Chapter 5 Crow
Raven popped open a bottle of Jameson and nursed his sore jaw, opening and closing his mouth a few times. The Black Barrel whiskey was a favorite of ours when we drank together, and I knew it was a peace offering and his way of trying to smooth over the shit I walked into when I entered The Roost.
I pushed away the empty container in front of me, having devoured the entire contents of the breakfast Bella ordered for me. Finally got to it after kicking some ass and taking a seat at the bar. Damn tasty too.
“You know you don’t have to crack open the Black Barrel for me,” I announced with a groan, turning my head to spit blood into the trash can.
Pretty sure I chipped a damn tooth, and my lip was split.
There was a gash above my left eye and a bruise on my jaw, not to mention my head pounded from Cuckoo’s meaty fist. My side ached, and there was a good chance one or two of my ribs were cracked.
Raven chuckled and then winced, pouring us both a full glass after dropping a couple of cubes of ice in each. He took a sip as he slid the other my way. “Shut up and fuckin’ drink.”
“That any way to talk to your pres?” I asked, goading him. Old fucker knew it too.
He tossed back a swallow and then swirled the amber fluid in his glass, contemplating my words.
“You comin’ back to stay? The club needs its pres, not a nomad who doesn’t know where to nest. The Roost ain’t shit without the Holmes name. Your blood is in the soil and roots of this old clubhouse.”
I knew that but it still meant a lot to hear Raven say it.
“Shit. This place is so much a part of your kin that your daddy passed on his name. Made you a junior and never wanted you to forget who you are or where you came from. He wanted you to lead this place when he was gone.”
Raven scrubbed a hand down his face and downed the rest of the whiskey, filling his glass again.
“Been Rook’s V.P. for a long time, Crow. Seen a lot of shit. My loyalty is to the club and your family. Always has been.”
“I know that, Raven.”
He slammed a fist onto the bar, clearly feeling emotional about the shit storm we were in. “I need to hear it, son. Tell me what you’re thinkin’. I’m too fuckin’ tore up to drag this shit out.”
I leveled him with a hard stare, not even blinking as I said the words I thought about the entire ride from Los Angeles. “This is my fucking club. I’m the president. No man sits on the throne unless he’s a Holmes.”
Raven blew out a breath and then nodded, grasping my shoulder as he finished off his whiskey. The man I knew and loved as much as my father stood and pulled me into his embrace. I thought I heard him sniffle, but I’d never call him out on it.
“You have my support.”
“Never thought I didn’t,” I replied as we separated, noting the fists pounding on the pool tables and nearby surfaces around the room.
“It’s not gonna be easy, Pres.”
“Nothin’ ever is,” I deadpanned.
Raven tilted his head back and cawed, letting the call come from deep inside his chest. Many of my brothers joined him, each rattling their throats in a similar fashion.
The Devil’s Murder MC was a special breed.
“Church!” I hollered, picking up the bottle of Jameson and skipping a glass, heading toward the chapel. “Now, motherfuckers. I ain’t got all goddamn day. My father’s killer is out there.”
Shouts of agreement burst from those in the room as I passed over sacred ground, entering the place where we made all of our decisions, created business ventures, discussed finances, and overcame obstacles.
Church was as integral and crucial to our survival as those who believed in a god and worshipped him on the sabbath.
For bikers, church was our house of worship, and code was our bible.
I stood at the head of the table, my gaze slowly passing over the framed code we swore our allegiance to when we patched in.
My grandfather’s signature was proudly scrawled along the bottom.
He founded this club and was an original member, groomed my father, and later died defending it.
Turned out that it was a legacy and a curse.
My father died wearing his cut, and I had to wonder if he was defending the club too. Only fate knew where the fuck I fit in.
Tilting back the bottle, I gulped down a few swallows and set it down on the table with a soft thud.
Butterscotch liquid swished around the interior and then settled as I picked up the gavel reserved for the pres.
A heavy wave of emotion crashed into my chest as my fist closed around the wooden handle.
I’d seen my pops wield this with both pride and sorrow over the years. It carried a heavy burden and a shit ton of responsibility, not to mention power. Took a strong will to handle it with precision, leadership, intellect, and skill.
Raven said being pres was in my blood. Pops told me the same thing once. I wasn’t sure I could live up to Rook’s name, but I intended to try.
My club members, the men I knew as brothers, quietly watched as I gathered my thoughts and finally slammed down the gavel. The months I’d been gone didn’t matter.
“Church is in session. First order of business, I’m your pres, and any man who’s against it can take his ass through that door right now. Just drop your cut on the fuckin’ way out.”
Several men smirked. Claw shook his head. Raven stared down at the group as if he dared anyone to speak up.
Only Cuckoo uttered a sound. His crazy ass belted out a caw...caw, and then he laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “Too fucking tense in here.”
A few chuckles followed.
Hawk pounded a fist on the table, and I knew my Sargeant at Arms didn’t like the guys fooling around during church. “Listen up. Pres has the floor.”
“I’m not gonna act like I don’t know how hard it’s been.
The club needs vengeance, and I won’t be stopping that.
Hell, I welcome it. But before you all condemn me for not making it to Rook’s funeral, remember one thing.
” I paused, staring each of them in the eyes.
“He might have been the pres, but he was my father.” My voice broke, and I sucked in a breath, hating the weakness I showed but knowing they needed to feel my pain to understand it.
“I wasn’t here when he needed me, and I let him down.
I have to live with that, and I couldn’t show up to his grave without making this right.
” My fist thumped my chest as I closed my eyes briefly.
“I’ll avenge you, Pops. I swear to fuck I’ll get vindication for your death and the club.
Our enemies will fucking suffer. Their blood will paint the streets red. ”
Raven jumped to his feet and roared, “Kraaaaa!”
The shouts of my brothers joined us, raising their fists and voices, each ready to hunt down our prey and spill the blood of the men who dared to murder Rook and start a war with the Devil’s Murder MC.
ROLLING OVER ON MY sectional, I pushed upward, groggily dragging my body to a sitting position.
Faint knocking pulled me from the realm of seductive biker dreams, and my annoyance surged when I realized someone was knocking on my door.
Ugh. Checking my phone, I noticed I had only slept five hours. No wonder I felt like shit.
I gathered my hair into a bun and made sure I wasn’t naked, striding up to the door and throwing it open with a hiss. “This better be good.”
A kid with a head full of wiry copper-colored hair blinked twice, stumbling over his words.
“Uh, Mr. Cow said I sh-should, um, bring your car back to you, miss.” He held out my keys, smiling as I reached for them.
His eyes swept over me once, and then he blushed.
“Mr. Crow said he would see you this evening.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Patches on the kid’s cut only revealed that he was a prospect. He seemed young, barely legal enough to drink. “What’s your name?”
His head lifted, and he seemed to be concentrating on the roof of my porch. “Don’t got none. They call me Red sometimes.”
“You don’t have a name?” I asked, incredulous.
“Nope. Not until I patch in and receive my road name.” He flashed a quick smile. “I can’t wait.”
When his gaze swept over me again, he looked down, avoiding eye contact. Was he shy?
“Well, thanks for bringing my car back. Better not be any scratches,” I warned, joking with him. Red was far too tense.
“Not a single one. I drove extra slow on the way.”
“Great! Have a nice day, Red. Appreciate you bringing over my baby.”
“It’s a sweet car. Hot as fuck too.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, bye.”
He took off like his ass was on fire, and I watched him walk to the sidewalk, practically running back to the IHOP, where he probably had his transportation waiting.
I shook my head at his odd but somewhat sweet behavior and entered the house, closing the door and locking it before I tossed my keys in my purse. Yawning, I headed into the kitchen, catching my reflection in the mirror.
Oh shit!
It was hot when I fell asleep, and I forgot that I had stripped most of my clothes off.
I wore a pair of black lacy boyshorts and a black sports bra.
I must have tossed and turned a lot because half my breast was flopping out of the bra, and most of my nipple was exposed.
Laughter bubbled up my chest, and I couldn’t stop giggling at the thought of poor Red trying not to stare at my tits.
That prospect tried hard not to look, but he couldn’t help himself.
His gaze slid over me a few times, and he swallowed hard.
I probably added to his spank bank tonight.
“Oh, hell,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I needed that laugh.”
My phone buzzed, and I rushed from the kitchen, snatching it up as I caught the missed call.
Crow. Shit. Should I call him back?
I didn’t get a chance. He must have hit redial because his name popped up as I contemplated my next move. After three rings, I swiped across the screen.
“There better be a reason you’re interrupting my beauty sleep, Crow.”
“Aw, darlin’, you don’t need it.”
I’d bet anything he was grinning that I’ll-gobble-you-up smile while he said it. “Aren’t you sweet?”
“To you, baby? Always.” He paused, and I heard someone talking to him in the background. “Better wear boots tonight and nothin’ too fancy.”
“Oh?”
“Our date involves the outdoors.”
“Going all romantic on me, Mr. Biker?”
“Somethin’ like that, sugar. Be ready for me. I’m comin’ in hot.”
“Just the way I like,” I quipped, shamelessly flirting back.
“Damn, honey. You gave me a chub. Don’t say things like that unless you want my tongue invading all your sweet spots.”
Um, hi. Sign me up. Yes, yes, yes. “You’re a smooth talker. Better have the equipment to back it up.”
“Want to find out tonight? I’ll show you.” Soft laughter filtered through the phone with a touch of grit, and I swear I nearly orgasmed on the spot.
“You’re dangerous, Crow.” To my heart and my life. He was everything I wanted, coming at the wrong time in the worst circumstances. How was I so unlucky? Couldn’t the universe give me a break for once?
“Only to your heart, darlin’. Got to get goin’. See you at six.”
He never bothered to ask if I had the night off. Crow probably assumed I did or that I would change plans for him.
Such arrogance.
And yet, at the same time, I enjoyed his confidence and raw sensuality.
The man was pure sin. I wanted to lick him like my favorite sucker and savor every inch of his hard flesh.
My imagination ran wild, and I headed toward my bedroom, opening the dresser drawer for the release I needed as the ache between my legs pulsed, eager to come with his name on my lips.
Practice for later? Not tonight, but soon.
If thoughts of sex with Crow brought on this kind of reaction, what would the actual deed be like?