Primal Hunger (Primal Howlers MC Book 4)

by Piper Davenport

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

  He tugged me to him. “Promise me.”

  “Fine, whatever.” I slid my hands up to his neck and ran my finger along his jugular. “I will never wear it unless you’re with me when I do.”

  He held his pinky up and I hooked mine around it.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “What if I wear panties?”

  “What?”

  “If I wear panties, can I wear it without being with you?”

  “Jesus, fuck, are you not wearing panties?”

  “The man catches on,” I murmured, and his hand went immediately between my legs.

  “Soaked.”

  “Well, if you didn’t touch it, it wouldn’t respond.”

  “Bullshit,” he retorted with a grin. “Bend over the sofa.”

  “Get a towel before we start,” I ordered.

  He walked into the kitchen, and I bent over the couch, sliding my skirt up over my hips and spreading my legs. He dropped two towels over the back of the sofa and smacked my bottom. “Wider.”

  I spread more and gripped the arm of the couch for balance. I heard the clang of his belt as he undid it, and then he was inside of me. I groaned as he buried himself so deep, he nearly touched my womb.

  Sliding his hand between my legs, he fingered my clit while he slammed into me, and I continued to hold onto the sofa. This time, his climax came before mine, and I knew this because he bit my shoulder gently and let out a grunt before his cock pulsed inside of me.

  Because he was always generous, he continued to work my clit, still buried deep and I dropped my head back as a gentle but thorough orgasm rolled through me.

  I swallowed, licking my lips as I leaned back against Aero. “Holy crap,” I rasped.

  He kissed the nape of my neck and slid out of me, grabbing the towels and slipping one between my legs, while cleaning up with the other.

  “I’m gonna need panties now,” I informed him as I held the towel against my pussy.

  He grinned. “I’ll allow it.”

  “Oh, you’ll allow it?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned down to kiss me. “Want me to grab them?”

  “No, I’m good. I’ll be right back.”

  I cleaned up as quickly as I could and met Aero by the front door where he slid a coat over my shoulders and took me out on a proper date.

  Aero

  I ARRIVED AT Monumental High North just after eleven a.m. and parked around back. I showed up before the usual lunch-time rush, when I knew the client traffic would be light, as I wanted to deal with this matter as quickly and quietly as possible. If I did expose the skimmer, things could get physical and the last thing I needed was for some chucklehead stoner to walk in on me putting the screws to some guy while looking for the bong aisle.

  Truth be told, I also hated going to any of the club’s dispensaries. I had no problem with how the Howlers earned money but was in the solid minority of members who did not get high. Hell, it felt like the entire state of Colorado was puff, puff, passing, and I was happy to let them pass me right on by. I wasn’t a prude or anything, I just didn’t like weed. Maybe it’s because I’m a control freak, or because it tended to make me paranoid, but getting loaded just didn’t appeal to me. In fact, even more than the negative effects marijuana had on me, I hated the smell of it. I know some people love it, but to me pot smoke stinks like a skunk soaked in cat piss that’s been set on fire. Even though I drank, some of my club brothers had taken to calling me “Straight Aero” for my lack of love of the bud.

  Once inside, the doorman checked my ID and I was immediately greeted by a friendly young budtender who introduced himself as Turnip.

  “Let me know if I can hook you up with a specific strain or if you need any help at all, man,” he said, flashing me a glassy-eyed grin.

  “Is Ken here?” I said, in an “all business” tone.

  “Oh, yeah, bro. Kenny’s in the office. You want me to tell him you’re here?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll tell him,” I said and started toward the office.

  “Um, oh, wow. Lemme just—” Turnip stammered as he made a half-hearted attempt to block my path.

  “Look here,” I said, pointing to the patch on my cut. “You see that?”

  Turnip nodded.

  “The Howlers own this place, so think of this patch as an all-access pass. You understand?”

  Turnip nodded faster.

  “Good,” I said, pushing past him.

  I opened the office door, without knocking, to find the shop’s manager sitting at his desk talking on his cell phone.

  “Hey, lemme call you back,” he said before hanging up and quickly sliding the phone into his pocket. “Aero. Hey, man. What’s going on?” he asked, rising to feet. “I didn’t know you were coming by. You need something for the weekend? I just got some Blue Dream from my favorite grower. Eighty-three-percent THC.”

  “I’m good, thanks,” I replied and shut the door. “Take a seat. We need to have a talk.”

  “Sounds serious. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was in trouble,” he said nervously.

  “Don’t worry. Sundance knows you’re a solid guy. You’ve been here since the beginning and he knows how much this job means to you and your family.”

  Ken was a single father whose daughter, Mabel, was born with under-developed kidneys. As a result, she had been on dialysis her entire young life. What she really needed was a transplant, but the list is long, and the wheels of medicine seemed to move slowly for guys like Ken.

  “How is Mabel?” I asked.

  “Good days and bad days, ya know,” he replied. “She’s a tough kid, I’ll tell you that. A lot tougher than her old man.”

  “She’s one lucky kid to have a great dad like you lookin’ out for her,” I said.

  Ken nodded with a slight smile before asking, “So, what’s going on?”

  “Someone from your shop is skimming,” I said.

  “Come on, get the fuck outta here,” Ken said with a chuckle.

  “I’m dead serious, Ken. Sundance sent me down here to straighten things out.”

  “I’m telling you there’s no way, Aero,” Ken said, shaking his head. “I’d know about it. I go over the books with a fine-toothed comb every month. I definitely would have caught it.”

  “That’s what Sundance thought at first. He thought he’d made a mistake because your numbers usually add up to the penny,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Ken said. “To the fucking penny.”

  “Usually, but not over the past six months,” I said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Sundance has gone over the books three times now, and over the past six months, station three comes up consistently short,” I replied.

  “Station three? That’s Turnip’s station.”

  “You have any issues with Turnip? Seen him do anything suspicious lately?” I asked.

  “No, nothing,” Ken replied. “I’m shocked, to tell you the truth. He’s a good kid.”

  “Well, maybe not,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure out what the fuck’s been going on around here.”

  “Sure, but I’m confused,” Ken said. “If he’s been skimming, how did I not know about it?”

  “Sundance told me that whoever’s been doing this has been underreporting the amount of product being sold and pocketing the remainder. They’re using a sophisticated method that’s allowed them to operate undetected until now. They skim specific amounts of money based on strain and weight. It was only when Sundance happened to run an inventory report broken down by profit per workstation that he noticed the discrepancy in the numbers.”

  “How much has he made off with?” Ken asked.

  “About thirty large.”

  “Thirty-thousand dollars? Holy shit. So now what?” Ken asked.

  “Now you call Turnip to your office and we have a little chat.”

  Ken swallow
ed hard before picking up the phone and paging Turnip to his office.

  “What’s up, boss?” the shaggy budtender asked as he came through the door.

  “Take a seat and close the door behind you, will ya?” Ken said and the young man did as he was asked.

  As I sized Turnip up, I remembered something Hatch once told me, “Desperate men do desperate things.”

  I had to figure out what could have possibly motivated this kid to steal thirty grand from a one-percenter biker gang.

  “Aero here has a couple of questions for you,” Ken said motioning to me.

  “Sure, what’s up?” Turnip asked in a carefree, slacker bro, tone. If Turnip had a guilty conscience, he hid it pretty fuckin’ well.

  “How do you like working here at Monumental High?” I asked, warmly.

  “Are you kidding? It’s the best, bro. The employee discount alone, you know what I’m sayin’?”

  “You go to school?” I asked.

  “Um, no. I was going to C.U. but I had to drop out,” Turnip replied.

  “Run out of tuition money?” I asked casually.

  “Nah, bro. My parents paid my way. They were super pissed when I got kicked out.”

  “I’ll bet. Expensive living on your own, huh?”

  “Nah, I moved back in with them. It kinda sucks, but I have this sweet job here, so it’s all good. Besides. As long as I have money for snow tires and season passes, I’m good to go,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Big snowboarder huh?”

  “Hell yeah, Broseph. You board? You should totally hit the mountain with me sometime.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with my bike,” I said, struggling to try and find the criminal mastermind hidden beneath this smoked out snow bum.

  “I feel you, bro,” Turnip replied, tapping his fist to his heart before suddenly looking serious. “What’s this all about, anyway? The questions and stuff.”

  “We’re putting a monthly employee newsletter together and you’re our first profile,” I replied.

  “No way!” Turnip replied excitedly.

  “Way!” I replied, mirroring his excitement. “So, now that our readers know a little more about the real Turnip, let’s move onto the next segment of the interview.”

  “Gary,” he said.

  “Gary?”

  “For your article. My real name is Gary Larkin. It’s not really Turnip. My buddies just call me that because of the way my stupid hair sticks up,” he said pointing to the clump of hair pointing due north directly on top of his head.

  “I’ll be sure to print that Turnip isn’t your real name,” I said, fighting to suppress my laughter. “Now, onto the part of the interview we like to call ‘Quiz Time.’”

  “Oh, man. Like I said. Tests and school and shit ain’t really my strong suit,” young Gary the root vegetable replied.

  “It’s okay,” I assured him. “This’ll be easy. I’m just gonna ask you a few questions about the kind of stuff you do here at Monumental High every day, okay?”

  “Sure. That sounds easy,” Turnip replied, relaxing a bit.

  “Good. First question. If I was a customer going to the premier of a new sci-fi movie and wanted to totally get space-brained before showtime, what strain would you recommend?”

  The look of apprehension on Turnip’s face was replaced by that of sheer excitement. “Dude! I totally got you. Most guys would suggest Blue Diesel or Laughing Buddha, and those are both great, but I’d hook you up with Alice in Wonderland.” Turnip leaned back, completely satisfied with his answer and clearly in his element. Now that he was once again relaxed, I launched into my second question.

  “Okay, those all sound good. Let’s say I want to buy three and a half grams of all three of those strains. How much would that be?”

  The slightly panicked look returned to Turnip’s face and his fingers waived in the air as he struggled to do the math in his head.

  “Got it?” I asked, adding to the pressure.

  “Eighty-nine dollars,” Turnip replied, sounding unsure.

  “Great, here’s a hundred-dollar bill and I want you to keep three dollars as a tip. Quick, what’s my change?”

  Once again, Turnip counted on his fingers before excitedly exclaiming, “Eight!” as if he were answering the final question on a game show.

  “Perfect, thanks so much, Turnip. That was great,” I said before standing and extending my hand which he shook excitedly.

  I ushered Turnip out of the office with a pat on the back before closing and locking the door behind him. Pulling my gun from my waistband I turned around and leveled it at Ken’s head.

  “What the fuck, man?” he shouted, rolling his chair backwards.

  “Don’t move, Kenny, or I swear I’ll shoot you right in the fuckin’ head.”

  “Hey, Aero. Come on, man. For real. Put that shit down.”

  “Let me ask you a question,” I said. “Was he right?” I asked, ignoring Ken’s request to lower my gun.

  “What?”

  “Turnip. The total price of my purchase. He said it should have been eighty-nine dollars. Was he correct?”

  “No. It should have been eighty-seven,” Ken replied.

  “He didn’t strike me as a math whiz. He also didn’t strike me as someone who’d be smart enough to come up with a plan more involved than making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  Ken’s eyes darted to the floor.

  “He also doesn’t seem like someone with a financial motive to steal from his employer, does he?”

  Ken shook his head slowly but said nothing.

  “But I know someone who needs money pretty badly. Someone with a sick little girl and a mountain of medical bills, don’t I?”

  Ken nodded.

  “Look at me, Ken.”

  When his eyes finally met mine, I could see they were full of tears. “Please don’t kill me, Aero. I’m all she has left. I’m all Mabel has.”

  “Why did you do it, Ken?”

  “You said it yourself. Our health coverage doesn’t cover all her expenses and I’m hemorrhaging money. Her mother drained our accounts before she left town and left us with nothing. I’m fucking desperate, Aero. I’m sorry, man. I would never had let Turnip take the fall.”

  Desperate men do desperate things.

  “Why not come to Sundance for help? The club could have helped you.”

  “I was afraid of being in the club’s debt. Afraid that if I borrowed money, Sundance would force me to do illegal things for him. I can’t go to jail. I’m the only family Mabel has left.”

  I tucked my gun back into my waistband before reaching into my inside cut pocket, causing Ken to flinch. “Relax. I’m not gonna kill you,” I said taking out a folded piece of paper and handing it to him.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s the contact number of a doctor.”

  Ken looked at the paper and then back at me.

  “This is from the offices of Dr. Emily Larsen,” he said blankly.

  “She’s one of the leading Hepatologists in the country and she’s here in Denver,” I replied.

  “I know who Doctor Larsen is, she’s a miracle worker and impossible to see.”

  “Not according to that piece of paper she isn’t. Not for Mabel. In fact, it says there Mabel has an appointment with Doctor Larsen first thing Monday morning,” I said.

  “I don’t understand,” Ken said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  “What you don’t understand is loyalty, but fortunately for you, the Primal Howlers do.”

  Ken continued to stare at me, puzzled.

  “When Sundance told me to investigate the missing money, it didn’t take me long to piece together what the fuck was going on here. He left it up to me on how to handle the situation, so rather than leave your kid an orphan, I used one of Sundance’s contacts at the medical center to hook you up with Doctor Larsen.”

  “But why?”

  “This location has always been
the club’s highest earning shop and that’s because of you. I also believe you only did what you did to save your daughter’s life. I don’t have a kid myself, but if I did, I can’t imagine there’s anything I wouldn’t do to keep them alive.”

  “I still can’t afford any of this,” Ken said.

  “Don’t worry about the bills. The club is going to take care of Mabel. And don’t worry about the thirty thousand either. Stick it in her college fund.”

  “I’m on the hook with the club, now aren’t I?” Ken asked.

  “For the rest of your natural-born life, bubba. We say jump and your only question will be, ‘In what pile of shit?’ You got me?”

  I finished up with Ken before returning home. I was scheduled to connect with Sundance at two o’ clock to let him know how the meeting went and hoped that he would approve of how I handled the situation. If not, I suppose I’d be returning later with a bullet with Ken’s name on it.

  * * *

  One week later, I walked into Sundance’s office and filled him in on what went down with Ken. The prez wanted me to wait until we were face-to-face, and I swear I’d never understand how he could wait for that kind of information.

  “He really onboard, or is he hedgin’?” Sundance asked as I took a seat.

  “He’s onboard,” I said. “Mabel’s already seen the specialist and I called Rabbit in Savannah to help me put some tracking software on his computer. He’ll see every stroke and report anything suspicious. Also installed a nanny cam in the thermostat. So far, he’s complyin’.” I cocked my head. “Do you think he’ll be a problem?”

  “You never know, brother. Keep an eye on that.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Sundance smiled. “You did good, Aero. With all of it. Proud of you.”

  I grinned. “Thanks.”

  “Beer?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Sundance clapped my shoulder and we headed to the great room for a beer.

  Violet

  Present Day…

  MY PHONE BUZZED and I grinned as I answered it. “Hi, honey.”

  “How goes the sister sitting?” Aero asked.

  Aero and I were watching baby Reagan, Dad and Wyatt’s one-year-old, at their place for the weekend, so that Dad could sweep Wyatt away for a surprise birthday trip to Breckenridge. Raquel was pregnant and not having an easy time of it, so I volunteered Aero and myself to watch the baby the whole time instead of trading off. It was a good excuse to get some quality time in with my new sister who was currently on my hip, playing with my necklace.