Patchwhore

by Kim Jones

  “Someone’s feisty.”

  “Someone’s pissed. We had a deal, remember? And you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain.”

  He winks. “So greedy.”

  I give him a nasty look. “Says Mr. So-selfish.”

  “Hope that stool is comfortable, gorgeous.” He grabs Ronnie’s beer, lowering his mouth to my ear. “Because you’re not going anywhere.”

  I’m still stewing when Clint returns. “You ready?”

  “Beyond ready,” I snap, glaring at Cook who’s a little too confident. If he thinks I’m not leaving, he’s as bat shit crazy as Lefty.

  “Something goin’ on with you and Cook?” Clint asks once we’re outside.

  “Hell no,” I lie. “I just have little tolerance for arrogance.”

  He laughs. “Cook? Arrogant? He’s the humblest guy I know.”

  “You’ve known him for a while?”

  “Years.” I’m somewhat confused by his answer. Did he know Cook before he became a Prospect? While he fastens my helmet, I make a mental note to find out more once we get where we’re going.

  Straddling the bike, he motions for me to climb on. I do so gracefully—relieved to see there’s no duct tape holding the damn thing together.

  “Shit.”

  “What is it?” I ask, watching as he flips a couple switches and presses a few buttons.

  “It won’t crank.”

  “Maybe it’s the battery? Can you jump it off?” My tone is a little desperate. “My car is here…” I trail off when Clint curses under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Someone stole my fuckin’ battery.” That son of a bitch.

  I didn’t bother going back inside the bar. I didn’t even tell Clint I was leaving. When he went inside, I got in my car. When I got home, I took my key out from under the mat and dead bolted my door.

  A bottle of wine, call to Emily and three hours later, I give in and check my phone that’s been vibrating like crazy with messages. The first few are from Kat.

  You okay?

  Worried about you.

  Please don’t make me send the Calvary.

  I type out a quick reply.

  I’m fine. Home. If you send the Calvary, make sure they have food

  Two messages are from Jud.

  You fucking Clint now too?

  Whore.

  Classic, dick.

  And there’s one message from Cook. I start to delete it, but I’m buzzed. A little curious. And too hopeful that it’s a promise to fuck me crazy.

  I’ll be there at midnight.

  I should tell him to piss off.

  Kick rocks.

  Eat a dick.

  Instead, I unlock the door.

  “I hate you,” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat as he pounds into me from behind.

  “Your cunt tells a different story.” He delivers a hard thrust that has my toes curling. “My thighs are fuckin’ soaked.” Another brutal drive. “You’ve come on my tongue. My fingers. Twice on my cock. And I haven’t been here twenty minutes.”

  He’s right.

  The moment he pushed open the door of my bedroom, everything inside me awakened. I was already naked. His clothes were off in a matter of seconds. He didn’t even kiss me—he dove right between my legs. He fucked me with his tongue. His fingers.

  When he said he’d missed the taste of my pussy, I came.

  He growled about how he had to stretch me with his fingers because my cunt was too tight for his cock, and I came.

  Then he fucked me so hard he had to tell me to breathe. And on that breath, I came.

  He slowed. He caressed. He trailed kisses down my spine. He said, “I’ve missed you, gorgeous. So fuckin’ much.” I’m still reeling from that one. Even as another starts to build.

  My body is limp. Face in the mattress. Ass in the air. His hands grip my hips, holding me up. My orgasm consumes me. Voice lost. Breath gone. Heart still. I can’t even fist my fingers in the sheets. I just ride the wave—trusting he’ll keep me from drowning.

  I feel him stiffen. Make a strangled noise. My flesh is hypersensitive and I shiver when he pulses inside me. Breathes down my back. Kisses my neck. As attentive as always, he pulls out of me slowly, covering me as the bed dips and he stands.

  Moments later he returns, pulling me from unconsciousness and into his arms. “Don’t ever make me wait that long again,” I say, my voice hoarse, not sounding like my own. He smiles against my ear. “You nearly killed me.”

  “The wait nearly killed you?” he asks amused.

  I shake my head. Well, I try to. “No. All the coming after my dry spell almost killed me.”

  “I apologize. From now on every date will end with me.” In the few moments of silence, I’m dozing again. But his voice wakes me. “I gotta leave soon, gorgeous.”

  “Deuces,” I mutter.

  His light laugh has me smiling. “You only want me for my cock.”

  “And you only want me for yourself.”

  “So true.” He kisses my temple. “See you soon, selfish, greedy, gorgeous girl.”

  “Wait.” His lips still in my hair at my demand. “Did you steal Clint’s battery?”

  I feel his grin at my ear. In my toes. Then he whispers, “What do you think?”

  Eagles Vice President Zack

  The next day I’m holding my schedule in my hand, begging my co-worker Jeannie to cover a shift for me. I’d asked for Thursdays off, but my manager didn’t seem to care. He’d scheduled me anyway for the evening shift. And I have a date that night with Eagles VP Zack, who Kat promises is normal.

  “I’d do it for you,” I say, hoping guilt will convince her.

  She lets out a loud sigh. “Fine. But are you ever gonna tell me why you need Thursdays off?”

  “It’s for a family thing,” I lie. “Thanks Jeannie. You’re the best.” I clock out and head to my car, calling Kat on the way to get the details on this “western themed” party she’d texted me about, that just so happens to be on the same night as my date with Zack.

  She tells me it’s a tribute to John Wayne on the thirty-seventh anniversary of his death. I’m apprehensive at first. This party doesn’t sound like a club function at all. There’s no point in meeting Zack there if Jud wouldn’t be there for me to rub it in his face. But my reluctance fades when she informs me one of the clubs is hosting it as a way to raise money.

  The wait for Thursday is killing me. The week is long and boring. And not hearing from Cook seems to make the time pass that much slower. I think I need to add a clause to our deal that says he has to come over every night. Regardless if I have a date or not.

  I’m sure his response would be something like, “Greedy girl.” Not that I mind. Actually, I find it kind of hot when he calls me “girl.”

  Finally, Thursday arrives. I’m more than ready to shake my ass to some George Straight, make Jud blow steam out of his ears, then come home and wait for Cook to fuck me so hard I pass out.

  It’s nearly eight when I arrive at Pop’s. The crowd of men outside the door doesn’t bother to keep their lewd comments to themselves as they gaze lustfully at me in my western outfit--cut-off jean shorts, flannel shirt unbuttoned enough to show a generous amount of cleavage and cowboy boots.

  I brush past them nervously—offering a tight smile as I quickly make my way inside.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” a young guy standing just inside the door drawls. I laugh at how in character he is. He must be a member of the club hosting the party.

  “Howdy.”

  “Malfunctional Prospect, Lyle. Nice to meet you.”

  I take his hand and nod. “Carmen.”

  Tightening his grip, he pulls me closer to him and dips his head. “I swear I don’t usually sound like that. It’s just another way for the club to make an ass out of me.”

  I meet his friendly gaze and smile. Intrigued, I ask, “Why would they want to make an ass out of you?”

  “It’s all part of prospec
ting. Allowing them to take my pride helps to prove my loyalty.”

  He pulls back, and I can see the reflection of said loyalty in his eyes. I want to know more. Maybe by learning this Prospect’s reasons, I can better understand another Prospect I know.

  “But why pride? You can’t prove yourself in some other way?” Like robbing a liquor store or stealing a car…

  “Pride is a real man’s greatest gift to give. I have no self-respect when it comes to my club. Because it’s not about me. It’s about brotherhood.”

  “Prospect!” someone yells, causing me to jump. He just smiles—as finely attuned to the outburst as Cook.

  “Nice to meet you, Carmen. Have fun tonight.”

  I smile back. “You too.”

  My face falls as a burly man who is seething with anger approaches. I spin on my heel and fight through the crowd to the bar. Looking back over my shoulder, I can see the man yelling in the Prospect’s face. I have the urge to defend him. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

  “Don’t feel bad for him,” Zack says, turning on his stool to greet me. He motions to the empty one next to it. “We all have to go through it. One day, he’ll be doing the same thing to another guy.”

  I sidle up next to him, forcing myself not to look back at the door. “Just seems like it sucks.”

  Zack laughs. “Oh, it does. But it’s worth it.” He winks, and although it doesn’t light a fire inside me like Cook’s winks do, there’s something warm about it.

  Zack isn’t by any means hot, but he’s nice looking. Early-thirties. Medium height. Square jaw covered in thick, dark hair. Gray eyes that always seem to smile and have yet to look at me like I’m a piece of meat. Instead, they have a kind, respectful gleam in them. Appreciative, but not lecherous or dirty. It seems the further I move up in the rankings, the more normal the Eagles get. I bet their President is a real winner…

  “Would you like a drink?” he asks, motioning with his hand to get Kat’s attention. She immediately comes over—snapping her towel in the air between us.

  “Look at this feisty cowgirl!”

  “Hey Kat. Margarita?”

  “You got it!”

  Conversation with Zack is easy. Simple. He asks about school and seems impressed that I’m studying engineering. He works for a pipeline company, and even hands me his business card—promising me an interview with his employer once I’ve graduated.

  Thirty minutes, two margaritas and a few buttery nipple shots—my new favorite—later, he asks me to dance.

  I find myself comparing him to Cook who I’ve been nonchalantly scanning the room for since I got here. I’ve yet to see him, but as I dance with Zack, I can’t help but wish it was his arms holding me.

  Where Cook is a hard wall of muscle, Zack is softer. Cook towers over me, Zack only has me by a couple inches. Zack’s hands lay respectfully on my hips. Cook’s linger on my ass. Lower back. Between my thighs…

  “Jud can’t keep his eyes off of you,” Zack says, bringing me back to the present. I find Jud sitting at a nearby table ignoring the guy talking to him as he shoots daggers at me. So much for those lusty looks… “He won’t say anything, though. Clarissa would kill him.”

  I peel my eyes from Jud just as Clarissa climbs in his lap. “Wouldn’t want that to happen,” I mutter. Zack smiles, but doesn’t comment. “It doesn’t bother you to dance with me knowing I used to be with him? I mean, he is your brother.”

  He studies Jud a moment before meeting my eyes. “Drake asked him in front of all of us did he care if the two of you went out. Jud said no. Swore it. Gave his word. So we took it. Plus, he named Clarissa as his property. She wears his patch.” His eyes drop to mine. “Can’t claim but one ol’ lady, babe.” I give him a tight smile and ignore that gleam in his eyes. The one that suggests maybe I could be his ol’ lady.

  Hell no.

  We finish out the song, then return to the bar—his hand not possessive, but supportive in the middle of my back.

  I take a seat, and he doesn’t follow. I spin on my stool and find him standing with his hand outstretched. The hand that receives it is all too familiar to me. Then I hear his voice.

  “Good seeing you again, Zack. How’s that new Street Glide treating you?”

  Zack answers, but I’m too busy playing Cook’s words on a loop inside my head. So deep. So manly. So damn panty wetting. The things this man does to me. Dressed in his white T-shirt and ripped jeans. That damn leather vest. Cocky grin. Throaty voice. Oh, he’s going to fuck me tonight.

  After what feels like years have passed, he finally notices me. His smile touches his cool, blue eyes. They’re not blazing or amused. They’re just … blue. He doesn’t look jealous or possessive. He doesn’t even give me a warning glare about my outfit. He just looks … satisfied. Like he knows something I don’t.

  “I see you got a seat next to the prettiest girl in the bar,” he says, still looking at me.

  Zack lets out a chuckle. “Yeah.” As if he’s afraid Cook might ask to sit down, he takes his seat. Cook’s lips twitch in amusement. “She’s definitely something.” I flash a shy grin at Zack who sits a little closer to me now than he did before.

  “Well you should get a seat closer to the dance floor. Competition is about to start.”

  “Competition?” I ask Cook, who nods slowly—something secretive lurking in his gaze. What the hell is he up to?

  “Something the clubs come up with to help raise money. Just another opportunity for them to make an ass out of us.” He quirks a brow at me. Had he been listening to my conversation with the Prospect at the door? Did someone tell him about it? Wait. Is he…

  “Are you in this competition?” He nods again. I giggle for some reason. “What kind of competition is it?” Before I can get my answer, Ronnie calls him from a few feet away.

  “Come on, Prospect. I got some money to win.” I wave to Ronnie, but he’s already heading toward the stage—laughing and shaking his head.

  “See you soon, gorgeous,” Cook says, winking at me before giving Zack a nod—a flash of victory in his eyes. “Have fun … Zack.” I watch as he struts away. Swaying that sexy ass of his through the crowd in confident, powerful strides.

  What the hell was that about? Why do I feel like he’s up to no good? And why did he just look at Zack like that? Is he that confident he’s going to win the competition?

  “Let’s get closer,” I say, grabbing my fourth margarita of the night from the bar and hopping down from my stool. I don’t wait for Zack as I lift my drink high in the air and maneuver through the throng of people that has gathered around the dance floor.

  Several men are on the stage. Cook stands tall and proud and composed in the center. I recognize two of the other six men as Eagles Prospect, Brett, and Malfuctional Prospect, Lyle.

  There’s only one available seat and it’s next to Ronnie. Not wanting to be rude to Zack, I stand with the rest of the people who couldn’t find a seat and wait—my eyes fixed on Cook. A week is just too long.

  “Carmen?” I nod to a waitress holding a tray filled with empty beer bottles and ashtrays. “Zack told me to tell you he has to step out a minute, but that he’ll be back shortly.”

  I frown. “Is everything alright?”

  Shrugging, she grabs another couple bottles from a table next to us. “Don’t know. Didn’t say.” Noticing my look, she flashes me a smile. “I’m sure it’s fine.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I heard Ronnie say like, way earlier, that he was gonna send some guys with a trailer somewhere. Guess a bike broke down or somethin’. Funny how he waited till now to send someone though. Don’t you think?”

  She lifts her chin at someone on the stage—beaming at them. I feel a wave of jealously crash through me, but find it’s one of the other guys looking at her. Not Cook, who has his back turned and is speaking with the man holding the microphone.

  The chair next to Ronnie is still empty. And I’m not surprised when he motions for
me to take it. Sliding in next to him, I bump my shoulder with his. “Did you intentionally sabotage my date?”

  He winks. “Maybe.”

  “Why?” It’s not that I care, but what’s it to him?

  “Tell you what, sugar,” he says, resting his arm on the back of my chair. “If I win, I’ll half it with you.” He touches his beer bottle to my glass and drinks, leaving my question unanswered as the emcee calls to everyone in the room.

  “Listen up, folks.” The noise dies down instantly. “Malfunctional MC’s Lake Charles chapter is celebrating their five-year anniversary.” People shout and clap, including Ronnie who stands. When he does, everyone else follows suit.

  A man wearing a patch that names him President of Malfunctional MC, steps up to give Ronnie a hug. I guess Ronnie’s show of respect means something.

  We take our seats and the emcee starts again. “The cover charge you paid today will go to show your support. So, on behalf of the MC, I want to thank you for coming out.”

  Cover charge? I didn’t pay … Is that why the Prospect was getting yelled at? I look for him on the stage, but I find Cook first. And he’s watching me. I narrow my eyes playfully—silently accusing him of being a part of the plan to sabotage my date. Again. He just smirks.

  “To show how much we appreciate you being here, we’re gonna provide you with a little entertainment … free of charge.” He motions to the men on the stage. “Every man on this stage is trying to prove himself to the club. Each one is from a different club or chapter. We’re gonna see who has what it takes. Who wants it the most. Who’s gonna earn braggin’ rights for their club.”

  The crowd cheers for their favorite—calling out the name of the man representing their club. I hear several people yell for Cook, who stares out at the crowd. His expression stoic. Game face…

  “In memory of the legendary John Wayne, we’re gonna do this…” The emcee’s voice drops. “Cowboy style.”

  “You know anything about line dancin’, sugar?” Ronnie asks, leaning close enough for me to hear him over the emcee who’s going over the rules.

  I smirk. “I’m from Georgia, baby. You can’t be a sweet peach if you don’t know how to line dance.”