Page 6
Bullet
“Y our place just burned down. I figured you’d be drunk by now.”
Smoke crosses his arms and leans against the pool table, mirroring my pose. We’re in the middle of the lounge, but since it’s only just past ten on a Friday night, the place is fairly quiet. Most of the club is over at Patterson’s, Hart’s diner by day and unofficial biker bar by night. We really only go there on Fridays and Saturdays, so most of the civilian population knows to avoid it on those nights.
I told Lynette ten or eleven because I knew most of the club would be over there and that this place would be relatively quiet, despite what I led her to think. I wanted her to get a small sampling of what this place is, not a full heaping dose.
Tyrant and Raiden are over on the other side of the lounge. Raiden has his wife in his lap, but they’re just low-level making out. Clothes don’t tend to come off until much later around here. Thankfully, he and Ella usually leave theirs on and just climb each other like fucking trees before they stumble off to Raiden’s room.
Tyrant and Lark arranged for one of the other old ladies to watch their daughter tonight, since it was important that they both be here. I informed them on Monday that Lynette George would be coming by, and made all the necessary arrangements with them already. She’s got a room here for the night, should she want it, as I promised, and in the morning, they’re set to do business.
Like me, they wanted to see how she’d react to this place. They wanted to watch her meet each and every man as he returns from Patterson’s, club whores in tow.
There are a few other stragglers still here. Friday and Saturday night debauchery is mostly a treat for patched-in members only, though the prospects do take shifts guarding so that they have a few hours to enjoy themselves as well.
I lean so hard against the pool table that the edge cuts into my upper thighs. “Some people find that alcohol exacerbates their emotions. I only ever get buzzed at best anyway.”
“Bullshit. You’re waiting for the lawyer chick.” One ashy blond brow arches up.
“Of course I’m waiting for her.” The worst thing you can do is lie to Smoke. He’ll sniff it out and never let it go. “I’m the only person here that she knows. Her finding me prostrate on the floor is hardly going to convince her to take the job.”
“Since when have you ever drank until you passed out?”
Since never. The only lapse of control Smoke has seen me exhibit in all the time I’ve known him since he came over from the Berserkers with Ella and a few other guys, was on Sunday, when I wrapped my hand around his throat for all of two fucking seconds.
“Even if you did, she might pick you up and take you to bed and care for you all night. That would be sweet.” He snorts and flutters his long eyelashes obnoxiously. “It would be sweeter if it was the kind of care that involved you waking up with her naked beside you.”
“This is a professional relationship.” I debate the merits of tackling him to the ground and wiping the floor with his face. It’s not the rules that we have here against beating the piss out of each other that stops me.
I carefully study the tops of my boots, so I don’t give myself away.
“Sure. That’s why you’re blushing right now.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“She knows your real name.” I should have expected that he’d take the goading to a whole different level.
“That’s because when you’re arrested and have to go to court, you’re not booked with your fucking club moniker.”
“I know all about being arrested. That doesn’t change that no one around here knows what your name is.”
“It’s embarrassing. I don’t feel like being the brunt of every joke for the next decade.”
Smoke whistles. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse. My mom has Scottish roots. You can just imagine.”
“It’s a problem of pronunciation, then.”
“No.”
“Did they name you Haggis or Bag Pipes?”
“Hilarious.” If anyone else was here listening to this conversation, they might laugh, but as it is, Raiden and Ella are far too into trying to devour each other’s faces and Tyrant and Lark are over on the other side of the room, standing close to each other, talking about something that probably has to do with their daughter.
“If you won’t get obliterated and mourn the loss of the range, then I’ll do it for you.”
“Just play nice when she gets here,” I advise, trying not to sound like a sanctimonious prick. “I was smug about this with her, but we need a lawyer, and she needs a job. She has a very small amount of time to get her own shit set up before I’m due in court and I want it to be her representing me.”
“Why her? What’s so special about her when there are plenty of lawyers out there?”
“Would they be willing to go against the big guns? She already did and look what happened.”
“Look what happened to the range,” Smoke fires back. His face hardens into a murderous glare. “Harold deserves to be strung up. I can’t believe Tyrant won’t let us do it.”
“We can’t just go over there with pitchforks and a battering ram.” I’ve already gone over this with him more than once since Sunday. He hates that when Tyrant called church, the decision was to wait and try to locate Harold to speak with him to figure out what exactly it is that he wants.
“We could fight fire with fire.”
No matter how much I wish we could just go torch the asshole’s house, Tyrant was right about common sense needing to prevail. “That’s what we’re doing by using our damn brains.”
Smoke rolls his eyes and turns to pick up a pool ball. He starts racking them up in the middle of the table. He might even be able to convince me to play a game. Why not? It would be better than standing around here worrying, though I hate admitting that’s what I’m doing.
“I’ll ask again. Why her? She sounds like a judgmental wilted little butterfly with a bad case of color blindness. You don’t owe her anything because she got fired.”
The balls come together with a loud bang.
“As I said, I don’t know that anyone else will want to risk their career over representing me now that a precedent has been set.”
“That’s it? This is strictly business?”
“It’s strictly business.”
“You don’t want her in any way?”
“I do want her. She’s a beautiful woman and I have eyes and the same anatomy as any other man.” Giving the truth is sometimes far easier and less suspicious than lying. “But the saying about not mixing business with pleasure is a saying for a reason. Desire isn’t a good enough excuse to risk my freedom and this entire club. We took an oath of brotherhood and promised to always put this place first.”
Smoke picks up the two pool cues and passes one to me. “Lots of us have made questionable matches.”
“I’m not looking for an old lady, and if I want to get laid, I have plenty of willing options here.”
“Of which you never partake. You might flirt or take it to first base, but what the fuck is first base?”
“More importantly, who the fuck still says first base?”
“I think you do need to get laid.” If he left it at that, I might admit that he’s right, but he just has to keep pushing, going off on that tangent that I don’t even want to allow myself to consider, no matter how many times Lynette George’s face has entered my mind this week. “Two mature, consenting adults can enter into a sexual relationship and still keep things professional.”
“How many times do you think that has actually worked out?” I motion to the table, allowing him to break, but he gives me a flourish of his hand and a bow.
“Age before beauty, babe.”
Forget head on a pike, head on a pool cue is looking more and more attractive.
I send my cue smashing into the head ball, scattering the rest around the table. One ball rolls away. I guess I’m going with solids.
“In the history of the world? It has to have, in at least a few instances,” Smoke answers my earlier question as he angles around the table, setting up his shot. “Think… Antony and Cleopatra.”
“They committed suicide,” I inform him dryly.
“But he died in her arms. That’s romantic, at least.”
I had no idea that Smoke would even know who Antony was, or what other crazy examples he might come up with. Then again, I’m probably the one who told him. I have a Shakespeare and an Ancient Rome obsession.
“When Lynette George gets here, keep the really bad historical references to yourself.” And all your other opinions.
Smoke holds his cue vertically, giving me a total shit-eating grin. “Can I ask her what your real name is?”
“Not if you don’t want me to change my mind about the drinking and mistake you for a dartboard.”
“It’s too soon, I know. The loss of the range. We’re all feeling it. We’re in deep mourning.” He’s serious, but still manages to sound like a total ass.
“Deep fucking mourning is right. I had some of my favorite guns in there.”
“Weren’t they all your favorite?”
“Irreplaceable ones,” I correct, edging around the table to take my shot. “You can’t just go out anywhere and buy seventeenth- and eighteenth-century guns.”
“Is that how you’re going to win her heart? By talking about antique weapons?”
“If she’s interested in them, which I doubt.”
“Well, prime your flintlocks, because here she is.”
I almost don’t look behind me, I’m that convinced Smoke is just being an asshole, turning my crank so he can poke fun at me about how badly I’ve been waiting for exactly this moment.
Even Smoke isn’t that cruel, and when I turn to look over my shoulder, there Lynette George is, indeed.
Dressed like she’s going to court, in a black power skirt suit, crisp white blouse, and towering pumps, she looks ready to take on the world and win. She even tosses her hair as she follows Timothy, one of our newest prospects, in. She’s probably six foot two in those heels, her dark hair freshly blown out into alluring waves, lips a scarlet red, nails painted to match. The bottoms of her shoes flash red with every step.
She sucks all the air out of the room in a single collective gasp.
“Holy shit,” Smoke sighs, sidling right up next to me. “You should tell her that her photos online don’t do her justice at all. I thought associate lawyers were just lowly grunt work beasts, but she looks like she’s a bad boss bitch.”
Smoke is my friend, I remind myself. He’s my club brother. That doesn’t stop my brain from conjuring some very satisfying images of me breaking this pool cue off between his teeth and shoving both pieces up his ass.
“If you’re not going to go for it, can I have your permission to give it a shot?”
Pool cue, meet knee. I bring it down violently, barely managing to catch myself before I snap it in half and impale Smoke’s eyes for daring to look at Lynette George with lustful, wishful thinking.
He puts up both hands, though he never loses his signature grin. “Sorry. Also too soon. Way too soon. It’s been a week, I get that. I wasn’t going to move in on your woman. What kind of brother or friend would do that? I just wanted to make sure you pulled your head out of the sand before the rest of you got fucked over by your brain.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Your brain is overthinking this. If you want her, you should let her know.” Smoke sticks his hands in his pockets, feigning innocence now that Lynette is even closer.
Tyrant and Lark head over in our direction and even Raiden and Ella stop doing weird shit with their tongues long enough to study Lynette.
“Antony and Cleopatra,” Smoke reminds me before he walks past Timothy and offers his hand to her with a charming smile. “I’m Smoke. Nice to meet you. I hope you’ll enjoy working for the club, and if you should want to take a spin later and Bullet tells you no, don’t hesitate to ask me.” He winks at me, turning his back so no one else can see, and cuts straight for the kitchen.
If the fucker is hungry, he could always eat my fists.
When I set the pool cue down and cut towards Lynette, Timothy leaves, eager to be back to guard duty. His instructions were to bring Lynette to me or Tyrant, should she happen to show up. I didn’t really doubt that she would, but honestly, it’s still damn hard to believe she’s truly here.
She treats me to a frosty glare, caramel eyes locking with mine, ready to do battle. “It hasn’t been decided if I’m working for anyone,” she states imperiously.
Fuck, she’s cold enough to freeze ice.
“Don’t mind Smoke. He’s just trying to rile you up. It’ll get a lot worse than that before the night’s out.”
Her eyes trace every inch of the lounge. She’s already been through the compound outside, where she would have been instructed to park, and brought down the long hallway from the back entrance. She’s seen the long line of rooms with the heavy doors and security keypads, and probably has already noted the brickwork, the huge beams, and open ductwork of the place.
The clubhouse used to be an old factory. Tyrant’s father, who was president at the time and bought the place, decided to salvage as much of the building’s old charm as possible.
The lounge is one of the best parts of the clubhouse. There’s rock music playing over the speakers, and while the bar on the far side has no one working it, it’s still backlit and beautiful, all the glass bottles lined up and glowing on the shelves. The leather couches in here have seen no small amount of sin, and the pool tables, and the hardwood floors, but right now, it’s still gleaming and pristine and full of old-world charm. There aren’t any bodies to distract from it, so you can still see the walls and all the black-and-white framed photos of bikes, the dartboards, and the big screen TVs.
“I expected more debauchery, honestly.” For the first time I’ve seen, Lynette’s lips twitch. Her makeup was muted the first time I saw her, but that fire engine red is a dangerous, daring shade.
It makes me instantly hard as a rock as I fixate on her full lips. I wonder how well the color would hold up against my mouth and cock.
“Just wait a few hours until last call at the bar on the edge of town. You passed it coming in. Patterson’s.”
“Right. Yes.”
“Did you notice all the bikes?”
She nods, her soft wavy hair dancing around her face and shoulders, a few strands landing near her cheek to frame the soft oval shape. She smells like jasmine tonight, a scent I didn’t think I’d ever like. It’s subtle, like the fragrant tea Lark drinks that tastes of watered-down perfume.
“Debauchery in roughly three to four hours.”
She lifts her wrist, glancing at her watch with the oval face with the tiny diamonds studded around the edges. “It’s just after eleven.” She gives the room another once over, her eyes lingering on Raiden and Ella, as well as Tyrant and Lark. They haven’t come over to introduce themselves yet. “Well? How are we supposed to kill four hours until the real fun starts?”
She asks me sarcastically, but all I hear is real fun which causes my brain to fixate on what Smoke was implying. The whole Antony and Cleopatra famous lovers deal, except I cut it off at the tragic ending.
“I’ll introduce you to my Prez and our VP, as well as their old ladies. We can talk about anything you’d like after that, over a game of pool, in the kitchen, out in the compound, on the back of my bike…”
She has no idea what the significance of that invitation is. It would be as good as claiming her, and in the spirit of not being a giant prick, I couldn’t do that to her without informing her of it first.
I knew she wouldn’t pick that option, which is the only reason I threw it out there.
“In the kitchen? Doing what? Cooking?”
“Sure. You can even bake cookies or a pie, if you’d like.”
The smallest laugh escapes her, though she barely smiles around it, but the sound wraps straight around my lungs and balls like a magic spell. I didn’t mean to throw down, but it’s clear by her shoulders rolling even further back, and the way she smooths both her hands over her blazer, that she’s prepping herself to win some kind of challenge.
“What kind of a pie?” she asks cautiously.
“Cherry? There’s a can of pie filling in the cupboard.”
“Christ, that’s diabolical. Canned pie?”
It happens when she quirks a brow and shoots me an almost playful look. My heart falls out of my chest, and south of the border I just about explode in my jeans.
“I was kidding. We have a box of fresh apples in there that one of the guys brought from their tree.”
The way her face goes from amused horror to approval solidifies in my mind just how regal and queenly this woman is.
“In that case,” she says in a voice that’s almost smoky, but light too, like the harmonious notes in an expensive perfume, “let’s get the introductions done so we can make magic happen.”
I’d like to work a different kind of magic altogether. She’d look so beautiful with those heels locked around my hips as I eat that red lipstick off her lips while filling her with my thick cock. She’d take it so damn well, right next to a bowl of sliced sweet apples. She’d feed me one and ask, with a defiant look, which I prefer better. Her, or the apple. I’d have my mouth between her legs in an instant, proving to her that there’s nothing I prefer more than the taste of her sweet pussy, especially after I’ve been inside her.
On that hedonistic thought that short circuits my brain and my balls, I grace her with a tight smile and motion to the other side of the room, where everyone else is holding back, waiting for me. “I’m sure you’ll find everyone lovely.”
Her sharp, narrow-eyed stare seems to say she knows it’s early yet.
As soon as she turns her back, I subtly arrange myself in my jeans so the outline of my dick isn’t visible while I’m talking to my Prez, VP, and their old ladies. I don’t need to be scaring Lark or giving Ella a reason to make terrible jokes the second she catches me alone. She’d never embarrass me in front of anyone else, but she’d sure have fun with it.
Hedonistic? More like masochistic.
I’m starting to learn that this night, and every other moment I have to spend in Lynette’s presence, is going to be torturous.