20. Chapter 20
twenty
S till laughing, Heavy caught Cassie easily before she could so much as get off of the sofa, one hand on her near thigh, the other clamping on her far hip.
His hands hot, calloused and powerful, but still gentle, he hauled her back across the smooth expanse of leather, all the way into the curve of his hard body, quivering with mirth.
“Let me go,” she whined, batting at his hands—although admittedly not very hard, because being cradled this close in the angle of his huge body was nice. More than nice, it was even more intoxicating than the whiskey. She was surrounded by his heat, his scent. Mm-mm, he smelled sooo good.
“Aw, quit, babe,” he rumbled in her ear, his voice still quivering a little. “I like knowing you like the way I look.”
And just when those incredibly frank words had sunk deep, causing even more fluttering in her middle, he went on. “An’ I like the way you look too. Know what you oughtta have a license for?”
“What?” she gulped.
“These,” he told her. She looked down mesmerized as his hand covered the top of her thigh.
Against her smooth, silky skin his hand looked even more masculine, roughened with short, dark hairs, thickened with muscle, his palm hot as a brand against her skin, the edge of his thumb calloused as he stroked it up just under the edge of her skirt. “These sweet legs of yours, so firm and strong, makes a man wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around his back. But mostly, for your sweet ass.”
She gazed up at him. Their faces were so close he had to tip his chin down to look at her. His breath puffed warm and whiskey laden on her cheek, and she could see faint freckles across his nose and upper cheeks, see the green-and-gold striations in his pupils.
“You do not think I should have a license for my ass,” she breathed.
“I do,” he stated.
“No, you don’t.”
He tipped his head to one side and frowned quizzically. “Babe, I do. You got a bangin’ ass— in this little skirt, it’s smokin’ hot. Makes a man wanna grab it and squeeze, then hold on for the sweetest ride.”
Cassie lost the ability to breathe. All she could do was gape at him, her blood singing through her veins, and heat twining through her, blooming low and sweet.
Her ass might not be smoking, but other parts of her definitely were right now—well, they were hot and wet anyway. And it was good that she was sitting, because she was pretty sure her knees wouldn’t support her if she tried to stand. Her legs felt weak and quivery.
And he felt it too—she could tell, could feel awareness pulsing between them, like pure fuel ready to ignite with the slightest spark.
His hand on her thigh squeezed, as if testing the plush muscle of her thigh, and his thumb moved, stroking her inner thigh, inches from where she wanted it, so badly she squirmed in his grasp, her breath hitching.
He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring, and the muscles of his torso expanding and then contracting against her side. “Fuck,” he growled. “Gonna kiss you now. You don’t want it, say so now.”
“Uh-huh,” she breathed, her gaze falling to his lips, not full but wide, and curved just right. They tipped up and in at the corners, his dimple appearing, and his hand stroked farther up her thigh, toward where she wanted, no needed it so badly to be.
“Uh-huh, kiss you, or uh-uh as in, no?”
She shook her head, then nodded, unable to follow the logic of that while he was this close. “You can … kiss me,” she breathed. “Please, please kiss me, Marcus.” She’d been waiting so long.
He moved closer, so close his warm breath puffed across her skin, so close she felt wrapped in male heat and power and need. So close she could easily kiss him instead of waiting for him to tease her some more.
So she did.
His lips were warm, soft and firm against hers. She parted her lips, tasting his, revelling in the fact that it was him she was kissing—finally. Her head swam with whiskey and him.
Finally, finally him.
She slid her hand inside his cut, at last getting her hands on his broad, hard chest, and wriggled closer till her upper knee was over his thigh.
Sublime, or it would have been, if he would help out a little.
She tipped her head back just enough to pout up at him. “So are you gonna kiss me back, or what?”
He blinked, his eyes hazy, his cheeks flushed. Then his powerful hands tightened on her back, pressing her closer to him. “Huh? Trus’ me, baby, you’re doin’ just fine. Isn’t every day a man like me has a pixie put her moves on him.”
“A little recip-ro-ca-tion would be nice,” she retorted, her tongue nearly tangling on the multi-syllable word.
“You sure?” he teased. “Sure you can handle all this?”
“You’ve got about five seconds to find out,” she said. “Or I’ll go—” Her words ended in a squeak, as she was lifted, turned and deposited astride his lap, facing him.
“Now,” he growled, his hands sliding down her hips to cup her ass and squeeze, pulling her snug over his groin. “You still wanna go somewhere? Or you wanna ride what I got for you?”
“Hunh…” she breathed. She moved on him, riding the long, hard, and amazingly thick shape rising inside his knit pants. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Yeah, you like that?” He flexed his lean hips under her, surprising another soft sound from her as the friction ignited pleasure in sensitive flesh. “Oh, yeah. You like it.”
Hell, yeah, she did. She’d ridden a horse a few times, and being astride him reminded her of that, all surging power and muscle under her. She loved the way he made her feel, dainty and feminine instead of too much, too chunky.
Also, he was so warm. Hell, he gave off heat like a lit wood stove. She loved that, and the way that heat enhanced his scent. Some kind of faint body wash, and healthy, virile man. Pheromones, hell to the yeah.
He kissed her then, his mouth open against hers, lips caressing hers, the edge of his tongue swiping against hers. He tasted so good, whiskey tinged.
She lifted her hands from his chest to cup the sides of his face.
Ooh, he felt so good in her hands—from the faint bristle of whiskers on his jaw to the smoothness of skin over his upper cheeks, to the short, silky hair on the sides of his head, the hard shape of his skull and the intriguing whorl of his ears under her fingertips.
Not to mention she could hold him still to get an even better taste of his mouth. What he could do with his tongue, so nice. He didn’t shove it in her mouth the way some guys did, he teased her with it, sliding it against hers while he sucked gently on her lower lip.
And his hands, mm-mmm. He used them to hold her tight while he continued that steady, driving rythym underneath her, so good and maddening at the same time, because the layers of clothing between them—arggh! They needed to be gone.
He thought the same. She learned this as he broke away from their kiss just enough to growl against her lips. “Wanna fuck you, pixie. Be inside you, have you naked on me. You down with that?”
“Oh, God yes,” she managed, nearly climbing out of her skin as his finger delved into the crease of her ass, and stroked downward to find her labia. “Please, Heavy.”
He turned them both with one lithe, powerful movement that had her flat on her back against the warm leather of the sofa.
Her head spun dizzily.
She wriggled eagerly, helping him push her skirt up, and her bikini panties aside so he could cup her in his huge, calloused hand. She nearly came just from this, from him holding her most intimate flesh like he owned her, at least for now.
“Fuck, you’re wet for me,” he muttered, lifting up on one elbow to reach for the waistband of his workout pants. “Oh, baby, I need in there.”
She needed him in there too, and fast. Her pussy was clenching with need.
“Fu-uck, you smell good,” he groaned, pausing to lean down and press his face to her belly. He pushed up her top, and nuzzled her bare skin, then bit at her with his lips. “I can smell your pussy, all hot and hungry for me. I wanna eat you before I fuck you.”
Cassie whimpered, she could not help it. Heavy’s mouth on her? Oh, God, please yes.
And then his mouth was there, exactly where she needed him, his lips first, and then his tongue, an incredibly soft press of wet heat on her clit that sent her up, up, up and then flying … pressing herself up to his mouth and tongue as pleasure imploded through her.
He groaned something unintelligible, and thrust two knobby, calloused fingers into her. Exploring, thrusting, pressing up, and finding that perfect spot just inside her frontal wall and rubbing.
She flew again, letting out a small, incredulous, shriek of pleasure.
“Jesus, I need in there so bad, pixie,” Heavy groaned against her inner thigh. “Need you squeezin’ my cock like that, so hard, so fuckin’ sweet.”
“Unh,” she breathed, unable to compute the reality of more of him after two orgasms from just his mouth and hands.
But as he shifted her leg to one side, giving him better access, her sandal hit the floor. The small thud broke Cassie from her daze of arousal. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, and the Harley sticker someone had plastered there. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Heavy–Marcus—wait.”
He lifted his head, scowling in consternation, his lips wet. “What?”
“We can’t fuck out here,” she said. “Anyone could walk in!” Anyone like her dad, or—or any of the other Flyers, or their old ladies—none of whom she wanted seeing her getting bonked, even by him.
He tapped his forehead once on her midriff, and gave a rumbling growl of frustration. But then he heaved up onto his hands and knees. “All right. C’mon, we’ll use a room.”
He reached down and swung her up against him as he straightened. She ended up face to face with him, her hands on his shoulders.
“Purse,” she managed. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his hips as he dipped to the side, swiping up her jacket and her purse for her with one hand. Then he carried her through the barroom, into the deeper shadows of the back hallway, and into one of the small bedrooms there.
He stumbled once, and she hung on with a squeak of alarm, which made him laugh, a deep huh-huh in his middle that rumbled through her as well, a gust of whiskey laden breath on her face.
“Don’t worry,” he told her, his big hands tightening on her ass. “I gotcha. Mm-hmm, hands full of this ass. So fine. Damn, I wanna … wanna spank it. Redden it up and then kiss it better ‘fore I fuck you.”
“Heavy!” Cassie gasped, her head spinning, and unbelievably, shivers of excitement running through her at the idea.
He laughed again. “That make you hot all over again? Good, ‘cause I got plans for your ass, pixie.”
As he reached over to snap on the bedside light, revealing the simple furnishings—a bedside table, a bureau, a single chair and a big bed covered in a burgundy comforter, Cassie spared one glancing thought as to whose room it was.
But then Heavy, limned in warm, golden lamplight, shrugged off his cut, tossed it on the chair, and reached for the hem of his snug tee, and she decided she did not care, not even a bit. The bedding smelled clean, and they wouldn’t be putting on a peep show for anyone who walked into the club. That was all she cared about.
And most of all, she had the hottest guy ever doing a strip tease just for her. As he pulled his shirt up, it revealed acres of smooth, satin skin over full, smooth muscle that rippled and bulged with his movements.
His abs were a work of art, and his chest worthy of poems—dirty ones. Broad and smooth, with two small brown nipples. And those arms, thank you Jesus for creating those huge biceps, and those carved forearms, ohh, and his powerful, calloused hands.
Even his underarm hair was sexy, lying in a narrow twist over the pale, vulnerable skin there. The only hair on his torso was the narrow trail leading from his belly button down into his pants.
Speaking of pants … panties … she pressed her thighs together. “I gotta pee,” she realized. “Be right back.”
She hustled out of the room and across the hall to the women’s restroom. Large, clean, and quiet, lit by a wall lamp, it was empty. Good, no one to see her lose her balance on her platform heels and nearly take a header into the nearest toilet stall.
“Oof!” she caught herself on the doorframe, turned, and plopped down on the seat. Whoa, that whiskey was hitting her hard. Wasn’t for who was waiting for her back in that bedroom, she’d curl up somewhere and sleep this off.
She did her business, washed up a little, and made her way back across the quiet hall to the bedroom Heavy had chosen for their tryst.
Only to find her intended lover sprawled out on the bed on his back, eyes closed, mouth open. Either fast asleep, or passed out, she wasn’t sure which–but she was betting on the latter.
Either way, looked like she wasn’t getting that promised ride this evening. She snickered to herself—at least she’d cum twice. Her big biker man hadn’t gotten off even once.
She surveyed the situation. The bed was a queen, but the man on it was king sized. He’d got the covers pulled back, and his shirt off, but that was it. He lay on his back, tee still clutched loosely in one hand, one foot on the floor, the other leg straight out on the bed. His eyes were closed, thick lashes brushing his cheeks, his hard face relaxed.
A snore issued from his parted lips, and Cassie sighed.
Guess she’d be joining him. She sure wasn’t in any shape to drive, and she really did not wanna go to bed alone in one of the other rooms. Might end up with another drunk biker crawling in bed with her—ick.
She leaned on the end of the bed, kicked off her shoes, and then glared at Heavy’s sneakers. Ugh, if he rolled over in the night and kicked her with one of those giant-size things, she’d have a bruise the size of Seattle.
She pulled the sneaker off of his outstretched foot, and tossed it toward the nightstand. She had more trouble with the foot on the floor. Geez, his legs must weight a hundred pounds each, and for some reason he didn’t want to lift this one. Finally she smacked him on the ankle and he grunted and lifted his leg onto the bed. She grabbed the second sneaker, tossed it after the first, and snapped off the bedside light.
Thank baby Jesus he hadn’t been wearing his biker boots. Wrestling those off of him would’ve been a whole biker-babe workout routine.
Crawling onto the bed beside him, she shoved at his massive arm to make room for herself by the wall, pulled the sheet and blanket up, and snuggled against him.
She was asleep in seconds.
Heavy woke with a start, and stared into the darkness of the room, not sure what had awakened him.
He groaned, and lifted a hand to his head. Fu-uck, his head hurt, and his mouth was dry as a southwest desert. Hell-oo, hangover.
Oh, right—he’d been drowning his sorrows in a bottle of good whiskey.
And there’d been a woman… right? He hadn’t dreamed that sweetness, had he?
He put out a hand and found a soft, rounded, feminine shape beside him, muffled by the covers, but definitely there. He would’ve smiled to himself, but his head hurt too badly. Goddamnit, he was an idiot for drinking that much hard liquor when he knew damn well it would smack him back, hard.
He’d just been in such a shit mood, feeling sorry for himself because his club was riding out to squeeze some of their street assets for intel, and he was banned from assisting.
And then a sweet little blonde had walked in, and his mood had improved one-hundred-and-ten percent. Except that… oh, fuck him, he’d finally had his sexy Cassie in his arms, and he’d passed the fuck out? What kinda idiot did that?
Although, oh yeah… he remembered a face full of eager blonde pussy, couldn’t forget that sweetness.
But they hadn’t gotten to the main act … had they? His body didn’t have that well-used feeling. More like thumped over the head and tossed on the bed to live or die.
More thuds, and the rhythm of heavy booted feet sounded from outside the bedroom. He sniffed. Coffee—someone was brewing coffee. What time was it, anyway?
Ignoring his pounding head and roiling gut, he knifed up to reach for the bedside lamp. Squinting, he picked up his phone and looked at it. Seven am?
Shit, he’d slept in two hours past his usual time.
“I’ll get to rustling up some breakfast,” a deep voice announced outside the bedroom door, interrupting his memories. “You buzzards can clean up after.”
“Where’s the kid?” asked another Flyer. “Isn’t he s’posed to be here by now?”
“Ah, prob’ly at his gym already. We’ll …”
The voices faded as they moved across the hallway and into the clubhouse kitchen. But that had definitely been his wakeup call. Heavy scrubbed his face with one hand and threw back the covers.
Then, up on one elbow, he stared at the creamy, nearly naked ass of the woman in the bed beside him.
She lay on her side, her back to him, short blonde hair tousled on the pillow. She still wore her top, the thin knit outlining the smooth curve of her back. But her little skirt was rucked up to her waist. And underneath, she wore that fuckin’ thong, a little tease of black lace disappearing into her ass-crack, leaving ninety-nine percent of her lush, round ass bared to his gaze.
Goddamn, that ass. If he was not mistaken, he’d mouthed off something about spanking it… which was totally a fantasy of his, but one he’d never really gotten into with a woman.
Every spare blood cell zoomed straight to his groin, and his hand clenched on the covers. Despite his pounding head and roiling gut, his cock wanted him to spoon up behind her, and follow that black lace string to the triangle that barely covered her sweet blonde pussy. The pussy he’d had his hands and mouth all over last night.
But hadn’t gotten his cock into, damn him for a whiskey-drinking fool. Never again.
Because here he was, and here she was, and his head was about to split apart, and also he was damned sure Cooler Carson would not appreciate knowing where his daughter was. Any of the brothers spied her coming out of a bedroom with Heavy, they’d blab immediately. That’s just the way it worked in the club. Everyone was up in each other’s business.
He’d thought it was funny as hell when it was other guys’ turns to have their sex lives on the front burner… wasn’t so funny when he was the one in the frying pan. Especially since they hadn’t even fucked. Yeah, he’d had her on his lap, and his hands on her–well and in her, but that was all.
But would Cooler believe that? That’d be a no.
And Cassie didn’t deserve to take any crap from her dad or any of the brothers for getting drunk and falling asleep with him, either. He had to get her out, sight unseen, for her sake, too.
He leaned over her, put his hand on her arm, and shook her gently. “Cassie,” he murmured in her ear. “Hey, wake up.”
She stirred, making a sleepy, grumpy noise. He nudged her again… and then again.
It took pulling the covers off and shaking her arm continuously for nearly thirty seconds before her eyes fluttered open.
“Oh, my head,” she whined, her voice husky with sleep. “What the hell’d I drink last night? And where the hell am I?”
In other circumstances, he would have chuckled at her bewildered mumbling.
But right now, again, he didn’t feel like laughing. Especially when more booted feet were tromping along the hallway outside the bedroom, and deep voices were accompanying them.
He sat up and rolled his feet onto the floor.
“Oh, my God,” she said, more loudly this time. “What are you doing here? And who’s out there?”
He turned and looked at her over his shoulder.
She was sitting up, clutching her head with one hand, and squinting at him in clear dismay. And even with her hair mashed up on one side and half her eye makeup smeared underneath her blue eyes, she was still one sexy pixie.
Just one that had been rode hard and put away wet. A-and he prob'ly should never say that out loud where she could hear him.
Besides, his pride was kinda taking a hit from the way she was staring at him.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Not real happy with this, either. ‘Cause I’ll tell you who’s out there–most of the brothers. Church this morning, and from the sounds of it, they’re having breakfast first.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh, no,” she whispered back. “Oh, no, nonono. That means my dad is here. Unless he’s working today. Do you think he’s working today? Never mind, why would you know that? Omigod, how am I gonna get out of here without him seeing me?”
He waited till she ran down, as usual having to bite back the urge to chuckle as she fussed. He had a sudden crazy-ass image of her with gossamer wings beating furiously behind her back, carrying her around in jagged little circles as she carried on.
Yeah, right before she went ninja pixie on his ass for helping get her into this mess.
“I got a plan,” he told her. “You sit tight. I’ll get dressed, go out there and distract them. While I’m standing in the kitchen doorway, you make tracks out, get to your car and leave.”
Except, damn. “But since your dad already likely saw your car, you wanna bother trying to sneak out?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I parked around back. I didn’t want Jason seeing that I was here. So unless my dad goes out there, we’re good.”
Heavy’s scowl deepened at the mention of his employee. “Jason? That little shit been after you?”
“He’s… hard to shake. And I don’t want him like that, so I just avoid him.”
In other words, the little shit had been after her. Okay, that would not stand.
Far as Heavy knew, the kid behaved himself at the gym, but come to think of it, Heavy had seen him at the last club barbecue, putting moves on Suze, one of the strippers who liked to party with the Flyers. Suze had looked hella irritated. At the time, Heavy had put that down to her wanting a chance at a full member. But now he wondered if it was just Jason, thinking he was God’s gift, but instead being a dick.
“You’re Flyer family, you don’t have to avoid a prospect,” he stated. “You shoulda told me, or your dad. Back to that later. Now, get ready, yeah? We need to move.”
She moved, sliding out of the bed and bending over to search for her shoes, but she also kept talking.
“I don’t need you to deal with anything or anyone for me,” she told him, straightening with her shoes in hand, and then setting them on the bed to straighten her clothing, shimmying those slanting hips to settle her short skirt. A process he enjoyed watching.
She snapped her fingers. “Hey, eyes up here, big guy. My hips are not talking, I am.”
Okay, at this he had to chuckle, even though it rattled his aching head. “Oh, believe me, pixie, your hips were talking.” And he was not gonna argue with her about Jason. The kid was a club prospect, Cassie was part of the club family, therefore she got respect, and she got Heavy’s help whether she wanted it or not. But that was for later.
He went in and used the john, splashed some water on his face, used his wet fingers to comb through his hair, and walked back out into the bedroom to pick up his shirt off the rug and pull it on again. Luckily, it didn’t smell bad, since all he’d done was sit around in it. Even had a trace of Cassie’s perfume on it, which he really liked.
She passed him, hurrying into the bathroom as he came out.
He sat on the edge of the bed to don his slip-on sneakers, one of the best inventions ever. For a weight-lifter like him, who was in and out of his shoes and clothing several times a day, they were as good as money in his pocket. And now that he had the gym, anything that sped up his routine was solid gold.
His belly rumbled, long and loud. He needed to get some food in it, stat.
He opened his mouth to beg Cassie to hurry it up, but closed it without speaking. Instead he took a deep breath and moved into a yoga stretch.
Ordinarily, he didn’t mind waiting for a woman. They had different standards for themselves than he did, he got that. And if it took an extra fifteen to keep a woman in a sweet mood, he’d give them that, no prob. He could surf the news on his phone, play a game or check his email, or do a few stretches or the like.
But right now, he was starving, his blood sugar was low, most of his club was assembling in the kitchen, and, he wanted to get out there. Preferably in a way that made it look like he was alone, and had been alone.
She came out after a few moments, her hair slicked back and her eye-makeup mostly back where it belonged.
He looked her over, and smiled to himself.
“What?” she hissed, looking down at herself. “Is something wrong?”
“Nah,” he drawled. “Just that I’m starved, and you look good enough to eat—again.”
Her cheeks flamed dusky pink, and she gave him one of those ticked off looks women specialize in.
He stood. “You ready? I’ll go first. When I get to the kitchen door, you move fast.”
She nodded, her gaze dropping over him. “God knows you’re big enough to hide two of me.”
Yeah, he was, even with that round ass of hers.
He gave it a quick squeeze as he passed her, and she gasped. “Quit it,” she hissed. “We did what we did, and it is over.”
“You mean I don’t get a big wet kiss g’bye?” he asked, doing his best to look heartbroken.
“You can kiss my—oh, never mind.” She glowered up at him. “Just move it.”
He gave her a wink, ‘cause he’d already kissed her oh-never-mind, and she'd loved every minute.
Then he moved it.
Heavy made it across the clubhouse hall without seeing any of the brothers in the main room, or the other end of the hallway. That was good. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, inhaling the scents of coffee, sausage, eggs and warm breakfast rolls.
“Hey,” he said to the group. “How’d it go last night?”
Stick, his brother Pete, Rocker, Bouncer, Snake, Moke, Streak, and of course Cooler, sat around the spacious kitchen table. They were all busy shoveling in food, but a few paused to look over at him. Stick nodded, as did Cooler, Streak and Rocker.
“Hey, brah,” Moke said amiably.
Stick nodded in greeting. “Spend the night here?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Heavy said, listening with one ear for the sound of stealthy footsteps behind him. “I did. Me and a bottle of whiskey, which I now regret.”
Cooler chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Remember those days—and don’t miss ‘em.”
Rocker gave Heavy an odd look over his coffee mug. “You gonna come and get some breakfast, or stand there and hold up the door-frame all mornin’?”
Heavy heard the whisper of footsteps pass behind him, and nearly sighed in relief. “Yeah,” he said. “Definitely ready for some chow.”
He took one step toward the food beckoning from the hot plates, and disaster struck.
“Hey, li’l Carson,” T-Bear boomed out in the hallway. “Whatcha doin’ here so early in the mornin, and all dressed up so purty?”
Heavy froze.
Shit. Trust that big ginger dumbass to find a way to screw everything up.
“Hey, Uncle T,” Cassie answered, her voice quiet, but since everyone in the kitchen had gone absolutely silent—especially Cooler, who was as rigid as a bronze statue—her reply came through loud and clear. “I… uh, I’m just headed home, actually. Little too much to drink last night, y’know?”
T-Bear laughed uproariously. “Well, I reckon if the brothers can spend the night instead o’ drivin’ drunk, you gals can too, huh? You better come in an’ get you some java for the road, though.”
No, oh hell no. Heavy braced himself as every eye at the breakfast table swung to him and then to the strip of hallway behind him. And all he could do was watch as one by one, they each connected the dots. Whatever else one could say about the Flyers, they were all quick on the uptake. Too fuckin’ quick.
Rocker’s eyes twinkled. Pete’s brows flew up, and he gave Heavy an ‘uh-oh’ look. Stick’s expression, as usual, gave nothing away.
Cooler’s face, however, went livid, and he shot out of his chair so fast it skidded backward, his furious gaze on Heavy.
With a look of pure venom, the stocky blond brother stomped to the kitchen doorway, and with a sinking heart, Heavy followed. Streak gave him a look of sympathy, while Snake smirked and drew his fingers across his throat in a gesture that said ‘you’re gonna die and I’m gonna watch’.
In the hallway, T was still grinning. Cassie was not. Her face had gone pale, and she looked like she was about to hurl.
She gave her dad a sickly grin. “Hi, Daddy.”
“So,” Cooler said. “You an’ Heavy both just happened to spend the night here, huh? It damned well better have been in separate beds !” By the time he finished, his voice was so loud both Heavy and Cassie were wincing. T-bear was finally cluing in too, by the grimace on his broad face.
Neither of them said a word, and the eavesdroppers in the kitchen were just as silent.
T reached to pat Cassie gently on the shoulder. “Sorry, li’l Carson,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean to put ya on the hot seat.”
Cooler focused on Heavy. “Really?” he rasped. “With all the club whores you got pantin’ after you, you had to take my daughter in a back room?”
Heavy tried to swallow, and couldn’t, over the dry lump in his throat. ’Cause, yeah, in the harsh light of morning, his actions did look… bad.
As the smaller Flyer advanced on him, Heavy knew what was coming. And honor demanded he do nothing to avert it.
Cooler’s hard right fist took him on the left side of his face, and his left hit Heavy square in the mouth.
Both blows hurt like hell, and rocked Heavy back a step, one shoulder banging against the door frame, the other against feminine softness that gave way with a soft ‘oof! ’
“Daddy!” Cassie shrieked, an arm out toward her father. “Stop it.”
“Don’t you tell me to stop it, missy,” Cooler roared. “My brother does not mess around with my daughter! He’s interested, he by God shows her respect!”
Heavy, busy wiping blood off his throbbing lip from where his teeth had cut into it, watched Cassie take this in, and fire back.
“I may be your daughter, but I’m also a grown woman,” she snapped. “And I’ll do what I want with whoever I want.”
Cooler made a sound like a firework about to explode. “Not with any man in this clubhouse, you won’t. You may be too old to spank, but I’ll whip the ass of anyone who touches you. So think that over, little miss.”
Fu-uck, Heavy wished the man hadn’t mentioned spanking. His gaze met Cassie’s, and for the first time in his life, he was in danger of a hard-on when he’d just had his face punched.
Her eyes widened, and she looked back to her dad, her cheeks dark pink. “The only reason you got two punches in is because he didn’t hit back, daddy. Get a clue.”
“’Course he didn’t hit back, ‘cause he knows I’m in the right,” Cooler snarled.
Heavy groaned silently. He had a strong feeling the two could go at it for a while yet, but he was gonna pass out if he didn’t get some food in him.
“Cooler, respect,” he said. “But I know Cassie isn’t some club whore. I don’t see her that way, and, uh… well, I just don’t.”
Cooler glared up at him. “Oh, so now you’re gonna tell me you two are datin’? Without a word to me?”
Heavy looked to Cassie, who gave him a speaking look. Unfortunately, he had no idea what it meant, so he went with his gut.
“Uh, yeah we are,” he heard himself say. “Matter of fact, we’re going out, to that new steakhouse in downtown Spokane.” Which he could not name to save his life, so please God don’t let Cooler ask that. He looked back to Cassie, hoping he didn’t look too much like a damn dog, beggin’ for a treat and not a kick.
Cooler turned his suspicious glare on her. “Right,” she said. “Can’t wait.”
“What the hell?” Pete Vanko hollered from the kitchen. “Flyer dates take place at The Hangar. Everyone knows that.”
“That’s date number two,” Heavy called. “Date number one is away from you nosy mo-fo’s.”
The men in the kitchen erupted in laughter. Even Stick chuckled.
Cooler shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, I’ll deal with you later. Cassie, go home and drink a sports drink, you need to rehydrate.”
With another dirty look at Heavy, he stalked back into the kitchen.
“Sorry, bro,” T-Bear said to Heavy. “Didn’t mean to let the kitty outta the—whoa, bad choice o’ words. Reckon I’ll just go get me some grub.” He turned and lumbered into the kitchen.
Cassie eyed Heavy darkly, like this shit was all his fault.
“What?” he hissed, following her a few steps as she turned and stalked toward the main room. “I had to say something.”
She turned on him, showing her teeth. “Right. Well, I personally can’t wait for our big date.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said, although to himself, as she was hurrying away toward the clubhouse’s back door.
With a sigh, he went in to have some breakfast, and face the endless ribbing he’d get from his brothers.
Not to mention the shit Cooler would continue to dish out to him.
Jaysus, he’d never had any trouble finding a woman willing for a casual fuck, but one damn night with a daughter of the club, where not that much even happened—well, physically anyway, and suddenly his life was complicated as hell.
He just wished he didn’t still want so badly to get her back on his lap, with nothing between them but a cock sock.
And a real smile on that pretty face, just for him. 'Cause… something had happened between them last night. Something that had do with more than just wanting to fuck her until he came his brains out.
Something that left a kind of itch deep in his chest. Hell, he didn’t know what it was. He just wanted to see her again, that was all. Christ, anymore of this introspective shit and he’d be sending her texts with puppies and kissy faces an' shit.
Cooler stomped out of the kitchen when Heavy walked back into it, muttering something about enjoying his damn coffee without smelling skunk.
Heavy stoically dished himself up what was left of the eggs, sausage and hash browns. The last cinnamon roll in the tray was a small corner chunk, but he took that too. With two bananas, and an orange from the fruit bowl—instituted and kept filled by Sara Vanko, who claimed that if the brothers all ate more fruit and veggies, they’d all be in a better mood and the men’s room would smell a lot better—and a mug of coffee, he headed back to the table to eat.
Rocker eyed Heavy’s not-quite-full plate. “That enough food to keep you all morning, kid? I’ve seen you eat twice that.”
“It’s fine, thanks.” Heavy said, peeling one of the bananas and stuffing half of it in his mouth. Chewing stung the muscles on the left side of his face and the cut inside his lip, and he could taste blood along with the fruit. But he needed calories stat, so he ate anyway.
“Here, bro,” T said, dropping a couple of sausages onto Heavy’s plate. “Since it’s kinda my fault you was late to chow. Also, I gotta keep my boyish figure for Manda.”
Heavy nodded his thanks, and kept his gaze on his plate, eating steadily. Finally, however, the continued silence—other than Snake slurping his coffee and T belching—got to him. He cast a look around the big table to find his brothers and their president watching him, varying degrees of amusement on their faces.
He forked up another bite. “What?” he asked, shoving the hash browns in his mouth. “Never seen a man eat?”
Pete smirked. “Not like you, bro. You have trophies in that too?”
Heavy swallowed. “There was a time I prob’ly could’ve,” he said. “I’ve slowed down.”
A few of them chuckled, but Heavy did not. Not a time he cared to remember, but then neither was any of his life before adulthood.
“I wanna know if ya got a trophy for fast-talkin’ to keep Cooler from whupping your ass every time he lays eyes on you,” Bouncer asked, giving Heavy a look of dark amusement over his coffee cup. “’Cause we all know he ain’t through with you… not by a long shot.”
Snake guffawed at this, and T chuckled before clearing his throat loudly to cover up.
“Hell, Heavy can just pick him up and hold him at arm's length till Cooler settles down,” Pete suggested.
Even Stick snorted with laughter at this image.
"Tempting," Heavy muttered.
Rocker patted Heavy on the shoulder. “Cooler will settle, once he sees you treat Cassie well, which we all know you will.” His voice was mild, but Heavy heard the warning implicit in the words.
“And that you’re shut of that other bitch for good,” Stick added, raising his brows at Heavy.
“Britt? She’s history.”
“Glad to hear that,” Stick approved. “A woman who don’t respect a man is no good.”
“An’ show respect for his club,” Bouncer added.
Remembering Britt’s behavior at the club barbecue, Heavy grimaced. Stick and Bounce both had a point.
“She did kinda remind me of Krystelle,” T-Bear said. “Remember her? Before your time, Heavy. Bitch went through my pockets while I was asleep, stole my phone and all my cash money.”
Pete snorted. “You’re lucky that bitch didn’t steal your truck too. I’d add your bike, but I doubt she was smart enough to ride anything but dick.”
T rumbled a laugh. “An’ she wasn’t all ‘at good at that.”
Rocker chuckled. “Damn. A woman’s gonna steal from you, the least she can do is leave you a smokin’ hot memory.”
They all laughed at this, Heavy too—even though he winced as he did so, because it hurt even worse than chewing.
“All right,” Stick said, shoving back his chair. “Time for church.”
Heavy shoveled his last few bites into his mouth, and took his plate to the sink, tossing the orange back in the fruit bowl.
Church that morning was tense, to say the least.
Once their private meeting room, which now was always closed and locked when they weren’t using it, had been one of the display rooms. Now it held a long table and chairs. On the north wall hung an American flag, with a Devil's Flyers banner below. The windows were shielded with heavy shades.
Stick moved to the big chair before the flag, and waited for his brothers to file in and close the door.
As Heavy walked into the room, second cup of coffee in his hand, Cooler was seated, glaring at him. Damn, the man might as well have one of those cartoon thunder-clouds hanging over his head, with lightning zapping down at intervals. All the rapport from Heavy’s stayover at the Carson home during the blizzard was clearly long gone. He moved to sit at the other end of the table, next to Moke.
Stick opened the meeting, and they moved on to the reason he’d called them together. “Rocker?” he said.
Rocker looked around at all of them, his face now grim. “According to some of our sources last night, we got a new drug in town,” he said heavily. “And this one, the dealers seem to be targeting kids—young athletes. Chiefly boys who wanna get big and tough, some for ego, some for their sports.”
Heavy forgot about Cassie's dad trying to glare a hole in his head from the other end of the long table. He forgot about the ache in his jaw and the sting of his cut lip. He forgot about everything but what Rocker was telling them. Questions burned in his throat, but he knew to wait until Rocker was finished before asking them.
This kind of drugs were the worst, in his opinion. Because they targeted not adults looking for a high, a way to forget all their troubles, but kids. Athletes, looking to use their bodies and their brains to excel at a sport, to get strong so they could excel.
Also, kids who wanted to look good, and nothing wrong with that. He'd spent the last fifteen years honing his body to the closest he could come to perfection. And getting cash and trophies for some of those years, so yeah, he got that.
And now some dirty, conscienceless scumbags were coming into his town, into Flyer territory and targeting those kids. And likely a lot of twenty-something’s along with them, because there were plenty of them who were still willing to try fad diets and substances to look good fast.
Rocker leaned back and tapped his fist on the table, indicating that the floor was now open for the rest of them to speak.
Heavy opened his mouth but Cooler got there first. "So how did you find out about this?" The EMT asked. "Please don't tell me some local kid has o.d.ed on the shit."
"Wish I didn't have to," Rocker said grimly. "17-year-old at the local high school. Collapsed in the weight room at school. He's alive, but they had to put him in a coma to keep his heart rate down. It was real high —don't know the numbers, but enough they were worried."
"Fuck yeah, they would have been worried," Cooler snarled. "What else? Blood toxicity, liver count? We know any of that?"
Rocker shook his head. "No, and maybe you can find that out faster than anyone else here, being in the medical field."
"Oh, I'll be asking, don't you worry. Hell, Connor probably knows this kid. He coulda been in the weight room when it happened." Cooler scrubbed his hands over his face. "I'll call him soon as we’re done here."
After waiting another beat to ensure the man had finished speaking, Heavy opened his mouth. "Two things–one, we need this shit found," he stated. "And shut down — shut down hard. I've known lifters who got into steroids and uppers. One guy had a heart attack right before a competition, died in the ambulance on the way to the ER. And there’s other side effects, bad ones. Those were grown men, young enough to be stupid, but old enough that was their problem, and no one else's. But no one, and I mean no one is selling that shit to kids, not in my town."
"Not in our town," Stick corrected him.
"Hell yeah," T-bear boomed, banging a fist on the table.
Stick held up a hand. “Heavy, what’s your second point?”
Heavy shook his head. “Didn’t connect it until now–and that’s on me. Last week, I was sick–had that fuckin’ cold that was goin’ around, and I felt like shit, countin’ the minutes till I could close up. Kid came in, skinny and nervous. Asked if I was the one sold the good shit for athletes. I pointed him at the Fitness Lab supplements, and he said no, he wanted the good shit. Something, I dunno, how nervous he was, kinda woke me up, and I asked him where he usually got the good shit. For some reason, that part spooked him, and he said, ‘Wait, you’re the wrong guy’, and he ran out.”
“That is odd,” Rocker agreed, frowning. “He was expecting to buy right there, at your gym?”
Heavy spread his hands. “Got me.”
“Maybe someone who hangs around your gym has been sellin’ it,” Pete offered.
Heavy nodded, as this sounded logical. He began to run over in his mind which of his clients had behaved in a suspicious manner. He couldn’t think of anyone, right off the bat.
“Let’s get back to that,” Stick said. “First, we agree to take this on as a club?”
There was a chorus of agreement, and nods.
Bouncer held up his hand, palm out. "We gotta make it formal," he said. "All in favor?"
"Aye.” The word echoed off the walls of the small room.
"Any against?" Bouncer asked. He looked around and nodded approvingly at the silence. "All in favor."
"Good," Stick said. "First, we need intel. What's in this shit? Is it meth, or speed, or something else? Who's selling it and how are they getting the kids to buy? What's their sales tactic?"
"I'm on the first," Cooler stated. "and I'm thinking Connor can help us with the second. He may have already had it offered to him. Or he may know other athletes that are bragging about taking something special."
Rocker sighed heavily. "Christ, I hope we get that lucky. That’d go a long way toward finding where it's coming from."
"I'm on this too," Heavy said. “I train kids at Big Iron. I'll ask questions."
"Maybe Jason can help with that," Rocker said. "He's friendly with the youngsters, right?"
Heavy grimaced. "Mostly those who have tits and ass. I've spoken to him about that twice."
"Too bad you weren't listening to yourself talk," Cooler muttered.
Snake snickered. Heavy tried to ignore the aside, but heat crawled up his neck.
"Heavy, maybe you could go talk at the schools," Moke suggested in his deep, soft voice. "The kids look up to you. You tell them not to use, they might listen."
To Heavy’s surprise, Stick and Rocker were nodding agreement. "Sure,” he said. “ I’ll call the high school, see if they’re, uh, interested."
"Do it," Rocker said.
Stick nodded. "Da. So we have a plan. The rest of us will nose around, see what we can learn. Cooler and Heavy, you'll both report to Rocker on this."
He looked around at all of them. "Any other new business for the club?"
Rocker cocked his head. “We haven’t talked about the prospects lately. Drew’s been with us for over a year, enough time that we should all know him well, whether he’s a good fit for the club. Anyone?”
“He’s doin’ well,” T-Bear pronounced. “Good solid kid. Always ready to help out, an’ nice and polite to the old ladies.”
“Fixed Rissa’s car up when it wouldn’t start out here in the lot the other evening,” Streak said. “And wouldn’t take any money for it.”
“Good bartender,” Pete said. He grinned. “ I like him–he knows his brews.”
A few of guys chuckled, glad to have the mood lightened.
“I would’ve hired him at the gym, if I could have,” Heavy put in. “He’s solid, and I trust him. With our families, as well as business shit.”
“Anyone speak against him?” Rocker asked.
A couple shook their heads, but no one spoke.
Stick nodded. “Da. You know, I say we vote on it. This club needs some good things happening.”
Bouncer shrugged. “The voting room is always ready. Lessee… all rise.”
They all rose.
“The voting room has been prepared. All in favor of cutting Drew ___ in as a full member of the brotherhood of the Devil’s Flyers, Eastern Washington Chapter, will select a white stone from the cans,” Bouncer intoned from memory. “Anyone against, will select a black stone. You will vote in secret, dropping your stones one by one into the voting jar. After all have cast their vote, the jar will be brought in and opened in all of our presence. If there’s more than two black stones, the prospect will not be cut in. Instead, he will remain a prospect under probation until further time has passed, and another vote shall be cast, or he shall be cast out of further… ah, yada, yada, he can forget about bein’ a Devil’s Flyer.”
There was a moment of silence.
“All rise,” Bouncer ordered. “We’ll begin with Stick, Rocker, me and so on, around the table.”
Heavy had no real worries that Drew would get even two black-balls, or black stones in the voting, so he was fairly relaxed as he paced slowly around the table, and in turn, into the small room behind the president’s chair and the flag on the wall.
But he sure remembered his own voting day.
He’d known it was happening, and he’d been so nervous he’d gone out back and puked, then come back in to find the brothers all waiting for him outside their church meeting room, shaking their heads and telling him they might just go back in and revote if he was such a pansy-ass light-weight.
Of course, then the younger brothers had mobbed him, and started laughing and carrying on, and he’d known he was really in. Really a Devil’s Flyer–a part of something good and strong and forever, for the first time in his life.
That had been one helluva party. He remembered Sound hugging him, and a stripper on his lap, and doing shot after shot off her tits… and after that, things got hazy.
He didn’t party like that anymore, but a man only got cut in to his club once in his life.
To no one’s surprise, when they all sat down around the table and Bouncer upended the voting jar in a big basket, there were only white stones.
Drew was in. There were smiles all around.
“Kid’s gonna shit himself,” T-Bear predicted happily, rubbing his huge paws together. “We gotta plan a good party.”
“Yeah, bring in the strippers,” Snake approved. “Like the old days.”
“Ah, he does have a girlfriend,” Streak said. “Nice girl.”
“What she don’t know won’t hurt her,” Snake said, scowling.
“No, I meant Drew likely won’t want that,” Streak said, calm but firm. “He’s pretty gone on Piper.”
“Agree,” Heavy said. “Let’s just do a big party, invite everyone.”
Several of the guys, Cooler included, turned to stare at him. Cooler's brows went up.
“New era, huh?” someone said.
"Well, speaking of gone on a gal," Rav pointed out, a devil in his eye. "He is dating Cassie now."
Heavy could feel heat crawling up his neck and into his face. He glared at the Southern-fried shit-stirrer sitting out of his reach.
Stick’s lips twitched, and he picked up his gavel. “Let’s table that for later,” he said. “For now, Heavy, how’s Jason doing for you at the gym?”
Heavy caught Snake’s dour gaze, and brought his mind back to club business.
He’d made a mistake hiring a relative of one of the brothers. But he wasn’t gonna lie about a prospect. They let Jason in, they’d be stuck with him, unless he did something so rank he got himself banned from the club.
“He’s on probation,” he said. “He’s not a real good listener, and he pouts when I call him on a mistake. If he wasn’t a club prospect … prob’ly woulda let him go before now. But I’m trying to work with him.”
Snake muttered something, but when Heavy looked at him, the older Flyer merely glowered at him. Awesome.
“Noted,” Rocker said. “Anybody else?”
Pete grimaced, but said nothing. Great, no support there.
Heavy sighed. “Also, Cassie tells me he pesters her, won't give up even though she's let him know she's not interested. Told her I’d have words with him about that, and you best believe I will.”
“The fuck?” Cooler snarled. “She’s said nothin’ to me.”
“Don’t think she wanted to make trouble,” Heavy said shortly. “So I’m saying it for her.”
“That’s two strikes,” Rocker said. “Prospect should have absolute respect for ladies of the club. See we’ll all need to have an eye on Jason … and a mind to whether he’s gonna work out for us.”
“So we’re just gonna go on Heavy’s hearsay against him?” Snake demanded.
“Snake, you know we’ll all do our due diligence,” Rocker said calmly. “Now, moving on. Anything else?”
There was nothing.
“This meeting is adjourned.” Stick banged his gavel hard, and set it down.
Church was over.
The brothers were not through discussing, though. Heavy walked out with Rocker and Bouncer. “This is bad,” he said. “Young athletes are ambitious, full of themselves, and impatient. Makes ‘em real vulnerable.”
“You mean stupid,” Rocker said darkly. “Especially the boys. They don’t think shit through, they just act. Gets them in a world of hurt.”
“So you sayin’ you never used ‘roids?” Bouncer asked Heavy skeptically.
“No, I did not,” Heavy stated. “I tried creatine for a while, yeah. But I also discovered I was one of the lucky ones. I can put on muscle and bulk up with work and nutrition. Don’t need illegals, an' after watching what they did to the people I grew up around, never wanted to.”
“Jury’s out on whether creatine is harmful,” Cooler said, appearing at Rocker’s elbow.
On any other subject with this man at this time, Heavy would have kept his mouth shut. But not on nutrition for athletes.
“No, Creatine’s proven safe when used right,” he said. “You can check the major health sites, they’ll back this up. An athlete takes too much, or doesn’t hydrate properly, that’s harmful, sure. But then so are Vitamin D and a lot of other natural supplements.”
Cooler grunted disagreeably, which could’ve meant anything, but probably meant ‘You treated my daughter with disrespect, so I’ll disagree if you say the sky is blue’.
“You know the signs of people on uppers?” Rocker asked Heavy. “That would be good to know, in case a kid shows up high at your gym.”
Heavy looked to Cooler, who gave him a look that said he could teach a thing or two. “Jittery, babbling about shit, trouble concentrating, laughing for no reason, or anxiety. Physically, rapid heart rate, flushed or pallid skin, dilated pupils. Goes on long enough, weight loss and other side effects show up.”
Rocker nodded. “All right, Heavy, you know what to look for.”
“I suspect a kid, you want me to approach him about it?” Heavy asked.
“Carefully,” Rocker said.
“Can you do careful?” Cooler asked, his lip curling at Heavy. “Or just ‘see it, want it, take it'.”
“I can,” Heavy said patiently.
“All we can ask, right?” Rocker said, slapping Cooler on the back. “All right, I’m out. Heavy, you back to work?”
“No, I don’t open till noon on Sundays,” Heavy said. “Goin’ for a ride first.”
“Sounds good. Nice day out there.”
Heavy walked outside, glad to be outdoors, and especially away from Cooler. The brother was like a pitbull—would not let go once he had his teeth in.
And Heavy was done having his ass chewed.
He started up his big Harley, and rolled out of the parking lot and along the county road, headed west out into the country away from the Heights and away from buildings and people. Once on the two-lane highway, he opened up the throttle and gave the powerful motorcycle its head.
He rode for miles, with nothing but the vibration of the big bike underneath him and the road unrolling like a black ribbon, the spring green meadows, darker clumps of evergreens, and blue of ponds flashing by, interspersed with farmsteads and country homes.
He stopped by a pasture with horses swishing their tails as they grazed, and cows scattered beyond the fences, a few calves gamboling in the warm sun. After drinking some water and eating a couple of power bars stored in his saddlebags, he started up the bike again, and headed back to town, and to his responsibilities.
But as always, after a fast ride, he felt as if the wind had stripped away the stress of the business, the worries about drugs in town, and the conflict with one of his brothers.
He was ready to get on with it again.