7. Rick
7
RICK
Mrs. Wilson doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’d throw herself in front of three teenage vandals. At seventy-two, she’s barely five feet tall, with silver hair always perfectly styled and floral dresses that remind me of my grandmother. But here she is, brandishing her garden shears like a weapon.
“Get away from my roses, you little monsters!”
Her voice carries across my front lawn as I’m getting off my bike. The kids—probably sixteen, definitely stupid—freeze mid-spray. Red paint drips from her rosebushes.
What happens next moves in slow motion. The tallest kid shoves her. Not hard, but enough. My blood runs cold.
“Hey!” The word comes out as a growl. Three heads snap toward me.
Ten minutes and some creative threats later, they’re replanting roses under her watchful eye. Amazing how quickly teenage boldness crumbles when they realize they’ve fucked with an MC member’s neighbor.
“Those boys needed direction,” Mrs. Wilson says, pressing a cup of her awful tea into my hands. “Like you three did when you first moved here.”
She’s right. Thirty-something years ago, we were those kids—angry, lost, looking for trouble. Mrs. Wilson’s garden was the only spot of beauty on our street back then. Still is.
“They won’t bother you again.” I help her with the last plant, mind wandering to what Zane told me earlier.
“You’ve got that look,” she says, brushing dirt from her dress. “The one you wore when Amy Mitchell broke your heart in high school. Girl trouble?”
If she only knew. Zane’s words echo in my head: “You might want to have a talk with Chase about our new neighbor. Things got interesting in his studio today.”
The house is quiet inside except for the noise from Chase’s studio. My brother’s words from our last “talk” about professional boundaries ring in my head. Walking in on him and Evie today must have been quite a show.
I find Chase sketching, music low, totally focused. Not unusual.
“Zane told me about what happened today.”
He doesn’t even look up. “Did he now?”
“Want to explain?”
“Not particularly.” But there’s something in his tone—satisfaction and challenge—that makes me pause.
“Chase.”
He spins in his chair, that damn smirk I’ve known since he was sixteen plastered on his face. “What? You gonna lecture me about boundaries again?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“No?” He holds my gaze. “Tell that to your eyes every time she bends over. And I know I’m not the only one who’s kissed her already.”
Fuck. He knows.
“She’s different,” he continues, softer now. “You feel it too. How she looks at all of us. And brother, the show she puts on by that window…”
My throat tightens. “What show?”
His grin widens. “She puts on a show by her window a couple of times a week. First found out a few days after she moved into town. At first, there were curtains, but lately there’s been none. Just Evie Ashbourne stripping stark naked for just my eyes. And get this—she’s willing to perform for all three of us.”
“You can’t be serious right now,” I say, desperate to believe that my brother’s lying.
“Shit, I’m late.” Chase checks his phone. “I’d love to stay and chat, but the game’s starting at Draven’s. He grabs his jacket. “Talk later, bro.”
I stand there long after he leaves, his words burning in my brain. After a shower and dinner I can’t taste, I try to focus on paperwork. But all I can think about is Evie, next door, maybe undressing right now.
My feet carry me to Chase’s room before I can stop myself. The window’s right there. Just one look…
Jesus Christ.
She stands in full view, with no curtains between us. Moonlight paints her skin silver as she slowly unbuttons her blouse. My cock hardens instantly, straining against my jeans as I watch her deliberate movements.
My hand moves without conscious thought, freeing myself as she reveals more skin. Each button she unfastens makes the grip on my cock tighten. When her blouse finally slides off, I have to bite back a groan.
Some responsible part of my brain says to walk away, to be the mature, upright leader. But she turns, giving me her profile as she reaches for her bra, and all self-control vanishes.
I stroke myself slowly, matching her unhurried pace. She’s more beautiful than fantasy—strong and soft all at once. When black lace falls away, my rhythm falters.
She has to know what she’s doing to us. My brain memorizes each graceful movement. As she slides her hands down her body, I imagine they’re mine. I picture how she’d feel under my touch.
My strokes quicken as she hooks her thumbs in her panties. The sight of her completely bare in the moonlight pushes me toward the edge. No wonder Chase couldn’t resist.
Close now, I grip the windowsill with my free hand. She stretches, arching her back, and that’s all it takes. I come with her name trapped behind clenched teeth, barely keeping myself upright.
We’re all utterly fucked. And from that knowing smile curving her lips as she disappears into her bathroom, she’s fully aware of her power over us.
The numbers blur on my laptop screen. Hard to focus when all I can think about is how Evie looked last night, each movement designed to drive a man crazy.
Keys jingle at the front of the gallery. Speak of the devil.
“You’re here late.” Her voice carries down the hall.
I force myself to keep staring at the screen, not at how her dress hugs every curve I watched her reveal yesterday. “Could say the same to you.”
“Quarterly reports won’t file themselves.” She leans against my doorway, and Christ, her perfume hits me like a shot of whiskey. “Unless you’d rather I came back tomorrow?”
“No.” The word comes too quickly. “Stay.”
She settles at the small desk I put in my office last week, close enough that I catch every shift of her body. Every breath. The scratch of her pen on paper fills the silence.
“How long have you owned this place?” she asks after a while.
“Five years.” I lean back, grateful for the distraction from memories of last night. “Chase needed somewhere legitimate to work. Zane needed direction. I needed…”
“A purpose?”
Something in her tone makes me look up. She watches me with those green eyes that see too much.
“Something like that.”
“And the Black Wolves?”
My muscles tense. “What about it?”
“Just curious.” She stands, moving to examine the photos on my wall. “Three brothers are running a successful business that’s respected in town. There’s got to be a story there.”
“Not much to tell.” I join her by the wall, closer than I should. “Life gave us choices. We made them.”
“Simple as that?” She turns, and suddenly there’s barely space between us.
“Nothing’s simple.” Especially not the way her breath catches when I lean closer.
“Rick…”
This kiss is different from our first. No surprise, no hesitation.
My hands slide lower, gripping her thighs. When I lift her against the wall, she wraps her legs around my waist instantly. The friction is maddening, her body fitting against mine like it was made for this.
The dress rides up, revealing her soft and inviting skin. My fingers skim along her bare thigh, tracing the line of her stockings until they meet warm, silken flesh.
I press closer, grinding against her core, and the sound she makes—half gasp, half moan—shoots straight to my cock.
“Rick, please?—”
Her voice is a plea, raw and desperate, and it ignites something feral in me. My hand slides between us, slipping under the hem of her dress and pushing her panties aside.
She’s already wet, slick heat meeting my fingers as I find her clit and rub slow, deliberate circles. Her body jerks at the contact, her breath hitching as her nails dig into my shoulders.
“You like that?” I murmur, my voice rough against her ear.
She can’t answer, only nodding as her hips buck against my hand, chasing the friction. Her head falls back against the wall, exposing the curve of her throat. I take the opportunity to press my lips there, sucking lightly until her soft moans fill the space between us.
“Rick…oh God…”
I’m losing myself in her, in the way her body responds to every touch, every stroke. Her thighs tremble around me, and I know she’s close, so fucking close?—
A phone rings, shrill and demanding.
She stiffens in my arms. “I have to?—”
“Let it ring.” I nip at her collarbone, right where that tattoo peeks out.
“It’s my daughters’ school,” she says as she unwraps her legs. “I have to answer.”
“How’d you know it’s them?”
“Special ringtone.”
I step back, watching her smooth her dress with trembling hands. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, and my fingers have messed with her hair.
“Violet?” she answers, voice impressively steady. “What’s wrong, baby?”
The transformation fascinates me—from seductress to mother in seconds. Makes me wonder how much of either is real.
“I’ll be right there.” She ends the call, already gathering her things. “Violet’s running a fever. I need to?—”
“It’s alright. Go.” I fight the urge to pull her back into my arms. “The reports can wait.”
She pauses at the door. “Rick, about this?—”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
But we won’t. Just like we never talked about the first kiss. Just like she’ll probably put on another show for Chase’s window next week, pretending she doesn’t know I watch too.
Some things are better left unspoken.
I wait until her car starts before adjusting myself in my jeans. Tomorrow, we’ll all pretend this never happened. Keep playing our parts—the responsible brother, the professional employee.