UnScripted: An older man finds his younger woman and together, true love (CREED MC Book 2)

by Jax Hart

  “Fuckin’ hell. It’s gonna be my ass.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Meat’s word is law. Literally. He runs the whole goddamn town.”

  “I’m not a mindless sheep.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s like an expression. I have my own mind and won’t be led by him.”

  “He’s gonna come lookin’ for you.”

  “Oh, I count on that,” I answer taking out a bag of chips and munching on one.

  “Dev?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I eat before I shower?”

  He looks at me sheepishly, and my heart hurts. In this moment I see the lost boy in him, not the ruthless man he’s morphed into.

  I take out two plates and set them on the small oak table by the window. The window is halfway open and the breeze ruffles the red plaid gingham curtains. I take a seat across from him, and we each make our own sandwiches.

  “Umm, this is good,” he says through a mouthful of food.

  “Slow down. Damn, I forgot how a man can eat.”

  “I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Meat had me run an errand during your shift last night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Club shit. You know I can’t talk about it.”

  “Why do they call you Toad?”

  He shrugs, “I tried kissing Chrissy Tate. She’s the sister of the Prez up in Canada. I was a pledge at the time, and she said she only kisses princes not toads.”

  “She sounds mature.”

  “She was fifteen.”

  “What? What in the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I was sixteen at the time.”

  “Wait… I thought you had to be twenty-one to pledge.”

  “Nope. Not anymore.”

  I shake my head, the teacher in me coming out. “What’s your real name?”

  “Mac.”

  “Okay, that’s better. So, Mac… what were you thinking getting mixed up in an MC when you were still a kid yourself?”

  “I was thinkin’ I was safer in Creed’s clubhouse than in my foster home.”

  Stunned, I sit back in my seat and chew my food.

  “Damn, you sure like to talk a lot. I’m gonna take you up on that shower now.” He throws down his napkin, suddenly seeming irritated.

  “Hey, Mac… I was adopted. My mother gave me up the second she pushed me out of her body.”

  “That sucks. Is your adopted family good to you?”

  “Yeah, they are. I should call my mom.”

  “What are you doing in Springdale anyway?”

  “I needed a job. They were cutting teachers back in Chicago, budget cuts and all,” I lie through my teeth.

  “Huh.”

  “Which reminds me, after we plant my garden we got to get to work setting up my classroom at the high school.”

  “Christ.”

  “Towels are in the linen closet. Don’t use my expensive shampoo. And if you use my razor, I’ll cut ya’,” I say mimicking the slang that’s so common here.

  He shakes his head, laughing as he shuffles down the hall.

  I like Mac, I really do.

  My motive at first was to see what info I could get from him about Dee, Creed, and Roger but now I genuinely like him. He’s only ten years my junior and with his lean muscles definitely not a kid anymore, but I’ve never been into younger guys. I’ve never had a type per se, but if I were to close my eyes and think of my dream man—I’d see a tatted beast with a beard, pale blue eyes that would chill you to the bone wearing a pair of glasses that gives him a sexy edge as he whispers dirty things in my ear while doing them with his hands.

  The dishes clatter in the sink. I rinse my hands catching a glimpse of something outside, just at the edge of the woods at the end of the yard. My pulse races and I feel uneasy. I shut the sink off and stand behind the fluttering curtains.

  My nerves are getting the best of me. There’s nothing there but a baby deer munching on a patch of wildflowers. This MC business has me spooked. The only crime that happens in my neighborhood in Chicago is when your parked car gets dinged, and the person who did it gives you the finger as they drive off.

  Turning away from the window, I walk down the hall snatching up Mac’s pile of clothes that smell like beer, cigarettes, and exhaust. I put them in the wash, adding an extra cup of detergent. With a smirk, I add my lavender scented fabric softener. The poor guy has probably never had a drop touch his clothing before.

  Humming to myself, I do a quick clean up and water my houseplants.

  “Why aren’t you ready? He’s gonna kill me.”

  “We have to wait for your jeans to dry. It’ll be fine. He doesn’t really need me there he’s just blowing smoke.”

  “Girl, you are in for a world of hurt.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I mutter walking past him as the dryer buzzes. “Here. All done. Try to keep yourself up. I can’t have my tail hungry and smelling like some homeless guy.”

  “Dev, I am homeless.”

  “What?” My head whips up so fast I bang it on the dryer door.

  “I’m livin’ in the basement of Sassy’s. There ain’t no washer and dryer there.”

  “That place gives me the creeps,” I shudder horrified for him.

  “It’s not that bad… compared to some of the places I slept as a kid.”

  I walk towards him placing the warm jeans in his hands. “I want you to stay here with me. Meat has you following me everywhere anyway. You can take the couch and wash your clothes and eat here.”

  “That’s… that’s,” he swallows hard.

  “Don’t cry on me.”

  “Shut up. I’m not cryin’. It’s just no one’s been this kind to me in a long time. But I can’t. The boys are my brothers. I’ll stay with them. Besides, when we catch that creep Gregory, we’ll be riding back to LA.”

  “Okay,” I shrug, “but if you change your mind, my offer stands.”

  He nods taking his jeans and closing the bathroom door.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  Silver Fox: 10 minutes.

  Me: Or what? I’m not afraid of you…

  Silver Fox: You should be.

  Me: Oh yeah? What are you gonna do?

  Silver Fox: Everything.

  “What?” I squeak, partly in shock he’s flirting with me like this. That man is a trip. Hot one minute, cold the next.

  “Who is silver fox? Meat?”

  “Shut up. Don’t you dare!” I squeal trying to grab my phone that Mac grabbed right out of my hands.

  “It’s your fault for squealing like a sorority girl.”

  “Was not.”

  “Was too.”

  “Oh my god, is this what it’s like to have a brother?”

  He hands me back my phone, “Probably. Let’s go sugar. Your silver fox is waitin’.”

  I tuck my phone into my waitressing apron with a red face. “He so is. What’s his story anyway?”

  “Meat’s? I dunno. He’s never taken an old lady.”

  “How old do you think he is?”

  “Christ, Dev… I’m not a girl. I don’t do gossip.”

  “Whatever. In my experience, men are the worst gossips.” Swinging my purse around, I grab my keys and walk out with him chuckling behind me.

  Three wooden spoons. That’s how many I’ve snapped already stirring the pot of sauce simmering on the stove. She defies my every command. Shoots daggers at me when she thinks I’m not looking while other times… looks at me in ways a girl like her shouldn’t.

  I know I look damn good for my age. It’s part good luck, part hard work. I drank and smoked my nights away for years, but I always ate clean, organic even. The boys give me shit. I used to get high, drink a half bottle of whiskey then go home and make sauce from scratch out of the tomatoes I’d pick up at the farmer’s market. But I never stopped powerlifting. I started at eighteen and never missed a day at the gym.

  Lifting the s
poon to my lips, I blow softly before taking a taste. It needs more salt.

  “Boss? She’s here.”

  Grunting, I add more salt and stir the pot again. “Motherfucker!” Spoon number four snaps. With a sigh, I untie my apron and chuck the broken pieces in the trash.

  “Watch my sauce. If it burns, I’ll have your ass.”

  Federico grins, takes another spoon and dons his apron. “It needs more basil.”

  “Bullshit. It’s perfecto.”

  “Nah, I’m tellin’ ya it needs more basil.”

  I spin around taking a fresh spoon and dip it in, “You’re full of shit. Too much basil will ruin it.”

  Before he can reply, I’m nudged over. The smell of her hair sweeter than honey fills the air as she brushes against my arm. She takes the spoon right outta my hands and dips it in the pot. Federico and I stare at her like two dumb fucks as she brings it to her mouth blowing on it.

  “Garlic. It needs more garlic.”

  She drops the spoon and sashays back out. My eyes are glued to her ass and legs. She’s wearing a black mini skirt tonight. It’s leather, tight, and hot as fuck.

  “Damn, she’s fine. Mind if I tap that?”

  “Employees are off limits,” I growl.

  “I thought that rule only applied to you… ”

  He breaks off seeing the rage brewing inside me. I pulverize him with one look.

  “Understood,” he nods backing slowly away.

  “Damn right, you do. Garlic? The freakin’ princess just strolls in here tellin’ me my sauce needs more garlic? Who in the hell does she think she is?” I mutter swatting pots and pans with my hands as I walk to the fridge.

  “She’s right.”

  “Fuck. Of course, she is,” I reply taking my knife and mincing more garlic for my sauce. “Send Toad in,” I tell Federico before he leaves.

  “Will do.”

  “You wanted to see me, boss?”

  Ignoring him, I sauté the chopped garlic in some olive oil. It’s an old tactic of intimidation, but it works every time. “I asked you to tail her not be her goddamn girlfriend. Shopping? Going to the salon? Christ, did you get matching mani and pedi’s too?”

  “No, we had lunch and shared a piece of apple pie instead—with one fork.”

  The little shit is baiting me.

  “Switch with Federico. You’re on the door, and he’s on her ass.”

  He steps forward, hands inching towards the basket of fresh baked rolls that just came out of the oven.

  I close my eyes and count to ten, feeling the wooden spoon splinter in my hand. “You wanna explain why you smell like her?” I walk closer sniffing the lavender scent coming off his shirt. “Jesus H. Christ what else did you do besides lunch?”

  “Nothing,” he holds his palms out backing away.

  “Get the hell out of my sight—NOW,” I bark. “Shit!” I mutter seeing my sauce bubbling and burning in the pot. “FUCKIN’ WOMEN!”

  “Another one? Boss, you need to chill.” Federico walks in seeing the fifth spoon on the ground snapped in two.

  “Did Toad speak to you?”

  “No. He just told me to come in here and deal with you. What’s goin’ on you’re acting like a grumpy old man.”

  “He’s whipped. He’s losing focus the way she’s getting in his head. The two of you are switching duties.”

  His coal eyes assess me, he takes a toothpick and places it between his lips squinting like he’s trying to solve some mathematical equation. “She’s not in his head. She’s in yours, and I don’t like it. I haven’t seen you touch a woman since you opened up this place. You should ride up north with Smith, visit the ladies in Canada and take the edge off. I can run shit here.”

  I bow my head, angry with myself. I hate how she’s makin’ me feel. I wish I could stop it. But my body responds to her, plain and simple. It’s not something you can control. It’s purely chemical, instinctual, and I’ve always been able to control it.

  Until now.

  Until her.

  I place a dishrag over one shoulder. “Thanks, brother. I just might do that. Tell Tina she’s tending bar tonight. I’m running the kitchen then heading home early. You’re up Federico. I’m putting you in charge. Don’t blow it.”

  “I won’t.”

  I get busy taking orders and cleaning tables waiting for him to bellow my name at any second. But he never does. He doesn’t come out of the kitchen to tend bar either. Tina’s eyebrows rose, but she seemed happy to be in charge of the bar all night.

  Something is up. Mac won’t look me in the eye and stands just outside the door taking Federico’s place as the watch guard. The men are somber tonight; something is definitely going down. Something big. Smith checks his phone, smiles faintly at me as I take his empty away and stands up. He saunters to the door, motions Mac inside and flips the sign to closed as his fingers lock the inside bolt.

  It’s only nine thirty.

  “Federico will drive you home,” he says softly to me before raising his hand in the air, “Boys, it’s time to ride.”

  The men thump their fists on the tables, finish their drinks and stand.

  “Tina?” I hiss leaning across the bar, “What in the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t ask questions and keep your head down.”

  A tingly feeling starts at the base of my spine and quickly moves upwards. I know he’s watching me. My hands shake as I lift the empty glasses off my tray and place them on the bar. My head swivels in his direction. But he’s not there. The door to the kitchen rocks on its hinges. He might’ve vanished, but his presence lingers. One by one, the men of Creed come down the hall carrying roll bags.

  “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “What’s going on Mac?” He takes me by the elbow, and I walk with him down the hall to the back door.

  “We’re riding north. Word is that’s where he went.”

  “The guy who’s a threat?”

  “Yep.”

  “Be safe,” I reach up kissing him on the cheek.

  He walks out, and my eyes find Roger. He’s out in front with Smith leading a delegation of thirty bikes. He revs his engine and tears out without even glancing my way.

  It cuts.

  It’s for the best.

  I need answers not orgasms from the man.

  But damn if I don’t want both anyway.

  IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I’ve been out on the open road. Nothing makes a man feel more alive than cuttin’ through the wind, becoming one with your bike as you navigate the turns while moonlight streaks through the trees. The motor buzzes like chainsaw as I shift gears. God, I needed this.

  Sometimes I let my mind go numb, letting my trained muscles take over. But tonight, my mind is mulling over the past.

  History.

  My history with the club, my friend Colin who just died, and my history with women. Shit, I barely remember the sound of my last girlfriend’s voice. The last person I did on the regular was Jackie. She swore she was just lookin’ to take the edge off and have fun; especially since she had just gone through a nasty divorce.

  Bullshit.

  After we did it ten times, she started acting like she was entitled to more than my dick. She wanted to chill together on holidays, sleepover and stay for the weekend when her ex had her kids. Christ, I only fucked her when I was drunk or high. I shake my head as the wind cuts across my back. Hell, maybe I should send her a bouquet of flowers. Jackie helped me sober up. I was scared of sticking my dick in her after the time she showed up at Sassy’s high one night last fall. She left her two kids at home with a sitter and came out that Saturday night to party. I told Tina not to serve her more than two drinks. I went to the supply closet to grab another bottle of Scotch, and when I turned around, she was down on all fours, hands on my fly, yanking my zipper down.

  My hands were full of liquor, and I told her to stop.

  Christ, I’ll never forget how she looked up at me with eyes beggi
ng me to let her suck me off. In her eyes, I saw some shit that scared me: the crazy look of a woman who is high and willing to do whatever it takes. I was half-expecting her to sink her teeth into my dick when I told her to stop.

  She started cryin’ that I broke her damn heart. Bitch was crazy; high on drugs, so I threatened to call social services on her if she didn’t clean herself up, it wasn’t right or fair to her kids.

  She hasn’t been by in months, thank fuck.

  Damn, that girl Devon is nothing like any of the women I’ve wasted time with. She’s quality. Educated. Enchanting. Sassy as hell with wit to match. My fingers clench the handlebars hard. It’s just my damn luck the first woman to make me want more is not right for me.

  The air is chilly with a hint of dampness, but I welcome it. Need it to cool off after she heated me up. Devon is dangerous. Because she does more than set my blood on fire. She’s like a wisp of smoke, traveling through the air, clinging to your lungs, sneakin’ into every part of your body.

  But smoke is deadly.

  On the other hand, I’ve never backed away from lethal shit. There’s a pit churning in my gut, telling me that if I lose my head over Devon—there will be no remission. No recovering. It’ll be a fatal blow to my heart and at this stage in the game of my life it’s either take the walk or swing for the fences.

  Damn, that girl makes me wanna swing for the fences. Switching gears on my bike, I let her run, buzzing by my men so fast—I’m gone before they even realize it. My bike eats up the open road, roaring like a beast, I need to get to Canada and put to bed any strife that could blow back on all of us.

  I take a beer from the fridge and walk out the screen door to the fire pit. Taking a seat on an old log, I take a few sips watching the flames and smoke. We rode all night and slept most of the day. We’re sixty miles south of the border staying at a cheap rental we picked up a few years back to have a place to crash on runs. We should roll in by nine if the border patrol agents don’t give us any shit.

  “What’s up?” I nod to Toad who sits on an opposite log sipping his own beer.

  “Nothing Silver Fox.”

  “Come again?”