Aaron shot him a look, but Gavin didn’t seem to care.
“Everyone will need to pull their power in,” Gavin continued. “I’ll do what I can to shield brain waves. Nathan can pull his energy in so it’s barely noticeable until he wants to broadcast it.” He looked at Bud. “Shut yours down a few seconds so I can see how well you do.”
Bud pulled his energy in and shielded it, and Gavin nodded. “That’ll do. If you ever want to tell Nicole what you are, you should come to us. The Concilio long ago took an interest in her because of the werewolves in her books, and you’ll want someone who can intercede with them on your behalf.”
“Thanks for the offer. We aren’t there yet but it’s been on my mind.”
Gavin nodded. “I believe that’s all we can plan for now. Aaron brought sensors for Mac to add to Nicole’s alarm system, so we’ll know if a Strigorii approaches.”
“How is she still alive?”
Bud knew Abbott would understand the question — how had a human become this big of a thorn in the side to a powerful Strigorii and lived.
“In part because of her own cunning, in part because of Aaron’s people’s expert protection. The mere fact the humans have all lost some memories tells us they were in a position to easily be killed, but were spared. Also, with the FBI’s involvement, more questions would’ve been raised by killing them than by wiping their memories.”
“Additionally,” said Gavin, “the Concilio’s latest rules a few years ago forbid us from taking certain actions against people with a large following on the internet as well as television and radio. Once they pulled all her pen names out of her head and realized two of them have a huge following, they’d have had to rethink their dealings with her. It used to be, you recognized the people you couldn’t mess with — actors and actresses, the talking heads on the news shows. Now, you have to doublecheck everyone because you never know what will take hold on social media and grow into something unmanageable.”
“If Nicole had written something out and then they altered her memory,” Bud looked at Abbott. “How would that work?”
“Depends upon her own strength of will. Do you have reason to believe this is the case?”
“No.”
Bud didn’t let himself tack a maybe onto that in his head. He didn’t want to give anyone in the room a reason to doubt him.
14
Nickie was asleep when Bud had come to her bed the night before, and he’d awakened her long enough for a round of sex, given her a half-dozen melt-your-brain orgasms, and held her while she drifted back into dreamland. This morning he’d gone down on her with his magical tongue before fucking her face without mercy, but had insisted they shower together afterwards, where he’d given her another set of fantastic orgasms by torturing her breasts and nipples while he insisted she look at him. She’d thought he’d break her, making her orgasm and hold eye contact until she was lost in the forest green of his eyes and wasn’t sure she’d ever find her way back. Wasn’t sure she wanted to find her way back.
And now she stood on the sidewalk in front of a nice, older house just blocks away from downtown Atlanta. Stone columns defined the wrap-around porch at the steps and the corners, and huge, ancient hardwoods shaded the yard and house. The structure looked like a two-story from the front, but she’d noted on the way over that many of the homes were actually three stories when viewed from the back. The driveway curled around the side of the house, and a privacy fence rose tall on either side, though left the front open to the road.
“Welcome,” Bud said with a smile as he stepped out the front door and onto the porch.
“When was it built?”
“Nineteen twenty-five, but the inside’s been completely redone several times, most recently just a year or so before I bought it. I’ve done a little more work, mostly on the kitchen.” He looked to her men. “As discussed, still one in the front and the other in the back? The inside’s clear.”
Nickie’s guards always cleared a building before they let her go in and relax, but they took Bud’s word for it. One man sat on the front porch with a book, another stood sentry in Bud’s back yard, but she and Bud would be alone in his home for the night. An extra little jolt went through her at the possibilities, and Bud gave her a knowing grin.
“Full tour, first.”
Most rooms had an elaborate fireplace, and all were spotless. The colors throughout the floor were all neutral — tans, navy, and the deep forest green of his eyes.
“Who chose the furniture and colors? The curtains?”
“I picked out the furniture and paid someone to tell me how to do the walls. He photoshopped them the way they’d look, showed me a couple of options, and then I bought the paint and had a paintin’ party before the furniture was delivered. The MC partied at my house for the weekend and by Sunday evening it was finished. Didn’t bring any furniture with me from the old house. Needed a fresh start, once Angel was gone.” He shrugged. “I originally brought her furniture from her old room, but it’s been changed out since she got married. Works for her and Bash to stay in when they visit, now.”
“The place is spotless. I expected… I dunno. Clutter. Man stuff. A bachelor pad. Do you keep it this clean all the time?”
“One of the sweetbutts comes twice a week to clean it. I had her come this morning.” At her look, he held his hands up and out to the side a little. “I pay her. She cleans for several of us. Not many people I can trust in my home, and she’s been around a long time. She takes care of the house and my clothes, changes the sheets on my bed. I’m not usually here when she does it.” He motioned towards the front of the house. “I can control the lock with my phone, and video cameras let me see who’s on the porch.”
“Not jealous, just not comfortable with the sweetbutt thing.”
“You’ll have to get over it. Way of life for us. I won’t use ’em anymore, but they’ll still be around.”
The house wasn’t terribly wide but it was long, so they walked through the living room, a dining room, and into a huge kitchen with a row of glass doors at the back of the house, looking out onto a large deck and way more yard space than anyone usually had at a downtown address. With all the old trees, it felt as if she were in a forest instead of downtown Atlanta. A stand of bamboo at the back corner kept people in a taller house from being able to see into his backyard.
“You like your privacy.”
“Yeah. This is the middle floor, let’s go down before I show you the upstairs.”
They went out onto the deck, down the outside stairs, and Nickie fell in love with the screened in room below the deck. There were ceiling fans, plenty of comfortable seating, and it was perfectly arranged for having friends over.
“Do you entertain a lot?”
“Yeah. Comes with bein’ the president.” He walked her into the room, and then into the downstairs to a large area with two big screen televisions on one wall, several gaming systems under them, a pool table, a dartboard, and a foosball table.
“Mancave on steroids.”
He chuckled. “Part of it.” Through another door, and Nickie stopped and stared at the black sixty-seven Shelby Mustang he’d told her about. It was beautiful, and flawless, and she didn’t care if it was rude, she had to ask.
“I looked these up, just curious after you told me you had one. They can range from forty-grand to over a million dollars. That’s a huge window.”
“She falls somewhere in the middle.”
Nickie knew he’d paid just under a half-million dollars for the house and had gotten it at a steal. Surely his car didn’t cost as much as his house?
“Smack in the middle would be three-quarters of a mil. I couldn’t drive something around that cost that much.”
He chuckled. “I paid just under a hundred grand for her, to give me a project when Angel left for college. She’s insured for a quarter million, and that’s about to what I’d get for her now that she’s back in mint condition, but she isn’t for sale. I�
�m usually on a bike, and have the truck to haul stuff or if the weather’s bad, but if I want to drive the Shelby, I drive her. It’s what she’s there for.”
Nickie turned to look at his bikes — nine of them, perfectly lined up, parked diagonally with the back tires all about a foot from a cinder block wall.
“Why do you need so many bikes?”
“I really only need three, and four have sentimental value. I haven’t driven two of them much in the past year, so I’ll likely sell them.”
“Why do you need three?”
“One for around town, one for road trips, and one for fun on curvy roads.”
He stepped to her, drew her into his embrace, and she melted. How had she grown to need his touch so quickly? Her subs and slaves learned her moods, but they asked permission to touch her or hug her. Bud just pulled her to him whenever, but she didn’t mind — she craved his touch, his warmth, his strength.
“So far, you’ve liked the screened in room best.” His chest vibrated under her cheek and made her smile.
“Yeah. I like my balcony okay at the condo, but I miss my screened in porch at home. Nothing compares to coffee and a cinnamon roll at sunrise with the trees and the birds as company. The city’s nice, but I prefer being out away from people. You’ve managed both.”
“I have, but since my little haven is in the city, I’ve taken measures to ensure my privacy and safety. The front porch, front yard, the garage, and the fence line all have video surveillance. If you’re within ten feet of the fence, you’re on candid camera. The insurance company insists on the garage camera, the rest are for my security. However, you should know warrants have been issued in the past for video and audio surveillance at points inside my home. I regularly sweep for electronics, but with current technology someone can be in a van down the street and hear most everything in the house. That doesn’t work for me because my sex life is no one’s business, so you’ll hear music playing most all the time. Speakers are set throughout the house, and there’s a tone in the music that defeats their listening capabilities.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Americans aren’t supposed to have to worry about the government listening to them have sex. I have no reason to believe I’m the subject of an open investigation, but it’s happened before out of the blue. Just want you to have a heads up. Talk and scream freely when you hear the music, but know someone might be listening if you don’t hear it. It isn’t loud — doesn’t have to be to do the job.”
“We come from different places. I’m usually the one hiding listening devices to catch other people at stuff.”
“Being the president puts a target on my back. I’m used to it, but didn’t want you to get blindsided and be pissed at me for not tellin’ you.”
“Anything else downstairs? This is supposed to be a… four car garage?”
Bud motioned towards a bike up in the air, at the very back of the space. “Five, but if you park one there, it’ll be three deep. I put a bike lift in it. Gives me a place for my latest project.”
“Figured you’d do that at the bike shop.”
“Not my personal projects. Might take me a year or two to finish it. I buy something old and restore it, and I don’t get in a rush. Just something to do when I need to get my mind off everything else.”
Nickie expected him to throw her over a random bit of furniture and fuck her brains out, but the next hour was spent talking. A roast was in the crockpot and bread was in the fridge ready to go in the oven, but neither was hungry just yet so they sat in the screened in room and talked. He hadn’t taken her upstairs yet, but she figured she’d see it in due time.
Bud is comfortable in his skin no matter where he is, but she’d noted he seemed more at peace at the bar and then at the clubhouse. Now, at home, he had the energy of a guru or swami — the calmness of a spiritual master. Or — and she didn’t know why she kept coming back to this — of a wolf in his territory. At peace with everything around him. Not just at peace with it, but in tune with it.
Nickie wandered through the living room again, taking in the energy of Bud’s home when she went inside to use the restroom. She hadn’t noticed the picture on the mantle before, but stopped and took in a much younger Bud between a woman and a girl, his arms around both. All three wore genuine smiles — not the pose-for-the-camera kind — and Nickie saw lots of bikes in the background but she didn’t recognize the parking lot.
His daughter wasn’t a little kid anymore but wasn’t a teen yet either, maybe around ten years old, and his wife was drop-dead-gorgeous but… not in the classical way. Tight jeans, a low-cut top with lots of cleavage showing, and a leather vest in the same style as Bud’s biker vest. Her hair was large and teased, her makeup was heavy with lots of dark eyeliner, and her lipstick was immaculate and sinfully red. Lots of people would look at her and see a biker’s woman and snurl their nose, but Nickie saw the smile that showed this woman cared about her family. From what Bud said, not just her little family of three, but Bud’s family of bikers, too.
“Not lookin’ to replace her,” Bud said from the doorway. “Miss her like crazy, but she’s gone and I found a way to keep going on my own. If I find someone to help round out my life again, they’ll be their own person.”
“The three of you look very happy.”
“We were. I had twenty wonderful years with Wendy and she gave me my Angel. I’ve chosen to be happy for the time I had with her instead of pissed for the time I don’t.” He shrugged. “Ain’t nothing but what it is. I turned the oven on so we can heat the bread. What do you want to drink with dinner?”
Bud knew she’d see the picture of Wendy, but he’d left it on the mantle anyway. He’d been known to pull it down before he invited a woman over for dinner, but he didn’t want to hide anything from Nickie. Besides, he hoped she’d be at his house a lot, and he wasn’t going to put the picture up for good. One picture of his family from before could stay out, and any woman worth her salt would understand. A few more pictures of Wendy were in the room Angel and Bash used when they stayed the night, but otherwise, he had art on the walls.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he had a picture of every bike he’d ever owned on the staircase going up to the bedroom.
Normally, when dinner was over he’d want to go for a walk, but that could get difficult with her bodyguards. Not impossible, just more of a hassle than Bud wanted to deal with. This was an evening to forget about them, without them in the house.
“Tell me about the bratting,” Bud asked as they finished dinner. “When did it start?”
“I told you from the beginning I’m more of a masochist than a submissive. For most men, I submit enough to get what I want, and yeah, I understand what’s wrong with that, so you don’t have to point it out.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “And I know you’re having fun picking at me, but the clubs I go to list me as a SAM, not a brat.”
“The first time you asked someone if that was all they had, was it a relationship or a play partner in a club?”
“Club. Someone who’d whipped me before, but it felt like he was taking it easy on me.”
“How long ago?”
She shrugged. “Ten years? Fifteen? I honestly don’t know.”
Long enough it was part of her psyche, which was fine with Bud.
“You’ll have to figure me out, but I don’t mind a little lighthearted, fun bratting. When I need you to be serious and submit for me though, you’ll be wise to fall in line.”
“Yeah. I picked up on that.” She said it totally deadpan, but the roll of her eyes added a touch of humor, and Bud chuckled.
“Okay, one more thing. You’re gonna have to find your place with my men and their ol’ladies. You might want to eventually brat to me around them, but I don’t think you want to start out that way. Not telling you what to do or how to act, just trying to steer you in the right direction until you figure it out yourself.”
Bud sipped his water and sat ba
ck in his chair. “I’m not too terribly out there when it comes to kinky. I mean, I don’t do fire or needles, I’m not going to cut you open, and I don’t have a secret dungeon. I have a heavy, four-poster bed I can use to tie you up in fun ways, and every piece of furniture in the house is sturdy enough for me to fuck you on it. I have wooden spoons in the kitchen, the belt around my waist, and I can grab an electrical cord, loop it over, and whale on you until you’re black and blue. I don’t have paddles, whips, or floggers here, but I can more than make my point if you need to feel it.”
He smelled her disappointment, but her poker face gave nothing away so he couldn’t mention it. “If you could only bring one thing in — a toy or piece of equipment, what would it be?”
“Leather wrist and ankle cuffs. Just wearing them puts me in the right space, knowing you can clip me to something in just a second and I’ll be immobile. They’re like a trigger or something, to get me in the right headspace. I’ll miss them if I never feel the weight of the leather and metal on my wrists and ankles again.”
“Next five things?”
“Flogger. Probably two, a moderate and extreme one. Is that two of the five, or one?”
“We’ll call it one.”
“Butt plugs, nipple clamps, TENS unit…”
When she didn’t add anything else, he prodded, “One more thing.”
“I’ll let you know. My guess is you have rope, lube, and lots of things to bend girls over for a spanking.”
“I do. We have a violet wand at the clubhouse.”
Her scent went sour. “Rosso. No. I end up with actual burns from them.”
Bud (Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club Book 10) Page 12