Page 14

Waverly

S ATURDAY AFTERNOON, I was aflutter with both excitement and nerves as I got ready for Gio to arrive. I had offered to pick him up, but he’d said he had a meeting at the club, so someone would drop him by after. The plan would be for me to take him home on Sunday.

This gave me hours to prep for dinner, shave every part of my body, and think.

And a thinking Waverly was a melting down Waverly.

By the time my doorbell rang, I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. I pulled open the door and Gio frowned. “What’s wrong? ”

“Nothing,” I lied. “Come in.”

“Cash brought me. You okay with him coming in with a few things?” he asked. “He took off his cut.”

“Oh, sure.” I stepped aside, and Gio walked in (having now graduated to crutches) followed by a man a little taller and lankier than him carrying a duffle and a couple of grocery bags.

“Hey, I’m Cash,” he said, smiling as he set the duffle on the floor.

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Waverly.”

“Where can I set these?” He held up the grocery bags.

“Kitchen,” I said, pointing toward the island. “Thanks.”

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Cash said. “Nice to meet you, Waverly.”

“You too,” I said, and Cash left us.

I locked up behind him and Gio held out his hand. “What’s goin’ on, Fizzy?”

I sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

I bit my lip. “I’ve just been a little bit... um... frazzled.”

“Why?”

“Because I want tonight to be perfect.”

“Baby, come here,” he pressed. I went there, and he wrapped an arm around me, setting one of his crutches against the wall. “Why do you want tonight to be perfect?”

“Why wouldn’t I want tonight to be perfect?” I challenged.

“Sweetness, you’re puttin’ too much pressure on yourself.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. Let’s just cook and then see where the night leads. If it just ends with us makin’ out, then that’s good, right?”

“But I shaved... um... things.”

“Things?”

“Everything,” I rasped.

He raised an eyebrow. “Shit, everything?”

“ Everything .”

“Okay, we’ll put a pin in that,” he said. “But you need to take the pressure off. We’ve got time. If it’s not tonight, we’ll find another night.”

“How are you so Zen about this?”

He leaned down and kissed me gently. “You’re worth the wait.”

“Okay, if I didn’t love you before, I definitely love you now.”

Gio chuckled. “You’re easy.”

I slid my hand around his waist. “Easy’s my middle name.”

He smirked, kissing me again. “What are we makin’?”

“Well, I figured we’d have a do over of the fried chicken. And I’ve already made that apple pie again. Sound good?”

“Yeah, baby, that sounds great.”

“Are you going to be okay standing on your leg? I can set you up with a step stool. It’ll give you a little more height than a regular chair.”

“That’d probably be helpful.”

I grinned, grabbing the step stool from the closet, and after he washed his hands, he parked himself in front of the kitchen island so he could help make the biscuit dough.

“How’s that shoulder?” I asked after he’d been kneading for a few minutes.

“It’s good.”

I finished peeling the potatoes, then stepped over to him and cupped his chin. “You tell me if that changes, okay?”

He chuckled. “I will.”

I leaned down and kissed him gently. “You better.”

“If I didn’t have dough all over my hands, I’d show you just how good my shoulder actually is.”

I grinned and went back to the chicken.

Once everything was ready, I carried plates to the table, while Gio did his best to help.

“Not gonna lie, I don’t typically eat down-home cookin’,” Gio said after he’d obliterated his sixth piece of chicken. “But this was the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.”

I smiled. “Down-home cooking?”

“Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, that sort of thing.”

“What do you eat?”

He polished off the rest of his potatoes and shrugged. “Italian, or fast food.”

“Wait, I need more information. You look like that and you eat Italian and fast food?”

“No, not typically. I eat a lot of veggies and chicken breast, unless my mom decides I’m ‘too skinny,’ then it’s Italian. If I’m with my brothers and I don’t have time or a place to cook, it’s fast food. If I’m cooking for someone else, I’ll experiment. But usually, I fall back to what I know.”

“Okay, so do you not like down-home cooking or has there been no one around to cook it for you?” I pressed.

“I guess it’s a little of both. I tried to make biscuits once, they ended up rock-hard. And I usually don’t eat fried chicken unless the Colonel makes it. But, honestly, I’m mostly there for the slaw.”

I sighed. “Yeah, that coleslaw is the best .”

“Seriously.” He licked his fingers. “But their chicken doesn’t hold a candle to yours.”

I grinned, taking our plates to the sink. “I’m glad I can expand your horizons.”

He followed and once the dishes were in the dishwasher, I noticed him rolling his shoulder. I frowned. “Bothering you?”

“Little bit. But it’s good.”

“Take off your shirt and go sit on the sofa.”

“I am not that kind of guy, madam.”

I laughed. “Oh, believe me, you will be when I’m done with you.”

He did as I ordered, and I heated up some massage oil before joining him. Good lord, he was beautiful.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh. Yes.” I smiled. “I’m just trying to figure out the best way to get at you.”

He chuckled, patting his thighs. “Climb on, beautiful.”

I straddled his thighs, poured oil into my palm, and set the bottle on the side table next to the sofa before rubbing it into my palms. I then began to massage his shoulder and that’s when things went south.

Fast.

“Jesus,” he breathed out.

“Am I hurting you?”

He grimaced. “No, you’re givin’ me a raging hard-on.”

“Can you think about baseball stats or something while I work this out?” I asked, digging my fingers into his shoulder.

Dropping his head back, he let out a groan that sounded rather X-rated.

“Gio,” I warned.

“Just appreciating your work, baby.”

“Hmm-mm,” I mused, continuing to massage him.

I ran my hands down his arm, tracing his tattoos. Not only did he have the Dogs of Fire logo on his chest, but he was also fully sleeved on both his arms.

“Do all of these tattoos have special meaning, or did you just like them?”

He let out a quiet hiss. “They all have meaning.”

He slid his good arm around my waist and buried his face in my neck.

I chuckled. “Honey, I have oil all over my hands.”

He met my eyes. “Will it wash out?”

“Yes.”

“Then put your hands wherever the fuck you wanna put ’em.”

I slid them over his chest, leaning down to kiss him and that kiss turned heated.

Quickly.

“Baby,” he panted out. “If you don’t want me to fuck you, you need to climb off.”

I licked the corner of his mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Grab me a condom.” He nodded to his bag. “Side pocket.”

After snagging a condom from his bag, I undressed, surprised by how comfortable I felt. I wasn’t embarrassed or shy, I felt like I was with my best friend, and trusted him one hundred percent.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” Gio let out a growl. “Come here, baby.”

I went there immediately, straddling him again and his hand slid between my legs.

* * *

Razor

Fuck, I couldn’t get enough.

Gripping the back of her neck with one hand, I pulled her closer, kissing her as I slid one, then two fingers inside of her. She was already soaked, as she began to rock against my hand.

With my other hand, I rolled her nipple into a tight nub and moved my mouth back to her neck. Jesus, her scent drove me wild. Jasmine, maybe? I ran my tongue over her pulse moving my hand to her clit and massaging it with my thumb. I continued to pump my fingers in and out as she rode me, her pussy soaking my fingers .

“Are you okay, beautiful?”

“Yes, Gio. I need you. All of you,” she panted out.

“Lift, baby.”

She lifted so I could slide my sweatpants down my thighs, and I rolled a condom on. Once the rubber was secure, Waverly leaned down and kissed me, desperately, as I guided my dick to her entrance and then she lowered herself onto my cock, taking all of me, and mewing into my mouth.

I cupped her breasts as she started riding my cock, and I took a few deep breaths, trying to keep myself from coming. When I felt like I had a handle on myself, I wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, slamming her down onto my cock.

“Gio!” she squeaked, her hands fisting in my hair.

I kissed her, sliding my hand between us and pressing my fingers to her clit. She let out a feral groan as her hips begin to move faster and faster. I matched her rhythm with my own and when she dropped her head back, shoving her tits up and into my face, I knew she was close.

I gripped her ass, urging her on, and felt her walls squeeze my cock, and when her body shook, I let myself go. With one final thrust, I came, and Waverly cried out, falling over me, her face in my neck, her hand on my shoulder and her pussy still contracting as her orgasm calmed.

“Jesus,” I whispered.

She chuckled. “Did you see him?”

“Uh, yeah.” I ran my hand down her spine .

“Me too.” She kissed my jaw. “If that’s what sex is like with you infirmed, I can’t wait to find out what it’s like once you’re fully back to normal.”

I chuckled. “You keep talkin’ like that, I’m gonna get hard again.”

She sat up and met my eyes. “So, get hard.”

She helped me dispose of the condom, and then I did as she demanded.

* * *

Razor

I had no idea I’d miss the shop as much as I did, and it felt good to the bottom of my soul to be back. Mostly because it meant being around my brothers, drinking beers, talking shit, and wrenching on bikes. All of which was currently happening. Me watching from a stool with my leg elevated, RatHound’s first CD blasting on the sound system, because the garage was home to Portland’s last fully functioning CD player, and spirits were high, as it was nearly quittin’ time for the guys on shift.

“Why is this ’62 Sportster still here?” Hatch asked, pulling a beer from the shop fridge.

“We’re waiting for Grip to get back from Daryl’s with the correct exhaust clamps. The vintage ones that came in were for a ’78 panhead, so we’re going with the repro ones instead,” Flea said.

“Did you ask the client if that’s okay?” Hatch asked.

Flea nodded. “Tim said he was cool with us using non-vintage clips if it meant having the bike ready for Sturgis. I told him we’d re-order the correct clips and replace them at no extra charge whenever it was convenient for him.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Hatch said, before adding. “Hey, how long did you say Grip’s been gone?”

“Almost an hour and a half,” I replied.

“Motorworks is only twenty minutes away. How long does it take to pick up a box of clips?” Hatch asked.

Brian shrugged. “It was around four-twenty when he left, maybe he hit the shop for a little sticky icky.”

“We have our own stash here,” Flea pointed out.

“Hold on,” Hatch replied, pulling his phone from his pocket and looking at the screen. “It’s a video call from an unknown number. Maybe it’s Grip,” he said, before answering.

“Hatch, so nice to see your face,” we heard the caller say over the phone’s speaker.

Hatch’s jaw clenched.

“Warlock,” Hatch replied. “What do you want?”

“Well, you know what I want, Hatch, however you seem unwilling to hand it over to me peacefully so I thought we could try another approach,” Warlock said.

Hatch brought his phone over to where I was sitting and the others gathered around so we could all see.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Hatch asked.

“Well, as you so eloquently put it to me when we last spoke, you’re a businessman, and these are business matters. You said you’d rather negotiate than see blood spilled on the streets of Portland, and so here I am. Ready to negotiate.”

I couldn’t tell where Warlock was calling from, only that he was outside.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Hatch replied. “And I’m sure Sundance will be happy to hear it as well.”

Warlock smiled wide. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve already spoken with Sundance. He’s well aware of my proposed terms and seemed excited about what I had to say.”

Something about the way Warlock said ‘excited’ made my flesh crawl.

“What’s on your mind?” Hatch asked.

“I’m so glad you asked, old friend. Because what’s on my mind is what’s on your mind. For example, I’d love to know just how far the president of a non-one-percenter club would go to save one of his own lost sheep.” Warlock panned the camera to show Grip, his wrists bound, and duct tape wrapped around mouth and neck. His eyes were darting back and forth, and he looked terrified. He’d clearly been beaten and was being held up by two Spiders. One on each side.

“Where are you?” Hatch growled.

“Oh, man. I really wish you were here with us now. I’m sure your boy, Grip, does too, you know what I mean?”

“You lay one more finger on him and I’ll gut you like a fish,” Hatch replied.

“You, see! That’s what I’m talking about, my man. You act like you’re above committing acts of violence, but you’re just like me, Hatch. A man who’s willing to kill for what’s his. ”

“Where are you?” Hatch asked.

“Not too far from you, actually,” Warlock replied. “Far enough to where you’ll never get to us in time, but close enough for you to get my point.”

Warlock panned the phone’s camera again to reveal they were on a rooftop, somewhere in what looked like the warehouse district near the port.

“This lost sheep of yours is really more of a lamb, isn’t he? What is it that you call your prospects? Recruits, right? Like you’re in the fucking army, right? Well, armies fight wars, don’t they? Armies send young men into battle to face insurmountable odds and certain death, year after year, century after century. You call this boy a recruit into your army, but you expect me to believe that you’re the president of some sort of sewing circle. You can’t fool me, Hatch. I know you, and I know how far you can be pushed before you push back.”

“I hear you and I want to negotiate with you,” Hatch said. “Alright? You have my attention and I’m listening.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear that, and I’m more than sure that your young recruit is happy to hear that as well,” Warlock said, pinching Grip’s cheek, before giving it a slap.

“Tell me where you are,” Hatch said. “I’ll come get Grip and you and I can talk when I get there. We’ll call Sundance together and work something out between the three of us, alright?

“It’s really beautiful up here at this time of the evening,” Warlock replied before nodding to the two Spiders who were holding Grip. We then watched in horror as they threw Grip from the top of the building. Warlock filming as he plummeted at least ten stories before hitting the pavement below.

“Oh, look, there’s that blood on the street you were worried about, Hatch. Well, I guess, now that it’s spilled, my terms are this,” Warlock said, turning the camera back to face him. “You have forty-eight hours to turn over your grow operation or I start tossing people you actually care about off this roof.”

Warlock ended the call.

Hatch turned his back to us and fell to his knees.

Flea went to him, but Hatch growled, “Back off,” before falling silent for what felt like an eternity.

I could see his shoulders shuddering but heard no audible cries. Hatch’s lament for Grip was silent.

He wouldn’t be silent for much longer.