by London Casey
“I’m still alive.”
“I hear that,” Petey said. “How… shit…”
“Don’t ask questions,” Blaine said. “You know I would call only if there was good reason.”
“I bet I can name the reason.”
“He’s out?”
“Yeah,” Petey said.
“He went after Jessa already. She…” Blaine looked over his shoulder again. “She contacted me. What the fuck happened?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Petey said.
“Why not? You realize what he…”
“Blaine. Vin’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah. He got tagged yesterday. Came out swinging too hard. Thought he could plant his feet right where he was before shit hit the fan.”
“How the hell do you know this?” Blaine asked.
“Christ, Blaine, you were the one that went off the edge, not me. I’m still a detective. I run undercover stings for the state. The second Vin’s name was brought up on release, I was personally on his tail. Thought about you, Blaine. You know? I hope you can find some kind of peace.”
“That will never happen,” Blaine said. “Thanks.”
He ended the call and broke the cell in half. He dropped it in the trash and stood there for a few seconds.
Vin is dead.
The man that took Blaine’s life from him was dead. Every night, for years, Blaine wondered what it would be like to kill Vin. How he’d do it. How slow he could go to torture the son of a bitch. Hell, part of him appreciated that Vin had been in prison because it meant he was generally safe.
Instead of fucking Jessa half the night he should have been on the street looking for Vin. To get revenge before someone else did.
Well, someone else got revenge.
Blaine turned and threw a fist, smashing his hand into the wall. The wall gave way with ease. As he pulled his hand out, the drywall ripped at his hand and knuckles, tearing him open. He ignored the blood and walked toward the bedroom.
He opened the door and had the idea to take out his gun and shoot at a wall. That would wake Jessa out of her post-sex slumber. He wasn’t a fucking hotel and this wasn’t a fucking relationship. She was lucky enough that she got to be in the house and got a piece of Blaine.
Blaine put his hand to the gun and then froze.
I fucking saw them…
The words rang fresh in Blaine’s memory. The fact that Jessa had been the first one to the house. To see…
He released his hold on the gun and kicked at the bed instead.
“Hey. Wake up.”
Jessa stirred and then popped up. The blankets fell from her body, exposing her breasts. The sight was better than anything Blaine could remember in the morning. Her tits were perky, creamy, her nipples perfectly round, defined, hard. Her left breast had a few marks from Blaine last night.
I always mark my fucking territory.
“Cover yourself,” Blaine said.
Those words never left his mouth before.
Jessa pulled the covers up and ran a hand through her hair.
She was beautiful.
Of course she was beautiful. She had always been beautiful. Even last night as she took his cock over and over. Even after the third time he came and she was sweaty, ragged, worn the fuck out. But that didn’t stop Blaine from going one more time. He fucked until she couldn’t move. Until there were tears in her eyes. Until her entire body was waving a white flag.
“Morning,” Jessa said.
Blaine pointed to the nightstand. There was a glass of water and two white pills. “Breakfast.”
“What kind of pills are these?”
“Take one for the pain. Take the second if you want to forget last night.”
Jessa blushed and grinned. “I’m…”
“Vin is dead. Just thought you’d want to know.”
“What?”
“I made a call to an old friend. Vin got killed last night. I guess he ran his mouth and someone took him out.”
“Holy shit.” Jessa grabbed the glass of water and drank. “I mean… holy shit. Right?”
“Yeah, right.” Blaine nodded to the door. “All your clothes are still on the kitchen floor.”
“Oh. Right. Yeah.”
“I’ll give you a ride to the clubhouse so you can get your car.”
“Of course,” Jessa said. “Then… I guess I’ll head home.”
“That’s the plan.”
“The plan?”
“What? You want to stay here? You want to keep doing this? Fucking with guilt and anger? Please.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, but at least I didn’t fuck my best friend’s fiance.”
Jessa gasped. Her face dropped. “Get out.”
“It’s my fucking room. It’s my fucking house.”
Jessa got out of the bed and took the sheet with her. She held it around her body with one hand. “I can’t believe you said that to me. After…”
“After what? After we fucked? What did you think it was? Something romantic. Please. You’ve wanted my cock for years, sweetheart. So I threw you one. You’re welcome.”
“Prick,” Jessa growled.
She hurried to race by Blaine but he stepped in her path. “I’m sorry but the sheet has to stay in the bedroom.”
“What?”
“I’m going to make my bed and get ready to go to work.”
“Who the fuck are you? Where’s the guy that was looking at me last night.”
“Drop the sheet and I’ll look at you again.”
“Fuck yourself.”
Jessa took a step and Blaine grabbed the sheet. One quick pull and the sheet tore from Jessa’s body. He balled it up and tossed it to the bed.
Jessa hurried out of the bedroom and down the hall. Blaine stood in the hallway and watched her move. Her slender back, the hourglass cut of her body, those goddamn hips, and that ass. Blaine made fists. He knew he could track her down and have her again, right there in the kitchen. She had been his dinner last night… now she could be breakfast.
But Blaine didn’t move. Even when Jessa grabbed her clothes and disappeared out of view. He just stood there. She got dressed and then appeared again.
“I’m ready to leave,” she said.
“Good.”
Blaine made a line down the hall and wanted to get to the front door. Jessa grabbed at his arm and squeezed.
“Hey.”
Blaine pulled away. “That was my fucking kill to make. You don’t understand that.”
“You think I don’t? Because…”
“I know, you saw what happened,” Blaine said. “I’ll get you a fucking trophy.”
Jessa slapped him across the face. Blaine didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even give a shit. He could turn it all off when needed. All emotions. All care. All pain.
“He’s dead and I didn’t get my shot at him,” Blaine said. “Because I was fucking you.”
“Sorry then,” Jessa said. “Last I remembered you were the one throwing me on a table.”
“Please. Your pussy needed it.”
Jessa tried to slap him again. He grabbed her wrist and spun her around, putting her against the wall. Blaine put his body against Jessa’s. He stood there, just breathing.
“I hate you,” she whispered. “I’ve always hated you, Blaine. For what you made me feel and what I wanted. Because I knew I’d do this to Meghan. Because she was never right for you. I hated her sometimes. But I hate myself the most because she's dead. I let her slide into your grasp and I didn’t pull her away. I could have convinced her to leave your sorry ass but I never did.”
“Yeah, keep talking,” Blaine said. He thrust himself at Jessa. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll make your ass really sorry. You thought it hurt in your pussy…”
“Yeah, do that,” Jessa said. “That’s what you want, right? Tough guy. So fucking tough.”
Blaine broke away from Jessa and opened the door. He showe
d her the way out. “I’ll call a fucking prospect to take you back.”
He slammed the door and locked it.
He walked to the kitchen and stopped at the table. He grabbed the table and threw it across the kitchen. Charging back down the hall to get his main cell phone and his keys, he paused when he got into the bedroom. He inched forward and grabbed the sheet that had been against Jessa’s body. Rolling it up tight, he brought it to his nose and took a deep breath.
It smelled like her. All of her. Her sweet pussy. Her sweat. Her desire. Their crazy fucking sex.
But it was all wrong. It meant nothing. And it didn’t fucking matter.
Not with Vin dead.
There was no longer a connection.
Blaine called a prospect and ordered him to pick up Jessa. He then put the sheet and the blanket and the pillow case in the fireplace and lit it up. He watched it burn and then pissed on the fire.
That was fucking that.
***
Blaine stood up at the full table and looked around. He took off his leather cut and tossed it to the middle of the table.
“What the hell are you doing, brother?” Gaige asked.
“Oh no,” Jace said. “Are you going to show us another crazy skin rash or something?”
“If he takes out his dick, I’ll throw up,” Landon said.
“Shut up,” Blaine said. “All of you. Listen to me carefully. That cut belongs on the table.”
“What?” Miller asked.
Blaine put a hand to Miller’s shoulder. “I’ve been carrying something on my shoulders for a long time. About who I used to be.”
“Let me guess,” Erik said, “you were a good choir boy…”
“No,” Blaine said. “But I could tell you some stories about what I’ve done in churches that would make the devil himself blush.”
Everyone chuckled.
“I was a cop,” Blaine said.
The room fell deathly silent.
Miller looked at Blaine and was stone faced.
“What?” Shay asked.
“I was a cop. I was a detective. I worked the streets. I was on the other side of things. I had a life. I sort of had a family too. That part doesn’t matter. I was pushed away from it all. I have a better understanding of this life than anyone at this table because of what I saw on the other side. I would die for everyone at this table. I would die for anyone in this clubhouse. Even the prospects. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but you need to vote it now. It’s against the club to have someone like me patched in. Maybe I want to feel the pain I’ve been avoiding for years. Maybe I want to go as one of the Lost Men. Or maybe I just want a bullet in the back of my head. That’s up to you to decide.”
Blaine walked toward the door.
Somewhere in his heart he hoped the entire table would call him. Embrace him right then and there as their brother.
But his head knew better. That’s not how the table worked. They would have to vote it. Unanimous too. No seconding guessing. One decision. In. Out. Dead. Whatever.
Blaine left the clubhouse without his leather cut. To him, it was as good as being naked. It also sent a clear message to any enemies lurking. He was an easy target now.
That part Blaine didn’t give a shit about.
Truthfully, he just wanted to apologize to Jessa and make sure she was okay.
twelve.
Jessa held the trashcan a few inches off the floor. Of all the things she had to deal with in her day job and her life, she couldn’t stand throwing up. That crushing feeling against her ribs like her body was attacking itself. Which, in some ways, it was. The body getting rid of what it believed to be potentially dangerous. Designed to survive at any and all costs.
There was nothing left to throw up. It was just dry heaves by then.
She looked at the clock on her desk. It was just before eleven.
The office door opened and Terri froze in place.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jessa said. She put the trashcan down and slid it under her desk with her foot. She grabbed a mint and popped it into her mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“I heard a noise. I thought you were crying.”
“No. Just… sitting here.”
“Okay. You have company.”
Jessa felt her heart drop. “Company?”
It’s not him. It’s not Vin. Vin is dead, remember? And it’s not Blaine. He made his position very clear. Plus, it’s been weeks now. If he was coming back…
“Jessa?” Terri asked.
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. I have company. Sure. I’ll be right there.”
The rest of the day went by in a blur.
All the days had been going by in a blur.
The moment Jessa came back, she had to meet with Dr. Ashland and local police to talk about what had happened with the office. The story had been predetermined and Jessa with it.
A crazed man broke into the office, seeking drugs. Yeah, some wackos did that. There were plenty of medicines for animals that could have interesting effects on humans. The guy was smart enough to tamper with the cameras so they had no footage. When the guy couldn’t find what he wanted, he broke into a cage and killed a cat.
It didn’t fit for what Terri had seen, but they kept her out of it. The way the police talked, it was obvious they had been in Vin’s hand. Jessa wondered why they were still doing this for him, even though he was dead. Then again, it was probably their last stand with him. Nobody would ever have to deal with Vin again.
The world would be a better place.
It didn’t feel that way though at all.
When Jessa got home from another long yet mundane day of work she climbed into a hot bath with a tall glass of wine. This had become the norm for her. She used to buy a bottle of wine, drink a glass or two, and end up dumping the rest down the drain because it would go bad before she could drink it. Now she was drinking four bottles a week. She was at the point that she tried to hide her face a little when she loaded up. What used to be a smile and an excuse - Oh, I’m having a party this weekend with friends! - became shameful eyes as she couldn’t stop herself.
The water and bubbles soothed her. She reached for her glass and brought it to her lips. She titled the glass back. The wine touched her lips. Then she stopped.
She took the glass from her mouth and stared at it.
She had been getting sick everyday at work.
“The wine,” she whispered.
Christ… one night with Blaine and she was a borderline alcoholic.
Jessa put the glass down and grumbled.
She then slowly lifted her leg up in the air. She splashed water at her inner thigh to wash away the bubbles. She put her heel on the edge of the tub and stared down at herself. There was still evidence of that night. Blaine had gone so hard at her that she had bruises on her inner thighs. The bruises didn’t hurt but there was still a faint yellow color where they had once been dark purple.
Nobody had ever done that to her before.
Her heart raced and ached at the same time.
She shouldn’t have let the night get away like it did. All she could think about was Meghan. Her best friend, murdered because she’d been engaged to Blaine. And Janey…
Jessa shut her eyes and started to weep.
Everything was a mess because of Blaine. Ever since that night with him, everything was just… her heart, her mind, her body.
He changed her with one night together.
All Jessa could hope for was that time would make him slip away.
thirteen.
The attacks were starting to get worse. Eight Under was pushing into the shithole part of Frelen more and more. They were dealing hardcore drugs, causing overdoses and violence. They were overcharging, undercutting, and leaving a tornado of problems that the PD couldn’t control. When the MC stepped in, the PD was there to push back.
Ethan had been to the clubho
use three times, questioning every member at least once, all pertaining to guns, fights, and two deaths. Luckily, the guys that were killed didn’t happen to be from Back Down Devil. They were also low life dealers who owed so much money to so many people, they’d never find out who did it.
But the club knew.
It was Eight Under MC.
They were fully reorganized and ready to go for the throat.
Blaine sat around his house, drinking and smoking. Every time Miller or Gaige called and said he needed to come to the table, he told them it wasn’t long enough. He wanted them to really consider it. He wasn’t looking for a fucking favor at all. All Blaine wanted was the truth.
Women had been calling, sending wild pictures, begging to help Blaine get out of his funk.
This wasn’t a funk.
This was the worst guilt he ever felt.
All because one woman tried to crack through his shell and managed to make it happen.
A phone was ringing and Blaine waved his hand, swatting the sound away. He hit an empty bottle of whiskey and it fell to the floor, shattering. He jumped up and realized he was sitting at the kitchen table. His neck felt twisted and broken. He was sober, hungover, and he hated it.
The phone kept ringing and ringing.
Blaine flipped it open.
“What?” he growled.
“Get to the clubhouse,” Gaige yelled.
“Fuck off. It’s too soon.”
“Blaine, it’s been fucking weeks. You’ve seen what’s been going on.”
“I know. I’ve been doing my part when I can.”
Which was true. Blaine had taken to the streets a handful of times to chase some of the Eight Under scum out of town. Of course, without his cut and without his crew, his power wasn’t all that great. Luckily, a bullet didn’t give a fuck who you were loyal to. He managed to clip at least three of the guys that were poking around town.
“You need to be at this table,” Gaige said.
“No.”
“Blaine, if we come get you, we’re cutting the ink off your back and shoving it down your throat.”
“Better than up my ass,” Blaine said.
“You don’t want to know what we’re going to stick up your ass.”
Blaine chuckled. “Try me, Gaige.”