Chapter Thirteen
Cove
“P sst.”
I wake to someone poking my bare ass cheek and not in the fun sort of way. More like antagonistic and annoying as fuck. Considering I’m draped over Dragon’s also-naked form, it can’t be him.
Fuck.
I cringe, wondering who walked into this lovely scene. Thankfully, it’s just Nees. My best friend will keep his mouth shut. Sure, he’ll ask a thousand questions later, but he’s not going to gossip to the other club members about whatever the hell me and Dragon are doing.
What are we doing?
Whatever it is, it feels really, really good. Last night proved that we’re even better with a little practice.
“I’m not waking the psycho. That’s all on you,” Nees hisses, “but the two of you better get to Church. Everyone’s in there already shooting the shit and wondering where you guys are.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, my voice gravelly from sleep.
“Walk of shame, bro. No avoiding it.”
As soon as he closes the door behind him, I slowly extricate myself from Dragon’s hot, tattooed body. This is going to be awkward as fuck and I dread it with every fiber of my being.
“Sneaking away, Baby Prospect?”
Dragon rolls onto his back, his dick thick and erect, just begging for attention. My own cock rejoices at the sight of perfection, jerking in excitement.
Down, boy.
Dragon, with his messy bedhead and wicked half-grin, does nothing to alleviate the state of my dick. If anything, it makes my body burn to crawl over him so I can ride his dick like I’m damn near desperate to do.
“Church,” I grumble. “Get dressed. I’ll go first and distract them.”
His laughter is deep and sinister. “You ashamed of fucking me?”
“We didn’t actually fuck,” I snarl, irritation swelling faster than my cock.
He lifts a brow, smirking at me. “My tongue was in your ass, baby. Fucking. Fucking around. Whatever you want to call it, we did it. And we’re going to do more of it, too.”
Ignoring him, I throw on clothes and storm into the adjacent bathroom. When I see my reflection, I nearly beat my head against the glass.
Hickeys.
So many hickeys.
All over my neck for all to see.
I splash some water on my face in an attempt to cool the flames of humiliation. Doesn’t work. My blood runs hotter than the skin holding it in, pooling in my dick as I remember his lips all over me last night. Quickly, I brush my teeth and try to do something with my hair. By the time I finish, Dragon is dressed—thank fuck—in a pair of sweats and sauntering my way. He stops in the doorway, lifts his arms to grab onto the top of the doorframe, and leans in toward me.
Like the shameless slut I am for him, I drink in his perfect chest, my mouth watering for another taste of him.
“Move,” I choke out, stepping close enough our chests touch. “Now.”
“Even bitchier in the morning. I love it.” He grins widely and evilly. “You know that shit turns me on.”
I attempt to shove past him, but he works out like a fucking freak and has muscles for days. He’s immovable. With the quickness of a cobra, he strikes, his hand seizing my jaw with brutal strength. Then, with surprising gentleness, he tilts my head to the side. The fucker admires his handiwork all over my neck.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, sending a chill over my flesh.
He pulls away, allowing me to exit the bathroom, as if he didn’t just make me dizzy with lust. Shakily, I find a clean pair of socks and boots before slipping out of my room without any more run-ins with Dragon.
Chaos can be heard across the clubhouse in the room where we hold Church. Unlike most MC clubs, or so I’ve been told since I’m a novice, our Church is unusual. Unusual in the fact that it’s sleek, expensive, and luxurious. It’s better suited for a bunch of men from Wall Street rather than us hooligans. Still, I’m not going to complain. The chairs are comfy as shit and Bermuda even conned Koyn into letting us have a stocked refrigerator and a popcorn machine. As soon as I walk into the conference room, the entire group goes silent.
“Morning,” I grunt out, not making eye contact with my brother-in-law, Copper.
Bizzy starts laughing so hard he begins to cough. Gibson smacks him hard on the back while Katana glowers at them. I don’t miss the amused smirk on Halo’s face as I pass by him.
“Damn, BP,” Bizzy says through his laughter. “Tell your bitch I got something she can suck on. Why can’t I ever find someone to Hoover my dick? I have abs now, goddammit.”
“It’s your mouth that annoys the shit out of people,” Filter offers, shrugging. “You could look like me and bitches would still keep their distance. That laugh, for one, is annoying as fuck.”
“I second that,” Nees says, raising his hand like a schoolboy. “Work on your swagger, bro, and you can get Hoovered any day of the week. Your boy here knows all about getting his dick sucked.”
Copper smacks Nees in the head. “Coming from the kid who wet the bed until he was nine.”
That sends another wave of riotous laughter through the room. I’m just glad they’ve moved on to Bizzy and Nees. The last thing I need is for them to realize the bitch who Hoovered me isn’t a bitch at all.
More like a psychopath.
A sexy one, but still fucking insane.
“Do I need to call Stormy to get you two to stop acting like idiots?” Koyn asks, directing his question at Copper and Nees. “She’s all but begged me to let her hold Church one day.”
Payne groans, shaking his head and burying his face in his palms. “That shit would go to her head.”
“Your ol’ lady like to boss you around in bed?” Bizzy asks Copper. “Do you call her Mommy?”
Copper flings an ink pen at Bizzy, nailing him right between the eyes. He grumbles, rubbing at the spot, and shoots Copper a death glare.
“Where’s your buddy, man?” Filter asks, nodding at Katana. “Usually you two are joined at the hip.”
Nees smothers a laugh and fiddles with his pocketknife to keep from giving away my secret. I can feel heat flooding my cheeks, making them turn bright red.
Katana gives Filter a shrug and doesn’t betray his best friend by looking at me. It’s clear he knows where Dragon holed up last night, but he’s not letting on.
“Seriously,” Bizzy says, elbowing me. “Who was she? Do I know her? Was it Erin? I bet it was Erin.”
“It wasn’t Erin,” Bermuda snaps, showing a rare flash of anger. “Don’t be an asshole, Biz.”
Pressing on, Bizzy whistles and waggles his brows. “What about Calla?”
“Dude,” I hiss. “My twin? Are you fucking insane?”
Bizzy cackles. “I knew it was Erin. Gibson, you owe me twenty bucks.”
Bermuda snags Halo’s pack of cigarettes and launches it at Bizzy, who barely dodges it.
“Man, I don’t know,” Gibson mutters under his breath. “Something’s not adding up.”
A formidable presence fills the doorway, sending the temperature in the room skyrocketing. Against my better judgment, I dart my eyes to find Dragon walking into the room. He’s still wearing the sweats from before and is shirtless.
Fuck. Me.
“Dude, you got laid too?” Bizzy demands, throwing his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable. I swear I’m never going to get my dick wet. All this working out and shit was a waste.”
Dragon stalks over to Bizzy’s chair and grabs the back of it, rolling him away from the table. “Move.”
“What? No. I was here first, dickhead,” Bizzy throws back.
“You’re in my seat,” Dragon growls.
“Since fucking when?”
“Since today, dumbass. Move before I send you through the fucking window.”
“Prez,” Bizzy whines. “Seriously?”
My face flames hotter and I can’t look at Koyn. He’s watching the entire situation unfold with intense scrutiny. The man is smart and I know he’s already putting it together.
Dragon makes good on his threat, shoving Bizzy so hard his chair slams against the window and a crack forms from the impact and splinters like a web.
“Bermuda,” Koyn grumbles.
“Already texting them,” Bermuda mutters back.
We’ve broken more windows at the clubhouse than humanly possible. Someone is always throwing something or someone through glass, which is why Bermuda has the window repair company on speed dial.
Dragon saunters over to an empty chair and drags it past everyone into Bizzy’s vacated spot. He sits in his seat, swiveling so he can stare at my profile. I’m going to kill him.
“Holy shit,” Filter mutters. “Is this fucking for real?”
“Are you done?” Koyn grunts. “Because we have shit to discuss and whatever this is”—he waves a dismissive hand between the two of us—“will have to wait until the next Q. This is Church, not social hour.”
I give Koyn a clipped nod, mortified about this whole shitshow. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because I want an update on what you guys found out last night. Katana insists on letting Dragon tell the story.” Koyn leans back in his chair, the leather creaking with the movement. “This should be interesting.”
Dragon leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s so close, I can smell his smoky scent. I hate how I want to turn my head and bury my nose against his neck.
“Max is dead,” Dragon deadpans.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Koyn barks back. “Elaborate.”
“He was wearing more of Max than Max was wearing of Max,” Nees offers with a full-bodied shudder. “Fucking sick, man.”
“Body?” Copper demands, his voice sharp with authority.
“Incinerated,” Katana offers. “Nothing but ash.”
Copper gives him a nod of approval. Being an ex-Fed, he makes sure we cover our asses anytime we do something illegal like torture, mutilate, and murder a loser like Max.
“What happened before you burned his body?” Koyn asks, irritation clawing at his tone.
“I stabbed him.” Dragon chuckles, low and sinister. “A lot.”
Koyn scrubs a palm over his scarred face and shakes his head. “Right. And what did you find out?”
Dragon’s attention is no longer on the conversation but instead fixated on my neck. He reaches up to touch one of the hickeys. I hiss at him, smacking his hand away.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Koyn snaps. “What the fuck happened?”
“Max was meeting up with Night Giant,” I blurt out, annoyed that neither Katana nor Dragon seem to be ready to tell the story any time this century.
The room goes silent.
“I see,” Koyn mutters. “Explains the horror show aftermath Nees saw. Anything else of use?”
“Not really.” I let out a huff. “Someone killed him before we could get anything helpful from him. All we know is he was headed to Memphis but—”
“Night Giant is in Arkansas,” Dragon bites out, his words so vicious, I flinch. “Having the time of his fucking life.”
“He’s hiding out in a janky-ass trailer,” Koyn spits back. “Not exactly the Ritz Carlton.”
“But he’s alive…” Dragon’s entire body thrums with violent energy. I have the urge to put my hand on his thigh to calm him down. Instead, I fist it in my lap. “Alive and breathing. Two things he doesn’t deserve.”
“I understand what you want—”
Koyn’s words are cut off when Dragon slams a fist down on the conference table with enough force coffee splashes out of Payne’s steaming mug, causing him to curse in annoyance. Koyn arches a brow and crosses his arms over his massive chest. He nods at Dragon, waiting for him to continue.
“His time is up, Prez. I’m going to kill him.”
Koyn studies Dragon for a long beat before letting out a defeated sigh. “Fine. But you’re not doing this alone. We’ll figure out a plan and do it together. Understood?”
Dragon huffs but doesn’t argue.
“Right,” Koyn continues. “Now that we have psycho torture checked off on our daily agenda, let’s move the fuck along.”