Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5)

by C. D. Breadner

  Fritter was tucking his wallet away in his back pocket, still frowning. At Knuckles’ words his brow smoothed out completely. “Okay.”

  With a lot of force Fritter flung the glass and aluminum diner door wide open so it bounced off the stops built into the concrete pad of the walkway. Knuckles put on his “no bullshit” expression, slid his shades on, then headed for the bikes.

  The kids saw them. Hell, they had to hear the door open. They froze where they were, a foot or so from Fritter’s ride, mouths agape. They shared a nervous look, and Knuckles had to guess their age at sixteen or seventeen.

  “You touching my fucking bike?” Knuckles spat out, ripping off his shades again and holding them out, pointing. “That’s my bike. You fucking touch it?”

  Both shook their heads, one stammered out, “No! No way, man. Just looking.”

  Knuckles stood on one side of them, and Fritter moved up on the flank. “Better not have laid a hand on my bike, peckerwood. You don’t touch a man’s bike.”

  “We were just looking.” The kid sounded ready to piss himself, his pimpled neck bobbing as he swallowed hard and turned back to Knuckles. “I swear.”

  “What do you think, Fritter? Knock out a few teeth, take it easy on them?”

  “Maybe. I’m feeling some mercy today.”

  “Please,” the kid whispered, showing surprising stones to still be talking. “We’re really sorry.”

  Knuckles raised his head, jaw working, looking over them at Fritter. The guy was ready to fucking bust, his poker face had a very limited time limit.

  “We’ll let it go,” he decided, like he was feeling magnanimous. “This time.”

  Head bobbing again, the kid licked his lips. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

  Knuckles couldn’t help it. His burst out laughing, hand falling on a thin shoulder. The kid winced away but didn’t step back. “Just busting your balls, man.”

  Fritter cut up too, his laugh high and bit nuts.

  The twerp in front of him wasn’t sure he believed him, it was obvious on his face. Eventually, the tension eased out of him and he smiled. “Shit,” he laughed, rubbing a hand over his face.

  Knuckles gave the shoulder a shake. “You like bikes?”

  He and Knuckles had a talk with the two, who turned out to be gearheads that had been dirt biking before most kids lost the training wheels on their bicycles. It was fun, answering their questions, and it made Knuckles feel...a bit more normal. He and Fritter were wearing their kuttes, but the kids weren’t scared of them. Either they were unaware of bikers or aware of the Red Rebels, but their ease was reassuring.

  He could still be a nice guy.

  After that little jaunt and the return to normalcy Knuckles headed home, and the buzzing came back. Just a bit. He was riding the bike again which felt amazing, but he was heading into a house where he’d be alone with his thoughts. That seemed less awesome than his road trip had been.

  Then Annie had come bounding down the driveway, hair flying wildly, inviting him to supper. Her mom’s vehicle wasn’t in the drive so he was pretty sure this wasn’t sanctioned, but he told her okay anyway. He’d give the Prince matriarch the chance to throw him out if she wasn’t into it. In the meantime, he should wash the road off before he set foot in their home.

  Coming into their bright kitchen eased the buzz again. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the busyness, the noise. A home full of family. He had no idea what it was, but he liked it. The clubhouse had felt like that when everyone was still living in the motel, eating all their meals at the clubhouse. Before everyone started pairing up and moving out, having babies.

  Then he saw Grace’s split lip.

  The buzzing had gone, replaced with white-hot anger.

  Not just that the shit had hit the girl, though that was bad enough. That little puke was trying to bring Sunshine into Markham under their noses, thinking they’d be too stupid to see it. Also, he wanted to sell pot for the club, and that required a guy that wanted to keep a low profile. Low profile didn’t mean he sniffed around sixteen-year-old high school students, that was for fucking certain.

  Brian Crawford lived with his uncle, Wallace Gaines. Gaines had done a short stint inside for armed robbery when he was in his twenties and had kept clean since. That was, he hadn’t been arrested for anything. He took care of Brian, his sister’s kid, since she was a mental wreck and was prone to disappearing on benders for months at a time. Wallace stepping up had prevented his nephew’s first turn in juvie, but not the second, or the short time he’d done for theft once he hadn’t been a juvenile in the eyes of the law.

  The club had their reservations about the kid, but Wallace was vouching for him. Knuckles had some bad news for what he considered to be a steadfast friend of the club.

  Wallace answered his knock.

  “Is the kid here?”

  “Brian?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In his room. What’s up?”

  Wallace had been told they’d be straight if Brian fucked up. So, that’s what he had to do. “He’s been hanging out with my neighbor’s daughter. She’s only sixteen. Yesterday a guy in Bakersfield tried to strong-arm her into peddling Sunshine in Markham. She’s pretty sure he’s a friend of Brian’s.”

  Wallace listened to the story stone-faced, then turned on his heel and stalked through the trailer’s front room and down the hall. There was a loud knocking, a few raised voices. Knuckles waited on the wooden step.

  No guessing was required to see if Wallace was pissed. He had the shit by the neck of his shirt, manhandling him into the front room and shoving him down into a ratty recliner. “Fucking talk,” Wallace ordered. For a stoic, quiet, no bullshit man, that was enough to make the kid sink into himself in the chair, eyes going to Knuckles. Like he’d be helpful or something.

  Knuckles stepped onto the matted carpet, pulling the door shut.

  “Grace Prince. You know her?”

  Eyes darted from his uncle to the floor, but he answered. “Yeah.”

  “And do you know the guy that hit her, in public, yesterday, after she said she didn’t want to sell Sunshine in Markham for him?”

  Brian’s mouth hung open, then closed again.

  “You don’t have to tell me if any of this is true. It’s pretty fucking obvious it is.” Knuckles crouched next to the chair, and the kid reared back. “You set that up. I know you did. Getting kids to sell that shit? Pretty smart. Also, really fucking shitty. Lucky for her she’s smart enough to say no.”

  “Look, I just—”

  Knuckles just had to raise one finger to quiet him. “No, I talk. You’re too fucking stupid.”

  That got the little shit angry. Whatever.

  “You’re done with those pricks in Bakersfield, and I’ll even tell you why. Consider this a chance to learn something. These guys are not smart. They came at her in daylight, in a public place, with people standing all around. They’re begging to get busted.” Knuckles leaned in more, smirking at the rage in Brian’s face. “If they get in trouble, you get busted. And I can’t take that chance if you’re working for us. The fact these guys got to you tells me that you’d fold faster than laundry if you got picked up.” He cast a look over his shoulder at Wallace. “He’s out. He can’t be trusted.”

  Wallace just nodded, jaw clenching tighter.

  Now he was back on Brian. “And for your second instruction, you’re nowhere near the Princes ever again. Grace Prince is sixteen fucking years old. Which makes you a pedophile, creep. And if you end up going inside for getting involved with those morons in Bakersfield, I’ll make sure word gets around you like young girls.”

  Brian’s eyes got wide. “Fuck you!”

  Knuckles shook his head. “Lots of guys locked up with young daughters they can’t protect. They don’t like pedos in prison.”

  “You can’t just cut me out for hanging out with a girl!”

  Knuckles held up a finger, face eerily calm. And he felt calm. Using his menace to
protect people he cared about came naturally. It felt good, even. “I can. And I just did.”

  Side note, he should have really brought this all to Jayce first. He knew that, but fuck it. The club would be onside with all this.

  “So, no drug dealers in this town selling Sunshine. I see so much as one pill I’m coming down on you for it, so you better hope no one else is getting leaned on. And secondly, you don’t lay a hand on Grace Prince.”

  “Too late.” The sneer more than the words made him see red.

  It barely got out before Knuckles had yanked the prick to his feet and slammed him against the panelled wall. “You better be full of fucking shit,” he snarled, in Brian’s face, that sneer long gone. His eyes were wide and he was whimpering. “Because if you fucked a high school student, I’d have to shove my boot all the way up your ass. I need my people low profile, not stupid. And that would be stupid.”

  Brian had nothing more to say. Knuckles was satisfied his point had been made for now, so he let the kid’s shirt go and tossed him back into the room.

  Heart beating at a more normal pace, he locked eyes with Wallace. “This doesn’t reflect on you, I’ll make sure of that. But he is out, and I don’t want him involved in anything.”

  Wallace didn’t even look at his nephew. One hand hitched in his jeans’ pocket, he simply nodded, and Knuckles took his leave.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eventually Danielle convinced Annie she had to eat so she could finish her homework. Her daughter wanted to wait for Knuckles, but it was also a school night and her responsible little girl gave in and had supper, but she insisted on helping put together a plate for Knuckles and putting it in the still warm oven. Only then would she go do her homework.

  Since the kids had made supper, Danielle took on the dishes. Thankfully her daughters were occupied because her hands were still shaking from that conversation with Knuckles.

  Never in her life had she felt a person chill the air itself with anger. She’d known her husband to be angry a lot of the time, but that was obvious. He shouted. He threw things. He hit. But that cold calm that Knuckles had spoke of a different kind of anger, something much darker. Potent.

  She didn’t have the skills to scare a criminal away from her daughter, but clearly Knuckles did. And she wasn’t above owing him a favor to get her daughter clear of bad guys.

  She was just rinsing out the mashed potato pot as the back storm door opened. Footsteps came up the three steps to the kitchen, and she grabbed the towel to dry her hands. Turning, she prepared herself for what she’d see.

  He stared at her, hand on the doorjamb for the landing door. She had no idea what the staring meant, and she found herself frowning. He was breathing hard. Mouth open, chest heaving, the white T-shirt still bright and clean under that kutte that seemed to be part of him. She was relieved to see it was clean, suddenly. The anger that had stormed out of her home seemed completely gone.

  “What happened?” she whispered, slinging the towel over her shoulder.

  “You don’t need to know.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. She’d been ready to argue, but that seemed stupid.

  “If there’s any more trouble for Grace, tell me. Okay?”

  Now she crossed her arms over her stomach. “Okay.”

  His eyes went down to her arms, then lingered. They lingered so long she looked down herself, then felt herself blush. Her nipples were hard, showing proudly through her tank top. Jesus, why they chose now to get perky she had no idea.

  “Um,” she murmured, distracting him from her chest. “Thank you. I wouldn’t know what to do if...”

  He nodded once, then moved closer, hands in his back pockets now. “I’d hate to have anything happen to you or Annie or Grace.”

  Her heart plummeted, and that’s when she knew. She knew very damn well what her nipples had been up to, acting completely independently from her head. That sense of...protection wasn’t right, but it was closest.

  Before his service, her husband had been a lot like that. Protective, but not quite as vicious. She’d been comfortable in that feeling of being protected. Until he came to mean the opposite of safety, that is.

  But the safety had been attractive. To be on the inside of that bubble had made her so happy. She’d loved that he provided that for her and Grace. Clearly, it wasn’t an exclusive reaction just for her husband.

  Knuckles was staring down at her, her skin seeming to shrivel under that gaze. She’d never seen eyes that clear-blue, or grey. Whatever they were. She’d seen them both colors, she was sure of it.

  “Nothing will touch you guys,” he promised, voice low. Close.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Again, his eyes dropped, but this time it was to her mouth.

  Christ, she was too old and wise to be thinking like this. This was really, really bad news. Because he was looking at her like this, and she really liked it, which meant she couldn’t stop or tell him to hold up, either.

  “Annie put your dinner in the stove,” she said softly, wishing he’d look her in the eye again. “I can go get her.”

  “In a minute.”

  This was starting to get uncomfortable. Or sultry. She had no idea.

  His hand came out, and it rested on her hip. She held her breath, staring down, then he stepped closer and she had to look up. “Knuckles,” she whispered, not sure what else she wanted to say.

  He shook his head, his other hand coming up to take her chin. “You came to me for help.”

  She blinked. “Yeah.”

  “You feel safe with me?”

  No, she didn’t. Not like this, certainly. Already her body was warming along her front, pulling heat from him. Her neck felt hot. No, this absolutely didn’t feel safe.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she did something much stupider. She brought a hand up to the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss him.

  His lips were somewhat cold and that beard brushed her chin. Something leapt in her stomach but before she could pull back his arms both clamped around her, pulling her totally to him, hands splayed on her back.

  She may have kissed him, but there was no doubt that Knuckles had taken control. His tongue slid between her lips, coaxing hers along to rub against it. The beard was different. She’d only known stubble before this, but his beard was surprisingly soft. And it was so long it even brushed lightly on her chest, warming her skin even more. She had to be red from boobs to hairline; it certainly felt like she was burning.

  The skin on the back of his neck was soft and so warm. Her bent arms were the only thing preventing their bodies from being totally mashed together, but perhaps that was a good of idea. Both of her hands were wrapped around that neck, fingers locked like she thought he might try to pull back. With every drag of his tongue along hers, every time he withdrew to nip at her bottom lip, her entire body nearly convulsed with want. His erection dug into her belly, lighting her up inside.

  Kissing was good. She’d always liked kissing. Maybe he’d be okay with occasionally making out, taking his leave so she could take care of herself with something battery-operated. That couldn’t possibly mess up her family’s dynamic and their varied reasons for liking Knuckles, could it?

  Wishful thinking.

  This wasn’t the kiss of a man used to having his advances set aside. This kiss ensured he’d get everything and anything he wanted. Even as she had the thought one hot hand slid up her stomach and roughly grasped her breast, squeezing and rubbing. She whimpered, but didn’t stop him.

  She didn’t want this to stop at all.

  The rough treatment of her breast caused a mighty throbbing between her legs. Honestly, she didn’t think she’d ever been this turned on before. In her limited experience with her ex-husband—the only man she’d ever been intimate with—she had never felt anything remotely close to this level of arousal, even in the heat of the actual act. Kissing Knuckles was more erotic than any sex she’d ever had.

  At le
ast her hearing worked. There came a high squeak, then a low groaning sound in the hallway. Annie’s room had a creaky floorboard right on her threshold, and the door hinges hadn’t been oiled in ages.

  It took everything she had to push him away, using the elbows that were squeezed between them. His mouth gave way, teeth pulling at her bottom lip as he did it. She fought down a low moan, taking a deep breath and blinking far more rapidly than normal. They stared at each other, and she felt relief that his breathing sounded just as hoarse as hers. His hooded eyes were dark, heated. Her legs squirmed, the frustration of her lower body uncomfortable.

  He smirked. Jesus Christ, he had her number. Totally.

  “Knuckles! You came back for supper!”

  “Of course I did, Curly! You guys made supper and saved me some. What kind of jerk would I be if I didn’t come back?”

  “One of the worst kinds of jerks.”

  “That’s right, honey. You wanna put out some cutlery for me?”

  Danielle watched all this, mute, trying to get control of her body again. Annie bounced across the room and yanked the cutlery drawer open. Knuckles sauntered—the only word for it, hand to God—and reached up to tag the hand towel she had slung over her shoulder. He pulled it off slowly, making sure his hand rubbed across her nipple as he did it.

  Her eyes closed, and she had to open her mouth to breathe. Annie’s back was turned, thank God, but she could have kicked him for that. Or jumped him. Hard to be sure.

  With a wink, he turned to the stove, opened the door, and used the towel to pull the plate out without burning himself. He set the plate on the table as Annie laid out a fork and knife. “I’ll get the butter for your potatoes!” Then she was off to the fridge.

  “You think of everything, Curly.” He put the towel back, eyes on her chest again. She didn’t need to look. Her nipples ached from how hard they were, straining for more attention. But this time he didn’t touch, and she spun back for the sink to focus on something else. The dishes had never before been so fascinating.

  “I hope the chicken isn’t dry. Grace said it might be.”