Chapter Two
Perish
I’d heard it through the grapevine that Gracie had started up a side hustle planning parties.
After the dozens of ones she’d set up for everyone in the club, it seemed like a natural progression of things for her.
Somehow, though, I’d been shocked to catch sight of her when I pulled into the parking lot to meet up with Matteo Grassi about his weed issue.
I’d seen a flash of pretty blonde hair. And, well, thinking with my dick had decided to go ahead and look a little closer. Not knowing at the time who it was.
I climbed off my bike and made my way toward the open barn doors where the blonde was standing with her back to me.
She was wearing one of those romper things in a sunny yellow shade with little white flowers, and it had been doing wonders for her ass, all high and plump, and leaving her shapely legs on display, the calves looking even more defined thanks to the heels on her feet.
The short-heeled kind with a round toe and a tiny little strap across the ankle. Feminine as fuck.
Mentally, I imagined how a flick of my wrists would have that romper on the ground, leaving her likely bare to me, save for a pair of barely-there panties and those shoes, since there was no way the weird crisscross back of the outfit would let her wear a bra.
Figuring out a finicky lawn problem and fucking the blonde against the back of the barn? This day was shaping up to be a pretty good one.
But then she turned.
I saw her face.
Her fucking gorgeous face, mind you.
But also one belonging to someone who was, by every definition of the term, off-limits.
Club princesses were forbidden fruit.
I didn’t want to think about what would happen to me if I put my hands on one of them.
Did club members sometimes end up with them? Yeah. But it was rare. And out of the, what, three times it had happened, two of them had been other club ‘insiders.’ Not an outsider like me. No an ex-con like me.
If I touched her, I was sure someone would cut my hands off at the wrist.
And I wasn’t sure I was exaggerating about that.
Not only were the OG members fiercely protective of them, but so were the current members, who were all like family to the princesses. And who knew what we were like with women.
Namely… casual.
Sometimes with groups at a time.
It was no wonder they wanted us nowhere near their loved ones.
Still, knowing who she was didn’t stop the interest that had already started to build in me.
Especially as she moved forward, and I could tell by the bounce of her tits under the thin material of her romper that I was right about the lack of a bra.
My cock twitched at the mental image of sliding that material downward and sucking one of her nipples into my mouth. Of hearing her shocked intake of breath followed by the whimper of pleasure, then the sensation of the shiver of need as it racked her system.
That thought was immediately followed by her clothes on the floor, me on my knees, and her panties yanked to the side.
A girl like her, I bet she tasted like fucking sunshine.
Even as that thought formed (and my cock pressed against the fly of my jeans), I saw someone ram into her.
Her arms flew up to try to stop herself from flying forward.
Then her hand grabbed a massive ice sculpture cock. Then broke the damn thing clear off.
A silent laugh shook my chest as I watched the absolute horror on her face as she looked down at the giant dick in her hand.
The smart thing after having a fucking sex fantasy about a princess would be to turn and walk the fuck away without engaging.
Did I do that?
No.
What can I say? My life had been a series of bad decisions.
The problem was, now that I let one fantasy about her through my defenses, it felt impossible to talk to her without my mind going places it never had before.
Like noticing how shiny her hair was and imagining how silky it would feel wrapped around my fist as I fucked her from behind, that plump ass of hers rocking back against me as I thrust.
Like realizing she smelled like coconut. And how I wanted that scent spread across my bedsheets.
Like noticing that when you mentioned cocks, she blushed. Despite being surrounded by them at the divorce party.
I couldn’t help but wonder if that flush spread across her chest. If it would tint her skin if I whispered filthy things in her ear.
Thankfully, the server with the cock cupcakes interrupted before I could notice anything else about the woman who I could not ever, under any goddamn circumstances, put my hands on.
I couldn’t even claim it was the worry about physical punishment that I was fixated on. It was more than that. Deeper. It was the loss of something that had started to mean a lot to me.
I have to admit that when I first prospected to the club, it had kind of just been a logical step for me. With my history, there was no getting a decent straight job. Also, with my past, continuing with a life outside of the law made the most sense.
Guys like me, we didn’t do normal well. Some part of me, for better or worse, craved the uncertainty, the violence, the danger.
Prospecting for an arms-dealing biker club would ensure I experienced those things, but also some stability financially.
After time in prison, then a damn halfway house afterward, both where I lived on pennies, the promise of a steady income was what intrigued me most about the bikers.
Once I was in, though, it quickly became bigger than that.
I hadn’t expected a biker club to feel like a family. Yet that was exactly what they were. A family. And I’d unwittingly become a part of it.
Suddenly, there was shit I’d never had before.
Homemade soup from one of the OG old ladies when I caught the fucking plague one winter. A stocking full of candies I didn’t even remember telling anyone were my favorites. People taking care of me when I got shot.
I hadn’t been prepared for it.
And that shit got past my defenses.
It mattered.
They mattered.
While I didn’t dare to call them family, knowing how much of an outsider I was, I orbited around that family circle.
I didn’t want to lose that.
Not even if I was sure Gracie was the kind of woman who wrapped a man up in arms and legs and cried out in his ear as she came.
“Fuck,” I said, dragging a hand over my short hair and exhaling hard.
“That bad, huh?” a voice asked.
Turning, I saw Matteo Grassi making his way over toward me.
He was about what you’d expect of a mafia guy in this area: tall, fit, well-dressed, traditionally good-looking, and a little mysterious. Though Matteo lacked that hard edge that his brother, the capo dei capi of the crew, had.
“Huh?” I asked, then realized he was talking about the weeds under my feet. “Well, it ain’t good. But if I managed to get rid of the mint one of the princesses planted in the backyard, I can get rid of this shit.”
“Any chance you can get rid of it and get new grass growing before June? That’s our busiest month. Until then, we can have photographers choose other areas. But this spot is popular.”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t take that long. Point me to your groundskeeper, and I can give him a plan.”
After that, my afternoon was spent discussing plans with someone who I assumed wasn’t an actual groundskeeper, but a mafia associate.
I guess when you had such a dangerous business, you didn’t want outsiders in your inner circles.
It was probably why the club never hired outside contractors to do anything.
It seemed like over the years they’d had various club members master everything from plumbing and electrical to roofing and general construction.
After the associate brought me back to the main building, Matteo and I got to bullshitting, and I lost track of time.
The next thing I knew, I was looking outside, and the sun was starting to set.
Matteo walked me to the door but hung back when his phone started to ring.
So I walked around the back of the building, taking the long way back to the lot, just enjoying the grounds and the quiet.
Well, the relative quiet.
Thumping from the barn was stripper song after stripper song. Given the guests, I imagined it was a male stripper in there putting on a show.
Why the thought of Gracie being in there seeing that made a strange, tight, uncomfortable sensation move across my chest was fucking beyond me.
Then, though, almost like I’d fucking summoned her, there she was.
She stepped out of the side door of the barn, sucking in a deep breath, then wiggling her shoulders on the exhale.
She didn’t clock me, making me figure I must have mostly been cast in shadow since I was hard to miss usually.
Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, watching the sun sink down behind the trees, a soft look on her face.
I couldn’t really see her brilliant blue eyes this far away, but I imagined they looked even brighter than usual.
Standing there in her yellow outfit with the glow of my favorite color all around her, yeah, it did something to me. Something that felt even more dangerous than the simple attraction I felt earlier.
I wouldn’t admit under the pressure of fucking torture how long I stood there looking at her like a damn creep.
It wasn’t until I heard the squeal of tires that I snapped out of it.
I wasn’t close.
I was several dozen yards away.
But at the first sound of the tires, I broke into a dead run.
I didn’t pause to look, to decide if there was an actual threat.
This was a mafia venue.
I was an outlaw biker.
She was a princess.
It was better to overreact right away than to delay and have someone lose their life.
So I ran.
And watched as she stiffened, as she turned.
There was something primed about her posture, like she was taking in something, assessing it, deciding how she felt about it.
I didn’t dare look.
I didn’t want anything to distract me from reaching her before, God fucking forbid, someone else did.
But I knew it the second she became aware that it was a threat.
Her whole body went ramrod straight.