MC Fight Club: Iron Banshees: (Complete Series: Parts 1-5) An MC Fighter Menage Romance

by Juniper Leigh

  “Has she?” he asked. “Chosen you, I mean.”

  “Not yet. She told me she would think about it.”

  Lucas nodded again, letting his cigarette drop into the beer bottle. “I have one more favor to ask you,” he said.

  Oliver groaned. “No, you’re done with me, man. You don’t get to have any further influence on my life. The debt is paid; I’m done.”

  “This is just a favor. I’m asking you man to man: let her go. Don’t try to make her stay. That’s all. Just let her get the hell out of this town.” There was such raw desperation in his eyes that Oliver knew immediately how much he loved her. He leaned forward, examining Lucas’s expression, and could nothing, ultimately, but nod his head in consent.

  “Aye,” he agreed. “I would never ask her to stay here. Not with the little one, not around all this violence.”

  “Thank you,” Lucas whispered. He jerked his head toward the door, another indication that he was free to go. Oliver would have been annoyed with the nonverbal dismissal, if he didn’t think, perhaps, that Lucas was trying to conceal the fact that his voice was shaking.

  Lucas rose to his feet and extended his hand to Lucas, who grinned a lopsided sort of grin and took it. The two men shook hands, as though they had concluded some sort of business transaction, and Oliver turned on his heel to leave the room, to leave the Iron Banshees to their dirty business.

  * * *

  I love the sounds of a house beginning to start the day: the comfortable, homey sounds of happy voices, brewing coffee, sizzling bacon, silverware hitting plates. I stayed in bed as long as I could, so I might listen to my son’s voice, like a light, airy descant over the alto and baritone sounds of my mother and brother as they had their breakfast, chatting happily now that I was home, now that the ordeal of my father’s death, and his murderer’s demise, was finally over.

  For my part, I was content to stay under the covers, dreamy and bleary from the horrible events of the previous few days. I was still nursing some injuries, still powering through some anxiety and cultivating my strength to make the big decision ahead of me: do I stay in Hollybrook with Lucas, or do I leave with Oliver? I could barely seriously consider either option, so rife were they both with peril. I’d had enough, first as a young mother in this crime-ridden town, and certainly over the last couple of days. I’d seen my brother in a ring, fighting Oliver; I’d been threatened, kidnapped; and I’d killed men as I made my escape.

  At least, I thought I’d killed them. Everything was such a blur, and I was replaying the scene over and over in my head, trying to figure out what was real and what details my mind was filling in for me. Was I a killer, too? Did that mean I belonged here, with the Iron Banshees? Or was I somehow exempt from it all, acting as I was in self-defense?

  I tugged the blankets up over my head and buried my face in the pillow, not wanting to see these grisly images on the IMAX of my mind. But they wouldn’t be held at bay, and I feared that if I spent too much more time with them, they would consume me utterly.

  I was unprepared for Lucas to barge into the guest room, and I shot up in bed when I heard him enter, my eyes wide, startled. He wore a grim sort of expression, colored with something that looked like fear.

  “Sorry,” he said, grinning, and closing the door behind him. “Your mom said you were up here — I thought maybe you’d be packing.”

  “Packing?” I echoed, clutching the flannel shirt I was wearing tight around my torso. His shirt, which I realized even as he first noticed. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was wearing it when I had a set of perfectly good pajamas that had previously been discarded on the bedroom floor. I must have tugged it on the night before, wanting to be comforted by his familiar scent.

  “Yeah, I figured with everything wrapping up, you’d be wanting to head out.”

  “I thought you wanted me to stay.”

  He moved closer to me then and sat on the edge of the bed. He shrugged out of his kutte and tossed it onto a chair in the corner, wanting only to be Lucas, my Lucky, not the President of the Iron Banshees.

  “I do want you to stay,” he said quietly. “More than anything.” He turned and looked at me then, his eyes watery with unshed tears. The stark display of emotion caught me off guard, and I climbed out from under the blankets to sit next to him. I was clad only in his flannel shirt and a pair of panties, but this was a man I’d married, loved, lived with. I had born his son — I thought, maybe, it was all right if I were slightly underdressed in this vulnerable moment.

  I slid my arms around his neck, hugging him from behind so that my chest pressed against his back. He lifted a hand up and gripped one of my wrists, holding me in place. He spoke openly then, I think because he didn’t have to look me in the eye. “I want you to stay, but I think you should go. I think you were right, Harper. I think you were right to get the hell out of here and stay as far away from me as you could.” He let go of me then, and I felt his shoulders drop beneath my embrace. “I’m no good for you,” he muttered. “I never was.”

  I didn’t know what to say — he was right, of course. But my heart ached for him, and I wanted only to bring him some modicum of comfort. I tilted my head so that my long black hair tumbled down over his arm, and pressed a kiss to his neck. I held my lips there, willing him to turn, for his mouth to meet mine. But he remained still. “I love you, Lucky,” I whispered. Because I did. I always had. But that didn’t mean I would stay.

  “I love you, Harper,” came his tremulous reply, and he did turn then, and caught my mouth with his in a kiss full of longing, and regret. I shifted so that he could turn and slide an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap as he kissed me. I could feel him rising to attention, but a knock at my bedroom door made us freeze where we sat.

  “Just a sec,” I said, and rose to my feet, bidding him to stay where he was. I opened the door just a crack, and my eyes widened to see Oliver standing there.

  “Oliver,” I breathed, eyes wide. “What… what are you doing here?”

  “I just came to bring you your purse and, ah, cell phone,” he said, holding up the items in question. “I fetched them from the casino for you.”

  I balked. “You went back there?” I was shocked — he had played a key role in my escape, so I could only imagine that his father’s cronies bore no love for him. “How… why did you do that? Weren’t you afraid that you’d be killed?”

  “They’re still in a scramble to figure out who’s in charge after the, ah… sudden passing of my da. As far as anyone there can see, I cleared the way for a series of promotions.” He shrugged. “No one gave me much of a hard time. I think they assumed I’d shown up there to claim the throne or some such. They were relieved when I told them I wasn’t interested in the job.” He paused, trying to peer around me into the room. “Ah, can I come in, then?”

  I hesitated, but allowed him to come in. And why not? There was no sense in trying to hide these men from one another. He hesitated to enter further when his eyes landed on Lucas, but I shut the door behind him and locked it. This is what I wanted, both of them here, with me, now. This is what I’d fantasized about, and I could put off making my decisions if I could just have them, if I could take them both, keep them both with me for just a moment longer.

  “Whalen,” Oliver said, not without warmth, but perhaps a little stiffly.

  “Flynn,” came Lucas’s playful reply.

  I shrugged out of Lucas’s flannel shirt and tossed it aside before shimmying out of my panties and allowing them to puddle at my feet. I was bared to them, my hair like black ink, spilling over my shoulders and concealing my nipples — erect in the cool air — from sight. I affixed my gaze first on Oliver, whose eyes, like two glasses of fine sherry, were darting furtively between Lucas and me, before settling finally on me, drinking me in. He allowed his eyes to rove hungrily over the landscape of my body, up and down. Lucas was frozen still, his eyes like two brilliant-cut emeralds, locked on my face, trying to read my expression. He loo
ked as though he were making a decision: I could see the wheels turning in his mind. I thought for a moment that he might bolt from the room when he rose to his feet. But he didn’t run; instead, he tugged his white tee shirt off over his head and tossed it over the chair. Then he sat down again to unlace his boots.

  This gesture seemed to incite Oliver, who was not to be outdone. He kicked out of his shoes and tugged his shirt off as well before racing over to me and curling his fingers around my neck. He brought my face toward his and kissed me long and hard, his tongue pressing its way into my mouth. He scooped me up into his arms then and I wrapped my legs about his waist as he carried me over to the bed. He dropped me rather unceremoniously onto the mattress and stared down at me as I allowed my knees to part and fall open, exposing my sex to both of them. It was already damp and tingling, yearning for attention.

  “Is this what you really want, Harper?” Lucas asked, and I turned my head to look at him. He was standing on the other side of the bed, and as such, I could glance easily between my two lovers. It was what I wanted, it was what I had wanted for a long time, and all I could do was nod my head and whisper, “Yes.”

  I saw the men look at one another, saying nothing, an imperceptible agreement passing between them. And then Lucas moved around to the foot of the bed, trailing his fingers lightly over the flesh of my inner thighs. It sent a shiver down my spine, even as Oliver dropped to his knees and took one of my nipples between his lips. I arched my back to meet him, just as I felt Lucas’s mouth press a series of fluttering kisses along the plane of my lower abdomen, from one hip bone to the other. My body was a map, and they were purposeful and cautious explorers, careful not to disrupt their fellow traveler’s path.

  As Oliver suckled at one breast, he kneaded the other with one large, steady hand. I felt Lucas kiss his way over my pubic bone as he parted my nether lips with two deft fingers. His eager little tongue made contact with the pulsing pith of my sex, and I moaned so loudly that Oliver placed a hand over my mouth to quiet me. I wasn’t used to such attention — even in my wildest fantasy, I hadn’t prepared myself for this surplus of sensation. Lucas was running his free hand up and down the line of my silhouette, from my knee, up to my waist and back again, and I was overwhelmed.

  Lucas began to move his tongue more quickly, and he slid a finger inside of me as he worked my clit. Oliver abandoned the breast upon which he’d been heaping his attention to focus on the other, removing his hand from my mouth so that he could unzip his fly and tug his turgid manhood out of his jeans, stroking it to full attention. I turned my head to watch him pleasure himself as Lucas slid a second finger into me. I was ready, ready for both of them, and I wanted them to fill me up.

  I think they could sense how desperate I was becoming, and I could feel the ache between my legs growing as Lucas continued to perform his luscious ministrations on me. But after a while, he lifted his head and pulled his fingers out of me, using his kisses to travel north, over the plane of my abdomen and up the slope of my breast. He found my mouth then, and I could taste myself on his tongue as he kissed me.

  Oliver took his cue and moved south, shedding his jeans as he went and tugging his boxers down just enough for his cock to be free. He climbed onto the mattress between my legs and plunged himself into me to the hilt. I broke free of Lucas’s kiss to let out a cry as Oliver thrust the full amount of his considerable length into my orifice, wet and warm as damp velvet. Lucas knelt on the mattress in front of my face, unzipping his own fly and pulling out his cock, already at full attention. He pressed forward and I parted my lips for him, taking him into my mouth as deeply as I could. I curled my fingers around the base of his shaft and worked it with my hand and my lips as Oliver bucked his hips back and forth, back and forth into me.

  I allowed my eyes to close and focused on the cornucopia of feelings: penetrated in two places, with four hands exploring every inch of my body. I could feel my orgasm starting to build already — indeed, I couldn’t recall a time in my life where I had been more turned on than I was in that moment. My skin was hypersensitive, and so much as a static shock would have sent me utterly over the edge. I was consumed by them: I was totally theirs, and they were mine.

  And more than that, I was so full of them that they pushed the demons out. For the first time since the abduction, I was free of the images that had plagued me and made me sleepless. I was boiled down to my sense of touch, and my lovers lit me up from the inside out.

  I pulled away from the both of them then, wanting them every which way, and sat up on the mattress. They both froze, gripping their cocks in their fists, and waited to take their cues from me. I got up onto my knees then, and bent forward so that I was on my hands and knees, facing in the opposite direction that I had been previously. I presented my ass to Lucas and my mouth to Oliver and let them both come into me.

  Lucas gripped my hips and found my entrance, slick as a water weed, and pressed into me. I was comforted by his familiar, steady rhythm. And while Oliver’s cock was slightly larger, Lucas had a quickness to him that I knew would bring me to fruition with speed. Lucas knew just how to make love to me, knew exactly how I liked it. He knew my body, every inch of it, as well as he knew his own, and I took solace in that. Oliver, on the other hand, was still new. He was the intrepid explorer, learning me, and focusing on me with a keen interest. He excited me, the way he watched me, wanting to make sure that what he was doing was precisely how I liked it done. It was sweet, the attentiveness; it was thrilling, the newness of it all.

  I took Oliver into my mouth and bobbed my head up and down. He tangled his fingers in my hair and urged me ever forward, so that I could take every inch of him into my throat. I obliged and sucked him hungrily, even as I contracted the muscles in my vaginal wall around Lucas, who was digging his fingers into the soft flesh of my bottom. I moaned around Oliver’s cock before I felt Lucas thrust once more into me, sending the juice of his climax deep into my recesses. I reveled in the sensation of his cock pulsing as he shot his load into me, and gasped through my nose when he reached around to rub at my clit. My orgasm built around Lucas’s cock, his fingers working me to completion. And it was the sight and sound of my wracking orgasm that finally finished off Oliver, who came into my mouth with a fierce grunt.

  I trembled with the force of it all, my body shivering as both men pulled out of me. I collapsed onto the bed as I swallowed down the remnants of Oliver’s juices, Lucas’s dripping down my thighs. I curled up on my side facing Lucas, who lay beside me and cradled my head on his arm and pressed kisses to my forehead. Oliver joined us then, laying close at my back and resting his hand on my hip. And I had taken them both.

  I felt a well of emotion spring up on me in those moments, warm in the afterglow, where we said nothing, simply allowed our heart rates to slow and our breathing to steady. I felt a few errant tears spill out over the arch of my cheeks, and I was grateful that both of my companions had their eyes closed so that they couldn’t see me. How could I ever choose between these two men? How could I possibly stay in Hollybrook with Lucas, with all of the violence, the uncertainty, the mayhem? But then, how could I run off with Oliver and start a new life? How, when I knew that if I did, the old life would simply follow us wherever we went? How could I live every day with the reminders of how we’d come together, of what I’d had to leave behind to choose that life?

  No, I resolved then. No. I couldn’t choose either of them. So I would have neither. It broke my heart, but my gut knew it was right.

  I don’t know how long we lay there, all tangled up together. All I knew is that they were both sound asleep when I slipped away. I went into the bathroom and locked the door, indulging in a long, languorous bath. And when I came out again, they had both gone.

  ***

  “Mama, when are we going to go home?” Jamie asked when I hoisted him up off the floor and into my arms.

  “Tomorrow, baby,” I said, pressing a series of kisses to the top of his head before he began t
o squirm in my arms, demanding to be put down again. I set him back down on the kitchen floor and turned to watch my mother as she came into the room. She was looking much older than she had on the day I arrived, which I suppose was to be expected. There was something world-weary about her, something resigned; her eyes, once a limpid blue, were now somehow dull, gray, like the sky hours after a storm.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, pressing her hand to my forehead as though I had a fever. I smiled, recognizing the gesture. I don’t think she was testing to see if I was sick so much as she just wanted to touch me, to comfort me.

  “Much better,” I said, abandoning all pretense and enfolding her in an embrace.

  “What’s the plan, then?”

  “Plan?” I asked. “I don’t really have one, I guess.”

  “But you are leaving.” She began to move around the kitchen, putting things back in their places. She was fidgety; she didn’t know what to do with her hands. I watched her as she moved, mesmerized by her easy grace. Even at her age, she was beautiful. I hoped I would age as well as she had. But I could sense her anxiety: without me and Jamie there to keep her company, her only companion — her only family at all — would be Brian. And I knew she liked having us around, because he was always so busy. Club business, after all.

  “Yes,” I said. “Unless… you would prefer that I stay?”

  “No,” she insisted. “No, I know you have to get away.” She paused in her fidgeting then and leveled me with her eyes, in that way that only mothers can. “You’re leaving them both behind, aren’t you? Lucas and Oliver Flynn.”

  I stared at her, wondering how she had seen so keenly into the depths of my psyche, and gave a slow nod of my head. “But how did you know?” I wondered aloud.

  “You have a look about you, sweetheart,” she said. “It is determination — you’ve set your mind to something, so you are going to stick with it. But there is an undertone of melancholy there as well.” She smiled a small sort of smile and patted my hand where it lay on the countertop. “You’re doing the right thing.”