Chapter One Deacon #2
That’s where he’d met my adopted mom—she was a fresh-faced, pure of heart and body, eighteen-year-old beauty. The daughter of a church elder. She saw him as the lost, black sheep she could lead into the fold.
But even after he married the virtuous woman and started spreading the good word, the biker bred into him raged and clawed to be free. Then two years after I came to live with him, his preaching ended in a true blaze of glory.
That was the night he killed one of his own flock.
I’d never been given the entire story, but I did know it had to do with the man hurting Rev somehow.
Preach didn’t do any time—instead, the transient man just “disappeared.” Most of the congregation had been made up of truly lost souls without hope or family, so it was easy to bury him in the deep woods behind the compound without anyone asking questions.
After that night, the biker emerged strong and proud, which caused Preach and Mama Liz’s marriage to go down in flames.
They separated after that, but they never divorced.
My mother, along with my brothers and me, stayed in the village row house while Preach slept at the clubhouse that had once been his church.
While she loathed the biker world, Mama Liz watched helplessly as each of us followed in Preach’s footsteps by patching into the Raiders.
I think the three of us boys kept her constantly on her knees in prayer.
But even though we were bad ass bikers, we still loved and respected the hell out of her.
She was the best mother a guy could ever ask for, and she never treated me any differently than her blood sons.
Once I eased my bike to a stop in front of the clubhouse, I pulled off my helmet and hung it from one of the handlebars.
I didn’t have much to say to Bishop or the two prospects who stood outside the clubhouse’s front door.
No, I had a singular focus at the moment, and that was getting some ass.
After handling a job, I needed a release, and sex was usually how I handled it.
With a determined step, I headed inside.
Guns and Roses blared from the jukebox. My gaze flicked around the room, searching for one thing in particular.
Or one person in particular. And then I found her.
From behind the bar, Cheyenne Bates bent over the worn, mahogany counter, washing down the spilled beer and wiping away the crushed peanuts and chips.
Her long, blonde hair was swept back in a ponytail.
At the perfect view of her ample cleavage, my dick pounded against my zipper.
As if she could sense me watching her, she jerked her head up, her intense blue eyes meeting my gaze.
A slow, seductive smile slid across her lips.
Holding up a hand, I crooked a finger at her.
She tossed the rag on the counter, and then hurried around the side of the bar.
She teetered on her tall but sexy-as-hell heels as she closed the gap between us.
Throwing her arms around my neck, she then hoisted herself up to wrap her legs around my waist. “Hey baby, I missed you.”
“Hmm, I missed you, too,” I replied, dipping my head to nuzzle the tops of her breasts. I steered us past the other guys and down the hallway. Once I got to my room, I kept one hand kneading Cheyenne’s ass while the other went to open the door.
I’d been fucking Cheyenne almost exclusively for the last year.
Occasionally, a new piece of ass might turn my head when I was on a run or at a rally.
But I liked the fact that Cheyenne knew exactly how to blow my mind as I was blowing my load.
She wasn’t one of those chicks who expected you to get them off several times before they even thought about touching your dick.
She always took care of me first. I like that shit.
Once I set her down on her feet, she sank to her knees in front of me.
Her fingers came to my waist to loosen my belt and then unbutton and unzip my jeans.
When she sprang my cock, she wasted no time sliding her lips down my shaft until I was deep-throating her.
“Fuck,” I groaned, my head falling back with the out-of-this-world sensations of Cheyenne’s incredible head-giving skills.
The woman had a mouth like a fucking Hoover.
Taking her head in my hands, I began to flex my hips and fuck her mouth. It wasn’t long until my balls were tightening up, and my cum was shooting into her mouth. She sucked and licked up every drop. I stared down at her with a lazy smile. “You sure know how to treat your man good, baby.”
“Mmm, I love it. My panties are fucking soaked now just from sucking you off.”
The fact that she could almost out dirty talk me was another thing that made me hot for Cheyenne.
Sure, she’d been a crow eater for years and years, and she’d been broken in by every single guy in the club, including Preacher Man.
Her experience made her worth my time. Of course, since I’d been fucking just her for the last year, she had it in her head I was going to make her my old lady.
But that was never going to happen. Not with her or any of the other crow eaters in the club—not any girl. Period.
Grabbing her shoulders, I drew her off her knees. “I think it’s time I felt just how wet I got you.”
“Yes, please.”
Cheyenne pulled off her skin-tight T-shirt.
Like magnets, my hands went straight for her tits.
After freeing them from her see-through bra, I brought one to my mouth, sucking and biting at her nipple.
I alternated from breast to breast while Cheyenne panted and moaned.
My hands came to her jeans. Once I slid them down her legs, I grabbed her by the waist and tossed her onto the bed.
Her eyes burned with lust as I loomed over her.
After tearing off her tiny scrap of a thong, I jerked her legs wide apart and buried my face between them. Cheyenne shrieked her approval, her acrylic nails scraping through my hair. “Oh yeah, baby. Just like that. Fuck me with your tongue!” she shouted, her hips rising in time with my tongue.
A loud knock banged at the door, and then Rev’s voice followed. “Deacon, I need you out front.”
I didn’t even bother raising my head from Cheyenne’s pussy. Instead, I shouted, “Get the fuck out of here. I’m busy.”
While I returned to licking and sucking Cheyenne’s clit, the unwelcome interruption remained at the door. I growled in frustration when the banging on the wood started up again.
“Deacon, I’m not fucking playing, man. I need your ass out here. Now!”
When I pulled away, Cheyenne mewled in frustration, her legs scissoring for friction. She’d been close before we were interrupted. Craning my neck toward the door, I shouted, “If this isn’t a matter of life or death, I will cut your fucking balls off!”
“It is,” came Rev’s muffled reply.
“Motherfucker,” I grumbled, as I slid off the bed. Snatching up my T-shirt and jeans, I put them on in record speed. When Cheyenne started to get up, I shook my head. “You stay just like that.”
With a sly smile, she spread her legs and ran her fingers teasingly over her pussy. “Just like this?”
“Yeah, but don’t get yourself off while I’m gone. I’m the only one who gets to do that.”
She scowled at me just before I turned to head to the door. When I threw it open, Rev shot me a disgusted look. “For fuck’s sake, man, wipe your mouth and fix your hair a little.”
Instead of arguing that I didn’t give two shits what anyone thought of my appearance, I licked my lips to savor Cheyenne a little longer. Then I dragged my arm across my mouth. As we started down the hall, I jerked a hand through my hair to try to tame the mess that Cheyenne had made.
When I rounded the corner, a silver-haired Hispanic woman came into view.
Her apprehension of being in the clubhouse was rolling off her in waves.
Her dark eyes darted from left to right, and she nervously fidgeted with her flowing, multicolored skirt.
I couldn’t imagine what was so fucking important about this woman to interrupt a fuck-fest.
When her gaze landed on me, her hand flew to her throat.
Her expression appeared as someone who had seen a ghost. I glanced from her to Bishop.
His usual poker face had been abandoned for one of disbelief.
It wasn’t something I was used to seeing.
I cocked my brows at him, and he slowly shook his head.
After exhaling a frustrated breath, I asked, “Now what is so fucking important I had to be dragged out here?”
“You David Malloy?” she asked, in a thick accent. Even though she had asked the question, I could tell she already knew exactly who I was.
“Si, senora,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.
Hearing her native tongue didn’t impress her. Instead, she shot me a disapproving look, like I was being a giant smart-ass, and she was probably right. “I’m Yelena Martinez—Lacey’s neighbor.”
I snorted contemptuously. “Don’t tell me she sent you to try to get some money out of me or something? I cut ties with that bitch five years ago.”
“I no friend of hers.”
“Then what the fuck do you want?”
Behind me, Rev coughed his disapproval for my hostile tone, and I rolled my eyes. “Why are you here about Lacey?” I asked.
“She dead.”
I didn’t like it when my chest tightened at the news.
Lacey King had been my first love—my only real love if I was honest. We were together for three years.
Her occasional drug use and drinking hadn’t been an issue when we first started dating, but after her mother died in a car accident, it morphed into a true addiction.