by Warren, Rie
“As long as you treat her right, I’m sure you’ll do just fine by her dad.” She pulled the turkey out of the oven and motioned me over to transfer it to the serving platter.
“That’s exactly how I intend to treat her. She’s”—I placed my hand on my chest—“she’s very important to me.”
Della nodded judiciously, her eyes shining. Then she handed the carving knife over. “Carve the turkey, thin slices. I assume you know how to handle a knife?” The question was innocuous enough, the look behind it more than shrewd.
“Been known to.” I looked her squarely in the eyes.
“Well, don’t let it get cold now.”
I set about the task while she hovered beside me. “You’ve had a difficult life, Hunter?”
“I suppose.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I . . . well, not many people would’ve chosen the path I’ve taken.”
“Does Jessica help?”
“Very much.” I cleared my throat and kept slicing. “I don’t think she knows how much.”
There was a small twist to my heart. I didn’t have that much time left with Jessica one way or the other. I smiled at Della but was sure it didn’t hit my eyes.
“Oh, I’m sure she does. She’s very perceptive. She can tell things about people.” Della clapped her hands with finality. “Well then, best get the bird on the table before the gravy turns to turd.”
She bustled out of the kitchen in front of me. I took a moment to slip into the dark blue jacket and straighten my tie. I even glanced at my reflection in the microwave to make sure my hair waved somewhat neatly back or at least looked like I’d dragged a brush through it earlier.
In the dining room, Qwynn sat with one hip propped on the table, swinging her leg. As I entered, she stared at me with soft brown, hooded eyes until Della flicked her on the forehead.
I was glad she wasn’t my kid. She was trouble.
“Hunter. Go find that husband of mine. Check upstairs, third floor. I reckon he would’ve taken young Jack up to explore.”
Explore what? Instruments of torture?
I took the stairs two at a time to the second landing and the third beyond. Up here the layout was one big open room. A train set that looked to have miles of track looping through a miniature landscape dominated the room.
Jessica kneeled beside the table, her arms resting on it, her chin propped on her joined hands. She saw me and waved me over.
“Jack has a new friend,” she whispered, letting her lips linger on my earlobe for a moment too long.
On the far side of the tracks, the older man sat with Jack on his lap and they both laughed when the train chugged past them with a tinny high whistle and even a small cloud of steam.
Well, I’ll be damned. If the man liked my son, perhaps I’d escape a whipping behind the woodshed later.
“Is it time to eat?” Jessica traced light patterns on the palm of my hand, tickling my flesh and triggering a reaction low in my groin that would be hard to explain during Thanksgiving dinner.
I pulled her to her feet and said quietly, “It is. But I don’t think I should sit next to you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I want you. And the littlest touch makes it hard for me to . . . not get hard.” I stared down at her, her full bottom lip, and her very full breasts. “And your dress. Not helping.”
“You like it?” She smoothed her hands down her sides, highlighting the way the soft thistle-colored dress hugged her figure.
“C’mon, temptress. Time to eat.”
With an exchange of looks between her and her father, some silent signal was given, and Garrett the Tank nodded.
He lifted Jack off his lap and set him on the floor. “Okay, Engineer Jack. You ready for some turkey?”
“Yeah!”
“How about a drumstick? I’m partial to those myself.”
Aside from continued obvious stares from Qwynn and a few messes from Jack, Thanksgiving lunch started off without a hitch. They were all nice, wholesome people, well, besides Qwynn as was more than evident.
This was in fact my first true family Thanksgiving. I’d never had this growing up, but I was so grateful to be here now.
Jessica sat next to her sister across from me, and Jack was on the corner between her dad, at the head of the table, and me. In order to avoid fixating on Jessica, I talked with her mom in between bites of food and sips of wine. So I was caught off guard when a slight skirmish erupted between the sisters, under the table. Their parents blindly ignored the scuffle as if this was a normal occurrence. Jack only had eyes for the giant drumstick he was busy gnawing like a dog with a bone.
I watched to see how it would play out, whatever Jessica and Qwynn silently argued about. I heard what sounded like a boot stomp, and Qwynn’s eyes popped wide as did her mouth.
Jessica gave me a triumphant grin while Qwynn seethed beside her. For the remainder of the meal, Qwynn ate dinner with her gaze finally averted from me.
Later Mr. Barnes and I sat out on the screened porch. It was a nice day—calm and blue and clear.
The taciturn man tapped a pinch of tobacco into an old polished pipe. “Military,” he stated, clearly referring to me.
I supposed with his background he’d recognize a fellow soldier although I wondered if he’d ever seen any combat.
“Not exactly. More like a Lone Wolf. In the past.” I sat next to him on the long, whitewashed bench, my back straight and my gaze on his slightly crooked hands as he lit the pipe.
“Mt. Pleasant PD now, Jessica mentioned?” A small sail of rich sweet smoke curled lazily in the air.
“Well, that’s complicated, sir. I’m sidelined for the moment.”
“Why’s that?” His sharp eyes narrowed on me through another plume of smoke.
“Colored outside the lines to save someone’s life.”
“I see.” He took a deep inhale and let it out slowly, facing forward to blow the stream of smoke. “Would you do it again?”
“I’d forfeit my life and my livelihood for anyone important to me. Yes.” Decision made, just like that. I would die for Jessica and Jack. I blinked over the blue and gold horizon, suddenly sure of my choice.
“Then I’ve judged you correctly, Hunter.” He nodded with a satisfied air.
We sat in silence a while longer, and I began to feel more at ease with the man.
In fact, I felt so at ease that sometime later—with Jack occupied in the kitchen sampling every homemade dessert Della had made—I traced a finger down Jessica’s neck and asked quietly, “Show me your bedroom?”
She hopped from the sofa, leading me after her. Qwynn looked up from her magazine with thinned lips. Garrett harrumphed around a small smirk, burrowing deeper into his newspaper.
On the second floor, Jessica shut us inside a room. I didn’t have time to take in more than the merest hint of yellow ruffles on the bed and trophies lined up on a shelf before she was on me. Her lips pressed greedily against mine, her hips rotating against my quickly erect cock.
She broke the kiss, laving her tongue down my neck. She hit a particularly sensitive spot and remained there, lightly laughing, licking and nibbling when I helplessly moaned.
Lifting her head, she dragged me to her by my tie but stopped short of kissing me again. “You look hot in a suit. Makes you look even darker, more dangerous for some reason. Like a mobster.” Her hand busily skimmed to my buckle and she opened it with a soft metallic clang.
Before she could unzip me—I didn’t really want to get caught with my pants around my ankles, literally—I turned her around. She whimpered in complaint until my lips found the path of her butterfly tats on the upper curve of her back. I suckled each one I could reach, grinding slowly against her rounded ass.
“Why the butterflies?”
“Because I used to be painfully shy, unlike Qwynn. But I came out my cocoon.”
“You’re my rebellious good girl, huh?” My palms traveled down to her thighs and the bottom of her dress. I
started inching it up.
“You brought me out of my shell too.” She leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder.
My fingers reached the warm wetness of her pussy, hot and slippery beneath a pair of lacy panties. “Mmm. This shell here?”
I slid a finger inside of her.
She rolled her hips onto my hand, and I added another finger. “Yes, Hunter.”
“Shh,” I whispered. I withdrew my fingers and dropped her onto the squeaky bed.
I laughed quietly, but she smothered my amusement with deep mind-melting, skin-tingling kisses.
Slipping back inside her with two fingers, I braced up on my elbow to watch her. Her hair fanned out in a luxurious dark curtain. Her neck arched. Her tits strained against the dress. She pulled up one knee and held onto my wrist, working herself harder on my hand.
She’d just thrust up with a quiet cry in orgasm when . . .
“JESSICA!” her dad hollered.
Peals of laughter eclipsed her soft moans as she relaxed onto the bed.
I sucked my fingers clean. “Was he always like this?”
“Stern but fair. And loving.”
“How did you ever get into any trouble?”
With a sexy pout aimed at me, she crawled onto my lap. “I didn’t, before you.”
“So I’m your bad boy, am I?” I gripped her hips and bucked against her.
“Maybe.” She slipped off my lap. The look she gave me before turning to the door was a little wicked, a lot wanton. “I’ll buy you some time so you can cool off before coming down.”
I’d need more than a little time. I flopped back on the bed with a groan, glaring at the punishingly hard shape of my cock inside my pants.
When I rejoined the Barnes downstairs for coffee and dessert, I held Jack on my lap, laughing along with the rest of them as he stuffed one more piece of heavily frosted, turkey-shaped sugar cookie into his mouth.
A normal family?
Maybe not.
But that made it even better, more real. And maybe this would be my last good memory.
Chapter Fifteen
A COUPLE NIGHTS LATER I got a summons to Retribution MC. Walker, my own personal guard dog, tried to stop me once again, especially unhappy he hadn’t been invited along to the party. Brodie had specifically mentioned he was not to show, that it was brotherhood business.
“I need to be worried?” I asked Brodie over the phone.
He chuckled. “You ever been worried in your life?”
He had a fair point, but he didn’t know the fact of the matter was I had plenty to worry about. Nerves about Jessica and Jack’s safety were eating a hole through my stomach.
“Just keep your eyes open, and maybe do a run-by Jessica and Mel’s houses?” I told Walker as I jumped into the Tahoe.
He passed me the earpiece as I buckled in. “Just in case, Kemosabe. I’ll be listening.”
A Saturday night, Retribution was rocking on its foundations. I moved through the crowd, catching Cole’s eye as he manned the bar. He waved me over and clunked down a neat whiskey for me. The thick metal industrial chains around his neck and wrist shined in the low light, and he’d recently moved up to dime-sized gauges in his earlobes.
“They’re waiting in the chapel for you. I’ll be along in a minute.”
I gathered my whiskey and headed into the back hall where boxes of booze were stacked in an orderly fashion against the wall. Those raw nerves came back full force. I’d never been invited to “church” at Retribution before, when the club officers conducted business in the hallowed meeting room. Maybe I’d done something to get my patch removed. Or maybe they’d found out who Hunter Sexton/Angelo/Saucedo really was.
I rapped my knuckles on the closed door and waited until I heard Boomer’s deep voice call out, “Enter.”
I walked inside and immediately scanned the faces in the room.
“Shut the door,” Boomer said from his seat at the head of the household, his hands pressed palms down on the tabletop.
Brodie sat similarly to him, although his chair was kicked askew.
The walls of the room closed in on me, dark blue and decorated only with black and white photographs depicting scenes from Retribution outings, the clubhouse, and the Chrome and Steele auto parts business next door. I chugged my whiskey in one long burning drink.
The MC men were arranged by office around the table. I noted they all had hands above the table. Tucker—the rotund cheery treasurer with the handlebar mustache—lounged at Boomer’s left across from Brodie. Tail, the road captain, sat beside Brodie. He threw me a gleaming smile as thin twin black braids hung across his slanted cheeks. Beside Tucker? Handsome. Unkempt brown hair covered the face of the club’s secretary.
Then there was Frankie. I wasn’t the only new person in the room tonight. The muscled Italian leaned against the opposite wall.
He tapped his silver handled cane on the floor, grumbling, “I only showed up because you promised me Stone would be here. Madon.”
In this small circle, it was a well-known fact Frankie had the hots for Mt. Pleasant’s favorite mechanic, Josh Stone, who was married off with a pretty wife and two kids.
Brodie leaned back. “And you fell for it. Just like the time I left you to take care of all Nick Love’s fanatics when Josh got married.”
Cole cracked the door open, stuck his head inside, and then entered. With the door quietly shut behind him, he sat beside Tail. He too placed his hands on top of the table. Cole wasn’t an officer of the club, a mere member like me, so I had to wonder just what the fucking fuck was going on.
“Take a seat, Hunter.” Brodie motioned to the last empty chair diagonally across from him.
I pulled out the seat, turning it back to front. I placed my Glock and Ka-Bar on the table then leaned my elbows onto it. “Looks like the gang’s all here. What’s the occasion?” I made an effort to slow my respiration.
“Ashe told me an interesting story a couple weeks ago. Something about a big bust-up at your son’s school.” The blond dude’s expression was flat. “Same place JB works as little Jack’s teacher, right?”
“Jesus Christ.” I bent my forehead to my hands.
“Well now, this is the chapel and church, but you don’t need to pray on our account, my man.” At Brodie’s words, Cole reached over to tap me on the shoulder.
I lifted my head. “How much did she tell you?”
“She didn’t know everything, because apparently you told my woman to back off.” Brodie scowled at me. “Your man Walker was involved. You both wanted to kill the guy. And he mentioned something about a Vicente Valderas that made you react like a maniac.”
“Fuck me.” I pushed back from the table and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “What else?” I blew out a long breath.
“I mighta mentioned everything I’ve dug up about Vicente. Something about that late night meeting at the Cigar Factory downtown.” Frankie’s thick hair quivered over his forehead. “And some shit I know about you too.”
The Singer Sewer Machine snitch had sung like a fucking canary.
I looked at my gun, but Handsome was there first, tucking it under his hands.
Every brother in the room bristled until I sat back.
“I got your best interests at heart, Hunter. Maybe my own too. The world could do with a few more stallones like you.” Frankie walked around the table. “You’ll need backup if you intend to bring Vicente to his knees.”
“I have backup. Walker.”
“But do you trust the man?” Brodie asked.
Did I? No matter how much we aggravated each other, he’d been by my side through every shitstorm I’d ever survived.
I nodded.
Boomer knocked his big knuckles on the table. “Vote?”
“Wait. Vote on what exactly?” I asked, squirreling with cold anxiety.
“Oh, did you miss that part, Hunter?” Brodie nodded to Handsome, and the slighter man beside me slid my Glock back. “This is your Come
to Jesus intervention at the Church of Retribution.”
With the most dedicated, most unholy brothers.
Oh, shit.
“You told me something was going down earlier in the month. You said Retribution wasn’t involved. But this is how I see it, how we see it.” Brodie rubbed his goatee, pale blue eyes on me. “You’re a brother, so Retribution is involved all the way. After the vote, if everyone’s got your back. And the only person going down is the cunt who’s after you.”
Boomer might be Prez, but sometimes Brodie called the shots.
I shook my head. I inhaled sharply and let it blow out. “I’ve got huge respect for you all. But this is my fight, and the only lives I’ll risk are Walker’s and mine because we’ve done this before.”
“Yeah, I think it’s out of your hands now.” Boomer called order, asking, “Votes?”
Hands shot to the air, up and down the table. Unanimous. My fight was now theirs.
I looked at Frankie.
He drew his head up in a regal attitude then ruined it all with his words. “Hey, I was just here in the hopes of boning Stone.”
Brodie reached back and knocked the cane from his hands.
They wrestled for a moment, but I was hauled from my chair and into hard hugs and fist bumps.
Brodie rolled up in front of me, blond hair hanging in his eyes.
“I never would’ve come to you, but I’m damn honored to have your help.” I held out my hand to him.
Ignoring my hand, he hugged me fast. “We’ll end this threat. It’s the least I can do after Ashe.”
Relief hit me like a blow to the chest, staggering me. The powwow with the MC gave me hope. Seemed like my suicidal plan had been shattered. And thank fuck for that. Backup? Call it a lifeline with only two days left. With these men by my side, we could take Vicente down. I could live like I wanted to. I could have Jessica. Fuck me. I could love her like I wanted to.
An almighty commotion from the barroom ended the free and easy moment.
“What the fuck?” Boomer yelled.
“Hunter!” Jessica’s frightened voice hit my ears, rising above all the other shouts swelling down the corridor from the main room.