I was so pissed at Mason, and I knew it was going to take me a long time to get over it. If I had thought for one minute that he knew it was my kid sister, then he wouldn’t have been standing.
I couldn’t blame him too much, though. Fuck, I didn’t even recognize her myself. She looked like a completely different person. All grown up. For the most part, that is. That pouty look she gave me when I told her she couldn’t stay turned her right back into a twelve year old in my head.
“Motherfucker!” If I kept punching the wall, I was going to break a hand. And at this point, the pain wasn’t doing it’s job anyway.
I took a deep breath and sat down at my desk, wiping the blood from my fingers with a dirty bandana. I pulled a bottle of whiskey from my desk drawer, drawing on it slowly as I remembered Rebel when she was a little kid.
She had always been a pain in the ass, but I loved her. When my parents brought her home from the hospital, I was only six years old, and I was fascinated by her every movement and sound. When she bellowed out her first belly laugh, it was me that she was laughing at. I played with her for hours, and after I got older, and my parents got busier, I ended up being the one watching over her most of the time.
Unfortunately, once I got to be a teenager, she became a nuisance to me as my priorities shifted and I wanted to be out running with the other teen boys in the neighborhood, including Mason, and while I tried to stay as nice as possible, I began to resent being the one in charge of her. I wanted to be a normal teenager, not saddled with a kid.
I resented her, and I resented my parents. And when they went away, after everything that went down, I felt bad for Rebel, but I hoped she could find a way to adjust to life in a ‘normal’ family.
I hoped she would change her name back to Jill, not use the stupid nickname my father gave her after he started the MC. He said it ‘fit’ her, but my mother hated it. When Mom insisted on continuing to call her Jill, Rebel rejected her real name even more, embracing the new moniker with a vengeance, determined to live up to her name every single day.
And she did. She got in trouble at school. The cops would bring her home weekly - once she had broken into the school office to try to steal the petty cash, and another time she tried to walk out of Sears with a brand new pair of boots on her feet. She was really good at getting in trouble.
But Dad seemed to be proud of her efforts, he said he admired her spirit. And it only fueled the fire in her. She yearned for his attention, and yet as she got older, less cute and more rebellious, he turned away from her, claiming he was too busy with the club to spend any time with her.
And it hurt her. She tried not to let us see, but I could see right through her. Unfortunately, I was singing the same tune as my dad, turning eighteen and knee deep in the daily search for weed and pussy. Then, the bust happened, and our entire family was torn apart, eliminating even the appearance of a family unit.
I took another draw from the bottle, and lit up a joint that was lying on my desk. As I inhaled the sweet smoke, I remembered that day like it was yesterday.
Rebel, Mason and I were at the clubhouse, hanging out and playing pool. It was Rebel’s twelfth birthday, and we were celebrating by doing what we did most days. Just the three of us, passing the time in whatever way caught our attention first. We loved being at the clubhouse. We didn’t think anything of the constantly inebriated club members, the cussing, the pot smoke or booze drenched floors — it was comfortable, because it was all we had ever known.
Mason and I were in the middle of a game, and Rebel was in the corner, painting her fingernails black. She had spent the last six months in her goth stage, refusing to wear anything that wasn’t black. Even her lips were smeared with black lipstick, and her eyes were lined with thick black eyeliner.
The three of us jumped when we heard the first loud bang at the heavy, locked door of the clubhouse.
“Under the table!” I screamed at Mason and Rebel, pulling them under the pool table for protection. I don’t know why I thought to go under the table, instead of running out the back door, but that’s what we did.
We huddled under there, watching the gruesome scene unfold before us. I tried to shield Rebel’s eyes, but she fought me, insisting she needed to see what was going on.
My dad came out of his office, a shotgun in his hands, just as the battering ram succeeded in bashing the door open. Bright sunlight steamed in, silhouetting the cops decked out in full riot gear. They trailed in, one after the other, dozens of them, screaming at the top of their lungs, forcing the MC members down on the floor.
My dad was having none of it. He opened fire, screaming right back at the cops, shooting whatever he could hit before they reached him and shoved him to the ground. We watched, shuddering in fear, as the cops beat the shit out of him, kicking him in the head and ribs, blood pouring out of his mouth as they handcuffed him.
They found mom huddled in the closet in the office, surrounded by bricks of cocaine and cash. Luckily, they didn’t hurt her, even though she did her best to hurl every cuss word and insult that she could think of at them. I think she was even more insulted that they just laughed at her as they handcuffed her.
By the time the cops found us under the table, Rebel was crying and shaking with fear. I felt terrible for her, and I was scared too. I knew my parents were going away for a long time once I saw the three dead cops lying on the ground. All I can remember is thinking at the time is how grateful I was that I was eighteen so I could take care of Rebel.
But things didn’t go that way.
And now here we were. Seven years later and she shows up at my club, and this time, no courts could get in the way of me helping her.
And what do I do? I yell at her and send her away again.
What a wonderful brother I was.
“Son of a bitch!” I threw the bottle of whiskey against the door, the glass shattering on the floor.
CHAPTER TEN
Rebel
Mason’s house was just what I expected. Bare, masculine, and no frills. But it was a house. With a roof. And a bed that was all mine to sleep in.
“I’m so thankful for this, Mason,” I said to him as we made dinner together that night. We hadn’t been there long before he started pulling steaks out of the fridge and turning on the grill outside. “You don’t have to go to all this trouble, though, really.”
“Nah, it’s okay. I figure it’s been a while since you had a good meal.”
He was right. It all looked so good, and I was starved. But it did seem like a little much. I felt terrible for deceiving him earlier, even if it had felt like heaven at the time. He was being so nice now, and I didn’t feel like I deserved it.
But it was a far cry from the bridge I had slept under last night, so I wasn’t about to turn it down. If it weren’t for the enticing sight of Mason, still wearing his cut and standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables, I would have already been tucked between the clean sheets of the bed in his guest room. I couldn’t wait to feel the cool cotton sliding across my feet.
“Listen, Rebel, why don’t you go take a shower while I cook? You have some other clothes in that backpack of yours?” His gaze raked across my chest again, making the bikini top I was wearing seem incredibly inappropriate.
“Um…sure, that’d be nice, thanks.” I felt like a fool. A silly little girl going into the clubhouse playing dress up and causing my plan to go completely awry. I drank in the sight of Mason once more, and I forgave myself quickly, though. How could I have ever resisted this man?
I sighed, and walked back into the living room, grabbing my backpack and heading for the bathroom. A shower sounded incredible.
“You can find clean towels in the cabinet!” Mason yelled after me as I walked down the hallway.
As I passed by his bedroom, I looked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t watching me, and tiptoed into his room, putting my backpack on the floor.
It smelled like him. His whole house did. Whiskey. Leather. T
he faint smell of sweat and masculinity. My body ached at the memory of him sliding into me, and once again, I shuddered with yearning for more as I slowly walked around his room, looking at his things.
The bedroom was simple and sparse. An unmade bed was pushed against the wall, and a chest of drawers was against the opposite wall. I walked over to it, and picked up a photograph of him and Harley when they were eighteen. It must have been taken right around the time our parents went away. I remembered them like this. It was disarming to see both of them as grown men now.
Especially Mason. I didn’t think anyone could get any manlier than him. My nipples hardened as I looked over at his bed, and I wondered how many women he had taken to bed here. My heart swelled with pain thinking about it.
What the hell was wrong with me? He’s my brother’s best friend — hell he’s practically family to me, and the last thing I needed was to be obsessing over him.
I turned to walk out of the room and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Mason standing in the doorway watching me.
“Oh, sorry…I was just looking around. I saw this picture of you and Harley and thought I’d check it out.”
“Yeah, it seems like so long ago, doesn’t it? That was taken right around the last time I saw you.”
“Yes, it does. I guess we’re both different people now, huh?”
Mason smiled, his eyes lighting up as he looked at me.
“Well, baby girl, you certainly are. I still feel like the same kid in that picture.”
“Oh, no, Mason,” I looked him up and down, my body aching for his touch. “You’ve grown up quite a lot yourself.”
He cocked his head, looking at me with a strange mixture of curiosity and desire.
“Well, grown ups or not, here we are. Don’t worry about Harley, he’ll come around.”
“Yeah…” I said, walking past him and out of his bedroom. As I got nearer to him, the heat and scent of him radiated from his hulking frame and although I knew I should ask him to move so I could get by without having to rub up against him, no words came out of my mouth. I slithered past him, my breasts scraping across his arm suggestively.
I looked up at him, and as our eyes met, the chemistry between us was thick and undeniable. Poor Mason looked like a tiger caught in a cage, and I felt just a little bit sorry for him. I was teasing him, I knew it. But I just couldn’t get past the growing desire of wanting him to bend me over and slam his perfect cock into me again.
I smiled up at him, feigning innocence, and raising myself up on my tiptoes, I kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks for everything, Mason. You’re the best.”
I quickly slipped down the hall and shut the bathroom door behind me before I succumbed to my desire to fall to my knees in front of him.
I wanted another taste of him so badly now, and I didn’t care for one fucking moment whether Harley approved or not.
I showered slowly, luxuriating in the warm water. I had done my best to stay as clean as possible, but it wasn’t easy on the streets. Several days a week, I went to the women’s shelter and showered and washed my long, black hair. But the water was always cold and they only let you take five minute showers. Luckily, they let you do laundry there, too, so I had clean clothes to change into.
When I was done, I dried off and then realized I had left my backpack inside Mason’s bedroom. I wrapped a towel around myself and padded down the hallway to his room, my wet hair dripping around my shoulders.
When I walked into his room, I froze. A very hot, very muscular, very naked Mason stood with his back to me, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head. His was all sinewy muscle and he possessed the most perfect masterpiece of an ass I had ever seen. His body was massive, and I realized he must spend hours working out to look like that.
When I first saw him in the shop, he never took off his clothes, and seeing him now standing in front of me naked as a jaybird, my hands began shaking. I stood frozen in place as I continued watching him.
He sensed my presence after a moment, turning to me after he slipped on his jeans.
“Are you enjoying your peep show, baby girl?” He cocked his eyebrow at me, and walked past me completely unfazed.
Fuck! How was I ever going to resist this man? He was a serious distraction for a girl who was trying to get her shit together, and now I was stuck with him for a few days waiting for Harley to come to his senses. By the looks of Mason’s swollen shaft bulging in his jeans, he was having just as hard of a time as I was.
I smirked at his back, not fooled by his aloofness one bit. Scooping up my backpack, I walked into the guest room and began unpacking my things.
I didn’t have much — three pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, four pairs of underwear, one bra, and two pairs of socks, in addition to the denim skirt and bikini top I had been wearing earlier. I pulled it all out, folding them carefully and placing them in the empty dresser against the wall.
And then I pulled out my most prized possession. Our family portrait, however untraditional it was. Mason had taken this photo, actually, and I laughed out loud at the memory of that day.
I was ten, Harley was sixteen. We had an old dog then, our beloved German Shepherd, Lucy. Dad had insisted on taking a family picture in front of his bike, and the black Harley gleamed in the background behind the four of us, with Lucy sitting at our feet. Mom had curled her hair and put on bright red lipstick, her tight jeans hugging her curves and showing off her perfect figure. She was beautiful, there was no denying that. I missed her dearly.
In the photo, Dad wore full leathers, the club patches proudly sewn into his cut. I had always admired his cut, and even back then, I knew I wanted to be an MC member and have one of my own. It had never seemed fair to me that women couldn’t join, but after the bust, and the violence I saw that day, I understood perfectly, even if I didn’t like it.
Later that year, my dad bought me a black leather vest, and no matter how much I begged, he wouldn’t put any patches on it for me. Much to my mom’s dismay, I wore that thing for a solid year.
I placed the photo on the nightstand next to the bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and a snug fitting t-shirt, opting to leave the bra behind. Mason would just have to deal with it.
I walked out of my room, and followed the incredible smell of grilled meat. Mason was standing out on his deck, holding a pair of tongs and drinking a beer as he monitored the steaks.
“Almost ready, baby girl.”
I should have been upset that he was calling me both a baby and a girl, but the way he kept saying it made my nipples harden every time.
As I watched him take a drink of his beer, my gaze fell on his lips and I desperately yearned for him to kiss me again. Once again, I cursed Harley.
Who was he to tell me who I could sleep with? Here I was, forced to hang out with Mason, and I couldn’t fuck him?
To hell with that.
I decided, along with my yearning body, that I would have Mason again if it killed me. I was tired of denying myself pleasure. My life had been a whole big mess of pain, and if I had the opportunity to enjoy myself for a few days, why should I refuse that?
What Harley didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. And if Harley didn’t know, then he wouldn’t kill me and Mason either.
“Can I have one of those?” I asked Mason, pointing to his beer.
“Yeah, sure, why not? Help yourself, they’re in the fridge.”
“Thanks!” I flashed him my prettiest smile and turned to walk back into the house, swaying my hips as I did so, hoping like hell he was watching.
When I returned with two beers, I handed him one of them.
“Looks like you could use another.” His bottle was almost empty, and I saw three other empty bottles on the table. Apparently, he was a drinker. So was I. Maybe that would work to my advantage.
“Thanks, baby girl.” I cringed, feeling my nipples harden again, and crossed my legs as I sat on his lawn chair as he turned the steaks over.
“You�
�re welcome, Mason,” I said, sweetly, smiling at him. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Nope, I’ve got it all taken care of.” He cut into a piece of steak, juices flowing down into the fire and sizzling. “Looks like we’re done here.”
He turned off the grill, placed the steaks on a platter and walked back inside. I grabbed our beers, followed him, sat at the table he had already set, and looked across at him.
“They look delicious. You’re right, I haven’t had a good meal in a while, this is amazing!” He beamed at me across the table, his smile like an electric shock to my very core.
“Then dig in, baby girl!”
And I did. We ate and drank, talking about the old days in between bites, and laughing at our shared memories. It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone who knew where I came from, who remembered the same things I did.
Someone who understood.
By the time we finished dinner, I had downed two more beers, and I asked Mason if he had any whiskey.
“Of course I have whiskey,” he said, “but don’t you think that’s a little heavy for you?” “Seriously?” I asked, surprised that he would think I was a lightweight. “Did you forget who drank both you and Harley under the table when I was eleven?”
We laughed at the memory, and then he immediately embarrassed me by reminding me of the end of that evening.
“Yeah, and who ended up puking in the bushes afterwards?”
“Okay, okay, you got me. But I’ve had a lot of whiskey since then, so I promise I won’t puke this time.”
He looked at me, smiling, his eyes filled with amusement.
“Alright, alright…it’s in the cabinet over the sink.”
“Stay put. I’ll get it.” Once again, I walked over to the kitchen, exaggerating the sway of my hips, hoping I was enticing him and not looking like a fool.
I grabbed the bottle of Maker’s Mark, found two shot glasses, and returned to the table. Pouring a shot for him first, I handed it to him before I poured one for myself and raised my glass to him.
RAW: THE ULTIMATE MC COLLECTION Page 83