Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5)

by C. D. Breadner

  He chuckled, running his tongue up along the side of her neck. He moved his hips, too, and his erection slid along the edge of her stomach.

  “Oh God,” she sighed, neck arching. “Is that enough slow?”

  “Not yet, Momma.”

  His warm hands reached around her back, unclasping her bra.

  “You shouldn’t wear a bra at home.”

  “No?”

  “Nuh uh. I thought that was common knowledge.”

  She laughed in the back of her throat, helped him untangle the straps from her arms, then gasped as he pulled a nipple into her mouth. Her hands grabbed his hair by reflex.

  “No underwear at all would really be best.”

  “I’m learning so many new things.”

  “Thank God I’m here for you.”

  She writhed a bit more while he paid incredibly close attention to her nipples, then he sat up and reached for her fly, eyes running up over her body. It made her twitch, and she covered her chest.

  “Nope,” he whispered, pulling her hands, and spreading her arms out. “Don’t cover anything up. I wanna see everything.”

  As he slid his hand inside of her pants and pressed his fingers down on her clit, over her panties, she gasped, hands grabbing the covers.

  “Jesus. You’re soaked.”

  “Oh God.”

  The things his fingers could do. He circled, the cotton between his fingers and her very sensitive spot providing a bit of welcome friction.

  “I bet I could get you off in less than a minute.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, and he gave that low down, dirty chuckle.

  “You’re so beautiful, Danielle. I could watch this all day.”

  “Okay.”

  Sure enough, a few more seconds and the tension low in her stomach broke and her body heaved, back arching up. With a mammoth effort, she managed to keep it silent.

  “Well damn, Momma,” he muttered, moving off the bed.

  “Holy shit,” was her brilliant reply.

  She heard clothing hit the floor, and she had to open her eyes. Knuckles had shed his shirt, and she bit her lip as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. He was watching her face, and he chuckled again. “No idea what there is worth looking at me for.”

  She shook her head, pushing down at the waistband of her jeans. “What are you talking about? Your body is great.” She shoved off her jeans and tossed them on the floor.

  “Great?” Now he shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed to pull of his socks. She cuddled up to his back, running her hands down his chest.

  “Yeah.”

  “Remind me never to let you around any of my brothers when they’re doing their shirtless tasks.”

  “Shirtless tasks?” She had to chuckle at that.

  “Yeah. Manly shit. Fighting. Building shit. Moving furniture.”

  She kissed the back of his head, the shaved part, then did the same on the soft skin at the back of his neck. “You go shirtless too?”

  “If it’s fucking hot enough, yeah.” She noted he’d stopped undressing and was sitting still while she stroked him. She kept kissing his shoulders, the back of his head. Anything she could reach.

  “You’re strong,” she whispered, hands digging into the muscle of his traps. “I can feel it.”

  “Yeah?”

  His hand dipped down his chest, teasing over his nipples. “Yeah. And there’s nowhere I feel it more than when we’re in bed.”

  “Momma,” he growled, low, as though in warning.

  She drawled back “Knuckles,” in the same tone, and he spun and pounced on her so fast she almost yelped.

  With one hand, he pinned both of hers above her head, the weight of his body keeping her in place as his tongue plundered her mouth. The intensity was almost terrifying.

  When her legs started scissoring along his, needy, he rose up on an elbow, her wrists still restrained, and with his free hand he reached for her underwear roughly, ripping it off her hips.

  “Knuckles!” she gasped, not sure what else she had to say. She wasn’t scared. Her legs quivered, but in anticipation.

  His answer was a grunt, then he was off the bed, yanking condoms out of his pocket, then dropping his jeans. She sat up to reach for him, but he ripped a condom off the strip and tackled her to the bed again. He seemed to be all over her, but she was vaguely aware he was wrapping up again, then he fully collapsed into the cradle of her body. As he drove his erection into her body she moaned, and out of nowhere the need to bite had her teeth sinking into his lower lip.

  “Damn it!” he hissed, rearing back. There was blood on his mouth, and his eyes were hot on hers. “What the fuck?”

  She had no answer. So instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and moved her hips, drawing him in deeper.

  He moaned, eyes closing, dropping his forehead onto hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Now he grinned, eyes opening on hers. “Don’t be sorry.” He retreated from her body and slammed his erection home again, making her whimper. “It means you’re into it.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, riding out his next thrust and feeling the build already. “I am.”

  “That’s good, Momma,” he groaned, gripping her shoulders. Her entire body prepared, stomach clenching, readying for that relentless pace that she hadn’t expected to enjoy as much as she did.

  “What happened to slow?” she teased, tilting her head.

  “Fuck slow,” he snarled back, and then gave her the ride she’d wanted all along.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When his burner rang, he muttered curse word half into his pillow and half into the sweet-smelling hair of Danielle Prince. But it rang a second time and that’s when he remembered the other two people in the house so he reached out for it, flailing around the floor until he found his jeans at the foot of the bed. He pulled the burner free as Danielle rolled onto her back.

  “Knuckles?” She said it around a yawn and even though it was dark he was sure she looked cute.

  “Sorry Momma. Club phone, I gotta take this.”

  “Okay,” she mumbled sleepily as he flipped the phone open.

  “Yeah?”

  “Knuckles?”

  He frowned in the dark, turning to let his legs hang off the side of the mattress. “Jolene?”

  “I’m…shit. I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “Markham Manor.”

  His stomach dropped. She sounded not like herself at all. “What happened?”

  “I thought this guy was a nice guy, I really did.”

  At that he was on his feet, guessing at which side of his jeans went backward. “Fuck, Jolene. What happened?” The guilt was instant. He hadn’t been sparing Jolene a second thought lately. No one really had.

  “I just…can you come get me? Please?”

  “I only have my bike, Jo. Can you ride?”

  She hiccupped, and that’s when he noticed she was crying. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I’ll pick up a vehicle. Do I have time to do that?”

  Another hiccup. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “What room are you in?”

  “What?”

  “At the motel. Which room?”

  “I…I can’t remember. Main level. There’s a dark blue Suburban in front of the room.”

  “Dark blue Suburban. You got it. I’m on my way.”

  As he hung up the bedside lamp came on. Danielle was blinking against the bright, drawing the sheet up over her lovely little tits. It was an endearing gesture.

  Knuckles grabbed his socks and T-shirt then sat next to her. “Sorry for waking you up, Momma. I gotta go help a friend.”

  “Who is she?” The tone tried to be casual, but he detected something else in there. At the thought of her being jealous he had to smile.

  “My friend’s widow. She’s…she’s had some hard times.”

  “Oh.” Danielle’
s brow wrinkled up. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “There’s no need to be suspicious, Momma. She’s having issues, drinking too much. Like I used to.” He took her hand, and she eyed up their joined fingers.

  “Was it bad for you?”

  “Yeah. It was. I fell into heroin quickly, before Iraq. The sandbox didn’t help matters much.”

  Her hand tightened up. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to apologize for. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but I gotta get to Jolene. Last time I got called out to help her she had some asshole trying to take her somewhere private when she was too tanked to brush her own damn hair.”

  “Oh.” She let go of his hand. “Well, go rescue her,” she muttered with a small smile.

  “Is that what I do?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

  He felt about ten feet tall as he left their house. He took his bike to the clubhouse, glad that the early hour had the main room all but deserted, except for a sweetbutt keeping Tims entertained.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. So much for Jolene’s bodyguard.

  Neither of those two noticed him as he snagged the keys for Tiny’s truck from behind the bar and then headed into the lot again.

  He had nothing but empty road on the way to the motel, and his heart was hammering as he pulled into the spots along the front span of rooms facing the highway, right next to a big, dark-colored Suburban. The vehicle had Utah plates.

  He walked up to the room right in front of the SUV and knocked softly with just one knuckle. There was no reply, and he tried again, louder, saying as close to the door as he dared, “Jolene?”

  There was the sound of a security chain being unfastened and dropped, then the door opened about three inches. “Knuckles?”

  He could see only one eye, but it was swollen and turning dark red already. From just that partial view he also noted her hair was dishevelled. “Jolene? What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry,” she nearly whispered, and moved out of view again.

  He pushed the door open just wide enough to step through sideways, his internal sensors telling him he was stepping into some serious shit.

  “He brought me here, already had the room booked. So, we didn’t go into the office, just came here. And he got…pushy.” Jolene walked unsteadily to the dresser and picked up the cigarette that was burning in an ashtray there.

  “Pushy how? Did he leave?”

  She leaned on the dresser, crossing an arm over her stomach, the other coming up as she took a drag. A vacant stare was pinned to the cheap print over the bed; a windmill in a pastoral scene. Her shirt gaped open a bit, and he suspected there were buttons missing. Knuckles’ stomach churned tighter.

  “Jolene, what happened?”

  “I struggled. He was having trouble getting these boots and jeans off and…”

  As she trailed off, Knuckles’ hands clenched at his sides and he moved to stand right in front of her. “Jolene.”

  “I kicked him in the face, broke his nose. He couldn’t see anything. I had a blade in my boot. I shoved it in his neck.”

  “Fuck.” Knuckles looked down at the foot of the bed. The carpet was chocolate brown, but to his informed eyes he could see darker patches that looked wet. “Where is he?”

  “In the bathtub.”

  Knuckles sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck.”

  “I’m sorry, Knuckles.”

  He shook his head, dropped his hands, and levelled a gaze at her now, directly looking her in the eyes. “Are you okay? Are you telling me the truth? He didn’t get around to…you know?”

  She nodded, eyes filling with water as she exhaled smoke. “He didn’t. The boots and jeans saved my virtue, Knuckles.”

  As the buzzing kicked in at the back of his neck, he clenched his jaw. “I have to call for help cleaning this up, Jolene.”

  “I can help you.” Now there was a spark to her. Her eyes snapped to his and she stood up straighter.

  “Trust me, Jo. Bodies are heavier than you think.”

  “I got him in the bathtub,” she argued.

  Knuckles sighed. “I’ll need help getting him out of here and making him disappear. If it’s just you and me we’ll be at this until six in the morning.”

  “Shit,” she whispered, lip quivering.

  “The main thing is that you’re okay. Is that Suburban out front his vehicle?”

  A nod was the reply.

  “Okay. That’s good. He’s from out of town. It’ll be a while before anyone notices he’s missing. And you didn’t go into the office?”

  “No.”

  This was good. She’d be noticeable to anyone from Markham, and people would remember her being there with some stranger. Gossip mongers.

  Flipping his burner open, he contemplated who to call. Loathe to contact anyone with little kids this late, he dialed Fritter. Without explanation, the guy was promising his boots were on and he was halfway out the door. Knuckles told him to bring something quieter than his bike. The temptation to call Tims was strong, but if the guy had been drinking he’d be useless. Buck and Tank were out, everyone else at the clubhouse wasn’t as well known to Jolene. As pissed as he was, he didn’t want to embarrass her. So, with much trepidation, he dialed Jayce.

  The Prez didn’t ask a lot of questions, just whether or not this was a bike errand. Knuckles assured him it wasn’t. His reply was a snappish, “Shit.”

  “Who’d you call?”

  Studying Jolene, Knuckles mused to himself how the fuck they got to this point. The Dirty Rats murdered Mickey in his own shop, looking for that fucking Thebaine. Anthony Guidinger was up to his fucking eyeballs with those pieces of shit, and he was playing hired gun to that ass clown.

  This bullshit had to end.

  “Fritter and Jayce are on their way.”

  “Fuck. You called Jayce?”

  “Who else, Jolene? Tank and Buck have babies at home. Tims, who’s supposed to be watching out for you, is smashed at the clubhouse. You want me to call in Rusty? Spaz? Red? You don’t know those guys very well. I thought I’d stick to the people you’re more familiar with.”

  She was staring at her feet, her jaw set off center in that way that Grace Prince liked so much, too. It made him want to shake her.

  “And I kept the last one quiet,” he lied. He’d told Buck but he knew the guy wouldn’t say a word about it. “This is a problem, Jo.”

  “I know!” she finally snapped, stalking away from him to the door and back again. “I fucking know! I just…”

  “Tell me, sweetheart.”

  She shook her head, bringing up a shaking hand for another drag. “I’m…I’m alone, Knuckles.”

  He didn’t disagree with her. He didn’t try to tell her that they were there for her so she wasn’t truly on her own. That was bullshit. He knew now what it was like to really be with someone and he couldn’t image going back to not having that.

  Holy shit.

  At the thought, he froze in place, staring at the wall where a weird stain had become part of the décor next to the bolted-down tube television. It was likely inappropriate to think of his burgeoning relationship as being in any way comparable to the Grainger’s marriage, but just the thought of not having Danielle as part of his day was terribly upsetting. His stomach dropped.

  “I’m on my own. I miss my husband. And I can’t even get a fucking hug from anyone. I’m fucked up.” Her narrow shoulders shook and she covered her face, sobbing openly. Loudly. With a sigh, he took the cigarette out of her hand—it was really close to her hair—and set it down on the edge of the ashtray before pulling her into a tight embrace.

  “I’ll hug you,” he said, pausing while her arms went around his waist before linking his hands on her back. “Do we need to find help for the drinking? Or just for Mickey?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m begging you just to talk this out with someone, sweetheart. One of the women. Someone.”

  �
��I know,” she whispered, hands tightening on the fabric of his hoodie. “I should. But they’re all so happy. Even Fritter and Sharon have that kid they’re adopting. I feel like the Grim Reaper every time I’m around them.”

  “I’m sure they’re worried about you. But they know not to push. They’ll be ready when you are, honey.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  He let her sniffling get under control, then he instructed her to grab another smoke and sit by the window at the small table and chair next to the door, with the added request to let Jayce and Fritter in. Then he headed to the bathroom.

  The door was open, light on. She must have dragged him by the legs; his arms were over his head, just on the inside of the threshold, one leg propped on the edge of the tub, the other half-bent. He straightened that one before it could stiffen up. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it took for rigor mortis to set in, then reminded himself Danielle would know exactly how long.

  Then he pushed that out of mind. He had shit to do.

  There was a knife stuck in the side of the guy’s neck, and an impressive puddle of blood under the upper body. The prick’s dark eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. His nose was a curious shape, smooshed over to one side, blood caking on his chin and neck. Ignoring that, Knuckles went through the man’s jeans pockets, pulling his wallet and some cash. Then he stripped him of his wedding ring, watch, a necklace with ridiculously oversized gold eagle pendant. “Douche bag,” he mumbled to himself and carried all these identifying items out to the hotel room. He put them all on the dresser. “Where’d he put his keys?”

  Jolene was startled, then her eyes darted around the room. “Umm…oh. Right there. On the nightstand.”

  He saw them as she said it, and he added them to the pile on the dresser. “You want your knife back?”

  “Yes please.”

  It was a dark-handled deal, small, only about three inches long and an inch wide. Definitely intended to be hidden and easy to handle. He wondered if it was made just for her.

  He rinsed the blood off in the sink, then left it on the counter to dry. He unfastened the stiff`s belt and was using it to bind his ankles together when the door opened and he heard low voices in the other room. Not too long after Fritter was in the doorway.