12. Screamer
SCREAMER
There's only one woman who can get the job done.
Tuning out the music penetrating my bedroom walls, I strip out of my greasy clothes and stride into the en suite bathroom to shower. I put in another long day at the shop, longer than usual, and all I want to do is wash the grime from my body and have a few drinks before crashing.
As I let the hot water cascade over my head, my thoughts return to the same thing they have all week: Roxie. I’ve told myself time and time again that thinking about her, daydreaming about her, will only get me into trouble. But my brain doesn’t seem to give a shit.
Neither does your cock.
When an image of her flashes, I’m instantly hard. Doing my best to ignore my raging boner, I force myself to focus on getting clean, and before getting out to dry, I turn the water to cold and stand there for a few minutes and wait for my lust to wane.
It doesn’t happen, but I refuse to rub one out for the seventh day in a row.
Ten minutes later, I’m walking into the main area of the clubhouse, heading straight for the bar. There isn’t a party or anything tonight, so it’s mostly club members, Bangin’ Betties, and old ladies filling the room, and there are several prospects as well.
“Hey, brother,” Tracer greets when I slide onto the stool next to him.
I grunt in response.
“What can I get ya?” Braydon, the prospect behind the bar, asks.
“As long as it’s cold, I don’t really care.”
“Rough day?” Tracer asks while Braydon snags a bottle of Perpetual Peace from the cooler and hands it to me.
“You could say that,” I mumble.
“Anything I can do?”
I glare at the prospect and tip my head to indicate that he should walk away before answering Tracer. Once we’re alone, I say, “Maybe.”
“Name it.”
Don’t do it. It’s wrong. Don’t, don’t, don’t.
“I need you to do some digging for me,” I tell him.
And you’re doing it.
“Diggin’ is what I do best,” Tracer announces proudly. “Well, that and bustin’ heads. Oh, and pussy. I do pussy real fuckin’ good, too.”
Laughing, I shake my head at him. “How ‘bout we stick to the digging?”
He grins with a shrug. “Sure, no problem. Whaddya need me to dig into?”
“Not a what. A who.”
“Even better.” He downs what remains of his beer and knocks the glass on the bar top to get Braydon’s attention. Once he has a fresh brew, he asks, “So, who am I getting all the nitty gritty on?”
I hesitate, berating myself for what I’m about to do, but I know my mind is already made up, so I blurt, “Name’s Roxie.”
“Roxie, huh?”
“Yep.” I take a long pull from my beer. “She’s Shuffle’s little sister.”
Tracer blanches. “Shuffle, as in the president of Limitless Throttle MC?”
“The one and only.”
“Damn, man, that’s ballsy. What did she do… turn ya down or something?”
“Or something.”
“Ooookay.” He draws out the word. “You know if I do this and get caught, Shuffle’s gonna end me, right? Not to mention the potential shitstorm this could bring between our clubs.”
“I do,” I confirm. “And I’m asking you anyway. Besides, you won’t get caught.”
Tracer blows out a breath and takes a drink. “You’re right, I won’t, but still.”
“Will you do it or not?” I bark, getting impatient.
“Of course, I will. But it’s gonna cost ya.”
“What do you want?”
He takes his time responding, and I clench my jaw while I wait. “Free tune-up on my bike.”
“That’s…” I shake my head. “Journey and I already do that for all the brothers.”
“That’s my price.”
“Done.”
“Good. Now, what do you want to know about this Roxie chick?”
Everything.
“Whatever you can find.”
“And when do you want this done by?”
“Yesterday.”
Tracer laughs. “Got it. Gimme twenty-four hours.”
“You got it. Oh, and one more thing.”
Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “What?”
“Let’s keep this between us.”
“I figured.”
“Thanks, T.”
“No problem.” He polishes off the rest of his beer, stands, and turns to face the rest of the room. I follow his gaze and laugh when I see where it’s landed. “Looks like I’ve got some other business to attend to.”
I watch as he saunters toward Molly. When he reaches her, she smiles at him and drags her fingers down his chest. It won’t be long before he’s got her on her knees, sucking his dick.
Movement catches my attention, and I inwardly groan when I spot Sunny, another Bangin’ Betty, sashaying in my direction. Grabbing my beer, I rise to my feet and turn my back on her to go to my room.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I need to get laid, but there’s only one woman who can get the job done.
And she’s as skittish as a newborn colt and as forbidden as the apple in the Garden of Eden.