Chapter Twelve #2
The Devil’s Reign bikers staggered to their feet. Some limped, some dragged each other. They spit blood and glared, eyes glinting with hatred.
Greasy wiped his mouth, smearing red across his beard. “This ain’t over.”
Hawk’s stare was cold. “It is for today. You disrespect the Insurgents you get your asses beat. You do it again, and your families will be planning funerals. Don’t even think of wearing the Colorado rocker.
This was your warning. Next time, we won’t be nice.
You’re lucky we didn’t kill your fuckin’ wimp asses for bringing this shit near a festival full of kids. ”
The Devil’s Reign fired up their bikes and peeled away, the dust exploding behind the tires. A few flipped them off until they disappeared into the distance.
“Fuckin’ pussies,” Rags muttered. His ribs rebelled, his head spun, and blood poured down his face.
“You look like shit, bro,” Hawk said.
Throttle limped over and handed Rags his T-shirt. “Press this against your eye. You need to get back to the clubhouse.”
“Throttle’s right. Doc will take a look. What happened?” Hawk asked.
“The fucker you flipped caught me with his kill-light.”
“Those assholes are too stupid to back down.” Smokey held up a blood-stained cut. “I grabbed three of these.”
“Two,” Diesel said.
“One,” Chas added.
“Four,” Rock said, and the group burst out laughing.
“They’ll just go back and make more,” Shadow said.
“That’s something we need to talk about at church. For now, let’s get cleaned up and head back to the festival. Elmer said we can use his house to wash up.” Hawk looked at Rags. “You, Throttle, and Chas head back to the clubhouse.”
“I’ve got my cage. Jack can take Addie and Hope home,” Chas said.
Hawk nodded. “You, Throttle, and Rags can store your bikes in one of Elmer’s garages. One of the brothers can drive you back later tonight or tomorrow to pick them up.”
“You guys gonna party tonight after the festival?” Puck asked.
The Insurgents with old ladies shook their heads, but Razor and Tank grinned.
“We deserve some fun after this workout,” Razor said.
Hawk laughed. “We all earned some prime pussy tonight. I got my old lady to keep me good. Have fun.” Then his expression hardened. “If those assholes come back, you let me and Banger know right away. We’ll make sure they never come around again.”
The brothers nodded, and the battle-weary Insurgents trudged toward Elmer’s ranch house.
* * *
Chas placed the empty shot glass on the bar next to Throttle’s. “You want us to take you back to the ranch?” He glanced at the wall clock. “The after-party’s in full swing by now.”
Rags shook his head. “Nah, I’m gonna party with a bottle of Jack and kick back here.” His fingers drifted to the bandage over Doc’s stitching. “This shit hurts like a motherfucker.”
Throttle let out a low laugh. “The Devil’s assholes are hurting a helluva lot worse than we are, dude.”
“That’s what’s making all this”—Rags tapped his brow, wincing—“worth it.” He grinned, then sucked in a breath as a sharp spike of pain shot through his ribs.
Chas clapped a hand on Rags’s shoulder. “I gotta go, bro. Get some rest.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You always say that. We all do,” Throttle said.
Chas and Rags chuckled.
“I’ll check on you tomorrow. Kimber and me will swing by to get your bruised ass so we can pick up our Harleys from Elmer’s.”
Rags nodded. “Sounds good.”
They bumped fists and headed across the main room, walking out into the cold mountain air. Rags poured one more shot and threw it back, feeling the burn slide to the pit of his stomach.
Two older members, Buffalo and Inky, sat on the couch watching a woman giving head on the big screen TV. Rags glanced at the screen, then pushed off the barstool. Grabbing the whiskey bottle, he headed to his room.
He shut the door behind him, blocking out the porn actors’ moaning, and switched on the lamp. A soft amber glow filtered around the room as he trudged to the armchair by the window. Silence settled around him, broken only by the hum of the furnace and the muted noises drifting from the ranch.
Rags nudged the chair to face the window, slumped into it, took a long pull from the bottle, and stared out. The towering mountains loomed dark against the sky. The occasional headlights from a car on the two-lane highway shone like lighthouse beacons in the growing darkness.
I should’ve gone to the after-party. He’d normally be drowning the night in booze and pussy right about now.
Sighing, he reached into his cut and pulled out a joint then lit it; the glowing tip reflected off the glass pane like a pinprick of light.
Rags took a deep drag and blew out a slow stream of smoke, then doubled over coughing as his ribs lit up in pain. “Fuck,” he hissed.
He leaned back, smoke floating around him, and looked at the darkness again.
Thoughts of Casey slipped into his mind.
It surprised the hell out of him that he sought her out at the festival.
That morning, he kept scoping the entrance, hoping she’d show.
When she didn’t, he’d been pissed at himself for acting like a damn pansy.
He didn’t chase women; they chased him. So, he forgot about her…
until he saw her standing by a jewelry booth.
Her unruly hair caught the autumn light, that knit top hugging her tits just right, and her blue jeans fit her like a second skin, molding around all her curves in the best way.
Damn. He shifted in the chair and took another slug of Jack.
He pretended not to notice her, but from the corner of his eye, he saw her searching for him, a pretty pink flush creeping up her neck when she’d spotted him. Then when he looked at her, she darted her eyes away, only to bring them back. He’d been hooked from that second.
Then he did what he hadn’t done since Julie.
He pursued Casey. He told his brothers some lame excuse about needing to check something out, then followed her.
He caught sight of her swaying those sweet hips, and a bolt of heat punched him.
Hard. At the memory of it, he sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled raggedly, his hand pressing against his ribs.
Another long drink of Jack.
Then the barn. Fuck, she was on fire: her sweet lips against his, their tongues tangling, her breath on his neck, her fingers clutching his shirt.
Damn. And those soft sounds she made when he rolled her nipple between his fingers…
He groaned under his breath. If Throttle hadn’t shown up, he’d have had her right there on the hay, tasting every inch of her before burying himself deep between her legs.
Hell, I’m acting like a lovesick jerk. What is it with this woman?
And then another image crept into his mind: Casey at Ruthie’s with that pansy-ass. There’s no way she’s with him. No fuckin’ way. But doubt slipped in anyway.
When he’d seen her sitting with that dough-faced wimp, something sharp and mean had twisted in him.
For some reason, he figured she didn’t date anyone, that she worked too damn much for that.
His eyes narrowed as he recalled catching that Jacob asshole massaging her shoulders the day he’d come to see Clara, and that had pissed him off, too, but nothing like seeing her with that pussy at Ruthie’s.
The jerk kept glancing back at him, and it took everything in Rags not to drag him outside and beat the shit out of him.
She’s too much woman for a wimp like that.
Rags’s jaw clenched so hard the stitches over his eyebrow pulled.
He was being ridiculous and acting like a damn teenager.
He had no claim on her. She wasn’t his, and she owed him nothing.
But imagining her laughing with that loser…
sharing her thoughts with him… letting him touch her…
It made something hard and vicious coil inside him.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his ribs as another pulse of pain shot through him. He shouldn’t give a damn what Casey did or who she did it with. And he definitely shouldn’t be sitting, staring out the window, replaying how she felt in his arms, how her lips were swollen from his kisses.
Another swig of Jack.
The truth was he did care. More than he wanted to admit. He leaned back, eyes closing. “Fuck it. Damn woman,” he muttered, voice rough.
As he said the words, the truth seeped past his defenses, settling heavy in his bones: He wasn’t walking away from her—not after the barn, and not after the way she’d looked at him like she wanted him just as bad.
Casey was in his head causing all kinds of havoc with the rule he built around himself: no emotional attachment to any woman.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, his shoulders tensed, and he knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that any wimpy ass date, her past, or her MC prejudices were going to keep him from her.
Not until he fully tasted her.