Chapter Nineteen
Grinder
We didn’t fuck.
I mean, I could have fucked her, but sticking my dick inside her while she’s snoring felt creepy, even for me. The worst part was her telling me to go ahead and do it but she needed to sleep.
As honored as I was that she’d trust me while fully unconscious, I had to hard pass that scenario.
By the time I woke up this morning, spread eagle over the entire bed as per my usual, she was gone. She left a note, though, so that was nice.
Not as nice as my plans for breakfast with my tongue deep inside her pussy, but whatcha gonna do? Not cunnilingus, apparently.
“Are you even listening, Grinder?” I blink at the sound of Sledge’s hard tone and Boner snapping his fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry, was thinking about eating out Parker and got distracted.” The entire room groans with a few curses about sharing is not always caring. Sledge throws an empty juice box at my face but the only reaction he gets from me is a wide—probably insufferable—grin.
“We had a deal not to throw that shit in my face.”
Says the man who just, literally, threw something at my face.
“I made no such promise, my brother.” I predict I’m gonna get punched in the nuts after Church.
“Let’s focus, shall we? This is important.” Hoops brings us all back to the topic like a good shepherd surrounded by a bunch of errant sheep. “What’s the last thing you heard, Grinder?”
“The part where Parker stabbed an O’something or other. Kinda got me hot.” I grab my crotch for visual confirmation but no one’s impressed with me.
“Right. Can you stay with us for the rest of the meeting or do you need some private time?” If I didn’t know that Hoops is being sarcastic, I would definitely take him up on a little self-love in the next room.
His tone, however, is in direct contradiction to his words, so I’m going to be a model participant and listen.
“All good, Prez.” I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my energy drink while fighting back a tiny smirk. From across the table, Bear sees me and just shakes his head. He’s like our dad; eternally disappointed in our antics. Or maybe it’s just mine.
“From what Parker said, she hurt a few of those guys pretty badly, but it’s been months so we won’t get any information from hospitals or clinics.” Hoops rubs his face with both of his hands before sitting back in his chair and nodding to Sledge, who’s waving a couple of sheets of paper.
“She did draw a couple of portraits, though. I made photocopies so we can keep them with us in case we see anyone who fits the description while we’re out riding.” He throws the stack of papers in the middle of the table and we all help ourselves to the sketches.
A few whistles around the table confirm what I’m feeling as I take in the drawing.
“Damn, my girl’s good.” And I’m not even talking about sex—mainly because we haven’t fucked yet—just her art.
“She’s got talent, that’s for sure.” Shade rubs his chin as he scrutinizes the lines on the paper.
“When did she draw these?” We went straight to bed in the early hours of the morning and she conked out the minute her head hit the pillow. I know because my dick took full notice of the fact we weren’t getting a happy ending to the long day.
“Don’t know. They were under the door when I walked in right before Church,” Hoops says as he pushes the drawing to the side and takes out a notebook where he keeps all the important shit from our meetings.
Shit, that means Parker made these before going to her appointment. Impressive.
“That reminds me. She was badly hurt during the fight.” My head snaps up at Hoops’s words and a shot of adrenaline fills my veins within seconds.
“The fuck?” He’s got my full attention now.
“Hey, Bear, do you remember when Grinder used to fuck with us because we were pussy whipped?” Bear just smirks and nods at Psycho. The quiet, silent, grizzly stares at me with a glint in his eyes that says it’s your turn, asshole.
Of course, I ignore them because…someone hurt Parker and I’m only finding out about it now?
“It was months ago, Grinder. She's fine.” Hoops rolls his eyes and continues, leaving me open mouthed and reeling.
“I don’t care if it was years ago. We’re going after them.” And that’s that.
“Gee, didn’t see you so gung-ho when it was about me.” Shade cocks his head to the side, clearly trying to provoke me, but I’m un-provokable—famously so. By famous, I mean these assholes know I don’t react to bait.
Everyone chuckles but my focus remains on Hoops, waiting for him to reassure me.
“It’s the whole reason we’re here. We need to get moving, ride around town, have a couple of the brothers, the younger ones, go to the club without their cuts. Go on four wheels so they don’t raise eyebrows.” Tapping my index finger with each point Hoop makes, I nod in agreement.
“Memorize the sketch so you’re not looking at it between two sips of whiskey.” My instructions and raised brow are directed at Bash because he’s too pretty not to go. “I think Kincaid should go with Bash.”
“Not together.” Everyone turns to Shade. “Bash will be the eyes but Kincaid will need to replay the scene, in a way. My guess is these guys are regulars there, they have the home advantage.”
Shade makes sense. Kincaid is hot as fuck, even with the permanent scowl on her face.
“Then we’ll need to be close by in case shit goes down. We’re not leaving anyone behind again.” Hoops is speaking to us all but his hard gaze is solely on Shade. “Understood?”
“Yeah, Prez.” Various versions of that answer echo around the room and as we switch to another subject—race nights—my dark thoughts infiltrate my mind.
The word torture bounces around in my brain before I push it back out and focus on Church.
Shade’s wrong about one thing. I want the heads of those bastards on spikes. Not just for Parker, but for all of us. Especially Shade. You harm one, you harm all.
“Fancy seeing you here.” I’m straddling my bike, facing the salon, when Parker comes out. The way she greets me with her sexy-as-fuck Brit accent gets my dick hard in an instant. It’s not the most comfortable situation, given how I’m sitting, leaning on my crossed arms against the gas tank.
My gaze does a long once-over of her outfit and it occurs to me that this could’ve gone south before it even began.
“It’s a good thing you’re wearing jeans.” I grin, all toothy and feral.
Parker slides her hands into her back pockets as she ogles Tallulah and I feel a little violated for her. The bike, not Parker, obviously.
“Is this your way of asking me to sit on your motorcycle?” She takes a couple of steps closer and her perfume, sweet yet citrusy, caresses my nostrils and makes me wish we were alone instead of in the parking lot of this huge-ass mall.
“I’m not asking, Stabby.” The idea of her not getting on my bike and summoning some stupid fucking stranger with her phone to take her back to Maribel’s actually stirs up an emotion I’m not enjoying. Irritation.
“Oh, I see. Is this the part where you call me your old lady and think I’ll just shut up and put out?” And just like that, she has me laughing like a fucking idiot. “Because I’d put out, for sure, but don’t expect me to shut up.”
“The idea never crossed my mind. The shutting up part, that is. The fucking is definitely happening.” I tap the back of my bike and give her a head signal that she needs to sit.
The purse that’s over one shoulder won’t do.
As she comes close enough, I take the strap and place it diagonally so that it’s snug between us once she’s flush against me, then I take the helmet I brought for her and place it over her head, securing the strap under her chin.
She looks fucking sexy, and a flitting visual of me fucking her from behind while she’s wearing the helmet dances through my mind but I shake it away.
No fucking way I’m missing out on wrapping her red hair around my fist.
“Does this mean I’m your old lady now?” Looks like she learned the lingo quickly, didn’t she?
“Hmmm, get on, Stabby.” I put the footrests out before she came out, and although her shoes aren’t great for riding and her jean jacket won’t do shit to shield her from the wind, I decide to take her to the beach for a much needed conversation.
“This doesn’t feel the way I thought it would. Not a fan of the small seat, and where do I hold on?” I don’t respond to her long winded question as I clasp my helmet, turning the com on so she doesn’t have to scream when she talks.
“Calm your titties, Stabby. No need to blow out my eardrums.” I chuckle at her gasp.
“Holy shit, I can hear you in my head. Can we talk the whole time you’re driving? Wait, won’t that distract you?” I reach behind me and squeeze her thigh, getting a little handful at the side of her ass.
“I don’t drive, Parker. Pilot, ride, divinely control this beauty are all acceptable ways of describing it. Driving? No fucking way.”
“Right. Okay, now what do I do?” Her enthusiasm is fucking addictive.
With both of my feet firmly planted on the road, I reach back to cop a feel before I grab her hands at my waist and bring them to the front, pressing her palms against the gas tank.
“Hold the tank to stabilize when we brake and follow the bike when we turn. Your knees…” I place my hands on the outer part of her knees, pulling her in closer.
“Not too tight but enough that you can feel what my body is doing. You follow the rider, never go opposite.” Once I feel she’s got the right position, I turn the engine on and twist my right wrist, the deep rumble of the muffler making the whole bike shake.
I fucking love this feeling and there’s something exciting about sharing my most favorite thing with my favorite people. The only shitty thing about this is that a bike is for two, so no threesomes for us.