by Hazel Parker
He flipped me over and continued, running his cock balls deep into me. I couldn’t help my pulsating ass, within a couple dozen seconds, he had me coming again. I dug my nails into his back as I heard him mutter, “So close, so close.” It wasn’t until the orgasm I was experiencing slowed down that I heard Tracy’s pants pick up rapidly, firing faster and faster and faster…
“Fuuuuuuuck!”
With a cry like a bear in battle, with a thrust like he was trying to split me into two, with a tightening of his elbows like he was trying to pop my chest apart, Tracy came. He thrust much more haphazardly as his orgasm continued, letting out stifled cries of pleasure.
Finally, he finished, his muscles relaxing, his body collapsing into me, and his breath slowly returning to normal. I kissed him on the cheek, squeezed him close, feeling him slowly start to go soft within me, having accomplished his orgasm.
“Damn,” he murmured.
Still, he lay there. I was in no rush to get him up, and he didn’t seem to be in any rush to get up either. Why would we? This was as perfect an end to the evening as I could have asked for.
Tracy had more than proved that I wasn’t just some old mama to him, wasn’t just some whore looking for biker dick in his eyes. I was much more. I was someone he could confide in, even about something as painful as his last relationship.
I was his intimate lover. Maybe we weren’t in love yet. Maybe I wasn’t his old lady yet.
But as far as beginnings went, it was hard to top what had just transpired.
Finally, he pulled out, giving a groan as he did.
“I’m about speechless,” he said as he moved to the bathroom.
“You?” I said. “You’re not the only one.”
“Fuuuuck,” he mumbled, walking in weak-legged.
“Again, you’re not the only one.”
He leaned forward to kiss me and I took him in, placing both hands on his cheeks. I pulled back, gazed into his eyes, and smiled at the perfection of this moment.
“No place I’d rather be than with you,” I said, gently squeezing his cheeks.
“Same,” he said after a long pause, simply looking into my eyes.
I pulled back the bed sheets, helping him get in. I curled up against him, threw my arm over him, and slowly drifted off to sleep, the sound of his heartbeat giving me all the relaxation I needed.
Chapter 13: Trace
Boy, you really know how to fuck things up, don’t you.
I had gone to bed feeling on top of the world. Jane Peters and I had finally had sex, and at the moment, it had felt like the absolute right move. My time with her at the top of the lookout had led to a confession that I had never given to anyone outside of the club; her own confession and conversation had made me feel tied and bonded to her like no one outside of my brothers—and, given that this was the bond of romance and not brotherhood, it really was a unique, special bond.
But when I drifted off to dreamland, I had a terrible dream. The dream started off nicely enough, with Jane and I back at the outlook, except this time it was in broad daylight. We could see the perfectly clear sky, and Jane was talking about how she could see her father and mother from here. I had even made a joke in the dream that I could hear her father’s motorcycle all the way up in the sky.
Then, I had turned to look at Los Angeles. At the bottom of the hill, a good half mile away, though, I saw Diablo. He was standing there, wearing a broad smile, a rifle, and a clip.
In real life, of course, he never could have hit Jane or me. For that matter, in real life, I wouldn’t have even been able to pick out Diablo’s facial expression or the fact that it was even Diablo. If I had, it would only have been an educated guess, not the certainty that I had in my dream.
Nevertheless, it felt terrifyingly real and I felt the distinct drop in my stomach that something terrible was about to happen. I grabbed Jane and shielded her from Diablo, but like a magician, when I looked over her shoulder at Green Hills, I saw him pop up once more, this time laughing. I tried to drop her to the ground, but he again just laughed.
No matter what I did, I could not protect Jane in my dream.
He shot her and got her right in the chest. And then, like magic, he again disappeared.
I began crying in my dream. Jane had been killed instantly, or at least quickly enough. I tried to do everything I could to wake her and free her, but nothing worked. I had lost Jane.
And then I had woken up and seen that no, I had not lost her. In fact, she was still asleep, her arm over my chest, breathing comfortably. No one had broken in and killed her. No one had done anything to harm her. If she were sore, it would only be because of the intense, passionate sex that we’d had less than twelve hours ago.
But I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. Yes, teleportation did not exist in real life, and there was zero chance that such a thing could occur. Diablo might make it his mission to hunt Jane, but if I took a bullet for her from her six, she wasn’t going to magically have Diablo appear at twelve o’clock and shoot her from straight on.
The dream wasn’t meant to be literal, though. It was meant to express what I had buried over the course of the three hours, or so we’d spent together before falling asleep—that no matter what actions I took, I could also not protect Jane in real life. I could do everything I could, but short of locking her up in the clubhouse—which, at that point, what was the point of even living—she was never going to be fully safe as long as she was with me.
Paul himself had expressed such concerns in his journals. Jane’s fucking father! I had processed them well enough to realize I might have been making a mistake the night after the party, but no, I decided it wasn’t worth it to break up with her. I had to give myself time to figure it out.
Well, I’d given it time. And look what happened. I’d slept with her, she probably was about two more rounds of sex away from saying she loved me, and now we were hopelessly entangled. I would’ve slapped and laughed at one of my own men if they’d done something so stupid, but there wasn’t anything funny about this now.
The only saving grace, the only thing that might end up making this easier, was that Jane knew the MC life. I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed someone who knew the life—I just didn’t want it to be someone with as bright a future and as good a life as Jane. I had always figured it’d be a mama of the club or a friend who I would eventually fall for and decide was good enough for me.
Not the founder’s daughter. Not a doctor. Not someone who would make more in ten years what I would over the duration of my life. Not someone who saved lives instead of taking them.
I had to cut this off. For her sake, I had to stop her before she got into something that would get her killed or seriously wounded.
I just wished I’d had this thought before I’d finished inside of her. At least I’d had the good sense to wear a condom.
I carefully removed her arm, thinking of kissing her on the cheek, but then deciding against it before I quickly got my clothes on and headed downstairs to the kitchen. The sincere thought was there to leave her twenty bucks so she could catch a ride to work while I went off on my bike, but that was the coward’s way out. I had to have this tough conversation now instead of making up some bullshit excuse about club business.
Instead, knowing she wouldn’t mind, I grabbed myself a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk and started chowing down on breakfast. I didn’t wait but a few minutes before I heard Jane coming down.
“Someone’s up early for a mechanic,” she said with a smile.
I smiled back at her, but the energy just wasn’t there from the night before. Knowing what I did and thinking what I had, I couldn’t fake a smile that matched the previous night’s.
And, for better or for worse, Jane picked up on it immediately.
“What?” she said, concern obvious in her voice.
“You should sit down for this.”
“Tracy?” she said, but the concern was moving toward anger and
fear.
I bit my lip as she sat down from me, her gaze intently upon me. God, why did I have to be such a fucking idiot? Why did I have to be a coward and wait until after the fact? This was not going to reflect well on me as a leader or just, simply, as a man.
But if that was the hit I had to take to prevent Jane from getting so involved she might get herself killed, then that was the damage I had to take.
“I need to apologize right now and say I’m sorry, just up front.”
She bit her lip as she gave a long sigh. Any hint of a smile had vanished. I could see her getting, justifiably, more pissed off by the second.
“When I was courting you… a couple of nights ago, I read your father’s journals. It was something he left the club so that we could understand what he went through as a leader and as a Saint. I came to the passage about your mother passing away, and the grief that he felt was something that scared me. I wondered what would happen if something like that happened to you. And then I wondered, well, why would something like that happen to you?”
I couldn’t figure out Jane’s facial expression anymore. I was not really sure that I even deserved to know, anyways.
“And the thing I kept coming back to was that so long as you’re with me, so long as you’re in the club or associated with it, you’ll lead a life of danger that you don’t have to. I know your father told you to get out, and we did all that we could. We aren’t angry that you came back by any means—in fact, many of us are happy to see you, myself most of all.”
I knew that wasn’t as true as I wanted it to be, and the rising anger on Jane’s face was evidence she found that statement to be bullshit.
“But if you’re with me, Jane, you’ll constantly be a target. You’ll be my emotional lever, and when the Mercs figure that out, they’ll make you a target. They’ll kidnap you, rape you, even kill you when they’ve had enough. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want those things for you. And so…”
I took a deep breath.
“I think what we have should end here. I’ll still be your friend, I’ll still help you with whatever you need, and the club will be there for you. But I don’t want you to be tied any more to this than you have to be.”
For a couple of seconds, Jane just nodded, her eyes locked on mine. The intensity of her gaze was fierce, but she looked like she would just angrily accept what I had said.
And then she slapped me so hard that I fell out of my chair. It felt like Mike Tyson had given me a right cross, and the sting was like that of a thousand angry bees descending upon my chair.
“How dare you,” Jane said, her voice as furious as I had ever heard it. “How fucking dare you. Do you think I didn’t think about all of that? Do you think the fact that my father died at the hands of the fucking Mercs was lost on me? Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?”
“No, Jane, I—”
“Well, you’re right in one way. I am a fucking idiot for believing your bullshit,” she said, her eyes starting to water.
Jesus Christ, you fucking moron, Trace!
“I actually liked you, Trace. I really did. You were always like a big brother, and, well, maybe I came here partially because you were one of the few men I respected in my life. I didn’t know if something like this would happen, but I knew as long as you were around, I would feel comfort in Green Hills. Yes, I have always planned to leave, but you know what? Things change. People change. But apparently, you’ve just become a fucking liar.”
“Jane—”
“No, shut the fuck up,” she said, and by now, tears were streaming down her face. Good job, asshole. “You don’t get to say my name anymore. If you just wanted to fuck me, you should’ve been honest. I probably would’ve said no, but at least we would’ve been honest with each other. Instead, you fucking lied to me to get into my pants. I told you everything up there, Tracy! Everything! No one has heard me speak like you have. And you fucking ruined everything for a chance at sex!”
She put her head into her hands as she bawled away. I wanted so badly to reach out, put my hand on her, comfort her, but that felt like an insult to injury. I knew she wanted nothing to do with me, and… fucking hell. I’d really fucked up this one, it seemed.
“Get the fuck out of here, now, Tracy,” she said in between sobs. “Don’t you ever fucking come to the ER unless you actually need help. Don’t ever fucking see me again.”
“I’m sor—”
“You’re not fucking sorry,” she shouted. “You’re just throwing yourself a pity party so you can feel virtuous about dumping me. I’m not some princess in need of rescuing and protection from the big bad dragon, you know. I know this life as well as you do. Maybe not the hall, but just about every goddamn thing else. I knew the risks, and you know what? I chose to be intimate with you in spite of those risks, not while being ignorant of them.”
She let out a long sigh. I would have sighed too if not for the fact that I think it would have pissed her off even more.
“Get out.”
I stood up, still feeling the sting of her slap. I rubbed my cheek as I got to the door.
“Tracy.”
And then she said the words that, while true, stung more than any slap she could have delivered.
“My father would be ashamed of you.”
I bit my lip, feeling the intense pain of those words, nodded, and walked out as Jane continued to sob. Once I closed the door, I leaned against the wall, muttered “fuck,” and then punched a nearby dumpster for good measure, likely breaking a finger or two as I shook my hand in pain.
“God, fucking idiot,” I growled to myself.
What made it all the worse was that Paul Peters would be ashamed of me, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I had hurt his only child—although that would surely have drawn a different kind of angry wrath from the founder of the Savage Saints.
No, this shame came because a president didn’t wait until after the fact to tell the truth. He didn’t let things slide to the side for the sake of personal gain so that he could score some ass. He didn’t see women as meek, feeble things that needed protection.
He told the truth, even when it hurt. He protected those he loved most, which in my case was the club and Jane. He didn’t put personal gain above the club and his loved ones. And he sure as hell didn’t see women as coddled babies that needed protection.
And yet, I had done all of those things.
What kind of a fucking president was I?
I didn’t know the answer. My cheek stung. My hand, I was reasonably sure, had broken something.
But there was zero chance I was going to the hospital at this point. That seemed like a surefire way for Jane to slap me into unconsciousness and assure myself that I would never see her again. I didn’t have any hope for us rekindling what had culminated in last night, but I at least wanted to know that if I saw her out or at the hospital, I didn’t get the glare of death from her.
But then again, this shit’s not really about you right now, is it?
I sighed. I’d sent my whole relationship spiraling and my sense of self-control with it.
And the worst part was, I still wasn’t sure that I’d made the wrong move. She did say she was aware of the risks, you know. So were you doing it for her?
Or were you doing it out of some selfish “noble” desire?
I needed to get to the clubhouse. If nothing else, I at least needed to be back in the presence of my brothers to get my shit straight. It wouldn’t do much good for solving the long-term problem, but I’d welcome any sort of distraction at the moment.
I headed to my chopper, only to realize that Jane didn’t have a ride to the hospital. But given the state I’d left her in, that seemed like a surefire way for me to get slapped again. I could easily see her telling me, “You think I’m poor, jackass?” and slamming the door in my face.
Let her be. You can always get her back later.
Like by giving her the two grand she gave back.
; I sighed. Nothing seemed like it was a good idea. Nothing seemed like it could make up for the dick move that I had pulled.
I revved the engine, backed out slowly, took a look up at the apartment, waited to see if Jane might call for me from the window, and left a couple of seconds later when I realized that I didn’t deserve such a callback of any kind.
Man, I really, really fucked this one up.
I got a lot of shit to figure out.
* * *
When I got back to the clubhouse, I didn’t bother to fake how I felt. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fake a smile, couldn’t fake energy, couldn’t fake that I was in any mood other than some serious self-loathing. I was at least early for our meeting, but that would only mean I had the chance to brood some.
I jumped off my bike, nearly tripping in the process, and almost kicked the damn thing in frustration. For me to have come as close as I did felt sacrilegious—the thing that I most valued in the world besides humans was my bike, and I’d sooner go homeless than give up the bike. But I was just so pissed off at myself that that was the state that I found myself in.
I took a deep breath, said, “Get your shit together, Trace,” and headed inside. I saw BK, Krispy, and Splitter playing some poker, while Mafia was telling Sensei and Sword some stories about life in the Italian mob. Mafia was the first person to see me.
“Hey, it’s president! How are you?”
I didn’t answer, just biting my lip with a little bit of a snarl. Splitter turned around from his poker game and stared at me.
“Christ, you look like someone just took a knife to your chopper. What the hell happened?”
“Nothing with the bike,” I said, shaking my head in defeat. It wouldn’t do any good to tell them right now. “Carry on. I’ll be in the hall. No rush to start early.”
No one did carry on, though, as I moved past them and closed the doors to our club sanctuary. When I realized I’d brought my phone in, I almost slammed it on the table in frustration before barely opening the door and tossing it out, leaving it up to one of the officers to pick it up and put it in our bin. I sat in the president’s chair, lit a cigarette, and took the deepest inhale I think I had ever managed.