by Bijou Hunter
After hours of “Monk,” Ramona gets drowsy and dozes on the couch. Shelby remains hyper-alert, and I don’t think she’ll sleep much tonight.
“I’ll sleep down here,” River says after changing the TV to a movie. “Just in case.”
Shelby knows he’s offering to keep her company, and I catch a relieved little smile on her face. No way can Ramona and I sleep in the family room, despite all the fucking couches. Now my sister knows she has someone to watch her back.
I guide Ramona up the narrow steps to the bathroom first and then to my bedroom. She looks so sexy without her makeup. Not that I don’t love her all made up, but her dark lips and eyes act as a shield. When she washes off the makeup, she’s opening herself to me.
“I have to tell you something,” she whispers once we’re on my bed, and she cuddles next to me. “I don’t think you should tell Shelby, but I also don’t want you caught off guard if she finds out.”
Frowning, I pull a blanket over her pale legs. “What is it?”
“You know the murder-suicide that happened in this house?” When I nod, she lowers her voice. “Before that happened, the couple had a teenage daughter who disappeared. A lot of people thought they murdered her. The speculation ruined them, and I think that’s why he killed his wife and then himself. After they died, some locals wanted to dig up the yard to look for Violet. That was their teenage daughter’s name. No one ever did, though. The cops claimed she ran away. I remember reading their official statement before I went to Cleveland.”
I look around this house and scowl darker. “Shelby’s going to freak out if she thinks a kid died here.”
“That’s the thing. Some people think she got grabbed by the same person or people who left those girls at Corpse Crossing. If that’s true, then Violet was likely grabbed around here. No way was she over in the Swamp.”
A cold dread washes over me. “Shelby will never leave the house again if she thinks that guy grabs women off the street. She won’t be able to function. She already thinks this house is haunted. I don’t know how she remains in Shasta if this shit gets in her head.”
“But Violet might not be dead. The cops think she ran off. Some of her stuff was gone when they checked her room. People claim the family just made it look like she ran away, but her parents said they didn’t think she did. It was a wild time because Violet was popular at school, and her family had money. But then the cops said she ran off, and they weren’t going to investigate anymore. Then the parents died, and everything died down. People never talk about it anymore. When they mention the ghost house, they just talk about the hot bikers living here,” she says and then strokes my furrowed brow. “I just wanted you to know, so you’d be ready since Shelby’s sensitive to that stuff.”
“Aren’t you afraid of living here?”
“No. I mean, well, I’m as afraid as I felt in Cleveland. Crime happens everywhere, and lots of crimes never get reported. You never know,” she says softly while brushing her lips against my right cheek. “There was only one time when I was really freaked out about the Shasta Slasher. Most days, I’m only afraid of teenagers harassing me for beer money.”
“One, if anyone ever harasses you for any reason, you tell me, and I’ll deal with them. Two, when was the time you were freaked out?”
Ramona lowers her lips to my throat and sucks gently at the flesh. I really shouldn’t have a hard dick when we’re talking about serial killers and my freaked-out sister. But Ramona keeps moving her hips against mine, and only her thin panties and my straining boxers keep us apart.
“There’s a gas station out on the road they call Corpse Crossing. I stopped there one time on my way back into town. The card thingy didn’t work on the pump, so I went inside. The guy behind the counter said something about me being so pretty that the slasher might come out of retirement to snap me up. He was pretty old. The woman sitting nearby made that circle move with her finger and her ear. You know, like she was calling him crazy. I blew it off, but after I left, my car broke down a few miles away.”
Unable to think while she leaves hickeys on my throat, I gently detach her. Ramona frowns, and I sigh. “I need blood in my brain to comprehend your words.”
She keeps frowning for about ten seconds before looking down at my erection threatening to pop out of my boxers. Grinning now, she shrugs. “Let’s just fuck, then.”
“No, I want to hear how your story ended.”
“I died, and now I’m a ghost, Shane,” she teases and reaches for my cock.
Snatching her hand before she can turn off my brain completely, I sigh. “What happened with your car?”
“I thought maybe someone tinkered with it, but it was just the electrical acting up again. Still, I didn’t know that, and I was too paranoid to call a tow truck and get a ride. Like what if the driver was the killer and he set it up? I was super freaked out, and none of my friends could pick me up for hours since they were working. I refused every ride from every person who stopped. Even from the elderly sisters that work at the church. They might be in on it,” she says and grins at the thought. “I sat in my car for three hours, waiting for Hugh. The entire time I held one of the knives I have stashed in there. I was convinced something bad was going to happen. But it didn’t, of course.”
“You were smart to be paranoid.”
“Thank you. Now can we do something about my wet pussy, please?” she asks and nuzzles her still-covered tits in my face.
I slide my hands up her shirt, wanting to remove it, but she immediately shuts that shit down.
“But I already know about the tattoo,” I murmur while teasing her nipples through the fabric.
Ramona stiffens, and I find her wearing a panicky frown on her face. I decide we’ll just get that conversation out of the way. Why not? We’re already talking about dead girls and other fucked-up shit.
“The guy who did my tats is a brilliant artist,” I say, pretending I haven’t noticed her tension. “I bet he could fix your tat.”
“Fix it?”
“Turn it into something that you’d like better.”
Ramona stares hard at the ceiling. “It can’t be fixed.”
“I knew a girl who got her boyfriend’s name just above her pussy. Well, as you can imagine, she wasn’t happy to have it there once he cheated on her. My dad’s friend, Aaron, is a great artist, and he created a design where the name is completely hidden by flowers and butterflies. The guy is a master.”
Even nodding, Ramona refuses to look at me. She seems to get smaller, and the look on her face feels almost childlike. If this is her reaction to fixing the tat, how will she handle talking about the Executioners?
That’s why I chicken out and switch gears. “You can think about it,” I mumble and cup her butt cheeks with both hands. “We can get that done after I have your name tatted on my dick. A lot of guys wouldn’t have the room for a six-letter name, but I’ll have plenty of meat to spare.”
Ramona stops glaring at the ceiling and focuses on me. A smile warms her gorgeous face, and she asks, “If we break up, will you have flowers and butterflies tatted over it?”
“We’ll never break up. However, if we did, I’d probably go with something super butch like kittens frolicking.”
Laughing now, Ramona returns to her earlier calm demeanor. She frees my cock and studies the hard flesh.
“Can I tell you something without hurting your feelings?” she asks.
Wary now, I mutter, “What?”
“I don’t think I’d take your dick as seriously or find it as sexy if it had my name or kittens on it,” she says before standing up on the bed so she can wiggle free of her panties. “Now, maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I don’t think dicks should be decorative.”
Grinning, I admire the flash of her pussy along with the teasing smile she gives me as she lowers herself back on my lap.
“Now, if you want to pierce your dick with a stud of my birthstone, that’d be mighty sexy.”
“W
ill you get your clit pierced with my birthstone?” I ask while nibbling at her lower lip.
“Sure. We can hold hands while our privates are mutilated with love art.”
“Or,” I murmur and return my hands to her tits, “we could just tat your name somewhere less private, and leave the mutilation for our twentieth anniversary.”
“First the flowers and now a dick stud?” she whispers as my cock moves deeper inside her. “You’ve got this romance thing down pat, Shane Campbell.”
Despite her teasing tone, Ramona isn’t wrong. This woman fits snugly in the palm of my hand. She sighs for me in just the right way. Hell, I nearly have her coming on command by the end of the night. Is there anything more romantic than a man who knows how to make his woman’s body hum?
THE LEGACY
Entering my house two days after I last saw it, I find Kelsi and Hugh looking at me as if I’m nuts. I’m wearing clothes that don’t fit because Shelby is taller and curvier than I am. They sit on the couch with my flowers resting between them.
“Where have you been, young lady?” Kelsi demands while resting the video game controller in her lap. “We are livid.”
“What’s happening?” I ask and set my bag on the table. “What is this?”
“You just ran off and left us to babysit your flowers,” Hugh growls with great flourish. “How dare you?”
Kelsi shakes her head. “They need water, Ramona Verhees. You left them to suffer from dehydration. And for what? To satisfy your wanton sexual desires. For shame.”
“Where did all this cock addiction come from?” Hugh asks, fighting a smile.
“We’ve always been obsessed with cock,” I say and shrug. “It’s our thing.”
Kelsi nods. “It’s part of the Band’s bylaws.”
“However, Max isn’t cock obsessed,” I point out. “So, maybe it’s not our thing.”
“Look, I’m the designated driver,” Hugh says. “In the Band, we all have our roles. Max rejects the cock. Kelsi checks if the gas is left on. And yours is to water the plants.”
“I don’t feel like I knew that was my thing.”
“Okay, then yours is to walk the dog,” Kelsi says, throwing Hugh a save. “You let poor Hilly down.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur to the mixed breed sniffing my shoes, where he catches the scent of Shane’s dogs. “I should have come home, but a very nice man kept fucking me, and I couldn’t wiggle free of his dick.”
Kelsi snorts. “Been there.”
Hugh nods. “Done that.”
Resting the flowers on my lap, I sit between them on the couch as they return to the game. “I think I love Shane.”
“We know,” Hugh says.
“I feel uneasy about loving him.”
Kelsi nods. “We know that too.”
“He’s trying to fold me into his life. Sleeping at his house, eating out with his group, taking me to and from work. I don’t know if that’s normal.”
“My parents barely speak to each other,” Hugh says. “I have no fucking clue what’s normal.”
Kelsi shoots his avatar in the face and then turns to me. “It doesn’t matter what we think is normal. Shane’s from Ellsberg, and maybe that’s how they roll.”
“Maybe, but I worry he’ll swallow me up, and I won’t have any of my life left.”
Kelsi studies me. “Have you talked about stuff?”
“What stuff?”
“Anything that’s bothering you.”
Her expression makes me uneasy. Does she mean the stuff with the Executioners? Is that what she was worried about a few days back? If Shane knew, he’d mention it no doubt. He couldn’t help himself.
Immediately, I lose my smile. Just as instantly, she looks guilty. I think about that tattoo across my back, claiming I’m the property of some douche in Ohio. That’s the kind of shit that happens when I’m in charge. I agree to stupid stuff that snowballs until I’m forever scarred with an idiot’s name.
“Where’d you get this shirt?” Hugh asks, distracting Kelsi and me from our pouting match.
“It’s Shelby’s.”
“Are you staying here tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know? Didn’t he tell you his desires before he dropped you off?”
“I think he wants me at his house every night, but I haven’t decided if I’m going.”
“Why not?”
“I miss my bed,” I mutter as Kelsi starts playing. “I miss my friends.”
“And you don’t want to get too attached for when the floor drops out on this thing.”
“No, I don’t.”
Hugh grunts at my response, and I stop admiring my flowers long enough to frown at where he watches me.
“What?”
“We all know this thing with Shane will flame out eventually. That’s just how things work in Shasta. But if that’s a done deal, why not enjoy every second you have with him? Do you really think if you spend half your time away from him that it’ll hurt any less when he ends shit? That pain is coming no matter what. Why not savor every bit of the good stuff while you still can?”
“Hugh knows his stuff,” Kelsi mumbles, without looking at me.
“Here’s what I think,” Hugh says, setting aside his controller. “I think you fucked up in the way that everyone fucks up, which makes you scared to fuck up again.”
While I rub my wrists without thinking, Hugh picks up his controller and sighs. “But each time you fucked up, we were here to help you get through it. Just like when Kelsi got crabs, and we all helped her by laughing and pointing.”
I fight a little grin while she giggles. “Remember how much I scratched my snatch?” Kelsi asks, throwing her head back and laughing. “It was like when Hilly got fleas.”
“But we helped her through that with cold compresses and by picking up her de-crabbing cream. Or like how you all helped me when I got in that fight with them rednecks. Or when Max lost her stepdad and lost the ability to function for a few weeks. That’s what the Band does. So, when shit goes south with Shane, we’ll be here.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. What if things end this weekend? Will you regret not spending tonight with him?”
“Yeah, I guess, I would.”
“Then pack your shit, call him to pick you up, and see if you can take your flowers with you since they’re making Kelsi feel unloved.”
“No, they’re not.”
“I think she might have sexually molested them last night,” Hugh whispers loudly to me.
Kelsi shrugs. “That, I don’t deny.”
“But don’t you miss me if I’m gone all the time?” I ask them.
“No,” they say in unison. Hugh adds, “We also have videos of you that we can put on in the background to create the illusion that you’re here.”
“Creative. Okay, I’ll grab some stuff and send a shot of my pussy to Shane as bait to get him back here.”
“Pussy shots,” Kelsi says, snickering. “It’s like we’re back in high school.”
Sharing her amusement, I leave them to play their game. Once I pack a few outfits, I sit on the bed and dial Shane.
“Miss me already?” he teases.
“Yes, actually. I was wondering if you want me to sleep over again?”
His two seconds of hesitation is all I need to rethink everything.
“Or you can just move into my place,” he says, startling me out of my worries.
“What?”
“Too soon?”
“Probably, yeah. But about tonight, are you okay with picking me up?”
Shane hesitates again. “Yeah, this is good.”
“What’s good?”
“I’m supposed to meet the rest of the Foursome at the Saloon tonight. Bringing you will be good. I want people to know you’re mine.”
Shane waits for me to respond, and I think of six very serious reasons why going to the Saloon tonight is a huge mistake. But they’re all
bullshit. I’ve spent years hating that place. It’s where my mom went so many nights, leaving me alone. The Saloon represents Fuse and his stupid club. Or, at least, it used to before the Reapers rode into Shasta and took everything away from the Skullz.
I need to let go of the past and live for today. That’s uplifting, right? I can walk into the Saloon and have a good night with my man and his friends. There’s nothing standing in my way except for my old hang-ups.
Oh, and that insufferable bitch, Goddess Limbaugh.
THE CHAPTER WHERE THE DARKNESS ALMOST WINS
THE ROMANTIC
I’m relieved when Ramona asks to hang out tonight. The thought of giving her space—like River recommended—tore me up. I always want her nearby. She needs to be protected and worshipped. I can’t do that shit when she’s on the other side of town.
That doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with bringing her to the Saloon. This place feels like a fucking whorehouse, and I’m walking through the front doors with the woman I plan to make my wife. Those worlds shouldn’t mesh, but I decide not to bail on my plans. Instead, I’ll make a show of Ramona belonging to me. The sooner people realize she’s protected, the better.
Ramona meets me at the Saloon in her car. I think she doesn’t like feeling stranded at my place. Maybe she wants her vehicle nearby, just in case she needs to escape if I get on her nerves. That’s my assumption anyway. Then I look inside the car to find a bag, her flowers, and a few other things that she likely didn’t think would fit on the back of my Harley. I smile at her planning to bunk for more than tonight with me.
While Ramona grips my hand, we enter the Saloon to find maybe twenty people hanging around the place. There’s Utah with the prospect, Quaid, standing at the pool tables. I notice Chase messing around with a sweet butt in a booth. River is at the bar, checking his phone. I don’t see my sister, Taylor, or Maverick anywhere.
The only person to acknowledge our arrival is the fapsock friend of those two fapsocks Fuse created before he hit paydirt with Ramona.