Epilogue #2
Instead, she’d gotten him to a time in his life where he did
that, no…she gave him that, and when she did, she just watched him, happy and
smiling.
He again vowed to himself to do what he could to give that
back.
But he had a feeling they both were totally down with the
way it turned out.
When he finally got control of his humor, he lifted his
brows and asked softly, his arm around her going tight, “You thinkin’ about babies, baby?”
“Would that freak you?” she asked back.
“Fuck no,” he answered firmly.
And earned another smile.
“Two for you too, or…?” she prompted.
“As many as you want, I’ll give you,” he replied.
The smile he got from that was seriously sweet in ways he
felt the urge to do something about it.
“Rosie, Cotton’s up to some serious shit. You need to let me
finish this,” he declared. “Then I’ll spend time finishing you.”
She turned her gaze to his book. “I’m always losing you to
Steve Berry.”
“The man puts one book out a year,” he informed her.
She looked back to him but dipped her head sideways to his
book. “How many times have you read that one?”
“Three.”
And it finally came.
Her body moving on him with her laughter.
Still doing it, she propped her book up on his chest and
ordered, “Finish your chapter.” Her attention turned to her own pages. “Then
you can finish me.”
Snap also returned his attention to his book.
And he never read so fast in his life.
Snapper was behind the bar at the Chaos Compound.
They had three new recruits who he could press into service,
as was their duty, but he was playing bartender like he often played
bartender—definitely since the shit with Valenzuela started—doing it keeping an
eye on his brothers.
And now Rosalie.
She was on the couch in the corner with Speck, a Corona in
her hand, a smile on her face.
Her mass of thick dark hair, her slim figure, her long legs,
her pretty face, those warm hazel eyes, that fucking smile…
Yeah, he’d caught hold of a miracle.
Whatever they were talking about made Speck feel good and
loose, in their own little world the only way Rosalie could give a man, though
with obvious differences for Speck.
She had this knack, brother, old lady or biker groupie.
Rosie was not one to slam tequila shots, get loud, move straight to crazy, then
come on strong so he had no choice but to mostly fuck her against a wall on a
trajectory to his room.
Quiet communion was where Rosie was at.
And if she wanted his dick, all she had to do was give him
that look. The one she had that had two versions. And depending on the version,
Snap could gauge where it was as to where they would go with it. If it was
urgent, he’d get her ass to his room in the back of the Compound so he didn’t
make her wait to give her what she wanted. If it wasn’t, he’d get her ass home.
He tore his eyes from Rosie and scanned the bar.
Boz was sitting a stool, pounding tequila shooters. Rough
count, so far he’d had seven.
He was doing this staring at the bar and not being social in
a way that wafted off him like a nasty cloud, warning everyone to stay away.
Not a single brother or any of their women were stupid, so
they stayed away.
There were a lot of reasons for Boz’s current disposition.
But in his present mood, Snapper could not make an approach to try to pry out
of him which one was fucking with his head right then and driving him to get
shitfaced. Or worst case, if all of them were.
If the man wanted alone time, even if he was seeking that in
a room full of people, Snap was going to give it to him.
So he let that go.
Big Petey was in a huddle at the far end of the bar with Dog
and Brick.
Both Dog and Brick had left some time ago for the Western
Slope to open up a new shop there. But now, both were back in Denver to help
them concentrate on their troubles.
Brick would be taking off soon, though. He needed to get
back. He’d found a woman worthy of him, a feat for Brick since most the women
he chose fleeced his ass or ended up making a play at leading him around by his
dick. All reports, this one was neither. This one was all good. She lived in a
biker town called Carnal. The wedding was imminent, and for it, the brothers
would soon ride.
Snap did not like the look of this huddle. Shit was serious
and it wasn’t getting any better mostly because it wasn’t getting anything.
Since Rosalie had taken her beating from Bounty months ago and Chaos rained
down retribution, the only thing that had happened had been the fact that not
too long ago, they got a delivery on their picnic table outside that very
building.
But that had been some nasty shit and as such had sent all
the brothers, already on edge, straight to the verge. Worse, they didn’t even
have enough a hold on what was happening to give it a damn good yank in an
attempt to shake something loose.
No one wanted Armageddon.
But it was worse knowing it might be out there, waiting, and
they had no choice but to wait for it to hit, a sneak attack.
That huddle could indicate sides were being taken even if
the thing they most didn’t need in the Club right then were lines being drawn.
Snap felt a line had been drawn when Rosie had been pulled in then torn apart,
it was just that after that had happened, in Snapper’s estimation all the men
had stepped to the right side of that line.
In its history, Chaos had splintered once. It got ugly.
Right now, it could not splinter again. And even though every brother knew that
to be true, with the shit going down, it seemed an inevitability.
On the fucking verge.
Tab and Shy were not there. Nor was Rush, Tabby’s brother by
blood, Snapper’s brother of the cut. Tack and Tyra either.
Tab had recently sustained a loss. The night of the picnic
table. She hadn’t been back to the Compound since and was finding recovery
difficult. So Shy, Rush, Tack, Tyra, and Tab and Rush’s little half-brothers,
Rider and Cutter, were seeing to their girl.
Another shot across the bow.
Yeah, on the goddamned verge.
Roscoe and Hopper were playing pool with Lanie and Carissa.
Joke was in the garage across the forecourt, keeping his shit tight by letting
his head fall deep in a build.
Lanie and Carissa were losing in a big way. Lanie and
Carissa also did not care, their frequent laughter and bright personalities,
along with Rosie’s quiet serenity, were the only things that was keeping the
doom hanging over the Chaos Compound from enveloping them, choking out the air,
strangling them standing.
Snap saw it in Roscoe and Hop. The brothers shot smiles at
the women but their bodies were tight. Of late, Roscoe had taken to habitually
cracking his knuckles, and right then was no different. Hop had wound his head
around to loosen the neck muscles twice that Snap had caught.
On the verge.
Big Petey moved from the huddle toward Renae, who was
shooting the shit with Arlo on stools at the other end of the bar, close to the
double doors that led to the Compound. This happened as Dog headed to the back
hall, where he’d left his old lady, Sheila, in his room. His woman was
undoubtedly passed out or simply physically immobile after the hard-core sex
sounds they’d all heard drifting into the common room, prompting Snap to turn
up the music. Brick’s route was to the pool table.
Snap watched Pete’s movements closely.
Arlo had a woman who he’d claimed as his for a long time,
and Snap didn’t know a lot about that, he just knew he stepped out on her.
Frequently. After Boz (who also liked variable pussy even when his cock was
owned by just one) left Bev, Arlo was the last brother with a Chaos patch who
did that shit. And Snap had not left attention to Renae to that brother alone.
He’d kept an eye.
He didn’t like it.
Pete, it was coming clear, liked it less.
Then again, the look on Pete’s face, the reason why Snap
wasn’t a big fan of Arlo setting up to make a move on Rosalie’s mother was not
why Pete didn’t like it. Pete had around ten years on Arlo, but he wore it on
his face more like it was fifteen. Or thirty.
But the man was the most loyal, solid human being Snap had
ever met. More than Tack, who could be volatile, even if he had a fierce check
on that shit. Even more than High, who’d learned the hard way to keep his shit
cool. More even than Brick, who was mellow and smooth almost all the time, even
if he hadn’t just finished a blunt.
As Pete instigated a cockblock, Snap again scanned the
space.
High and Millie had High’s daughters that he’d had with his
ex, so they were up in that crazy-ass mansion the man had bought his girls in
north Denver.
Yeah, Logan “High” Judd was a biker who lived in a gothic
Victorian manor that dripped class from every square centimeter, the same as
his old lady. All of it, except the basement man-cave that was such a stark
contrast to all that was around it, Snap couldn’t walk into the fucking place
without feeling an instant sense of culture shock, then fast on the heels of
that busting a gut laughing.
Whatever they were doing up there, Snap had no doubt High
often found times to reflect on current times, and when he did, he’d wind his
neck around just like Hop.
Notably absent was Hound. He used to be around a lot.
Serious shit had gone down with him—him and his brothers, him and his
now-woman. Snap was frankly shocked as shit Hound had nailed down any woman at
all, much less the one he went balls to the wall for. Snap was under the
impression that the man had always been about brotherhood, blood, guts and
attachment-less booty.
Then again, a lot had surfaced about Hound recently that was
shocking as shit.
So in a rare instance, when it came to Hound, Snap had
learned he was wrong.
But in this instance, he was glad to be that.
His eyes lit on Rosalie, and not unusually, his dick had the
response.
She was mellowed out, with her people, but the vibe had
penetrated, she knew what it did to her man, and she was all in to do something
about that.