Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7)

by Scott Hildreth

  I lifted her hand to my lips again, paused, and shifted my eyes to her waist. Her shirt had lifted, exposing a few inches of her stomach. After an extensive period of time, I reached for the bottom of her shirt with the intention of pulling it down to meet the waist of her shorts. With my free hand half-way to her shirt, I hesitated and shifted my eyes to her face.

  Her eyes were still closed.

  As I lowered my hand into my lap my eyes quickly fell to her waist. The slight guilt I felt for admiring such a remote and sensual portion of her body slowly faded away, leaving me feeling rather curious.

  I gazed blankly at the four-inch section of exposed skin for some time, wanting time to jump forward to a day when we were married – a time in which I would naturally feel that my exploration of her would be without limits, free from reservation, and filled with nothing but pleasant memories.

  “Touch me,” she said softly.

  The guilt which had faded away quickly came rushing back. Almost as if I was a child again, caught for doing something I had been warned not to, I shifted my eyes to meet hers, only to find her smiling softly with her eyes opened ever-so-slightly.

  “I thought you were going to. It’s okay, Alec. Touch me,” she said.

  “I…”

  As I began to explain, I stopped, realizing that my desire to feed my curiosity was being fed fuel by her approval to proceed. I smiled, shifted my focus to her waist, and convinced myself touching her could be harmless as long as my intentions were pure.

  With the backs of my knuckles I brushed her shirt upward slightly, exposing yet more of her silky smooth skin. As I admired the contour of her stomach and the slight depression into her naval, I flattened out my hand and raked the tips of my fingers ever-so-lightly around the surface of her skin.

  Softly, she began to moan. Her state of mind was unmistakable. The sound escaping her lips was derived from pleasure, not pain. I continued, hoping to feed her desires without causing her any discomfort whatsoever.

  Fed by each of her rather vocal releases of delight, I continued to trace my fingers along her skin in a circular motion, raising the bottom of her shirt ever so slightly each time my fingers passed by the fabric.

  Soon, the curved portion of the bottom of her bra was exposed, and although I initially – and naturally – felt the need to pull her shirt down to cover the undergarment, I fought the urge, and continued to enjoy softly touching her skin – my reward being her repeated outbursts of pleasure in response to my touch.

  With my eyes fixed on her stomach and following the pattern my fingers outlined on the surface of her skin, I watched as she arched her back and lifted herself from the surface of the couch slightly.

  She removed her hands from behind her back and flattened herself onto the couch.

  “Take it off,” she said.

  I swallowed heavily and shifted my eyes upward until they met hers.

  “My bra,” she said. “Take it off.”

  I gazed down at her body for what seemed to be an eternity, not quite sure of what to do next. As I sat alongside her thighs on the edge of the couch peering down at her, I felt rather foolish and slightly immature. Slowly, she sat up, reached into her shirt, and pulled her bra from underneath.

  With the bra dangling from her fingertips, she lowered herself to the couch, draped her arm over the edge, and dropped it onto the floor. I shifted my eyes to her mid-section. Her shirt once again covered the skin I was so eager to caress.

  As I stared down at her shirt, afraid to make any sort of advancement, I wondered exactly what prevented me from doing what it was I knew she found pleasure in. I decided, after a long pause, that it was nothing other than the guilt of moving too quickly or in a manner that brought her something other than pleasure. Frankly, I had no idea of what it was she wanted or how to proceed.

  As I continued to stare, dumbfounded and confused, she sat up, pulled her shirt over her head, and tossed it onto the floor. Still sitting up and facing me, she leaned forward and reached for the bottom of my shirt. With our eyes locked on one another, I leaned in for a kiss. As our tongues explored what our minds desired and our mouths were either too innocent or too protective to say, I reached down and helped her pull my shirt over shoulders.

  As we continued to kiss, I pressed my chest to hers, leaving the shirt draped over my shoulders. With my hands and mind at battle over how to proceed, my hands soon won, and found their way to the underside of her breasts.

  I softly kneaded her flesh in my hands as we continued to kiss, finding the vibration of her pleasurable gasps against my lips to be rather sensual. Eventually our mouths parted, and she leaned away from me, fully exposing her bare chest to my exploration. My eyes admired the fullness of her breasts, and my hands soon followed. As I softly squeezed, she groaned in pleasure, arching her back a little further each time.

  Cupping the bottoms of her breasts in the web of my hands, I lowered my lips to her erect nipples and opened my mouth fully. I pressed my face against the surface of her skin, circling her nipple with my tongue.

  The repeated moans that filled the room left little doubt as to her pleasure, and I continued based on the sound of her expressed excitement alone.

  I realized as I continued that we had done very little speaking, and further understood doing so wasn’t at all necessary as long as I was receptive to her manner of communicating to me.

  I lifted my mouth from her swollen nipple, leaned toward her bicep, and kissed my way to her shoulder. With my hands softly squeezing the upper portion of her arms, I lifted my lips from her shoulder, met her gaze, and grinned.

  I reached out and lifted her chin slightly. After a few seconds of admiration, I kissed her again, softly and slowly, only to pull my lips from hers and move my mouth along her jaw and to her neck. As I nibbled and kissed her neck, her writhing against me became more intense and passionate. I continued for some time, and eventually slowed my pace until she became calm.

  After a long moment of regaining my senses, I kissed her passionately and fully. As our lips parted, her eyes met mine and we shared a silent moment of admiring each other.

  “I love you, Alec,” she said.

  My response was immediate.

  “And I love you,” I said.

  And, for the first time in my life, I had no doubt that it was genuine.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Late Spring 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

  In what I suspected was the only way he saw an opportunity to assemble the family that he had lived so long without, Shane bought three adjacent lots in an upscale neighborhood with his proceeds from the fight; and as the winter came to a close, the three homes he was having constructed were completed.

  I couldn’t help but admire his newfound desires – and the reasons behind them – even if he didn’t admit what the driving force was behind his spending habits. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t need to, it was apparent.

  A man who had spent his adult lifetime pinching every penny he earned seemed to now enjoy spending at least a portion of his fortune on the things and people he truly found valuable. A block from his home, a school was being built for special needs children, all funded by him entirely.

  I sat in a lounge chair on the deck of my new home staring blankly at the massive swimming pool in Shane’s back yard. According to him, the pool was a community pool for all of us to share; and since we moved into our homes, we had done just that. Barbeques, gatherings, parties, and discussions happened on the deck of the pool on an almost daily basis.

  Initially, being in Texas wasn’t an easy thing for me. Regardless of the animosity I felt toward my father for coercing my sister to give up her child for adoption, leaving him wasn’t a simple thing for me to do.

  Sitting there gazing at the area where I had spent countless hours playing with my new nephew, I had a slight epiphany.

  God is not only understanding and forgiving, he places in front of us all that is necessary to live a peaceful life. At
times he may take from us, but he also provides. It is up to us, however, to see exactly what it is he is offering.

  I stood from my seat. As my eyes continued to linger toward the pool, I was filled with a newfound gratitude for everything and everyone in my life. My mind took a short pause as well, acknowledging how both Katie and Casey were a tremendous blessing to me, each providing me unconditional love on varying levels. The two loves of my life were gained as a result of friends, not family. People I had met who were selfless, willing to offer themselves and the ones they loved all in an effort to become closer to a man who just happened into their lives.

  I was now living in the polar opposite location from where I had spent the majority of my life. Learning how to live a life filled with love wasn’t a natural task for me, and as I turned away and began to walk toward the house, I chuckled at the similarities between Casey and me. In some respect we were each learning how to live life for the first time, neither of us fully understanding what was around the next corner.

  As I opened the door leading into the house, I paused and turned back toward my lounge. My phone was on the table beside the chair, sitting idle, as always. It was a device I had never really become accustomed to, but appreciated nonetheless. I reached over the chair, picked up the phone, and typed a text message to Katie.

  Thinking of you

  I pressed send and turned toward the open door knowing no matter what happened, I would spend the rest of my life doing so.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Early Summer 2015, Austin, Texas, USA

  The state of Texas was unique in many respects, but one in general that pertained to me. The state was occupied by a 1% MC who claimed the state as theirs sixty years prior. Any club who wanted to be respected, even non-1%ers, needed to get authorization from the Banditos to open a chapter in the state. It wasn’t as much a matter of necessity as it was a matter of respect.

  Although our club was not going to be an outlaw club, we respectfully set up a meeting with all of the local clubs to assure there were going to be no surprises after the club began to operate in full force. Shane, Ripp and I went to the meeting with high hopes of their being little if any resistance to our starting the club.

  The three of us were seated on one side of the room, with the entire group seated across the room glaring at us. More than a dozen various clubs, primarily 1% clubs, each had their respective presidents in attendance, with the exception of one local club, the Selected Sinners.

  Their support came from my home town of Wichita, due to the local chapter being on a mandatory run. As Wichita was the parent chapter for the Sinners, no exception was taken to their representative or their participation. Although their representative showed up late, I was glad he did, because he seemed to be the only sensible man in the group.

  With Shane on one side and Ripp on the other, I did my best to respond to the questions as they were asked.

  “So you ain’t even gonna have a bottom rocker?” one of the men asked.

  Jesus, how many times are you going to ask this question?

  “That is correct. Our colors will employ an upper rocker, club logo, and an “MC” patch with no lower rocker. We claim no territory,” I responded.

  “So you ain’t claimin’ the state of Texas as your territory?” another man asked.

  The president of the Selected Sinners cleared his throat and turned toward the man who asked the question.

  “That same question has been asked a dozen fucking times. Asked, and answered,” he said.

  He continued to glare at the man, and continued. “They’re a fucking do-gooder club.”

  Well, I wouldn’t call it that, but…

  He turned to face me, met my gaze, and stared. After a moment of our eyes remaining locked, he leaned forward slightly and cleared his throat.

  “What’s your hustle?” he asked.

  He was asking what, if any, criminal activity the club was going to participate in to support themselves. Not all, but some 1% MCs ventured into a criminal enterprise.

  I shook my head. “We don’t have one, nor will we. Simply some local fellas that have a common love for bikes, riding, and enjoying the open road. I’m a former Marine, and the brotherhood a club offers is important to me. We don’t need a hustle to support the club.”

  He leaned back into his seat and nodded his head once.

  “I say we vote,” he said. “They’re not claiming territory and they aren’t going to interfere with the business of any of the clubs in attendance. If a club isn’t here, as far as I’m concerned, they don’t care, and therefore have no say. We’ve been here thirty minutes, and that’s about twenty-eight too fucking long.”

  He paused and turned his head toward the left and then toward the right. The meeting was a fly by the seat of your pants affair that no one was really in charge of, and although many had asked questions over the last thirty minutes, the Selected Sinners President seemed to be the one in charge, or at least he was taking charge.

  “All in favor?” he asked.

  “Aye,” voices from the group rang out.

  “Opposed?” he asked.

  Silence.

  I glanced at Ripp and Shane and grinned. “There you have it, fellas. It’s official.”

  “Appreciate all your time,” I said as I stood from my seat.

  As a matter of respect, I waited for the men to stand up and either come speak to me or show their lack of interest and go speak to someone else. The first man to come speak was the president of the Selected Sinners.

  “Slice,” he said as he stepped in front of me. “Welcome to Texas.”

  “A-Train,” I said as I shook his hand. “President.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “Dekk, the V.P., and Ripp, Sergeant-At-Arms.”

  “Pleasure to meet you fellas. I’m pretty tight with Doc back in Wichita, he said you’re originally from there, speaks highly of you,” he said.

  “Damned fine man,” I said.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Slice responded.

  “Well, if you fellas don’t have plans, we’re headed out to a bar for drinks and a little food. Love to have you ride with us,” he said.

  Being asked by a 1%er to ride with their club wasn’t unheard of, but it certainly wasn’t common, either. Even if I had other plans, I would have cancelled them out of respect to him and his club. In short, it was an honor to be invited, and it spoke volumes about Slice’s respect for us as a club for him to invite us.

  “We’ll ride. Know where you’re going?” I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Hoping you’d know a place.”

  “Red Shed,” Ripp said. “Best biker bar in town, and they’re 1%er friendly.

  “Sounds like my kind of place,” Slice said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the fellas.”

  “Be right there,” I said. “Just going to go shake a few hands.”

  Ripp and Dekk followed Slice outside and I wandered the inside of the facility giving anyone an opportunity to speak or introduce themselves. After shaking two hands and being eye-fucked by the remainder of the wannbe gangsters, I stepped outside and peered along the length of motorcycles that had parked outside since we walked in.

  “Ripp’s over there,” Dekk said as he tossed his head toward Ripp.

  He stood forty feet away with four men, all who wore Selected Sinners colors. As my eyes attempted to adjust from the darkened building to the Texas sun, I noticed one of the men had a USMC tattoo on his forearm, which immediately caught my attention.

  “Staff Sergeant Jacob!” he yelled.

  I shifted my eyes from his bicep to his face.

  My mind began to spin.

  They told me you were dead.

  I stood and stared. It couldn’t be. There was no way. He had to be be someone else.

  I slowly walked in his direction. The closer I got, the clearer it became. I blinked my eyes. It had been ten years since I had seen him, but he looked exactly the same.
/>   “Sergeant Todelli? The fucking Toad? Holy shit, Brother, I thought you were dead,” I said.

  He shook his head and grinned. “Fuck, I got medevaced out, treated, handed a Purple Heart, and went right fucking back. But I watched you get killed.”

  Although I was told by the Lieutenant Colonel that there were no men killed in action in my platoon, Sergeant Todelli was the only casualty my platoon had later suffered from the Second Battle of Fallujah, or at least I had thought.

  Seeing him opened a part of me that had long since been closed off, and I felt as if I had truly accomplished my task the day I was shot into a piece of Swiss cheese.

  He opened his arms and we embraced. A whirlwind of emotion that had long since left me quickly returned, and I recalled the last battle I had seen him in. As I released him from my arms, I leaned back and studied him.

  “Shit, that bastard didn’t kill me. Shot me a few times, but that’s it. They told me you died. I was out six months, handed a couple of medals, and went back. Longest six months of my fucking life. Had to beg those bastards to send me back, and when I got to battalion they said you were dead. I asked around, and no one remembered what happened to you. I guessed you died, but I didn’t know if it was the second in Fallujah or somewhere else,” I said.

  “Alive and well,” he said. “But when they transferred me to first platoon in Charlie, I heard you died. Died a fucking hero,” he said.

  I shook my head and grinned. “Shit, the medevac chopper flew out, and I laid in the fucking street returning fire until a Corpsman drug me behind that building. Fucking sniper shot me twice, but your chopper hadn’t made it out yet. Hell, I had to stay and make sure my Marines got out of there safely. And he had to shoot me one more time for before I got him,” I said.

  “Ready for anything, counting on nothing,” he said with a laugh.

  It was the motto of the 2/7 Marines.

  “Isn’t that the truth. Damn, it’s good to see you,” I said with a nod.

  He grinned and nodded his head. “Good to be seen. And fuck it’s good to know you’re alive.”