by Cat Mason
“Really?” Kicking the door closed, she waggles her brows. “Did you bite into that ass like Ms. PacMan?” she teases, using my words from our conversation at the hospital the day she found out she was pregnant. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“Not exactly,” I shrug, but find it hard to hide my smile. “But it’s on the to-do list.”
“Good,” she says, sounding satisfied with my answer. “Colt needs someone who’ll give as good as they get.”
“Have you and Colt ever…” My words trail off. I’m not a jealous woman, or someone desperate for a man to commit after I’ve hit the dick. I only want to know what to expect now. Hell, even the word commitment has me ready to break out in hives.
After Daniel, the last thing I thought I’d ever do is entertain being with someone else again. The thing is, if Colt and I are doing this, which the fuckfest earlier makes it pretty clear that we are, I sure as hell want to know what I’m walking into. Especially, if he is regularly dipping his wick in other wax.
“Bumped uglies?” she asks, finishing my thought. “Three years now. Every Tuesday night.”
My eyes widen, jaw damn near landing in my lap. Shy laughs. “Gotcha!” Tossing the baby monitor in her hand to the bed, she walks over and sits down beside me. “I think we both know that’s not Colt. He’s not wired for random pussy.”
“That’s the vibe I get,” I admit, tampering down my momentary crazy.
“Right.” Blowing out a breath, she faces me. “I’ve lived under this roof my entire life. Can’t remember many times when Colt wasn’t hangin’ around. Even before he patched in he spent some time here. His mom’s a friend of the club. I think she handled the bookkeeping or some shit. As for your question about Colt, I’ve never looked at him that way. He’s like a friend, a brother even. And I sure as hell have never seen that man look at anyone the way he looks at you.” She pats my thigh. “I thought he saved that dark ravenous look for meal times.”
A rap on the door takes my attention away from the butterflies and nerves jumbling in my stomach at Shy’s admission. The door opens and Ro steps into the room. Closing the door behind her, she sags back against it. “Something went down,” she says, her eyes shifting between Shy and me. “Schrader came storming in a couple minutes ago, looking ready to rip off someone’s head.”
“Did he say anything?” Shy says, pushing to her feet.
“Nothing I could hear,” she replies, shaking her head. “They’re at the table now. Except for Colt and Torch.”
“Shit,” Shy and I say in unison. “Where the hell are Colt and my idiot brother?” Standing up, I grab my phone, checking for any messages or calls from Donnie or Colt. Nothing. Calling Colt, it goes straight to an automated voicemail. Same with Donnie.
“Let’s go.” Scooping up the baby monitor, Shy heads for the door.
“What the hell are you planning to do, Cheyenne?” Ro asks, grabbing her arm to stop her. “You going to walk into the chapel and demand a seat at the table?”
“Please,” she laughs, opening the door. “Like I need a cut and a vote to get to the bottom of what those two knuckleheads have gotten themselves into.”
Determined, Shy storms up the stairs so fast Roanne and I can barely keep up. Scanning the room, she quickly shoots a glance at the closed double doors and heads down the hallway. Just as I suspected she would, Shy flings open the door to her brother’s lair. Heading for the wall of computer screens, she laces her fingers and cracks her knuckles.
“Let’s see what big brother was digging into before he was called away to the table,” she says, taking a seat.
“How the hell do you still have his passwords?” Ro asks, keeping watch on the door. “No way he didn’t lock his shit down like Fort Knox after we pulled that shit with Ivy.”
“Oh, he changes his passwords more than his underwear,” Shy snorts, her fingers clicking away on the keys. Reaching beneath the desk top mat, she pulls out a blue post-it note. “He also has a memory so bad he could plan his own surprise parties.” She waves the piece of paper in the air like a victory flag. “So, he writes everything down.”
Shy types in the password and the screens unlock. Several tabs and sites are opened from the various local news channels, police scanners, and a few other things I can’t decipher. There is so much going on it is hard to focus on one thing. Until I see the image that use to hang above the fireplace in the home I shared with Daniel.
Our wedding photo.
“They’re digging into my ex,” I blurt, even though I know I shouldn’t be surprised they checked him out after the way things went down the night he showed up at my apartment. What does shock me is I’m not only pissed off that this has been done behind my back; it’s like a slap in the face by my brother, by the club, and most of all, by the man who told me I could trust him with my life. I feel betrayed, hurt, exposed, and violated. They’ve dug into parts of my life that I don’t want to relive, let alone share with just anyone.
And here it is, my biggest mistake, now common knowledge, being discussed openly by everyone in the damn clubhouse like a reality television show.
God fucking dammit all to hell. If this isn’t more of a pain in the ass than an un-lubed fist, I don’t know what is.
“Looks like he was checking out the Michaelson Country Club events calendar.” She clicks a few things and the screen zooms in on today’s date. “There was a ribbon cutting ceremony on the grounds this morning. Special speaker was Senator Hammon.”
“Why the hell would Jinks give a shit about a political photo op?” Ro asks, stepping up beside me.
“Because Hammon was my father-in-law,” I explain, my eyes fixed on the screen filled with photos of Daniel and me. “And where the Senator goes, Daniel isn’t far behind.”
“They’re going after him,” Roanne breathes, nodding her head slowly.
“Going as in past tense,” Shy corrects her. “Scanners from County say units were dispatched for an assault on the grounds. Two male suspects were taken into custody.”
Pressing a hand to my forehead, I curse under my breath. “So help me, I’ll kill them both.”
Thirteen
Henley
I don’t do emotions. I have actually worked very hard since the renovation and overhauling of my life, building a strong foundation that insure those little bastards don’t worm their way back into my head and fuck up my rational thinking. Inhale the good, exhale the bad, and kick ass on a daily basis. Then, when things don’t go exactly to plan, there is always a Netflix binge with booze and junk food to kick the funk.
Plan B is usually an instant fix.
Right now, not so much.
Needing to escape the confines of the four white walls of Colt’s room, I head outside for some fresh air and a change of scenery. People are working in the shop across from the clubhouse, both of the large bay doors open, cars on lifts as men work beneath them. The sound of power tools buzzing and engines revving only add to the pounding inside my head.
Walking around the side of the building, I see Huck sitting in front of the firepit, his dog, Bullet, sleeping at his feet. Leaning back in the large wooden chair, he props his booted feet on the corner of the picnic table seat. Seeming content, he reaches inside his shirt pocket and pulls out a silver flask. Spotting me, he tips his chin my way. “Sweet of ya to come to keep an old man company,” he says, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig. “’Lot nicer to look at than some of those shitheads around here tryin’ to make small talk.”
“Needed some air to clear my head,” I inform him, stepping up on the concrete pad.
“How’s it workin’?” he asks, taking another drink.
Blowing out a breath, I sit down next to his feet on the bench. “It isn’t.”
“Here.” He offers me the flask. “This’ll take the edge off."
“What’s in it?” Taking the flask, I sniff its contents. My eyes nearly cross from the strength of the alcohol, mixed with the smell of sweet strawberries.
“Strawberry ‘shine, flasked straight from the still,” he answers with a wink. “Don’t worry, I quality test every run personally.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I return his smile.
“You don’t look like a lightweight,” he explains, studying me. “Still gonna warn ya. Stuff has a kick like a broody ol’ stud horse.”
Laughing, I bring it to my lips. “I can handle kick.”
The alcohol packs more than a kick. It’s more like a Chuck Norris roundhouse to the chest. The whiskey is definitely stronger than anything I’ve ever had before, but the taste is amazing. The slight burn is dulled by the sweetness of the fruit, helping it to go down smooth.
“Take it you women are privy to what happened this mornin’,” he says, fishing a candy bar from his shirt pocket.
“Hard not to see when shit hits the fan around here,” I admit, taking another drink. “Even if stubborn ass men try to hide it behind their enormous egos.”
Tearing into the wrapper, he takes a bite and nods thoughtfully as he chews. “Honey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about women, it’s that they have a keen ability to pick up on when shit ain’t right. Sweep somethin’ under the rug, you’ll only end up fallin’ in it when she yanks it out from under your ass and calls you on your bullshit.” Chuckling, he ends up coughing so hard it sounds like he may hack up a lung. Bullet jolts awake, groaning as he shifts away from us, toward the fire. “There’s very little that’s happened in my life that Nita doesn’t know about,” he adds, puffing on the cigar again. “I’ve always been a believer in the happy wife, happy sex life policy.”
“That’s smart,” I giggle, taking one last drink before passing the flask back to him. “Most men I know didn’t get that memo.”
“Damn shame,” he fires back, swallowing a mouthful. “When Nita and I said I do, I vowed to my dick we’d never have to go it alone. I keep a smile on that beautiful face of hers, she lets me bang that ass on the regular like a screen door in a summer storm.” Smiling fondly, he shakes his head. “That love she’s got for me is worth the tough shit. So’s her cookin’.”
“Pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.” Tossing a bag into the dumpster, Nita makes her way over. Sitting on the arm of his chair, she presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Even if you’re a pain in the ass.”
Handing me the flask, Huck slips an arm around Nita’s waist, pulling her closer. “Darlin’ you wouldn’t know what to do if I wasn’t givin’ you hell. Besides, fightin’ with you keeps me young and frisky.”
“Good.” She smirks, her eyes softening as she stares down at him. “Then, at the rate you’re goin’, you’re bound to live forever.”
A little blue sports car zips through the gate, screeching to a halt beside the row of bikes. When the doors open, a woman with long blonde hair climbs out of the driver’s side, carrying a briefcase in her hand. “Who’s she?” I ask, glancing at Huck.
“Rachelle Harding,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Club’s attorney.”
“Oh,” I reply, watching as Colt works to unfold himself from the passenger’s seat. Standing to his full height, his eyes find me immediately. I hate how they steal my breath. Those beautiful blues almost make me forget how angry I am over this whole thing.
Slamming the door, he strides my way, while Rachelle disappears into the clubhouse. Every step he takes, in sync with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Wanting the added liquid courage, I down the last of the flask and toss it to Huck before pushing to my feet.
Colt’s brows shoot up in surprise. The lips that only this morning, devoured every inch of me, twitch in amusement as he makes his way toward me. “Hen—"
“What the hell did you do?” I bite out, cutting him off.
“I suggest you put the lid back on that can of whoop ass, woman,” he counters, rounding one of the tables, continuing to move toward me.
“No cans here, buddy,” I fire back, not backing down. Not even when I hear Huck chuckle. “You and my brother successfully lit the fuse on the last fuck I’ve got to give,” I seethe, shoving him with both hands. “Although, before we get into the reason you two assholes ended up in handcuffs, I’m dying to know if you learned anything important during your history lesson into all things Henley,” I bite out, slapping his chest. “Did you and your boys all knock back a few beers and gather around the computer screens to have a good laugh while invading my privacy?”
“That’s enough!” he barks, grabbing my wrist before I can slap him again. “You need to hear me before you start tryin’ to kick my ass for shit I did to keep you safe.”
“Like hell.” Stepping up onto the bench seat of the table, I meet him eye to eye, ready to punch him in the throat. Realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. Donnie wasn’t in the car. “Wait. Where’s my brother?”
“County lockup.” Shooting a look at Huck, his jaw ticks.
“Fucking hell.” Grabbing onto his bicep, I jump down to the concrete beside him. “I’m going down there.”
“Your ass stays put, woman.” Grabbing my upper arms, he hoists me off my feet, only to drop me back down in front of him. “Goin’ down there and showin’ your ass won’t help him.”
“I don’t want to help him,” I fire back, my body vibrating with rage. “I want to slap him upside his big ass head and say I told ya so.”
“You’re not hearin’ me.” Grabbing me by my hips, he hauls me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Let’s go.”
“Put me down, you fuckin’ beast!” I shout, pounding my fists against his ass. “Macho alpha asshole!” Unfazed by my assault, Colt chuckles. Tightening his grip on my hip, he starts walking.
“You ain’t seen beast, woman,” he fires back, slapping me so hard on the ass I yelp. “Not yet.”
“You’ve got yourself a real fiery piece there, V.P.,” Huck warns, laughing his ass off. Pushing up on Colt’s back with both hands, I look up to see Huck shake his head, his smile nearly splitting his damn face. Tightening his grip around Nita, he chuckles. “The good ones always push back.”
Climbing the steps, Colt storms through the clubhouse, each slap of his boots against the floor, has me bouncing against his body. I catch Roanne and Shy’s eyes as we pass the bar. Laughing, Shy tips her bottle to me in salute. “Bite that ass, girl!”
“Men,” Ro snorts, rolling her eyes, but smiling at the same time.
My teeth nearly rattle out of my head when Colt stomps down the steps. His steps echo off the walls, along with my ranting. “I can walk! Put me down, goddammit!” Not that he even acknowledges anything I say. It’s as if I’m screaming at a brick wall. Shit like this only makes me angrier.
My head is spinning, but I can’t tell if it’s because of rage, the haze of the alcohol currently burning its way through my body, or Colt and the way my body instinctively reacts to his touch. Flinging open his door, he digs his fingers into my ass before stepping inside and flops me into the recliner.
“Are you insane?” I ask, jolting upright in the chair. “Were you thinking at all when you and my idiot brother stormed the country club to bash my ex’s head off the pavement like a couple of thugs? Or did you shoot all your brain cells into the condom?”
“Stay put,” he replies, ignoring my rapid-fire questioning. “Or I’ll spank that fine ass of yours so hard it’ll wear my hand print for days.”
A rush of heat spreads over my body at his threat, though it does nothing to dull my anger and frustration. “Try it,” I ground out in warning. “I’ll rip that hand off and feed it to you.” Planting my feet on the ground, I stand, prepared to rain down all seven hells of the wrath of Henley Wolfe on his ass before packing my shit and taking my ass home. “You don’t get to boss me around, Colt. No man gets that power over me.” Squaring my shoulders, I meet him toe to toe and narrow my eyes. “No matter where his dick has been.”
“First off,” he fires back coolly. “It’s because of where my dick’s been that I’m even layin’ this shi
t out for you, babe. I prefer to keep things like this locked down to the few who need to know. Bein’ mine means I’ll give you what I can when I know you need it. Doesn’t mean you’re gonna like what I’ve got to say. Doin’ this in private, ‘cause I sure as shit know it’s gonna piss you off and don’t want that happenin’ with an audience. What I’ve got to say is gonna upset that balance you work so hard to keep in check. A balance you believe is there, but is only a goddamn illusion you allow yourself to live in because you don’t look beyond anything that makes you feel the least bit out of control. I get that about you. You know that,” he says, calmly. “Thing is, you can tear into me, Torch, anyone you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re only reactin’ this way because you’re on edge. Shit spirals and you lash out while hidin’ behind a wall of sarcasm and fire-fueled tirades.”
“Don’t forget violence,” I fire back, hating that he feels like he has me pegged. The only thing I hate more is that he’s right. Everything he said about me is true. Whether I want to admit it out loud or not, doesn’t matter. Colt has my number and I’m not sure I like it.
Realizing he has gotten to me, he grins. I want to climb him like a ladder and slap that satisfied look right off his face. “You givin’ me all that attitude has my cock hard enough to drive holes into steel, woman.” Gripping my forearms, he yanks me against him to prove it to me. “Now’s not the time for me to be fuckin’ you. But if you need me to bend you over the bed before I bring you up to speed, babe, I’ll be happy to pound out every ounce of my frustration into that gorgeous ass.”
A shiver races down my spine, his delicious threat causing my toes to curl in my shoes. My mind however is quick to remind my body that I can’t give into that right now. “Okay.” Nodding slowly, I take a step back, crossing my arms over my chest once he releases me. “Tell me what happened,” I say, taking a deep, cleansing breath. “Please.”
He nods. Grabbing two beers from the mini fridge, Colt twists off the caps and hands one to me. “We found the driver from the car,” he begins. “Paid him a visit personally.”