Chapter Three
I’ve never been a soft man. That shit didn’t change when I got with Birdie. She never seemed to mind, always showing me she loves the man I am. Birdie is the only one who can tame the reaper roaming restlessly under my skin.
Many nights, I’ve come home to her covered in the filth of my enemies with adrenaline running through my veins. She’s never hesitated in opening her arms and letting me work out my aggression on her sinful body until I’m sated.
The wind whips through my damp hair as I ride toward the club. Birdie sent me a text to let me know she was waiting. I figured it’d be best not to leave her alone too long with Spunky and Dimples running around the clubhouse. My little bird doesn’t get along with those two club whores because they like to act like their cunts are special. Probably are to some brothers, but I’ve been so goddamn obsessed with Birdie that other bitches barely register with me.
Just means I’m going to have to let her mark me tonight to show the fucking world who owns my dick.
As I stroll through the club doors, my woman barrels into me and climbs my body.
With a chuckle, I grab handfuls of ass cheeks so I can hold her to me. “Hey, little mama,” I rumble, staring into her fucking stunning eyes.
Heterochromia—one green, one a bright honey.
They fucking mesmerized me the moment they locked with mine all those years ago. There’s always so much fucking life in them.
Birdie’s eyes are the windows to her fucking soul.
She tangles her fingers into my hair and slides her lips across mine. When she pulls back, her eyes have softened, roaming my face as if she’s reassuring herself that I’m home safe.
“A ghrá mo chroí,” she whispers in her father’s native language.
Love of my heart.
Fuck.
A sense of foreboding constricts my lungs as I stare at her.
“Fucking love you, Birdie,” I growl.
I don’t say it often, so when I do, I get the pleasure of watching that light in her eyes brighten in a way that I fucking crave.
“I love you more, my beast.”
“Everything good here?”
She rolls her eyes and smirks. “You know those bitches only run their mouths behind my back. They’re not brave enough to talk that shit to my face.”
I walk us to the closest table and sit her on it. “For someone so tiny, you’ve got one set of balls on you, little mama.”
“Dude, do you not see the environment I’m in? If I don’t, this life will eat me alive.”
Her words remind me of the target on her back and fear runs through me so hard that I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her face to mine. I slam my lips against hers, devouring her mouth and swallowing the taste of her so it coats the back of my throat.
My dick is hard as stone snuggled up against the heat of her cunt. If I could live inside her, I’d bury myself there and never come up for air.
If I must destroy this woman to save her life, blood will be shed, and it won’t just be mine or hers.
Birdie yanks her face away and sucks in gulps of air. I growl, upset at losing the one thing that quieted the chaos.
She pats my chest. “Calm down, my wild beast. As much as I love soaking you into my lungs, I need to be able to breathe.”
“Your breaths are mine,” I growl, tightening my fingers around her throat.
Her eyes bliss out and her lips curl lovingly. She lifts a hand to my cheek, and I lean my face into it.
“They are, Apollonos,” she whispers, using my given name not many know. “All of me is yours. But you won’t have it if I’m no longer pulling air into my lungs.”
My top lip lifts at the corner in a snarl, and the brat fucking laughs at me.
“Do what you need so you can take me home and fuck me.”
“I can fuck you right here, right now.”
She lifts a brow. “I’m sure you can, but I’m not in the mood to be put on display today.”
“Fine,” I pout, watching as laughter dances over her face.
I step out from between her legs and reach between them to cup her heat. “Tonight, this pretty little cunt is mine to abuse.”
Birdie pushes my hand away with a laugh and hops down, leaning her head back to peer up at me with a wicked smile. “If you’re a good boy,” she teases, turning away.
My hand cracks against her ass. “Fucking brat.”
That beautiful laughter rings out again as she struts that sweet ass over to where her sister’s sitting.
The anticipation of having those cheeks painted with my handprints as I fuck her pussy slithers up my spine, and I lick my lips while adjusting my hard dick.
For now, I have other business to attend to.
Once all electronics are locked up and the council is seated around the table, I lean back in my chair and start the club meeting. “The piggy didn’t squeal tonight, boys.”
“So, we’re no closer to finding out what the fuck Clink’s deal is?” Joker, our Road Captain, growls.
“He’s a bastard. We know he doesn’t need a fucking reason. This feels personal. We’re being targeted specifically,” I remind them.
“It goes further than us,” Cyanide says. “Anyone know where Gavel is? I’m guessing he’ll have a better insight.”
“Got a call that he was at Tapping It in the ring again.”
I scrub my hands over my face with a groan at D-Bag’s words. “Fuck. He’s still spiraling. Losing Mad Dog fucked our world up, but his the most. Fucking terrified what’s going to happen if he doesn’t get a handle on that anger.”
“Sent Vortex and Blackjack to keep an eye on him,” D-Bag admits, referring to two of our prospects.
Sighing, I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. “Right. Nothing we can do about him right now. At least he’s keeping it contained to the boxing gym. The last thing we need is for him to cause us more trouble than we’re already facing. Butcher, get Cypher on the phone. Need to know if he’s found Clink’s hiding spot yet.”
Cypher and Bugsy went Nomad when we lost Mad Dog. Fucking hated losing them out of the clubhouse, but they promised to be here anytime I call. Cypher is the club’s only computer whiz, so it was a hit when he took off over the road, but he’s been there along the way, helping our chapter with the Steel Slayers when he can.
Clink went underground with most of his club when he started this war with us. Right now, he’s got his brothers doing the dirty work, but he’ll come at us head-on soon. He pops up to start shit, then ducks back into whatever hole he’s landed in. Cypher’s been on his ass since the last time he stuck his head out. Clink is cautious and smart as fuck, though, and makes sure there’s no trail leading back to him. Each time we believe he’s back at his club in Stormy Ridge, he manages to evade our lookouts and escape again.
Butcher lumbers to his feet and out to the lockbox I tossed him the keys to so he can retrieve his phone. It’s kept outside the chapel doors and guarded by one of the prospects during Church. The only one with a key is the acting President, which would be me.
The last thing we need is some motherfucker grabbing our phones and having access to shit they don’t need access to.
“While we’re waiting on him, Pretty Boy, how’s business?” I ask.
He glances up from his computer screen. “Right as a whistle. The Body Shop and Claspers Logistics are running solid. New clients coming in every day and bringing that cha-ching, baby. Tapping It has a few fights on the books that’ll bring in the green. Gavel’s headlining one of them,” he admits sheepishly.
I nod. “Let him. It’ll do him good. How’s the washers looking at Pound of Fresh?”
Anyone listening in would assume we were talking about the washers at the laundromat. We are, just not the ones they’re thinking of. I’m talking about our “washers” who make our dirty money clean again.
“Running in tip-top shape. One of them had a little mishap, but I went in and fixed it,” he replies with a wide grin.
“Butcher, how’s Saint's Garage? You bring in any new mechanics?”
“Got a couple of interviews this week. ‘Til then, I’m doing most of the work Tito left behind,” he replies.
“Keep me updated. If you need any help, just let me know and I’ll come in.”
“All good for now, Prez.”
“I’m still waiting for The Serpent to call me back about our shipment of weapons. He’s waiting for the all-clear from the port contact on his end. Malice, was there anything else you wanted added to our shipment before they move them out?”
“Naw. The armory is full of everything else. They got us the AK-47s, the crates of grenades, and the C-4?”
I nod, confirming.
He shrugs. “Then we’re all set.”
“All right. What else is in the books, Pretty Boy?”
“Got a few brothers who haven’t paid their dues. Sent them a friendly reminder.”
“Anyone heard from Basilisk’s lawyer lately?” I ask.
The brothers shake their heads, and I let out a heavy sigh. “Right. That’s what I feared. Cyanide, check in with Roger and see why the hell he hasn’t updated us on Basilisk’s case. We might need to look for a new lawyer. Are we still paying him?”
“Like clockwork,” Pretty Boy answers.
Basilisk was sent up the river last year when he took the heat for protecting a broad who was being beat on by her old man in the apartment complex he lived in. He told me he didn’t regret it and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’s been protective of women ever since he was forced to watch his father kill his mom when he was thirteen. I once saw him hop in a motherfucker’s face just for raising his voice to his woman. Basilisk is deadly to anyone who crosses him, but he’s the gentlest fucking giant to women and children that I’ve ever seen.
I turn to Manic. “You and Butcher ride out with Cyanide. He gets our brother out or we’ll have to take him out on our boat sometime. He’s been taking money and not providing the results he promised us.”
We go over a few other minor things before I call an end to church with a smack of the custom-made mallet against the sound block. When I was voted in as President, Birdie went out and had the custom gavel made to mark the occasion and surprised me with it on my birthday. She told me the entire thing was carved by hand. The V-twin engine on the head of it is some of the most exquisite work I’ve ever seen, and the handle is wrapped in leather with tassels coming out of it. Shit is fucking beautiful. I was worried about using it, wanting to keep up with tradition and use the one my grandfather did when he started the Coral Cay chapter. Birdie told me I didn’t have to use it, but she still wanted something to honor the position I’d been given. Gavel and Mad Dog were pissed when they didn’t see me using it. When I explained about wanting to keep with tradition, Gavel smacked me upside the head and told me to stop being stupid and use the motherfucker. So, I had his gavel mounted to the sound block he’d used and had a plaque put on it. The brothers and I gave it to him for Christmas the year after I took over. It now sits on the mantel above the fireplace in the house he’d shared with Mad Dog.
I file out of the chapel behind Malice, my eyes scanning for my woman.
Birdie is sitting at the bar chatting up Blitz’s permanent piece of ass, Roxanne. The broad is loyal as fuck, and she’s stuck with Blitz’s crazy ass for a couple years now. Not that she’ll stick forever. They rarely do with him because, eventually, they want more than he’ll give. Brother won’t give up that patch, and when they realize that, the women skip.
“Hey, little mama,” I rumble, stepping up behind her and curling my fingers around the base of her neck. “Ready to ride out?”
Birdie leans into me, her hand drifting behind her to wrap around my thigh. She tilts her head back so can she peer up into my face. “If you are.”
“Let’s go,” I order, helping her to her feet.
I’m ready to get my woman home and make good on that promise from earlier.
Nothing better than the white heat that licks up my spine when I’m buried inside my little mama.
I nod at Roxanne. “Rox, good to see you.”
She smiles at me. “Lookin’ good, sugar. Take care of my girl, yeah?”
The smirk I aim at her is full of all the sinful promises I’m going to deliver on when I get her friend home. “I’ll take real good care of her.”
Roxanne tosses her head back with a laugh. “I have no doubt.” She glances at Birdie. “Have all the fun, babe. Chat later, yeah?”
Birdie wiggles fingers at her in a wave and then I’m dragging her out behind me as she laughs.
The ride home is as enjoyable as any time I’m on my bike with my woman wrapped around me until I glance in the mirror. The blacked-out van and two bikes rolling up on us at high speeds have my fingers curling tighter around the handlebars.
I pick up speed and reach down quickly to tap out our code for danger against Birdie’s thigh.
Her fingers tap against my abdomen in acknowledgment and her hold loosens enough to free up my movements. She’s got her phone out to make a call to Manic, but when the Steel Slayers close in on us, I know my brothers won’t get here in time.
We’re on our own, and we’re fucked if I can’t hold them off long enough for our backup to arrive.
I grab my gun from the shoulder holster and aim for the bike gliding up beside me. I fire off a shot before he can, but he veers away at the last minute, causing my shot to go wide. Before I get the chance to aim again, one of them clips my tire. Birdie lets out a scream of surprise, and I spit out a curse when I have to fight to keep us upright.
No sooner do I get the bike under control than one of them lodges a bullet in my shoulder. I grit my teeth against the blinding hot pain. It’s a struggle to keep my grip on the handlebar, but I manage. Birdie grabs the gun from my hand so I can worry about keeping us on the road and aims at our enemies. She takes out one of the Steel Slayers, and I watch in the mirror as his body jerks and then he and the bike are both going down.
This pisses off the others and it’s open fucking fire on us.
A terrified scream peals from Birdie as the bike wobbles.
“Hold tight, baby,” I yell.
Fear wraps its claws around my throat and squeezes as I struggle to keep the bike under control.
I don’t give a fuck about me, but not having Birdie breathing in this world nearly freezes me.
We crash hard, the bike—and us—skidding along the pavement.
The only thought my mind latches on to is ‘thank fuck Birdie wore her riding leathers today’.