by Ryan Michele
“Put up, old man.”
“Ya know, I’m gettin’ tired of you youngins sayin’ that shit.”
“Fits you. Ready?”
For the next twenty minutes, we finish my workout. I’m wringing wet with sweat. Luckily, my focus is on each throw and not the many grunts off in the distance.
I sit on the bench, chugging a water, towel around my neck that I just used to wipe off all the sweat pouring out of me. My breathing is starting to calm down, and my body feels damn good. Well used.
Charlie moved over to Deke after finishing with me. They have idle chitchat, but Deke doesn’t look too much like a talker, and Charlie realizes it and moves off.
Syd, the receptionist, has drool running down her face. I really can’t blame her. He’s damn fine.
Enough staring. Time for me to get out of here.
I grab my bag and stuff my shit inside. The gym has a shower, but I’d rather use mine at home.
The bag is light. I fling it over my shoulder. One last look won’t kill me.
When I do, our eyes connect, and a cool heat—if that’s possible—slides over my skin like a caress. Damn, it’s a beautiful feeling, and so new to me. Get out. Right.
Saying nothing, I march my ass toward the door, but in doing so, I have to pass by him. Why I even care is beyond me. Normally, guys can kiss my ass. Him, I could think of a lot of other things he could kiss.
Stop it and go get laid, woman!
“Hey.” The deep voice comes from my left, and my feet instantly stop from the sound.
When I look up, I see sweat dripping down Deke’s face, over his high cheekbones, and down to his sensuous lips. His hair is a light brownish-blond color, but wet, it looks much darker. All this makes me wonder what he’d look like right out of the shower.
“Hey.”
He says nothing back, so I turn to move away. No sense in sticking around for a mundane conversation if he’s not going to talk.
“Deke,” he says, and I tilt my head toward him again. “You are?”
“Not sure you should know that.”
A smirk plays on his lips, but it’s devilish, kicking my curiosity in gear again. “Why’s that?”
“Don’t know you.”
“You’ve seen me twice, and you know I have family in the club.” He reads me well. I’m not sure if I like that or not. “Name isn’t gonna kill ya.”
“You never know about that.”
He shrugs. “Alright.” Deke begins to wipe the towel over his pecs, arms, and abs, then back to his face and hair. “Gotta split, anyway.” He came in with nothing, but he puts the towel around his neck and begins to walk out.
“Rylie.”
This gets his attention, and he stops. “Rylie, you a momma?”
My brows knit as I think about what he’s talking about. A momma?
“No, I don’t have any kids.” That must be one of the most bizarre questions I’ve been asked in my life.
For some reason, he finds humor in this.
“Club momma.”
“Not followin’, big guy.”
“Club whore, Rylie. Are you one of them?”
Shock hits first. Then I let it roll off. Of course. I didn’t put those two together.
I can’t help chuckling. “No, Deke, I’m not a club momma.”
“Then why were you at the clubhouse? Someone’s ol’ lady?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You sure have a lot of questions.”
“I like to know the people around me.” He tosses his towel over his shoulder.
“And you think I’m going to be around you?”
“Tryin’ to figure that out.”
Inwardly, I sigh. “I work at X.”
“Ah, so you’re a stripper.” His gaze sweeps my body. “Can totally see that.”
“You’re a dick. No, I’m head of security, asshole.”
“What?”
“Look, this Q and A session is lots of fun, but I have places to be.” I start to move when he grabs my arm. The heat from him goes straight to my core. I hate that he does that to me. He’s a dick. Just like every other man on the planet.
“Like I said, I need to know who I’m dealing with.”
“Now you know. Have a nice life.” I look down at his hand still holding me, searing me with his heat. “You can let go of me now.”
“Not sure I can do that.”
My breath hitches. Is this a wanting-to-kick-my-ass comment, or a you’re-hot-let’s-fuck one?
“Why’s that?’
“No fuckin’ clue.”
“You’re obviously goin’ through some shit from what I saw at the clubhouse—deal with that.” This, of course, is the smart thing to say, but my body is seriously protesting.
“Come for a drive with me.”
“Big guy, I don’t know you. What makes you think I’m going to get into a car with you?”
“Truck.”
“What?”
“You’re getting into a truck.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
He releases my arm and swipes his shirt off a chair then slips it on. “I’m not gonna force ya. You don’t want to, don’t.”
“Where are we going?”
“Just drivin’. You can catch me up on all things Sumner.”
“Why? You stayin’?”
His face turns a bit pained, and I regret asking the question, but he answers. “Lookin’ like I’ll be here more than I want to. Not a big deal, Ry. I’m out. See ya around.”
My gut tells me it is a big deal. One of those situations that happens when you don’t know the outcome, but whatever it is, it could be enormous in life. Like something hangs in the balance here, like a dangling carrot. My damn curiosity is kicking my ass, wondering what this is about. Not to mention he called me Ry. No one has done that since my parents.
“Fine, but if I tell you to stop, you stop.”
“As long as you know I’ll kiss you when we stop.”
My lungs seize, and breaths become hard to intake. What in the Sam hell is wrong with me? Getting flustered over a man isn’t my thing. Why him?
“Move before I change my mind.” Which I totally should do, like, right this minute.
As we get to his monstrosity of a truck, he opens the door for me. I can’t remember the last time … Oh, yeah, I can. It was when my parents were alive. My father would always open the door for my mother, and then do the same for me. I always waited for him to finish so he’d do mine next. I felt like a princess in a castle every single time.
Damn, I miss him. I miss them. I miss a time when life seemed simple. Everything gets complicated the older you get.
I study the man who has captured my intrigue. Nothing about Deke is remotely simple.
Deke rounds the truck, hopping in and cranking the engine. Thank goodness my deodorant is holding up after that workout. I should’ve gone home and taken a shower.
After a while, driving in silence is driving me nuts. Idle time isn’t something I allow myself. If I’m not at work, then I want to be working out, going out, not remaining still.
“So, what are we doing, exactly?” I pause. “Besides driving.”
“The bag helped clear my head a bit, and I don’t have my bike here, so I’m driving to clear the rest of it out.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Babe, do I look like the talkin’ about my feelings type?”
No, no, he didn’t, but there had to be a reason that I was sitting in his truck with him driving all over the place.
“Why security?” he asks after a beat.
“It’s what I do.”
“Why is it what you do?”
I think for a moment, never being asked this direct question before, recalling the reason I started in the first place. It’s not a happy memory, but it’s the reality of life. It’s also something that I don’t share with people, or at least, never felt compelled to tell anyone.
“What about you?
You’re a fighter?” I ask instead of answering.
“Ry, need you to talk to me. Tell me about you and clear my mind of some shit.”
The man seems like a broody type who doesn’t talk much, and for some reason, he’s not acting that way with me. Hell, even with his family earlier, he didn’t say much. It makes me curious to know more. Damn, don’t they say curiosity killed the cat? Hopefully I don’t end up dead.
I look out at the open road before us, watching the yellow dashes go by in a rush. Thoughts of my past invade me, one after another, and before I know it, I’m speaking.
“Grew up on the streets. You don’t get by without learning to defend yourself. It wasn’t a career path or anything like that. It just turned out that my defensive moves were pretty good and got better with each day that passed. I started as a bouncer at a couple clubs, but they were boring. Then I moved up. Now I do what I do.”
“How old were you?”
“When I lived on the streets?”
“Yeah.”
“Eighteen. Really sixteen because, technically, I had a home. I just wasn’t welcomed in it.” Aunt CB made that a reality at every turn she could, and still does.
“Why?”
“Are you one of those wiz people who’s gonna turn everything I say against me somehow?”
A slow smirk tips his lip. It’s sexy as all hell. “Nah. Just curious.”
“Right.” I turn back to the window. “When I was sixteen, my parents were killed, and I went to live with my aunt. She’s a bitch and made sure to let me know how big of one she was every time she saw me. I was never good enough. I didn’t do things the way my mother did. I looked like my mother. I ate my apple just like my mother. Hell, anything I did, she compared me to her sister. Not to mention the fact she wishes it were me lying six feet under and not my mother. Can’t say I blame her there.”
“Don’t say that shit.” His words come out with a bite that makes bumps rise on my arms. Not much makes me feel this way. I’m surprised he does.
Ignoring it and moving on, I say, “It was easier to live on the streets and not deal with her bullshit all the time.”
“Not good enough, huh?”
It takes me a bit aback that that’s the one thing he really got out of it, but I answer, “Never.”
His grip on the steering wheel gets tighter, but his focus stays on the road. I wish I could get in that head of his.
Chapter Eleven
Fuck me. The connection I felt when I laid eyes on her at the clubhouse is proving deeper than surface. This is more than attraction. This is a pull stronger than any drug I’ve had pump through my veins.
Of all the things to connect us, it must be our sense of unworthiness from our families. I hate that shit for her, because I’ve lived it all my life. I know how it eats at your insides, festers and turns to anger.
The thing is, she doesn’t seem angry. No, instead, she comes across as strong, independent, and happy. The way she speaks, she has a damn good head on her shoulders.
“You said your parents were killed.”
I hear her breath heave, no doubt from a topic she doesn’t want to talk about.
I know I’m pushing her, but I need the distraction. The gym didn’t ease the tension, frustration, and so many years of anguish. I need to focus on something other than myself.
“Yeah. Drive-by shooting. They were in their home, shots rang throughout the house, and within moments, I became parentless.”
“Damn, babe. Sorry.”
When I was younger, I wanted to be my father more than anything. I wanted to be by his side. I wanted to have my bike next to his, the Ravage MC cut on my back, and all the brothers at my back. It was all I ever wanted. All I desired, even at a young age.
Around me was family all the time. Cooper and I raised hell. Then shit went bad with him and Nox, and I raised hell. I always had someone at my back, doing stupid shit and getting in trouble more times than I can count.
All it took for me was a hit, one. One bad decision turned into years of fucked up shit. One hit easily turned into two. Then three … Then I couldn’t stop. The escape away from life was too much to not grab ahold of and embrace. There was no thinking. No control. No nothing, but me on the high of my life. It wasn’t about Ravage, Cooper, shit I lost, shit I wanted and would never have. It was easy.
Then that high wasn’t enough, and so on, until my folks threw me in rehab. I needed it before the crud I was hitting killed me, but it is still a craving inside me that’s more intense than anything I’ve ever had.
“Shit happens in life. You play the hand you’re dealt.”
“Right,” I agree, staring out at the road before me, my mother flashing through my head.
Cancer. The thought is a punch to the gut.
When I think back, really think back, my mother always defended me. I always wondered if she really accepted me for me. If she actually thought I was a total fuck up in my life or somehow could see through the bullshit. It’s been so long I shouldn’t care, but fuck, I do. She’s my mom.
Listening to Rylie and the fact she lost her mother and father, I realize I’m not ready for that shit. Not to mention a fuck of a lot of time I’ve wasted.
Fuck, there are consequences, though, if I stay. Somehow, I need to figure that shit out, too.
I rub my hand over my face and through my hair.
“If you want to talk about it, it’s lookin’ like I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
The last time I let someone carry the weight of my shit was back when Coop and I were tight. He took my shit, helped me sort it, and then we moved on. Even young, he knew how to solve pretty much everything. That’s what I admired most about him.
Since him, there’s been no one. Not Nox. Not the dozens of therapists in rehab. Not the support groups. Not the specialists. Not the doctors. No one. It’s all been on me. I can take it. I’ve done it for four years now. The thought of dumping it on someone else and letting them carry the load is tempting.
But it’s not happening.
I gave into temptation too many times. I won’t do it again, no matter what.
We drive for a while in silence that isn’t uncomfortable. It’s peaceful in a way I don’t get, yet I take it. I need it. I need peace.
Pulling off into a cove I remember from back in the day, I throw the truck in park, knowing I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do. With all the shit swirling around me, I need to keep focus. Right now, though, I crave distraction.
Fuck it.
Pushing my seat all the way back, I reach over and unlatch Rylie’s belt.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I grab her hand and pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. She brings her hands to my chest hard, putting pressure on me, pulling away.
Rylie’s breath catches, shock written on her face. She begins to speak, but I pull her down to my lips and take. She resists a bit, pressing on my chest, but I hold steady. Seconds later, she’s not resisting anymore. Quickly, I’m not taking anymore. No, she’s giving, and damn does she give. She clenches my shirt as the truck heats up quickly.
I learn two things very fast. One, Rylie is a hellcat. She takes what I give her and gives it back hard. Two, she’s hot for me. Burning so much her hips are grinding hard on my cock.
Squeezing her tit, she groans in my mouth. She tastes of cinnamon and sweetness.
Then she breaks away, heaving, her eyes looking deeply into mine, penetrating.
“You sure you want this, cowboy?” she teases, her body telling me she’s all in.
“Fuck yeah.”
“This means nothing. Just two people fucking. Got me?” she demands.
Considering I don’t want to be in this town, I’m game for that.
“Got it.”
She climbs off, taking off those fucking tight-ass shorts and her underwear, and pulling off her shoes. She comes back, her eyebrow quirked. “You havin’ second thoughts, big man?”
�
�Fuck no.” I pull her down and kiss her again as she roams her hands over my body, each touch searing me and going straight to my hard cock.
She unbuttons my jeans. With swift maneuvers, I unleash my dick, wrap it, and slide inside of her. Her groan of pleasure is nowhere near enough.
“Wanna hear you scream.”
“Make me,” she challenges.
Gripping her hips, I shove in and out of her, her head hitting the ceiling of the truck. She groans, gripping my shoulders. Somehow, she finds leverage with her legs and uses them to slam down as I push up.
The feel, the friction, her tight cunt wrapped around my cock, I lose it. She loses it. Rylie comes hard and loud, screaming my name, then burying her head in my neck. Gripping her tight, I find my release. Our breathing ragged, my cock still twitches.
After long moments, Rylie’s body begins shaking. My first thought is she’s crying. I don’t have a fucking clue what that’s from. Then I hear it. Laughter.
She’s laughing.
“Babe, never had a woman laugh after I fucked her before.”
She lifts herself up, a smile on her face. “Not bruisin’ your ego, big man. Just didn’t have this planned for the day.”
“Plans fuckin’ blow, Ry. And just sayin’, my cock still inside of you.” I press up, and her eyes become hooded. “Babe, it ain’t no laughin’ matter.”
“Are you ready to go again?” she asks as I harden.
“Fuck yeah.”
“Already?”
I set about showing her exactly how I can handle round two.
Pulling back into the gym, a weird vibe comes through the cab of the truck. We didn’t talk a whole lot, but it was comfortable. Not once did she clam up on me or get that quiet where women want more but aren’t saying anything. Never got that from her. If anything, she was relaxed and sated.
I toss the truck into park, knowing I need to get back to the clubhouse and talk to my mother, but also knowing this’ll be the last time I’ll see Rylie. It’s been a long fucking time since I thought about seeing a woman again, but I wouldn’t mind seeing her.
“Babe.”
Ry turns toward me, her face contorting as she bursts out laughing.