by Freya Barker
“What the fuck?” It’s the woman from the yoga studio.
“My man you have your hands on.” I pull myself up to my full height, still inches short of being able to get in her face.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffs, looking me up and down, clearly finding me short of measure. It was mostly for show before, but my real temper is flaring as my hands curl into fists. “I know enough to know he belongs to no one.”
“Down, Sprite,” Ouray mumbles behind me, curling an arm around my waist, before addressing the other woman. “Like I said, Heidi, caved once, and as you fucking well know—I never showed my face for seconds—‘cause it never shoulda happened in the first place. I’ve got me a good thing right here.” He tightens his arm around me for emphasis, and for a moment I let myself imagine this is real.
“Your loss,” she counters, tossing back her hair in dramatic fashion. “Wouldn’t have wasted your time had I known you were into boys.”
Good thing Ouray is keeping me tight against his front, or I might’ve gone after her. “Easy.” His breath feathers against my ear and a responding shiver ripples over my skin. “We’ve got eyes on us,” he says when I start to break away from his hold. “Better make this good.”
He swings me around so my front is pressed against the side of the food truck, my hands braced on the warm metal. Fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head back and to the side, so he can reach my lips. I instinctively open, every sense on sharp when his tongue sweeps in, claiming my mouth, as his hot hard body presses up behind me. Instead of panic at being confined, I relax into it and reach back to curl a hand around his neck. It’s not until I feel his touch slipping low on my stomach, fingers dipping into the waistband of my jeans, I freeze and my muscles tense up. Immediately his hand stills and his lips leave mine. “Easy,” he says again. “Got carried away.”
We manage to stay away from any additional confrontation the rest of the afternoon, and I’m able to learn a little more about the various clubs as I tag along with Ouray while he mingles and mixes.
It’s probably four when we roll out. The only other person joining us is Paco, with the rest of the club hanging behind. Ouray says he wants to get back to the clubhouse to check on the boy before tonight’s festivities, so I just tag along.
“I can drop you home for a bit, if you want,” he offers, twisting his head back when we’re stopped at a light.
I glance over at Paco to see if he’s watching, but he seems distracted, looking off in the distance. “I’m okay. Don’t like to advertise my address.”
“Gotcha. Momma will have something ready on the stove. Some of us older guys don’t wanna go all day like we used to.”
“I’m not real good in the party scene myself,” I admit. “Swore it off many years ago.”
“You wanna catch some of the music after? I usually drive out with the truck so Nosh can come out for a bit. He can’t really hear the music, but he likes to stand by the speakers and feel the vibrations.”
I don’t get a chance to answer because the light turns green, but it would’ve been yes. I should probably be concerned that the more I learn about the man, the more I warm up to him—despite his apparent sexual proclivities. I should be running for the hills instead.
CHAPTER 7
OURAY
How old are you?
The boy looks at me and then back at Luna, who asked him the question.
Twelve. Christ. Did you ever shoot anyone?
They’ve been at this for the past ten minutes, exchanging questions. It was Luna’s idea when we found him sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. She ignored his blank stare and plopped down beside him, chatting up a storm with her hands. Initially he barely responded, but when she suggested he ask her anything he wanted, his interest was perked.
The kid seems to have a healthy fascination with Luna, which she doesn’t seem to mind exploiting to get information from him. The rapid-fire questions have been revealing, even though she’s been careful to mostly keep it light. She’s been asking things like favorite food, favorite color, favorite action figure, with only an occasional personal question slipped in. He barely notices that she’s doing a bang-up job of drawing out pertinent information. We know he’s an only child, we know he doesn’t know his father, and that he lived with his grandparents. And now we know he is twelve years old. It may not look like a whole lot, but it helps us narrow things down.
Yes. I didn’t like it though. Do you go to school?
Not anymore. When will you teach me to fight?
Maybe we’ll have some time tomorrow? Luna throws me a look and I shrug my shoulders. We’ll make time. How long have you been living on the streets?
The boy throws me another look, and sensing my presence may be what’s holding him back, I get to my feet. “I’ve got some shit to look over before dinner,” I lie, and I can feel his eyes following me out of sight.
Fifteen minutes later, Luna sticks her head around the door of my office. “Momma says dinner’s on in five.”
“Good. We’ll head back to town after, if you don’t mind being squeezed between me and Nosh in the truck.”
“Sure.”
“Any more luck with the boy?”
She slips into the office, softly closing the door before she sits down across from my desk. “Only kid, twelve years old, was raised by grandparents after his mother overdosed. He took off almost a year ago, from what I can gather. I get the impression he’s not from here, but he won’t let on how he got here. He’s a smart kid. He doesn’t trust though—something happened to him. He says he likes it here, but I get the sense he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’ll take time.”
“It’s more than we knew before,” I admit.
“If I could make a suggestion?”
“Feel free.”
“He doesn’t like his name. Doesn’t seem to like being reminded of who he was. We can push to find out more background, but I think you might accomplish more in the long run if you allow him to forget. For now. Give him a nickname like everyone else here has. Make him feel accepted without pressuring him. Give him a chance to trust he’s safe here. I have a feeling he’ll talk when he’s ready.”
“Not a problem. Maybe I should’ve bunked him in with the other kids instead of Momma’s spare bedroom.” Luna shakes her head sharply at that.
“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet anyway.”
I look at her surprised. “Why is that?”
She glances at her hands before eyes filled with sadness come up to meet mine. “Because I think he was abused. Momma says she can hear him slide a chair in front of his door every night.”
I have a hard time swallowing down my dinner after that. Especially with that skinny boy across the table, his big brown eyes glancing at me over his plate.
“WHERE ARE WE GOING?”
Luna pulls against the hold I have on her hand.
The clubhouse is loud with the party that inevitably follows the Friday night concert in town. This too is tradition, with the various clubs in attendance. Some of these guys will go right through until we ride out for the parade on Sunday.
I used to be one of them, but since taking up the gavel a decade ago, I’ve changed my ways. Someone has to keep their wits about them. With alcohol flowing freely, often already short tempers tend to flare, which is challenge enough when it’s our own guys. Add members of different MCs together and you’re sitting on a goddamn powder keg. I’m surprised we haven’t had a blowup already.
It’s almost two when I decide to call it a night. The heavy partying didn’t start until after the young ones were hustled off to bed by Nosh and Momma, who left about an hour ago to their cabin behind the clubhouse. The moment they walked out, the lid came off the party. Out of respect for Momma, most guys keep things PG while she’s around, but in the hour since the door closed behind them, all restraint has gone out the window.
Fucking Britney has been spread out on the pool
table like a goddamn smorgasbord for every horny bastard to sample, while Paco watched from a distance. Finally he grabbed one of the girls who shows up at every damn club party, planted his ass on the couch beside me, pushed her down between his legs, and whipped his dick out.
That does it for me. Luna’s tight little body has been playfully rubbing up against me all goddamn night, but at that display, she all but froze up on my lap. I’m guessing the lack of inhibitions is making her uncomfortable, which is why I’m calling it a night.
“My room.” I’m already pushing open the door to my office. These are my private quarters: office, bedroom, and bathroom. Through the office is the only access, on purpose.
“I should go home.” Luna stops just inside as the door falls shut behind her, and she looks like she’s about to jump out of her skin.
“I can’t leave,” I explain. “I’ve gotta be here in case shit hits the fan.”
“I can find my own way home,” she says defiantly, folding her arms under her breasts.
“And blow your cover?”
“How so?”
“You’re supposed to be my woman. No one would buy me letting you go off alone. They expect you in my bed. Especially this weekend.”
“I can’t sleep in your bed. Besides, I don’t have any of my stuff here.”
“Sure you can.” I grab her hand again and lead her into my bedroom through the door on the other side of the office. It’s nothing special: a king-sized bed, a dresser, and a recliner in the far corner. “You take the bed, I’ll take the recliner, and I have extra shit in the bathroom. Momma always makes sure it’s stocked.” I let go of her hand and walk over to my dresser, pulling out a T-shirt I toss at her. “You can sleep in that. Tomorrow morning when everyone is still sleeping it off, I’ll take you to your place and you can pick up some stuff for an overnight.”
Her eyes get big. “You expect me to sleep here again tomorrow?”
“Christ, Sprite, you’re giving a guy a complex. I don’t usually stay here, but on weekends we have club functions, I do. We all do. So yes, I expect you in my bed again tomorrow.”
I can almost hear her internal struggle, but finally she nods. “Toothbrush?”
“Second drawer of the vanity.”
With a firm nod, she makes her way into the bathroom, clutching my shirt, and closes the door behind her. I let out a sigh, I’m not looking forward to spending the night on the recliner. I wouldn’t even have offered if I didn’t suspect the woman is hiding something under that badass FBI agent shield. Something that makes her jump at a touch, and tight as a bow at the sight of too much skin. It’s probably for the best, since I’ve been fighting for control over my body around her. Fuck knows, I might crawl all over her while sleeping. I’d send her screaming from the room if she felt the size of my hard cock.
My condition doesn’t improve when she walks out of the bathroom a few minutes later, her clothes clutched in front of her and my T-shirt hanging down almost to her knees. The threadbare material does little to hide her modest curves underneath. For a tits and ass guy, I’m surprised at the surge of lust at the tease of her compact shape. I quickly grab a pair of old sweats from my dresser, since I doubt she’d appreciate me sleeping in the buff like I normally do, and dive into the bathroom.
The cold shower helps a little, but when I walk back into the bedroom, and see her small body curled up with her back to me in my bed, my dick immediately responds. Un-fucking-believable. For the last few years, the damn thing has needed more than a little encouragement to get hard, yet doesn’t seem to have any problems jumping to attention around this woman.
I can tell she’s awake from the way her shoulders are bunched high and full of tension. She visibly flinches when I grab one of the pillows off the bed and stretch out on the recliner. This is going to suck.
At some point I must’ve drifted off, despite the loud music filtering into the room, but loud banging on the door has me shoot upright. When I look over I see Luna sitting up in the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest.
“We’ve got a problem, Chief. It’s Paco.” I recognize Lusio’s voice, and jump up, motioning Luna to stay in bed.
“Go back to sleep. I’ve got this,” I tell her when I see her flip down the covers. After a moment’s hesitation, she nods and pulls them back up.
The clubhouse is unusually quiet, and I see why when I walk into the common room. A young guy wearing the Moab Reds colors is hanging on the bar, blood streaming down from a nasty cut on his cheek, a few of his brothers in a semicircle in front of him. Near the front door, Kaga and Honon are holding back Paco, who is clutching a broken beer bottle in his hand.
Fucking hell.
I’m in front of Paco in two strides. His eyes wild as he strains against the death grip his brothers have on his arms. From the corner of my eye, I see Britney sniffling on the couch, two other chicks with their arms around her. Brilliant.
I clasp a hand around Paco’s neck and force him to focus on me. “Let go of the bottle, brother.”
“He hurt her,” he grinds out between clenched teeth, the stench of alcohol wafting over me. “The fucker hurt her.”
My blood runs cold, but I hold on to my own temper. “I’ll deal with that, but you’ve gotta let go of the bottle. Let the boys take care of you.”
With Paco being led down the hall to his bedroom—I’m sure the guys will keep an eye on him—I turn to the bleeding kid, ignoring the other men surrounding him. “You touched her?” He looks up, almost confused.
“Ain’t that was she’s here for?”
“Don’t work that way in this clubhouse.”
“She was spreading for everyone.”
I inch up on him until my nose is almost touching his. “That may be so, but no still fucking means no.”
“You’ve grown into a bunch of fucking pussies.” This comes from the Moab Red’s VP and I swing on him, sensing my boys inching closer.
It takes me another five minutes to get these guys out of the clubhouse without further bloodshed, and shut down this party. By the time I get back to the bedroom, I fully expect Luna to be asleep, but she’s still sitting up in bed, her arms protectively around her legs.
“Everything okay?”
“Go to sleep, Sprite.” My voice sounds tired, even to my own ears, and instead of the recliner, I grab the pillow and climb into bed.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Without another word I turn my back on her, punch my pillow, and close my eyes.
I finally hear her slide down in the bed, and minutes later her breath deepens. I drift off not long after.
LUNA
I can’t breathe.
I wake up with my face pressed against warm skin and my limbs are pinned by a heavy body. Panic sets in as I struggle to get free.
“Relax.” The gruff deep voice manages to filter through the edge of fear. Ouray. The instant he rolls away, I scoot up against the headboard, panting heavily from the sudden rush of adrenaline.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spit out reflectively.
“Sweetheart,” he drawls, propping his head up on his hand and regarding me with amusement. “You’re the one who snuggled up to me in the middle of the night. I just followed suit.”
“Bullshit.” I try to ignore the flutter in my stomach when I look at his face slightly rumpled with sleep, and heavy-lidded eyes staring back at me.
“Whatever makes it easier on you.”
He seems to ignore my glare, instead rolling the opposite way and out of bed. He’s not wearing a shirt and his sweats hang low on his hips, exposing the swell of a firm ass. From his lower back, a tattoo of a single arrow runs all the way up to his neck. I’m not fast enough to hide my interest when he turns to face me, a knowing smirk on his lips. His wide chest, where my face was pressed just a few minutes ago, is covered with hair, narrowing over his stomach before disappearing under the edge of his waistband. Once my eyes hit that r
egion it’s impossible to miss the prominent tent in his pants. Shit. I immediately look away.
“Involuntary, Sprite. Although, I have to admit it’s been a while.” I’m unsettled with conflicting feelings of aversion and curiosity, my stomach twisting in knots as I try to regain some control. “Why don’t you grab a shower while I go see if Momma has coffee ready? We can head over to yours after.”
I watch from under my eyelids as he snatches a shirt from a drawer and walks out of the room, tugging it on as he goes.
Cody is sitting at the kitchen table with Ouray and Nosh when I walk in a bit later. I remember the promise I made him when he looks up at me with disappointment in his eyes.
He says you’re leaving.
I quickly look over at Ouray, who gives a little shrug. I have to get a few things at home, I tell Cody, but I won’t be long. I’ll bring back some of my gear.
Like what?
I have a pair of extra boxing gloves you can use. I think our hands are of similar size. “Do you guys have a bag here somewhere? For him to practice on?” I ask Ouray.
There’s a couple in the large garage. We use part of it as a gym.
Momma slides a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me. I turn to thank her. “You need some meat on those bones,” she mutters. “There’s nothin’ to hold onto.”
“Wouldn’t say that, Momma. She fills my hands nicely,” Ouray says with a wink, earning a smack to the back of his head from the older woman.
“Mind your mouth when there’s kids around.”
CHAPTER 8
LUNA
“Do I have time to grab a quick shower?”
I’m mopping my face with the bottom of my T-shirt, noticing too late the kind of interest my midsection seems to draw. Ouray’s eyes are dark when I glance up, and he reaches out to yank my shirt back in place. My little workout with Cody seems to have drawn an audience.