Chapter 41
Taven
I carefully crawled on top of Keith, making sure not to touch his chest. Leaning over, I pressed my lips to his as I gently slid inside of him. He winced, and I backed off. “You good?” I whispered.
He nodded, rubbing his fingers along my back. I gave him another gentle thrust and watched as his teeth gritted with pain. I didn’t want to keep going, but Keith insisted that he was craving my cock. Since I hadn’t had him for a while, I obliged. Keith was the one who usually liked it hard and fast when he topped. But I didn’t mind slow sex, savoring the feeling.
His hand gripped my hair, and I hissed, dropping my lips to his neck. I thrust in again, and he groaned. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I whispered, running my tongue along his jawline. He nodded. As gently as I could, I thrust into him again. He moaned, tossing his head back. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He was so fucking sexy. There were times I couldn’t believe he was mine. Or at least partially mine.
Sitting up, I picked up my pace slightly, only to stop abruptly when Keith cried out, “Stop! Fucking root beer! I can’t, I can’t.” He grumbled. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“What are you sorry for?” I cooed.
“Cuz I wanted some fucking dick and I’m making you stop.”
I grinned, brushing my hand through his hair. “I can go get prepped, and maybe you can dick me down.”
He shook his head. “Man, my ribs are on fire. I don’t think I could get hard if I tried. You could feed me a bottle of Viagra and the little fucker still wouldn’t work.”
I laughed and looked down. “Who you callin’ little? You alone break the myth about white dudes being small.”
He half-chuckled, half-groaned. “Guess I’m a freak of nature. Maybe you can call Quinn, and she can take care of you tonight.”
“She’s with Zane. You know she’s getting dick right now.”
Rolling his eyes, Keith tried to sit up. He winced, and I pulled out. “Head over and tell him you get seconds.”
“Nah, I’m good. He needs to have time alone with her. We get each other when Quinn isn’t with us, but Zane has no one else.”
Keith grunted as he forced himself up, clenching the sheets with a tight fist. “Why does he have to be straight?”
I chuckled, pulling on my pants. “Cuz he doesn’t know any better. Besides, he only gets a couple hours anyway. We need to grab Quinn’s cop tonight.”
“I should be going with you.”
“No, the fuck you won’t. You can’t even handle gentle sex. You ain’t coming with us.”
He glared at me. “I lost everything that day. I can’t lose you and Zane, too. Especially you. I wouldn’t survive that.”
“Look, I’m just gonna say it, and I ain’t gonna sugar coat it. If you can’t handle gentle dick, then you’re just putting us in more danger by being there. Zane and I can handle ourselves. We got this. Trust me.” I pressed my lips to his so he couldn’t argue. “It’ll be fine. Get some sleep. I’ll be expecting a hand job when I get home.” He gave a pained laugh.
Blowing a kiss, I left the room. Zane showed up at the clubhouse an hour later on Keith’s bike, looking very pleased. I didn’t need to ask. He always had a shit-eating grin after sex, no matter who he fucked. I tried to ignore it and keep my own boner in check. We had to be on point.
Dressed in cold-weather gear, we headed to a large fishing pond in the middle of nowhere. From what Zane had been able to find out, Moralles’ brother owned the property, and the pig stopped by every morning he had a day off. If we did our math correctly, the fucker would show up around five a.m. to cast his line.
I looked down at the small gun in my hand, studying it. It wasn’t anything special. We would stash a throw-away nine-millimeter in Chin’s storage unit when we finished the deed to pin this particular murder on him. After all, we couldn’t do the regular ritual. It needed to look like Chin shot the man with an unregistered weapon. If he was stabbed, it would look like a setup. Due to Zane’s piss poor eyesight, I was the better shot, so this mission fell to me. “Do you think anyone is going to hear?” I whispered, pushing a pine tree branch away from my face.
Zane shrugged, rubbing his hands together. “His brother owns about one hundred acres. Nobody will hear shit. And it’s out in the country. Who’s to say someone isn’t shooting at a coyote?”
I shivered. “I can’t believe he goes fishing in November. It’s fucking freezing. Fucking white people shit.”
Zane rolled his eyes. “Racist prick.”
I glared at him. “I’m dating a white guy and a white chick. How the fuck am I racist?”
He chuckled, “Fetishizer.”
“Don’t make me shoot you and toss you into that pond, bro.”
“You love me too much for that. But you’re right, that’s some white people shit.”
We both laughed until we spotted headlights off in the distance. “That him?”
“We’re about to find out,” he whispered.
Together, we pulled back into the thick of the pine trees, trying to stay away from the light. I prayed Moralles set up shop with his back to us. Normally, I would prefer to shoot him in the chest, but there was no guarantee the man wouldn’t be a quicker shot. We needed to make Chin look like a cold-blooded murderer. He ordered the hit on our families, so he was more than shady enough to shoot a man in the back.
A large white truck pulled up along the other side of the pond, blaring country music. The engine stopped, and the cop stepped out, dressed in a heavy winter camo with black Carhart overalls. Casually, he walked behind the truck and began pulling out gear. A small rope to keep fish on, his rod, a bucket, a chair, and... a .22 rifle. I cringed. There must be coyotes roaming around; otherwise, why would he feel the need to carry that thing?
The worst part was how far away he was. It would have been better for us to be set up on the other side of the lake, but there was no cover.
“I don’t know what the fuck to do,” I whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Zane, I can’t hit him from this far away with a pistol. I ain’t James Bond, motherfucker.”
“Doesn’t James Bond usually use gadgets?”
I stared at him. “Who the fuck cares? My point is I can’t hit him from here, and there’s no cover anywhere else.”
Slouching, Zane looked around. “We may have to lure him back here.”
“How?”
“Maybe we can get him to do more white people shit.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” I whisper-yelled.
“White people always check out weird sounds. It’s like in our DNA and shit. We can make some noise and get him to come check it out.”
“You’re gonna risk everything on a stereotype?” I deadpanned.
Zane cracked a smile. “The man is out fishing at five a.m. in November. He’s gonna come check shit out.”
There weren’t many trees where we were hiding. Less than one hundred feet away was open land with a pile of brush and fallen trunks standing on the edge.
“I’ll hide in the trees, you lure him to the brush pile,” I instructed.
My friend nodded, and we got into position. Sticking his head around the stack, Zane let out a whistle. I tried to see the man sitting by the pond, but we were further away, so it was harder to get a clear view. Another whistle grabbed the man’s attention. My eyes stayed locked on him as he slowly got to his feet and picked up the .22. Fuck, why didn’t Zane think of that?
Drawing back into the trees, I tried to keep an eye on the cop’s movements around the pond; the foliage did me no favors. Zane whistled again. I heard the pig before I saw him. He crashed through the brush, not bothering to be stealthy. As he got closer, I heard a crack. Zane had thrown something off in the distance, creating another distraction. It worked; the man moved towards the sound.
I gripped the pistol tightly in my hand as I emerged from my hiding spot, making a conscious effort to not make a lot of noise. I took a few more steps, and my foot caught on something. I grunted, hitting the ground so hard the gun flew from my hand. Before I could push myself up, the cop turned, pointing his rifle at my head.
“Who the fuck are you? This is private property!” he shouted.
Licking my lips, I held my hands up and glanced around. I needed Zane to make another distraction, but I didn’t want to signal him in front of the pig. As I stared at the weapon, I remembered a lesson Keith had taught me. Run away from a knife. Run towards a gun. Swallowing hard, I lunged, gripping the barrel of the rifle in my hand and pushing it upward. It fired, causing my ears to ring. The man tumbled to the ground and seized my bad arm, making me cry out in pain and release my grip. The fucker took advantage, crawling on top of me and striking me across the face with bare fists. I damn near shit myself when another gunshot rang through the air. The cop looked down at me, blinked, and fell to his side. With a groan, I shoved him off and glanced at Zane, who was holding the pistol.
Breathing heavily, Zane asked, “Now what the fuck do we do?