spike had expected, they were appalled at Ivan’s willingness to break one of the oldest codes.
“Allowing him to stick around is too dangerous, as he’s shown he can’t be trusted—not even by his own people. It’s time for Satan’s Disciples to rise up against him and take him down for good!” Spike cried aloud, reveling in the cheer rising up around him.
“Tiny, Vince, Cleo, and Hector,” Spike shouted over the din, “meet me upstairs for a strategy meeting!” He hopped off of the sofa, shouldering his way through the crowd as he headed for his bedroom.
Taking advantage of the fact that he was the first one there, he raked his hands through his hair, letting out a tense sigh. He was confident in his decision, but getting rid of Ivan was still a big job to take on.
Tiny knocked lightly on the partially open door, sliding into the room at an angle due to his mass. “Hey boss,” he said, giving a little wave.
Hector walked in next, followed by Vince, who had to duck under the doorway, and then finally Cleo, who sat on his dresser in the corner with her arms crossed.
“Hey, guys,” Spike said, trying to keep his voice light. “Let’s hear it.” He sat in his plush, dark leather armchair, pulling the lever so the seat was upright.
Tiny and Hector sat on the bed next to each other and Spike had to fight to keep a grin off of his face. Spike had a king-size mattress, so Tiny looked proportionate to the bed, but Hector, whose feet didn’t reach the floor, and whose head barely reached Tiny’s shoulder, looked comically small.
Spike deliberately looked away, turning to Vince, who was leaning against the wall next to the door. “You first, Vince,” he said, listening carefully.
It was important to him to hear these guys out. Spike had carefully selected his inner circle, wanting it to be as diverse as possible. None of them ever thought the same way, or came up with the same ideas, though half the time the meetings disbanded due to arguing and fights. Spike didn’t care; unlike most gangs, who limited their members based on specific criteria, Satan’s Disciples was as varied as they come, and it was their differences that made them so hard to predict.
“Ivan has no regard for the effect his doings have on those around him. He acts without conscience or honor,” Vince said carefully after shutting the door. “I think he should be removed.”
Spike glanced at Cleo—her face was unreadable. “Hector?” he asked.
“You know my vote, ese,” Hector said, spreading his hands wide. “I’ve been wanting to go after that motherfucker since day one. I say we spread him across downtown.”
Spike grinned, he knew he could count on Hector. “How about it, Tiny?” he said, turning to the older man.
Tiny wrung his hands. “Oh, I dunno, Spike. I’ll do whatever you say, but it seems to me like Ivan’s already got his run of the place. I think…” he hesitated, then hurriedly rushed forward, as though trying to get the words out before he lost his nerve, “I think we should relocate.”
“No way!” Hector exclaimed, jumping down to stand up. “I run from no one, comprendes?”
Tiny put up his hands defensively, and Vince reached over to put a calming hand on Hector’s shoulder.
“Relax, we haven’t made a decision yet,” he told his friend.
Spike looked at Vince gratefully, then turned to Cleo. “What d’you say, Cleo? You keep talking about plans—I think it’s time we make one.”
Cleo glared at him. “If what you say is true, and Ivan is attacking his own runners, then the code says we have to run him out of town.”
Spike held his breath; he had been worried about this. The gang might decide to banish Ivan and his mob from Chicago rather than risk too many of their own lives killing everyone. Banishment won’t be enough to stop him from killing Felix, or, more importantly, Georgia, Spike thought nervously, the memory of her straddling his hips causing an immediate reaction down below. He tried to subtly adjust himself, trying to focus. If he wanted Georgia safe, like he promised, he needed everyone to agree to eliminate Ivan for good.
“But,” Cleo continued, “I don’t think he’ll go so easily.” She looked at Spike, her gaze level. “Any confrontation we start with him is going to be a battle to the death—I can feel it,” she said, stifling a shiver. “I think we should go for the kill if we’re going to go for it,” she finally said.
There is it, Spike realized. We’re going to take out Ivan once and for all. He saw Tiny look at his shoes unhappily. Spike slapped one hand on his thigh forcefully. “Alright, then. Hector, grab some beers, and let’s hash out ideas.”
A little less than two hours later, the group filed out of Spike’s room, excitedly talking about the plan in hushed whispers.
Spike stood at the door, saying goodnight as people left. It was almost four in the morning, and he was exhausted. Thinking everyone was gone, Spike shut the door, intending to pass out on his bed, when he spotted Cleo sprawled across it.
“You were right,” she said, the statement clearly costing her a great deal of effort. “Come claim your prize,” she added as she spread her legs, her face breaking into a sensual grin.
Spike laughed uneasily. After the teasing he had endured by Georgia for the last day and a half, Spike’s cock was jumping at the bit to bury itself inside a hot pussy, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk over to her.
What’s wrong with you? Spike mentally berated himself. Why won’t you just fuck her already? If only to quiet this relentless urge. The constant stirring of his manly urges was starting to cloud his mind. His thoughts kept returning to Georgia; her giggle, her hips, her hair…
He looked at Cleo, and all he saw was Georgia. Not knowing what to make of that, he shook his head. “Sorry, Cleo, I’m so fucking tired I’d just fall asleep on top of you.” It wasn’t a total lie—he was incredibly tired.
Cleo pouted, shrugging. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she said playfully.
Spike rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Really, Cleo. I can’t.”
“What’s your deal lately?” Cleo said, sitting up crossly. “You’re not in the mood, and you’re barely around.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is this about that civ
ilian again?” she asked suspiciously.
“No!” Spike said defensively. “I’m just tired, Cleo. There’s a lot going on. I’m fucking stressed out, okay?”
Why can’t she just cut me some slack? Spike thought angrily.
Cleo got off the bed, pushing past him. “If you can’t hack the stress of leadership, then maybe you shouldn’t be the leader,” she hissed, slamming his door behind her.
Spike sighed, tightening a fist as he fought the urge to go after Cleo. If she were a man, he would have beaten her senseless, but he refused to become his father.
Throwing himself onto his bed, Spike punched his pillow and closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind so he could sleep. He dozed fitfully through the night, his dreams and nightmares intertwining with each other. One second he was fully inside Georgia’s tight pussy, the next, Ivan was standing over a pile of his friends’ bodies, with Georgia on top.
Spike woke suddenly, early the next morning, the bright light filtering through the holes in his curtains. He was filled with the powerful idea that Georgia wasn’t safe.
Logic told him that his dreams were making him paranoid, and that Georgia was probably safe and sound at home, but he had to be sure. He stealthily crept out of his room and down the stairs, waiting until he was out on the porch to put on his boots. He even duck-walked his bike all the way down the block before starting it, he was so concerned about getting busted by someone in the gang.
Spike drove down Georgia’s street, killing the engine as he approached her house. He didn’t want to wake her unnecessarily—or give anyone else the head’s up that he was here.
“I feel like a fucking creep,” Spike muttered to himself as he walked around to the back of Georgia’s house to where he knew her bedroom window was.
Peering inside, he spotted her sleeping inside, still wearing only her panties, as far as Spike could tell. Now I’m really being a creep! Spike thought ashamedly as he felt his dick grow hard. He hurriedly walked back to the front of the house, glad Georgia was unhurt.
As he got on his bike, Spike noticed a black car parked across the street at the exact perfect angle to see the entrance to Georgia’s house. Its windows were heavily tinted, Spike noticed as he silently rolled his bike down her driveway.
Once he was down the road a way, he started his bike and drove away, his heart pounding fast. He was certain he’d seen that same car driving in and out of Ivan’s warehouse yesterday.
Ivan knew where Georgia lived, so he didn’t need to put a tail on her. That meant the car was most likely there to collect her. Spike couldn’t wait; he needed to act now.
Circling around the block, Spike once again killed his engine, but this time, he was one street behind Georgia’s house. Grateful it was still fairly early in the morning, he pulled his bike up next to a line of hedges at one of the houses close to Georgia’s. He wanted it to be close so they could be ready for a fast getaway.
He crept through the neighbor’s backyard, entering Georgia’s, once again approaching her bedroom window. She wasn’t in her bed anymore Spike noticed as he squinted through the glass.
Fuck! She must be in the bathroom. Spike waited for a minute, but when she didn’t come out, he began to lightly tap on the window pane. A few seconds later, Georgia popped out of the bathroom, wearing a fluffy yellow robe with daisies on it and wielding a pair of scissors, looking for the sound.
Spike raised an eyebrow, thinking, As long as I live, I will never be able to predict this woman. He tapped on the glass again to catch her attention and waved for her to come over. When she got a little closer, Spike motioned for her to open the window, putting a finger to his lips, telling her to be very quiet. Georgia looked confused, but did as she was told, noiselessly unlocking the window and pushing it open.
Spike did his best to pull himself through the opening as silently as possible, but he knocked his head against the window frame, making a loud cracking sound. He instantly froze, listening for any movement from the front of the house. Hearing nothing, Spike stepped the rest of the way into the room, holding onto Georgia for support.
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
Spike shook his head, still too worried to speak. He walked over to her closet and opened the doors. Grabbing a small bag from the top shelf, he gestured for her to pack some clothes. He tapped his wrist—hurry.
Georgia grabbed a couple of shirts from her closet, and a pair of pajamas from her dresser. She tiptoed into the bathroom, returning a few moments later after changing, holding a zipped bag in hand. Slipping on a pair of sneakers, Georgia nodded to Spike, telling him she was ready.
Spike eased himself out of the window first, turning around to offer Georgia a hand. However, she effortlessly folded herself through the small square and landed in a soft crouch.
Grinning at her, Spike took Georgia’s hand, leading her through the yard to where his motorcycle was still partially hidden by the hedge. Spike mounted the bike, shaking his head and handing Georgia a helmet when she gave him a questioning look. She wanted to know if it was okay to talk yet, and he wasn’t willing to risk it—not without knowing who exactly was in the car.
It was a little harder to gain momentum walking the bike with two people on it, but Spike managed to get them down the street without too much of a struggle. Starting the engine, Spike quickly threw it into gear, tearing down the road with complete disregard to both the speed limit and the neighbors’ morning schedules. The last thing he wanted was for the dark car to catch up to him because he was too busy obeying the traffic laws.
Unsure of where else to go, Spike drove back to Satan’s Disciples headquarters. It was a little before nine in the morning—most of the gang wouldn’t be up for at least another hour. He snuck into the house and up the stairs, Georgia following silently behind him. Once they were in his room, Spike shut the door with a tiny click, and let out a sigh of relief.
“Now can we talk?” Georgia whispered hesitantly.
Spike nodded. “Yeah,” he said though not loudly. “We just gotta keep it down, okay?”
“What’s going on?” she said, repeating herself from earlier.
“There was a car parked outside your place this morning, watching you,” he told her. “Only it wasn’t there just to watch.”
Georgia gaped at him. “How…how did you know that?” she asked.
Spike shrugged. “You learn to pick up the signs after a while,” he said vaguely. In a situation like this, he didn’t think details would be very helpful.
“So…what am I doing here, then?” Georgia looked around at Spike’s room, trying to keep her face void of judgement.
It was right about now that Spike noticed a pair of boxers with some embarrassing stains on the floor about ten inches away from Georgia’s foot. He hurriedly reached down to grab them, tossing them in a pile of clothes in the corner that were equally clean or dirty.
“Ivan has obviously decided to speed up the timeline here and go after you directly,” Spike explained. “You’re not safe at home anymore. You’re going to have to stay here where I can keep an eye on you.”
“‘Keep an eye on me?’” Georgia said mockingly. “What, do you like me or something?”
“I still have yet to fully collect on my end of the bargain,” Spike teasingly reminded her. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt comfortable enough to simply joke around with someone, where he wasn’t concerned with someone taking something the wrong way and a fight possibly breaking out.
He had to admit, he was impressed with her fortitude. Finding out a dangerous mob boss was hunting her down apparently hadn’t shaken her too much. Feeling bold, Spike took a step forward and kissed Georgia lightly.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” a voice exclaimed behind Spike and Georgia, causing them to spring apart.
Cleo stood in the doorway; apparently they had been so absorbed in each other, neither of them had heard her enter.
“I knew it,” Cleo hissed. �
��I knew this was about that fucking cager!” she screamed, stabbing a finger at Georgia. “Did you even really find Ivan?”
“Of course I did!” Spike said indignantly. “After the meeting last night, how can you ask that?”
“Cager?” Georgia whispered to Spike, hiding behind him.
He glanced back at her. “Someone who drives a car,” he muttered under his breath.
“Well, that doesn’t exactly seem fair considering I don’t really have a car anymore,” Georgia said belligerently, raising her eyebrow at Cleo.
Cleo took a step forward. “I swear to god, if this bitch doesn’t—”
“Relax, Cleo,” Spike said, putting his hands on her shoulders.
Cleo violently shrugged him off of her. “Don’t!” she yelled, not caring if the entire house overheard her. “Don’t do that!”