Chapter Ten
Jock
The sun beat down on the asphalt lot behind the IMC clubhouse, turning it into a shimmering sea of chrome and leather.
Jock straddled his bike, the engine idling with a low growl that matched the buzz of excitement in the air.
Silly sat behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her vest fitting perfectly.
Tank and Maynard were back home, safe and spoiled, but this ride was for dogs like them: the rescued, the fighters, the ones who’d clawed their way back from hell.
Twisted revved his engine, fist in the air, signaling the start, and the lot erupted in a symphony of roars.
IMC patches mingled with those from the Caddo Hobos, longtimers like Ace and Wrench nodding at Jock from their spots in the column.
There were Rebel Wayfarers from two different chapters, a cadre of Freed Riders, multiple Bama Bastards, and many smaller RC.
Over a hundred bikes, all here for the cause.
They were looking to raise cash for the local no-kill shelter so they could help many more dogs.
“Ready, baby?” Jock shouted over the noise, glancing back at Silly.
Her hair whipped in the breeze, her grin fierce and bright. “Hell yeah,” she yelled, squeezing him tighter. “Let’s ride for the pups!”
The column peeled out, a thunderous procession snaking through Hammond’s streets. Cars pulled over, kids waved from sidewalks, and Jock felt a swell of pride. This wasn’t just a ride; it was a statement. No more dogfights, no more abuse. Not on their watch.
They alternated stops along the ride between MC clubhouses, RC clubhouses, and local businesses who supported the cause. At one stop along the route, Jock saw Penny collecting donations from allies who’d lined up with supportive signs and were handing out water bottles to the bikers.
There was a tug on the back of his vest, and he wheeled to find a little girl standing beside him. She held up a hand and offered Jock a crumpled twenty, her eyes wide. “For the doggies,” she said.
He knelt, a smile stretching his cheeks. “Thanks, kid. They’ll appreciate it.”
Silly beamed beside him. It made his heart flip.
By the end, at the shelter’s parking lot turned festival grounds, the tally was in with over ten grand raised. Music blared, burgers sizzled on grills, and dogs available for adoption were walked through the crowd, tails wagging on overtime.
Kent was walking one of the dogs, whose leash proclaimed him anti-cat. Jock pulled Silly into a hug as Kent stuck out his hand. Silly grabbed it before Jock could, laughing as she tried to force the vet into some kind of complicated handshake.
“Y’all did such a good thing. This is going to help a lot of Maynards,” Kent said.
Silly gave up on the handshake and leaned into Jock, whispering, “Our family’s growing, here and there and everywhere. In so many more ways than one.”
He kissed her forehead, the day’s triumph settling like a warm blanket over the chaos of their lives. For once, the road felt smooth.
***
Weeks had blurred into a rhythm since Calder’s arrest, and Jock felt the scumbag’s shadow had loomed too long; it was time to reclaim their space.
He planned for a simple dinner at that Italian spot downtown, the one with the candlelit booths and Silly’s favorite tiramisu. Per his instructions, that evening she had dressed up and looked stunning in a flowing dress, her hair loose, ink peeking from her sleeves like secrets.
“You clean up nice, big guy,” she teased, straightening his collar as they headed out. Tank and Maynard watched from the couch, the pit bull’s tail thumping a reluctant goodbye. Jock had set them up with toys and water, and he hadn’t crated them, figuring a couple hours wouldn’t hurt.
The restaurant was cozy, low murmurs and clinking glasses wrapping around them like a blanket. They talked over pasta about her preparation for most of her staff to be gone for a week and his garage antics with his brothers in IMC. Their laughter flowed easily.
“Maynard’s come so far,” Silly said, sipping wine, her hand finding his across the table. “Like you, Jake. Resilient as hell.”
He squeezed her fingers, the words stirring that therapy echo: Acknowledge the progress, even when scars remain. But midway through dessert, his phone buzzed with an incoming call from Wildman.
“Shit,” he muttered, answering to hear the man’s calm voice.
“Maynard’s fine, but he’s whining bad. Neighbor heard and said they couldn’t get in touch with you. I’m guessing y’all aren’t home.”
Silly’s eyes met his, understanding instant. “Go,” she said, but he shook his head.
“We go together.”
They boxed the tiramisu, tipping extra, and raced home, the interruption a prick of frustration turning to concern.
Maynard was pacing in the living room, rubbing against every wall and piece of furniture, a low keen escaping.
In his way he was telling them his mostly healed burns were itching fiercely under the fresh fur.
Tank lay on the couch, ears back, clearly worried.
“Hey, boy,” Jock soothed, unfastening the dog gate across the doorway and settling on the floor. Maynard ran over to curl into his lap with a sigh.
Silly joined them, her dress hiked up, running gentle hands over the dog. “Poor guy. We’ll reschedule the date.”
But as Maynard calmed, the evening shifted, morphing into something intimate.
Silly looked at Jock with a tiny smile, got up and used the dimmer on the wall to lower the lights. She grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and moved the coffee table so she had room to spread it in front of the couch.
He shook his head and gently pushed Maynard off his lap. “Momma has a good idea.”
Silly laughed as she walked back into the room, having retrieved the tiramisu from the truck.
“We need a fork. I’ll be right back.” She handed him the container and turned to go to the kitchen.
He gave her ass a little slap. She made a low noise and paused, then walked away again.
“Promises, promises” trailed over her shoulder.
By the time she got back, he’d moved to the blanket, shooing the dogs off to one of the many dog beds. He guided her down into his lap and opened the container. She speared a bite and offered it to him.
“Mmmmm.” Jock took his time with the bite, making obscene noises the whole time he was chewing. “Mmmmm.”
“Oh, you’re such a tease.” She turned in his arms. “My turn.” She opened her mouth.
They fed each other bites while Tank and Maynard snored nearby.
“This is better than any restaurant,” Silly whispered, resting her head on his shoulder, fingers tracing up and down his arm. “Just us, the doggos.”
Jock pulled her closer, that closeness reigniting a spark between them that never fully dimmed. Her lips found his in a slow kiss, her delicate hands tangled in his hair as their passion built.
“Time for bed, lover.” Her voice was soft, longing.
He stood with her in his arms and took the few strides to their bedroom door. “We’ll leave the dogs to their peace.”
Once the door was closed, he let her slide down his front, hands cradling her hips. His fingers found the zipper on her dress, and it was the work of moments to free her from the garment.
Jock looked at her, high breasts cupped in a strapless bra, the tiniest bit of lace trying to hide her core. “Want you, Silly,” he breathed out softly. “Want you so much.”
“I’m always yours, Jake. Always.” She backed up to the bed and sat on the edge. “You’re overdressed, kind sir.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, stripping off his shirt and jeans, then stepping out of his socks.
He stood before her naked, his cock already rising to the occasion.
“Now you’re the one overdressed.” Jock reached out and lifted her, shifting them both higher on the bed.
“But it might be fun to take those off. Lemme see what I can do.”
Jock lifted one breast free from the supportive cup. He played with one nipple, knowing how sensitive they’d become. Lips and teeth, then fingers to tug and pull.
Silly’s breathing changed, becoming erratic, and she let out a long groan. “God. That’s so good, honey. So good.”
He slipped his hand down to her center, fingers finding that magical wetness that made sex so much better. “You’re already ready.” He shifted over top of her, holding the string of fabric to one side as his cock drove home, slowly. “So ready.”
“Always ready for you.” Each word was punctuated with a little gasp as he drove deep in sharp thrusts. “It’s not going to take me long.” Her arms wove around his neck. “Loving you is so good.”
She tightened around him, her body arching up as he pushed deep, finishing with pulses of sensation as he came inside her. With her breathing erratic, she pulled him hard against her. “So good.”
“I’m so glad we had to come home,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” he breathed against her skin, the night ending in tangled sheets, their bond deeper for the detour.
***
The next day they had a final follow-up with the vet scheduled.
Jock and Silly parked in back before walking into the familiar sterile haven of Kent’s practice.
Maynard trotted in with no limp, and as Kent examined the scars, still pink and puckered under the growing fur, he shook his head.
“I’m amazed at how well he’s healing. And gaining weight nicely.
Even the burns look more faded than the last time I saw him.
You know, long-term, he could have sensitivity, maybe arthritis from those old fractures.
He might need ongoing care—meds, maybe hydrotherapy.
Those are all worst-case situations. He could also live to fifteen, still racing around the backyard. ”
Jock’s gut twisted, the words mirroring his own battles: PTSD flares that never fully vanished, therapy a lifelong commitment. Scars don’t erase, he thought, stroking Maynard’s head. Physical or mental. They just become part of the story.