Page 23 of Run Little Killer
NIX
M y cum had already dried and adhered to the inside of my sweatshirt by the time I got into the rest stop.
I did my best to put some water on it to soften the stiff fabric, but it was one of those stupid fucking 'eco-friendly' places with no goddamn papertowels.
Maybe their management will reconsider when the maintenance guy reports back about me washing my dick in the sink and holding it under the automatic hand dryers.
But if a few damp spots on my hoodie are the sacrifice I have to make to have Lennon stroking my cock on rides, then I'll make it every fucking time.
Her hands are now resting on my thighs, forearms squeezing a little tighter against my sides as I downshift and lean the bike into the turn. The road straightens out, the taillights of the moving truck flickering as it starts to slow in front of us, a warehouse coming into sight.
Chain link fence woven through trees surrounds the parking lot, the gate rolled open already to let us through.
Large box trucks with Warren Furniture scrolled on the side are parked along the building as we ride around back.
Then the moving truck we've been following starts to reverse towards the loading dock, Rhett pulling to the side.
My boots scrape against the concrete as I toe up beside him and knock down the kick stand. Just as I cut the engine and dismount, I lay eyes on a bike I'd recognize anywhere– Mav's. A matte black 2016 Indian Chief is parked near the door, and the sight of it makes my stomach drop.
I dart a look towards Rhett, cocking a brow as I yank down my bandana. "Did you know?"
He shakes his head. "News to me."
"Something wrong?" Lennon asks, sitting back and stretching her arms over her head.
"Not sure," I murmur, swiping a hand across my stubbled chin.
Rhett tugs off his gloves, shoving them in his pocket as he approaches Lennon.
"Don't stray from the bikes, darlin'," he warns, pulling out his switchblade and pressing it into her palm. "Use this if anyone gets too close."
Her throat bobs with a swallow as she nods.
"Good girl," he praises, placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head. Such a soft gesture compared to how hard he was fucking her in the shower this morning. I swear Lennon has the power to turn him from Jekyll to Hyde and back.
Hinges creak as Mav steps out of the building, the door slamming shut behind him. His face is stoic, hazel eyes slowly sweeping over Rhett before they move to me and do the same. One of Mav's dark brows lifts in the slightest as his gaze settles on Lennon.
My pulse kicks up, heat crawling up my spine as I watch the way he rakes his eyes over her. He may be my president, but when it comes to her, I'd lay the bastard out.
Mav folds his thick tattooed arms across his chest, pulling the black fabric tighter, revealing the outline of his kutte beneath the jacket. "Who's that?" he asks, tipping his chin in her direction.
"No one," I state, hands balling into fists at my sides.
"That so?" he murmurs, the corner of his lip pulling up in the slightest as he holds my stare. "Guess we'll finish this back at the clubhouse."
"Guess so," I scoff.
"Alright," Rhett cuts in, shooting me a look before shifting his attention towards Mav. "What’re you doing here, anyways?"
Mav lets out a low chuckle. "Thought I'd stop by and offer a hand, make sure things ran smoothly."
A jolt of trepidations zips down my spine. How much does he know? Should’ve just killed fucking Kurt and called it a day.
"Wouldn't want you to get those soft hands of yours dirty," Rhett smirks, taking a step towards the building.
"Ain't nothing soft about me," Mav scoffs, clamping a hand down on the back of Rhett's neck and jostling him. "Especially my hands." A smug look etches his features as he looks from me to Lennon and winks .
I tilt my head in her direction and have to stifle a laugh. Her grey eyes ping between all of us in sharp-edged glare, face screwed up like Mav's existence is personally offensive to her.
Thatta girl, little killer.
The garage door on the dock starts to lift, hinges creaking and whining as it rolls up the track. A well-dressed bald man steps forward, hands stuffed in his pockets as he leans a shoulder on the metal door frame. "I take it there weren't any problems today?" he asks in a dismissive tone.
"Rhett and Nix, this ray of goddamn sunshine is my old friend, Scott Warren," Mav says, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placing one between his lips.
"I'd tell you to disregard his callous exterior because he's less of a dick when you get to know him, but…
" he pauses, taking a drag off his freshly lit cigarette.
"That'd be a fucking lie. He's actually worse. "
"Just unload the truck, Maverick," he snaps as he pushes off the frame and disappears back into the warehouse.
I stalk towards the truck, motioning to the driver as I move to the back. Rhett's already got the door up, one boot resting on the dock and the other on the tailgate.
"Careful old man, you might pull a muscle standing like that," I remark as one of Warren's men approaches on a forklift.
"Don't worry," he chuckles. "My muscles are still warm from this morning's workout."
"Yeah," I snort. "I heard you working out alright."
"Had to show her how a real man fucks," he shrugs, the forks sliding in the natches on the pallet.
"She already knew," I say, gloved hand reaching out to steady one of the boxes on the pallet as it rises and retracts out of the truck.
"Oh yeah?" Rhett starts, the forklift beeping as it reverses, swiveling around to unload the pallet before it comes back for the next. "Then why was she so desperate for my cock this morning?"
"I railed that tight little cunt so hard, she probably just needed a quickie to take the edge off. Knew an old fuck like you wouldn't have the stamina to wear her out."
Rhett scoffs as the forklift returns, picking up the next pallet and moving it into the warehouse. "You talk big game for someone who’s just nine years younger than me. "
"Makes me nine years closer to her age than you are," I jab, folding at the waist to grab one last box and carry it inside.
The truck's rollup slams down as Rhett jumps back on to the concrete pad, carding a hand through his hair. "Years won't mean a damn thing when she's underneath me, clawing at the sheets as she screams my name."
"Cocky old bastard." I shake my head, hoping down from the tailgate as Mav and Warren walk our way.
"Go on and head to the clubhouse," Mav orders. "I'll settle up here."
The sun is setting behind the trees as the stretch of highway starts to feel more like home.
I've ridden along this road more times than I can count, every crack in the pavement giving me a growing sense of familiarity as my Dyna rolls closer to the clubhouse.
The wind shifts as we round the bend, making it just a few degrees colder.
I draw in a breath, the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filling my nose and instantly easing the tension from my shoulders.
Lennon readjusts her grip, fingers sliding into the pocket of my hoodie as I feel her turn her head against my back.
My gloved hand moves to rest on the crest of her thigh, thumb tracing idly across the inside of her leg.
The ride's never been about the destination itself, it's the sense of relief that washes over you.
The reckless abandon slithering beneath your skin that you blindly accept but never let fully take control.
The ride back to the clubhouse is much the same, except for the feral little menace that won't leave my mind.
Bringing girls back to the clubhouse has never really been my thing.
There’s always some club cunt around that’s more than willing.
The girls I'd meet at the bar usually just wanted the bragging rights, so being railed against the building in an alley more than did it for them.
But with Lennon, there's this insatiable hunger that no matter how deep or hard I bury my dick inside of her will ever be fulfilled.
The fact that sleeping beside her didn't set my teeth on edge means something too, but that's a landmine I'm not ready to deal with yet.
As we turn onto the side street, the chain link fence comes into view, black nylon fabric lining it to keep prying eyes out.
I downshift and maneuver through the open gate, the Devils logo painted in white on the side of the corrugated black metal.
Swinging the bike around and holding in the clutch, I toe my bike back into my usual spot and knock down the kickstand.
The handles twist to the side and I kill the engine, the bike rocking slightly. "Hey," I bite out. "Watch the-"
"Pipes, I know," Lennon sasses as she jumps off, arching her back and taking a few wobbly steps. "My vagina's numb," she whines, swiveling her hips.
"I can help you try to find some feeling in there darlin'," Rhett drawls, resting his forearms on his gas tank.
"Might be a two person job, old man. Better let me help," I say, tugging my snapback off and carding a hand through my hair before replacing it on my head.
"Thats the best idea I think you've ever fucking had, Hawthorne," he smirks.
"Whatta ya say, little killer?" I murmur, the tip of my tongue tracing the seam of my lips .
A pretty pink flush creeps across her creamy skin, her eyes taking on a salacious gleam as she pins her bottom lip in place with her teeth.
She doesn't get to answer before the roar of Mav's engine has us all swiveling our heads. He rips in, gliding into his spot and dismounting.
"Office," he barks at us, stalking off towards the entrance.
"Cockblocker," I mutter.
"Let's get this over with," Rhett sighs, stepping closer to Lennon. "We’ll get you settled," he says, draping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her inside.
The door to the back office snicks shut behind me as Mav takes a seat behind his desk. His scuffed boots kick up onto the surface, rattling its contents as he leans back and folds his arms across his chest. "Got another job for you two tomorrow, something a little different."
"How long of a run?" Rhett asks, plopping down on the chair across from him.
"Not far," Mav answers
"What about the split?" I ask, propping a foot up and leaning back against the door.
"None," he deadpans.
"The fuck?" I spit. "We don't do shit for free."
His boots hit the ground with a thud as he pitches forward, fists slamming down on the desktop. "We sure fucking do when we're trying to make up for delaying a load and offing the driver."
Well fuck, guess Mav is pissed .
I scrub a hand down my face before flicking my gaze to Rhett and we share a look. We both know that he's right– and no matter the circumstances, this is what's best for club business.
"What time?" Rhett finally murmurs.
"You'll be out front on your bikes in all black by nine sharp, no kuttes," he says, voice hard and flat.
We nod, mumbling our agreement as Mav huffs out a sigh and leans back, running a tattooed hand through his dark hair. "Now, spare me the bullshit, what happened yesterday?"
"The shitbag driver touched something that wasn't his," I mutter, shrugging. "And we were just finishing what she started."
Mav cocks a brow. “ She ?”
Rhett chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Five foot four inches of brat and bite wrapped in spandex."