Working Couple

by Laran Mithras

  WORKING COUPLE

  By

  Laran Mithras

  Cover Photo by www.Shutterstock.com

  Working Couple is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2016 - All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Working Couple (Iron Crows Motorcycle Club, #2)

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  EPILOGUE

  Now to him that worketh is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt.

  But to him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness.

  ~ Romans 4:4-5

  Thus, the ungodly man, who doesn't even try, is justified by faith.

  CHAPTER 1

  What could have prepared me for the verbal beating I was about to get? I was about to feel like my balls had been jammed down into a bear-trap.

  Thunder boomed overhead, close, being as we were higher up in the mountains and along the path of the weather fronts. The clouds hung heavy and dark and the pounding rain even darker. Kristy and I raced across the street from our Suburban towards the clubhouse. If we were early enough, we were allowed to eat breakfast with those who stayed in the clubhouse.

  A curious sight hit me as I ran across, pulling Kristy by the hand; we saw Leathers getting out of a Jeep. Seeing any of the bikers driving a vehicle was odd, but not unheard of – especially in weather like this. Maybe the Hells Angels rode in this kind of weather to show they could, but who would want to park their ride out in the rain? But that wasn't the oddity of the sight. Under the awning of the entry, Leathers pulled off his colors. The strange thing was, they were inside out, as if he were hiding his patches. Hiding his colors.

  Is he ashamed? I watched him reverse it to normal and slide his rags back on, colors properly displayed. I entered after my wife, trying to shield her as much as possible. Leathers was close behind. I saw Gunner crossing the room from the one hallway over to the other where the kitchen was. I called out excitedly, "Hey, brother!"

  Gunner looked over then came to an abrupt stop. He ripped the unlit, thin cigar out of his mouth and strode towards me with a vengeance.

  Leathers passed us with a disapproving look.

  I felt total confusion as I saw the features on the grizzled old chaplain's face. His leathery skin with deep wrinkles was even more wrinkled, but this time in anger. What did I say to piss you off, chaplain?

  The cigar stabbed towards me. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

  I backed away, but he kept stabbing and was not waiting for an answer. My back hit the wall next to the door. I'm not a huge man, but I'm six foot. Gunner, the chaplain, was only five-nine. But he appeared to loom.

  He growled in his gravelly voice, "Don't you ever rise above yourself again." He pounded his chest. "We earned these rags. We call each other brothers. You ain't earned shit; don't ever call one of us by something you haven't earned. Am I brutally, fucking clear?"

  Kristy said in a small voice, "He was just saying hello..."

  Gunner's eyes didn't even flinch towards her. He said through gritted teeth, "And keep your woman in check, understand? She has no say here."

  I put an arm around my wife, but said, "I'm sorry, Gunner. I didn't know."

  He released a growl that sounded like a Harley coughing to life. "Well, now you do. Keep your mouth shut and your ears open. Ask questions." He hammered the cigar back into his mouth and glanced outside. He muttered, "Wouldn't be surprised if Noah didn't go floating by in the fucking ark."

  Shaking, and feeling desperate to repair my gaffe, I said, "We saw something odd, if I can ask about it?"

  He grunted, turning away. "Sure, Jimmy. But ask me on the way to the kitchen."

  We followed. "I saw Leathers get out of his Jeep. His colors were hidden – inside out. Isn't that like, disrespectful?"

  Gunner squinted at me as we went into the hall. "Fuck no, it's the most respectful thing a biker can do and I'll tell you why." He didn't – we were in the kitchen and he was too busy taking a plate from Grannie.

  She winked at us with a smile.

  We took our plates and sat next to Gunner.

  He finally continued, taking tiny bites of bacon. "You've felt the freedom of the ride."

  I nodded. The sensation was exhilarating.

  He waved the bacon. "Get that same feeling in a car?"

  "Of course not."

  He took another bite, then slid the rest into his mouth and chewed. "You see, once knowing that freedom, we consider cars to be cages. The freedom we felt and that we earned should never be insulted by touching the inside of a cage. If you have to ride in a cage, respect your colors and turn them inside out."

  I nodded slowly. "Makes sense."

  He glared at me. "Of course it fucking does." His face softened. "Sucks having to drive, don't it? I imagine you considered riding even in the rain."

  "I did."

  He wheezed.

  Viking was late, as usual. His words, though good, were always out of place. "Ride free with the wind in your beard."

  I was bald and kept it that way. But I was growing out my beard at Kristy's urging. It didn't look much more than a three-quarter inch bad-boy beard – though the goatee portion was longer now.

  Kristy snickered at Viking's advice.

  Dealer, the president, buzzed grey and commanding, poured coffee into his mug. His eyes fell on us. Holding his coffee cup for a moment in both hands to warm them, he came over. He looked down at Kristy. "Care for a talk?"

  She looked up at him and then over to me.

  I knew what he wanted. I nodded slightly to her.

  She squeezed my arm and got up.

  I watched him leave the kitchen on a mission. My wife followed along after him like a trailing puppy. I knew he was going to have her naked in seconds.

  A small woman sat beside me a moment later and scooted close. I had seen much of this type of behavior in the clubhouse; friendly flirty women. It was Angela, the tiny blonde prostitute the club kept. She was free for the club in return for her protection and housing. The arrangement wasn't at all like that of a pimp: the club did not take a cut of anything she earned. Feeling charitable towards her, the Iron Crows offered her shelter rather than find her dead in some alley in such a risky business. Angela was a sweet girl who had turned to prostitution as the only way to get by. Her husband had been killed in Iraq. She made ends meet the only way she knew how.

  I didn't move away from her. I wasn't interested, but it's nice to feel a woman be friendly – especially when my entire life had been filled with the unfriendly.

  She leaned her head close. "Whatcha doin' until your shift?"

  I identified with her in a way most men wouldn't. Instead of being repulsed, I felt a bond to her that resonated with my own past. Never having friends, always the loner, never included, I could understand what Angela felt. She might have sold her body, but she yearned for the kind of inclusion that I had so desperately needed when I met Kristy. And Kristy had been the same, too. I mumbled, "Not much, I guess. Going to Dealer's office in a couple minutes."

  Her hand reached under and slid up my thigh. She gently rubbed my dick. "We could always talk."

  Her massaging felt good. Very good. Thoughts of my wife doing the same thing to Dealer at the exact same moment made me hard. Angela
was a very pretty woman, with curly blonde hair and a tiny frame. She was a rope with not even a hint of fat on her. Even her arms had that hollow-tendon look. I didn't know how she handled rough men, though I knew the members here treated her nicely when they were with her. However, I wasn't interested in just getting my rocks off. Neither did I want to hurt her feelings; she was incredibly nice. "Maybe I can take a rain check?"

  "If it suits you." She didn’t appear to be hurt. Her voice had that strangled quality of barely breathing while talking – far back in her throat, but not like she was holding in pot smoke. It made her words sound small and frail as if any second she was going to choke up and sob.

  I disentangled myself and put my empty plate up for Smoke to grab. Grannie cooked, Smoke efficiently cleaned the plates. I learned a few weeks back that those who didn't work jobs out in the normal world did things around the clubhouse and got a split of income from club businesses – much like a commune might operate. Apparently, not all clubs did that, though many in Europe did. The Iron Crows had some good businesses operating and the entire club took part. Even those with normal jobs got a share, if less than others.

  I walked through the hall and across the common room. Through into the next hall until the end. Maybe this had been the madam's suite at one time, but Dealer's office had a small connecting bedroom to it. I saw Sonar on the right in his office, boots up on the desk and talking into the phone. He didn't acknowledge me, but I wasn't there for him anyway. He probably knew that.

  I went into Dealer's office. You didn't walk into the president's office without being invited, and Sonar would normally be the filter between Dealer and the rest in the clubhouse. But he had certainly seen Kristy with the president, and that sort of arrangement was known. I had my invitation. I quietly opened the bedroom door and slipped in.

  Both looked at me for a brief instant to make sure it was me. Dealer was lying back allowing Kristy to ride him. She moved her hips slowly, taking his cock inside her as if she was riding a slow merry-go-round.

  I sat on the stool and leaned forward, elbows on knees. My dick was still hard and became painfully hard as I watched. I tried to shift, but ended up just fidgeting like a little kid with a fire ant loose in his shorts.

  Dealer mumbled, "You can take it out if you want." Then his eyes sharpened. "Just don't fucking cum on my floor."

  I nodded with relief and pulled out my throbbing dick. I stroked to her movements, watching from a slight angle. I could see his shaft and her cute buttocks. He was in her pussy, but I couldn't see it. It didn't matter; this was more than enough. I liked that he enjoyed my wife. I was glad she made him feel good. Kristy was a sweet lay and he treated her with respect.

  I also felt good for my wife. She enjoyed fucking him and was always a passionate lover with me afterwards. I felt proud of her and thought she was the sexiest woman on the planet. She looked so damned good with her pussy wrapped around his thick cock. What she did with him was a mouth-watering demonstration of her feminine sexiness. I loved every minute of it.

  I gripped my erection, stroking as I watched her butt move up and down on him. Her sighs and his silent grunts were acclamations of acquisition: his cock had claimed my wife's pussy and my wife's pussy had taken his cock. I shafted myself with my fist feeling happy inside.

  I knew Dealer had issues with his past concerning my wife. He had raped her. But she had come to like it, feeling desired in a way that only I had ever given her before. While she loved me, she craved him. That was okay with me. I wanted her to be fulfilled. If I fulfilled her heart and marriage bed, why would I begrudge her some extra from Dealer?

  But the president had mistaken us, raped her, and felt bad about it. He knew he couldn't even face me in a fair fight without purposely losing to assuage his guilt. I was beyond all that; Dealer wasn't. His sense of honor ran deep. He also couldn't get Kristy out of his mind. That was fine by me, but he took the matter more seriously. He was looking for ways to get her out of his system and not cause issues in the club.

  Maybe a few eyebrows had been raised, and I think the prospect Miguel and hang-around Ralph thought I was trying to bribe my way in. None of that had ever crossed my mind; I was just happy to have a job. Now I owned a Harley and I'd have to say, I was happier than ever, except maybe meeting Kristy. Nah, I was happy with the way things were. His attention boosted her self-esteem and mine as well. The others in the club grinned, shrugged, and went on about their own business. I heard no whispers, caught no looks, fielded no laughter. I thought the situation was great.

  If anything, at least he treated Kristy better than the other hangers.

  Kristy came on him, her hips moving frantically and her arms supporting her hanging head as she leaned on his chest. His grip on her hips helped her jerking moves. He was smiling up at her. She groaned out her orgasm in a breathy voice as she ground her hips fully down on his. Her skinny back shook and trembled as she came on his cock. She looked exhausted and slowly moved forward to lay on him.

  He accepted her down onto him and shifted his hips. She laid on him, still. He began shoving his hips up, his cock and her pussy now in plain view to me. His shaft slid up into her, over and over, his balls slapping up and down with the speed of his thrusting. His cock was like a smooth piston, working in and out of my wife's pussy in a blur.

  I stroked faster, happier now that I could see.

  She just laid on him and moaned, letting him do all the work.

  He didn't last long, pulling hard on her butt with his hips raised and cock buried far. His balls gave several convulsive heaves as he squirted her deep with cum.

  I had to let go of my shaft to keep from cumming. But now I had an ache to finish and couldn't. I dare not. I wonder if she'll give me a handjob before we go to our shifts? Or maybe Angela would. Would my wife mind?

  CHAPTER 2

  All three of us were interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door.

  Sonar called out, "Dealer. Sheriff Jefferson to see you."

  Dealer cursed. "Fuck." He called out, louder. "All right, hold him there a minute." He rolled out from under Kristy in an almost unceremonious dump. He pulled on his jeans and threw on his colors, leaving his shirt off. He held up his finger to his lips, looking at us. He whispered, "Stay quiet. Don't come out." He scrubbed a hand down his face and slid out the door.

  I looked at my wife and shrugged. I was about to ask her for a blowjob when I heard voices.

  Dealer said, "Sheriff, good morning."

  "Morning." It was a deep baritone. "Got a molester placed by the feds. Here's the copies." The sheriff was definitely black.

  There was silence for a moment. Then Dealer's disgusted voice. "Eight-times convicted. And they ship this piece of shit here?"

  Sheriff Jefferson said, "Directly across from the elementary school."

  "Fuck."

  The sheriff went on. "Been a lot of suicides in town, if you know what I mean. Might start attracting the media for a heartstring piece. Might be good to make this scumbag disappear... completely. Miss his compliance check, right?"

  Dealer's response was immediate and certain. "We'll get it done."

  "Ride safe."

  I heard footsteps receding. I stepped back from the door just before it swung open.

  Dealer gave me a grave look. "If you heard anything, you didn't hear anything. Do you get me?"

  "Hear what?" I held up my hands.

  His scowl deepened drastically. "I'm not making fucking jokes here, Jimmy. You fucking heard nothing or I'll have your ears and tongue ripped from your fucking head."

  I swallowed. "I got ya."

  He blew out a breath. "I didn't know he'd have work for us or I would've spared you hearing anything. This is club business, not for hang-arounds or outsiders."

  I said nothing; I knew better.

  Dealer shook his head. "All right, get out."

  We left his office. Behind us, he followed us to the hall and then leaned into the vice president's office. Hi
s words were barely audible. "Sonar, we got a grab and grind."

  I didn't hear that either, whatever a grab and grind is...

  ~ ~ ~

  I forgot about the morning incident. Not like completely, but I put it out of my mind. It was fairly easy to keep off my attention radar, and just like the president had said, club business was club business. If it didn't pertain to my bouncer position, why should I give a shit?

  I stood at the door to the Daily Dollar wondering what the Iron Crows did with child molesters. Not that I dwelled on it, but the thought crossed my mind twice that day. I'd have to say, I stood a little taller when I grabbed an out-of-towner who thought he was a big-city badass and was pestering Celia at the bar. He wanted a tit-flash and she wasn't giving.

  I grabbed him by belt and collar and hustled him out, meanwhile feeling stronger for the club apparently taking out the town's trash.

  Keystone, and Keystone County, was well-known for maintaining a very quiet and clean place to live. Crime was reported as high, but the citizens among some of the safest in the country. Most of the crime was gang on gang violence, though none seemed to be winning in gaining a foothold. I saw no gangs in Keystone, but the media never bothered to check facts like that. It was high gang violence because the gang members were the ones being killed, not the populace.

  I was releasing the big-city badass when I noticed five bikes coming closer. I shooed off the idiot and waited. Expecting Iron Crows, I was greeted with riders I didn't know. They wore leather vests instead of denim.

  I had been told exactly what to do. I ducked back inside, grabbing my phone. I sent a voice message: "Gang trouble at the Daily Dollar. Five bikes." I called out, "Wallet, trouble!" The rumble of the bikes outside that died out suddenly told us all in the bar that they had stopped here. Wallet was the only patcher with me inside.

  Wallet cursed. "You call?"

  "Yeah."

  He didn't look very confident. "Sit down and stay out of this."

  The first of the bikers were already walking in, swaggering.