Alone atop the bookcase perched a framed black-and-white photo of a young version of Delaney and Mo astride his ‘65 panhead, which was now stored in the garage, not running. Someone had taken the photo while they were on the road, and Mo’s long, dark hair whipped out behind her like a banner. She wore round wire-rimmed sunglasses and a beaded bracelet on her upper arm. Delaney’s hair was short and shaggy—and thick. The fringe on his jacket and chaps flew back.
Gunner knew that Delaney and Mo had been together a long time, since before there was a Brazen Bulls MC, since before Delaney had done his time in Vietnam. He knew the story of the Irish girl dropped in Oklahoma after her mother’s death, to live with an uncle she’d never met, and of the bad boy on a Harley who’d come into her uncle’s drugstore for a box of rubbers. Everybody knew it—put enough Guinness in Mo, and she’d tell you her life story from the moment of her first breath. But studying that photo, Gunner, for the first time, saw how long they’d really been together.
He’d never known Delaney to stray, either. Not even on a run. Well, once. But those had been special circumstances.
It seemed like hours had passed since anyone had spoken in this room. Unable to take the silence any longer, Gunner said, “I’ve been staying in bounds, Prez. I’ve been doing it right.”
“You almost killed the sheriff not even a month ago, Gun.”
“I’m not taking heat for that. That was club sanctioned. It wasn’t even my idea!”
“You’re right. We thought we’d get ahead of you doin’ something stupid and goin’ for him on your own, but it still blew up, and now he’s on our payroll. We don’t have use for the Osage County Sheriff on our payroll, ‘specially not one with a bug up his ass about bikers. I don’t like enemies on my ledger. Feels like fuckin’ blackmail.”
Sheriff Lucas, they’d discovered, had a personal beef with MCs. His best friend had been caught in the crossfire of a biker war when a gunfight had broken out at a truck stop in Texas. It had been twenty years ago or more, but the guy held a grudge against everybody with a patch.
Still, he could be bought, and Delaney and Dane had found his price.
It wasn’t Gunner’s fault they’d had to. “I’m not taking that heat, D. That’s not fair. I didn’t beat him while he was tied up. I faced him straight on. I only got two punches in before he went down. Fuck, I even let him have the first go. It’s not my fault his arteries were clogged.” Feeling power in resistance, he sat forward. “And I’m not taking heat for tonight, either. I was thirty miles from Northside. I didn’t cheat. I beat him square. He was way out of line for calling me out, and he hit me first. I hit harder, but this wasn’t a fucking boxing match. He came at me, while Leah was right next to me, and I put him down. End of fucking story. You want to take my patch for standing up for myself, then fuck you!”
They stared at each other, and then Delaney sat forward, bringing his desk chair to its upright position. “Alright. Good enough.”
“What?” Gunner sagged back suddenly, feeling his righteous energy deflate. He had not expected a response like that. He didn’t know what it meant.
“You’re right, son. The trouble is real, but you didn’t cause it. This Jermaine—I don’t know him, so he must be low on the roster. We’ll be on the lookout for Dyson to want a beef, but this is on their guy, not you. I can make Melvin see that. We were friendly for a long time before this spate of trouble.”
Feeling oddly lost, Gunner didn’t know what to say. He sat there, staring.
“What is it, Gun?”
“I don’t know…I guess…” Then he knew what it was. “I’m tired, Prez. I’m so fucking tired of worrying that everything’s gonna blow up. Every time I turn around, I’m facing some kind of shit, even when I’m trying not to be. I don’t know how to make it stop. What am I doing wrong?”
Delaney stood up and came around the desk. He perched on the corner and bent down so he was face to face with Gunner. Gunner felt encroached on and wanted to lean back, but he didn’t want to look like he was cowering, so he held firm and let his president search his eyes.
“You asked, so I’m gonna tell you what I think. You’re shoveling so hard to fill up your insides, you don’t see the hole you’re making or the walls caving in around you. You need to stop fretting about who you don’t have and focus on who you do. Maybe you think you let your brother down, surviving that twister when he didn’t. Or maybe you think he let you down, passing on without you. Maybe you’re just lonely without him. I don’t know. But whether it’s guilt or loneliness or something else, you’ve been trying to get yourself killed as long as I’ve known you. What I see is a boy—yeah, a boy—looking for something he can’t have and missing everything he has.”
Delaney might as well have reached down his throat and squeezed his heart. “Fuck you,” he muttered.
The president chuckled, a sound like a dry cough. “Hurts when somebody gets that close to the truth, huh? You’re your own worst enemy, Gun. You got that sweet little girl out there who chucked her whole life for you. I see how the two of you are with each other. It’s like a goddamn Hallmark card. Don’t you see it? How protective you are of her? How she trusts you with her life? She needs you to take care of her. You need to take care of her. That’s what’ll fill you up.”
“What if I fuck it up?”
“If you want it enough, and you keep your focus on it, then you won’t. Simple as that.” He slapped his thighs and stood up. “C’mon, brother. Get your cup of tea and get the hell out of my house. I want to get back to fuckin’ my old lady, and you are in my way.”
~oOo~
“I’ll get you a beer. You want something to eat? I didn’t thaw anything, but I could make you a sandwich. I got those French bread rolls you like.”
Leah’s voice wrapped around the wall as she went into the kitchen. She’d never asked him what he and Delaney had talked about. He wondered what she and Mo had talked about, and he had a pretty solid guess. He thought Leah had gotten the Old Lady Rules talk.
Since they’d left Bixby, Delaney’s words had been racing around in his head, doing laps like the Daytona 500. He loved Leah. He was happy to have her. But could he be missing all he had with her?
Gunner stood in the middle of the living room of this apartment he’d lived in for years. It looked almost the same as it always had, with the hand-me-down furniture from his granddad’s house, all the pieces in precisely the same places they’d always been.
But it looked different, too, in subtle ways. His total lack of decorating savvy or interest was still obvious—no wall hangings or doodads anywhere—but there were little touches of Leah. The tablecloth on the dining table, covered with sunflowers. The bowl of fruit in the middle. Her stack of books on the floor at the side of the sofa. Her little sneakers, kicked off and left near the door, next to his boots.
A new scent in the air, of her shampoo and of her powdery, flowery perfume. Of Leah.
She didn’t have much, she hadn’t changed much of the space, but she lived here. Really lived here. And she was in their kitchen, getting him a beer and offering to make him supper.
A weird knot filled his throat, and he swallowed hard, just as she came back around with an open bottle of Budweiser, cool vapor swirling from its mouth.
“There’s still the good roast beef, and some extra-sharp cheddar. And I made that spicy mayo stuff you like.”
She’d come to know him well—his tastes, his needs, his moods. His secrets. She accepted his life. She took care of him. She made him calm.
He took the bottle and caught her hand, drawing her close. “Love you.”
Whenever he said those words, she always beamed her pleasure at him, never taking them for granted. “Love you, too.” She tipped her head up to accept his kiss. “You want a sandwich?”
“I’m not hungry, Leah. Not for that.”
Her smile shifted from happy to sultry. “No?”
“No.”
She stepped away from him
and pulled off her snug little t-shirt, dropping it on the living room carpet. Her bra was white with tiny pink flowers, edged with pink lace. A new one—she’d gone out again with Mo and Maddie and brought several shopping bags home.
Home. They’d made a home together.
Gunner poured a long swallow of beer down his throat and walked over to set the bottle on the table. He smiled at the bowl of fruit. Yellow pears, red grapes, and green apples. Granny Smith, he knew. She loved Granny Smith apples.
He turned and held out his hand. “C’mere.”
She came, setting her hand in his, and he tugged her until their bodies met. Her cute bra had a pink plastic clasp at the front, and with his free hand, he popped it open. She giggled and shimmied her shoulders, letting the straps drop off her arms. Her beautiful tits jiggled and bounced.
“Fuck, I love your tits.” He bent his head and captured one gorgeous nipple between his teeth. As if that touch were magic, she went nearly limp, letting her knees sag and her back bow. He released of her hand and swept his arm to catch her—she’d known he would.
Still sucking her nipple, swirling his tongue over its puckered skin, he kicked a foot out and hooked it around the leg of a chair, dragging it from under the table. He sat down and brought her between his legs, going for the button of her jeans.
She tugged on his hair. “Wait. Take your clothes off, too.”
He let her tit go and did her bidding, arching up off the chair to get his jeans off, and tossing his shirt, jeans, and socks toward the sofa across the room. She stood and watched, then let him resume undressing her, setting her hands on his shoulders as she stepped out of the legs of her jeans and panties—which matched her bra. Her underwear always matched.
Hooking his hands around her hips, Gunner lifted her and set her on his lap. She helped, spreading her legs and getting a grip on his cock so that she straddled him and he filled her, all in one smooth movement. She was slick and ready, and they groaned in harmony as he got to her deepest part.
He loved this position, with her head higher than his. There was something about looking up into her eyes, bending his head back and feeling her mouth heavy on his, that seemed especially close. The way she looped her arms around his neck and fed her fingers into his hair—he liked that, too. And the feel of her hair brushing over his arms.
They were still, wound up together, their bodies connected at every possible point, kissing but not moving in any other way, for a long time. Her heat engulfed him and made his cock throb, but he wasn’t ready to move yet. This quiet, this peace, it was exactly right after the turmoil of the evening.
Leah pulled back and smiled down at him. Then one of her hands left his hair, and she turned toward the table. He watched her pluck a fat red grape off its stem and bring it back, pinched between her fingers.
Smiling like the Mona Lisa, she brought it to his lips. He opened his mouth and let her set it between his teeth. He bit it in half, chewed a couple times, and swallowed, licking the juice from his lips. She fed him the second half.
“You’re gonna feed me after all, huh?”
Without answering, she plucked another grape and fed that to him, first rolling the cool flesh of the fruit over his lips. And another, offered from between her teeth with a kiss. The fourth, she snatched back just as he opened his mouth and ate it herself instead, taking tiny, sensual bites until it was gone. Before she could lick her lips, he grabbed her ponytail and did it for her, pulling her head down to his, covering her mouth, finding her fruit-sweetened tongue.
“Enough play, Lee.” He barely stopped kissing her long enough to speak.
She nodded and began to rock. Gunner let her lead, let her move, let her find their perfect rhythm. As the searing pleasure of their connection filled him, he opened his eyes and found hers open, watching him, and was lost in them.
His girl was young and sweet. Despite her partying past, she was innocent. But in that moment, he saw that she knew everything, understood everything that was important between them. So much more than he did.
He cradled her head in his hands, and they stared into each other as she surged and swayed on him, around him, as those unaffected blue eyes delved deeply into him. Her every flex sent his nerves spinning and seeking, made his limbs want to draw her ever closer until there was no point that separated them.
Delaney was right. Leah could close the black hole inside him.
An electric charge surged through Gunner as he finally understood, and he couldn’t abide her slow, sensual ride any longer. Clenching his arms around her, he pushed off the chair and took her to the carpet, dragging her legs up and pressing his hands to her thighs as a frenzy overtook him and he drove into her again and again.
Always when she came especially hard, she made a rasping, grunting noise with each exhale as she ramped up, something that sounded like it came from another voice entirely than her own. Earthy and fierce and hot as fuck. He’d first heard it at the cabin, when he’d pushed his thumb into her ass, and the other times he’d done that since had earned the same wild response—and her pussy clamped so hard around him it hurt. It always made him come doubly hard as well and was so intense he was almost afraid to seek it out.
This time, she needed no anal stimulation to get there. Every time he slammed into her, the force of his thrust pushed that feral noise from her throat, and her body seemed to open wide and draw him deeper in, so deep he could lose himself in her, just what he wanted—and then her orgasm hit her, and she was a vise. She bit into his shoulder and sank her nails into his back, drawing long, hot channels through his skin; the sharp tang of pain sent him into the stratosphere, and he roared and exploded, each spurt throbbing with excruciating force in her clamped sheath, while she was still going.
When it was over, he felt like jelly. He dropped to the carpet and pulled her twitching body with him, nestling her close.
“That was fucking intense.”
Leah nodded on his chest. “Now I think I need a sandwich,” she gasped.
Gunner hugged her hard and laughed until his breath gave out.
~oOo~
“It’s all still here.”
Deb hooked her arm through his. “You think after what happened I was going to try to give it away again?”
Gunner stood with his sister in his old bedroom, the one he’d once shared with Martin. Everything was exactly as he’d left it that day after the donation drive: the boxes stacked, and the bags mounded. A light film of dust had settled in the nearly four months since that day. He didn’t think anyone had even opened the door since.
He hadn’t been back to the farm in all that time—except for the day Sheriff Lucas had beaten him down, but then he hadn’t even made it to the house. Never had he gone so long without coming home when he’d had the choice. He’d been angry, and then he’d been laid up, missing the harvest for the first time since his Army days, and then he’d been…with Leah.
He’d seen Deb a few times, when she’d come into Tulsa, but he hadn’t seen his father since he’d gotten home from the hospital. Standing here now, Gunner had the same disoriented sensation he’d had when he’d gotten out of the service—of being a guest in the home he’d grown up in.
“What happened to your…that thing you wanted me to figure out how to fix?”
“The loom? It’s in the shed. No big deal. It was an impulse buy, and I didn’t spend that much.”
“You wanted to put it in here, though, didn’t you?” He’d figured that out four months ago: Deb had wanted to claim this bedroom for a space of her own.
She didn’t answer, except to rest her head on his arm.
His sister was a thirty-two-year-old single woman, a smart, beautiful, lively woman, who lived with their father because he needed someone to help him keep the farm running. She’d quit college when their mom and brother—their brother, not only his—had died. She’d been twenty years old.
Gunner hadn’t lived at home in a decade. He’d joined the Army at eight
een and flown the nest. He suddenly felt like a monstrous ass, expecting her to keep this room like a museum, when her entire life had been boxed up just as it had been getting started.
And he couldn’t even give her a room to spread out in? A space of her own that didn’t have a bed in it?
It made him feel sick and scared, but he cleared his throat and said, “I’ll come back on Saturday and take all this stuff to Goodwill, and I’ll see if I can’t fix that loom thing and get it set up in here.”
She stood straight and gaped up at him. “What? No, Max. It’s okay. I get it.”
“It’s not okay. I’m an asshole.”
“You’re not.”
Twist (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 2) Page 25