Chapter 8
JOKER
One of the best things about Daisy being pregnant is her need for sex. Sometimes more than once a day. Not that I’m complaining ‘cause I plan on satisfying every single need. Plus, I want to get out of my head, and what better way than to sink into my wife’s beautiful body?
I walk backwards, taking her with me until my thighs hit the bed, then I perch on the edge of the mattress, easing her maternity shorts over her bump and down her legs. I caress her belly, then place little kisses on her bump, and I’m rewarded with the gentle roll of my baby.
I smile up at Daisy. “She knows her daddy’s near.”
“She? I figured you’d want a boy this time.”
“Nah, I don’t care either way, but it would be nice for Deana to have a little sister.”
“And you’d have another girl to spoil.”
“There is that too.” I smirk around my words, and Daisy laughs.
“You are such a soft touch. I wonder what all your tough-guy bikers would think?”
“Please, they’re just as bad. Python dotes on Virginia, Cobra does whatever Sheena says and I swear Mamba is scared shit of his five-foot-two Mandy.”
“That’s what makes you all so perfect.” She strokes my face. “Tough on the outside, soft on the inside.” Her hand wanders to my cock. “And hard where it counts.”
“Mmmmm.” I pull her onto my lap, yank off her tank top, then nuzzle her breasts until a soft purring fills the room.
I nip and suck one nipple, then the other, and Daisy presses herself closer to me. I need more, and I know she does too, so I lie back on the bed, taking her with me.
She runs her hands up my t-shirt until she has it pulled over my head. Then she makes quick work of the tab and zipper of my jeans. I lift my hips, and she pulls them off, throwing them behind her. Her lips part, and I grip the sheets in anticipation.
When she lowers her head and takes me in whole, my hips jerk off the mattress.
She keeps at me in perfect rhythm while her hands caress my thighs.
The sweet torture is everything I needed today as my mind clears and the only thought is holding out long enough to enjoy the perfect torture of Daisy’s lips.
When she hums against my cock, I can’t hold out any longer, but my woman doesn’t give up. She deep-throats me until I explode, then she licks me clean. Her sly grin tells me she knows where she’s taken me and done what I needed.
She leaves butterfly kisses over my tense abs as she crawls up my body, ending with a deep kiss so I can taste our love on her tongue. She grinds over me, and after a few minutes, my dick is ready for more, so I grab her hips, putting her exactly where I need her.
“Someone’s impatient,” she teases.
“Always with you.” I grab her lips one more time, then center her over my throbbing cock.
She moves to straddle me bracing her palms on my chest. At seven months pregnant, it’s about the only way this works, but the increased pressure and friction of her belly makes my dick impossibly hard.
She rides me slowly at first, then harder and faster until we’re both panting and gasping for air.
I hold her hips tight, keeping pace with her frantic movements, and again I feel the sweet agony wash over me.
I reach my hand between us, find her nub, and when I twist it with my thumb and forefinger, she yells out, then collapses over my chest, sated and content.
I revel in the aftershocks of her body with my own release. A perfect mix, taking me to the level where stress doesn’t exist and the only people alive are Daisy and I on this bed in this room, feasting on our love.
I roll her to my side and stroke her hair away from her face. “No matter how many times, it’s always perfect.”
“Mmmm, I know, but it takes me longer to catch my breath.” She smooths her hand over her belly. “This little person is growing so fast.”
I lean up and kiss her belly, then turn the side of my head to rest against her stomach, and our baby moves within her.
Daisy runs her fingers through my hair, and I look up at her. “You know, no matter what happens, I will always put you and the kids first, right?”
“Of course.” She smiles. “I swear, I think you’re the one who’s hormonal.”
“I just want everything to be perfect for you this time.”
“I know that, and I also know what happened last time wasn’t your fault, but for some reason, lately you’ve been doubting yourself.”
I cuddle her to me and close my eyes. “I never thought when we were holed up in Miami trying to take down a cartel boss that we’d ever find this kind of happiness.”
“I know, but we have, and we also have so much to be grateful for, so don’t overthink it.”
Daisy’s right, but I still can’t shake the unsettled, itchy sensation coursing through my blood. Past experience taught me to listen to my gut, and plenty of times, intuition kept me alive, making it all the harder to ignore now.
I lean up on my elbow. “Why don’t we blow off the party tonight and stay right here in bed?”
“What?” Daisy awkwardly pushes herself up on the bed.
“I could say you’re tired. I mean, you are seven months pregnant. No one would question it.”
“I’ve been looking forward to this all week, and we have our costumes. Very good costumes. Anyway, Cobra will definitely want you there, and Sheena will be so disappointed if I don’t show.”
I draw in a deep breath. It was worth a try, but I should’ve known Daisy’s reaction. Over the last few years in Vegas, she’s grown close to the other women in the club and even the brothers. They all adore her and probably want to see her tonight as much as me—maybe more.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Then let me up.” She pushes against my hold. “I have to shower and get dressed. Remember everything takes twice as long since I’ve been carrying around your child.”
She rolls away from me, heads for the shower, and for the millionth time today, I try to convince myself all is well.
Halloween Party
JOKER
The Gold Mine is rockin’ when we get there with wall-to-wall bodies in every kind of costume imaginable.
Aliens, Disney villains, movie star knockoffs, Elvis and Rat Pack impersonators, and, of course, the Serpents as their favorite outlaws.
According to Boa, our treasurer, the profits, along with the charity donations, are off the charts.
Daisy jets off toward the women, who all compare their outfits in shrieking excitement, while I make my way to the bar. If I am to get through this night, booze is needed. Lots and lots of booze.
“Hey, grumpy-ass, where’s your party face?” Rattler smirks on the other side of the bar as he sets a shot glass in front of me, filling it with Jack.
I give him the once-over. “Nice costume. When do you pull your next bank job?”
Ratter steps back from the bar and squares his shoulders in his 1930s three-piece suit, complete with slicked-back hair. “I think I look pretty damn good.”
“You always think you look damn good.” Rattler’s huge attitude is legend, but Serafina, his TV star wife, manages to keep him in his place.
“Hey, it’s authentic. Serafina got our costumes from the wardrobe department of an upcoming HBO series, Crime Doesn’t Pay/Criminals of Yesteryear. ”
Rattler reaches under the bar and produces a very realistic-looking machine gun straight out of the old-time gangster movies.
“I gotta admit you can pull off the slick gangster.” I down the shot, and Rattler refills my glass.
“Remember that scam we pulled off on Digger, your deadbeat prez, back in New York? I had him totally believing I was a Hollywood talent agent.” He puffs his chest out. “Serafina says I got natural talent.”
“You sure she’s talking about acting?” Python slides onto the stool next to me with a shitty grin, all decked out in cowboy hat, chaps and boots to match.
“I have a wide range of talents, wiseass.” Rattler pushes a shot to Python.
I motion to Python’s costume. “When’s the stagecoach coming in?”
“I’m Jesse James, man. One of the most feared gunslingers of the West. ”
I nod to the holster hanging off his hip with his .45 tucked inside. “Only I don’t think that qualifies for a six-shooter.”
We both down our shots, and Rattler refills them. “You look like you need this and about four more.”
“You don’t look any better than you did yesterday.” Cobra slides into the stool on the other side of me in a pin-striped suit, with a fake machine gun strapped over his shoulder. He eyeballs my costume. “Gotta tell you, I’m loving the fedora.”
“Bite me. I see you didn’t have any more luck than I did with convincing our women we’d wear our cuts and patches.”
“Waste of fuckin’ time arguing with Sheena. She wanted John Dillinger, so that’s what I gave her. I don’t even fight her anymore.” Cobra taps the bar for a shot and smiles. “But seriously, man, you gotta lighten up. We not only handled our business yesterday, but we got paid and paid well.”
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t almost get slammed by a two-ton car.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“At the garage today, Gus was showing me a job, and the damn lift gave way.”
“Fuck!”
“No shit. Damn thing slammed to the floor two seconds after I was under it.”
“Did you talk to Gus about it?”
I look over my shoulder ‘cause I’ve become paranoid as fuck. “It wasn’t an accident.”
Cobra shoots the Jack. “What?”
“The goddamn hydraulic was leaking fluid.”
“That can happen, right?”
“Gus is even more anal than me when it comes to safety in the garage, and he said he changed the hydraulic fluid two days ago.”
“So, you think somebody sabotaged the lift at the garage? ”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Just like Rattler said he changed out the plugs on my bike.”
“Just a slip-up.” Cobra shrugs.
“You play cards, you know the odds, so . . .” I trace the rim of my shot glass. “Shit’s been happening to me a lot lately.”
“You’re talking about that Shoshone thing?”
“It makes sense. None of this bullshit was going on before that old man started spitting his shit and I got that black stone.” Which right now was in my pocket along with the silver feather amulet from Warrior. I wasn’t taking any fuckin’ chances.
Cobra claps me on the shoulder and motions to Rattler. “I think he needs another shot.” He eyeballs me. “Love the costume. Swear to fuck, you really look like Bugsy.” Then he heads off into the crowd with Python.
Shit, why the fuck did he have to say that? I down another shot, and the whiskey flowing through my blood eases some of the tension, but I still have a nagging in my gut, and that’s when I see it.
Way on the other side of the room, someone is dressed in traditional American Indian regalia, including an intricate headdress. I squint through the crowd and the dim lighting. I swear to fuck it’s the face of the Nomad we offed at the safe house—but that’s impossible, right?