Chapter Ten
BAD INTENTIONS
Two Days Later
I’m almost a little sad to see the Welcome to Jacksonville sign.
The trip up here has been so peaceful. I admit that I was a little nervous about riding on the back of Sparrow’s bike for five hours, but it’s actually been amazing.
Having the sun on my face and the breeze in my hair has been its own kind of high that I could get used to.
Closing my eyes, I squeeze Braxton’s middle as we idle at the red light, feeling so blissed out.
The whole way here, he smoothed his callused palm up and down my leg.
Occasionally, he’ll give it a squeeze as he twists the throttle to make the engine purr.
Now, that’s not the only thing purring. The vibration has been both heavenly and hellish.
I’m so turned on I’m ready to beg him to fuck me and put out this fire he’s started.
Sliding my hand south, I rub the hard ridge of his jean-covered cock and moan when he revs the engine in retaliation.
As I’m turning my head against his back, Wrath pulls up beside us and winks.
Who would have thought that getting caught touching my man would turn me on?
Figuring what the hell, I wink back. I’m not about to let these guys tease me when I’m a grown woman.
To be honest, they’ve been really good to me, like a bunch of big brothers who have my back.
Feeling the bike begin to slow, I look up and see tall iron gates swinging open as we approach.
Braxton waves to the man standing in the doorway of the guard shack as we pull through.
Taking in the clubhouse, it’s nothing like what the Saints have in Miami.
This place looks like an old, two-story saloon.
I’m a little taken aback when the French doors on the top floor swing open, revealing a big man with a mohawk. Just as Braxton cuts the engine, he leans over the balcony with a huge grin on his face and yells, “Sparrow! Who do you have there, brother?”
“This is my woman, Sierra. Baby, that ugly fucker is Chief. He’s the president of this honky-tonk fuckery.” Braxton laughs, smiling back at the Jacksonville president.
“It’s nice to meet you, darlin’. Y’all stay put. I’m coming down,” Chief says, disappearing back through the double doors.
A minute later, he bursts through the swinging doors, followed by several other bikers. Everyone is smiling and happy to see each other; the whole vibe is one of family and reunion.
“Let me get a look at this beauty,” Chief says, reaching for my hand to help me down. I look to Sparrow, who nods, smirking at the big guy. Rolling my eyes, I take Chief’s hand and slide off. While he’s looking at me like a prized pony, I take him in too.
Comparing him to Braxton, he’s shorter, still well over six feet, but much stockier. He looks to be a little younger, but that doesn’t detract from his scary look. He’s covered in tattoos and piercings, and I’ve yet to see him take off the sunglasses.
“I heard there was a twin but figured there was no way the Gods would give my Miami brothers two women this beautiful. It seems I was wrong.” Wow, this guy is one hell of a smooth talker.
“Thank you,” I say as Braxton pulls me to his side.
“Gonna have to find your own, Pres. This one’s mine,” Braxton declares before slamming his lips onto mine and taking my mouth in a claiming kiss. Fisting his shirt, I hold on for the ride.
Sliding his cheek against mine, he whispers, “I gotta handle some business. Go on inside and grab us a drink, and I’ll be right behind you, yeah?”
“Okay.” Kissing his lips once more, I head for the swinging doors. This place is so cool with its western aesthetics.
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust when I enter the common room, but when they do, I can see that the layout here is a lot different from Miami.
Their bar is in the center of the room, and Miami’s is on the back wall.
The stripper pole and dance floor are the same, but the DJ booth has me scratching my head.
The large TVs and couches are the same too, but the recliners undoubtably scream that this place is one big bachelor pad.
As I approach the bar, I notice the prospect drying a martini glass. They must offer more than just beer and shots in this joint. I laugh under my breath when I try to imagine Savior shaking Martinis.
Hearing my giggle, the prospect looks up and narrows his eyes. When I see the faded sharpie all over his face, I realize he thinks I’m laughing at him. There’s an array of colors, and it looks like someone used them in place of makeup. He loses the mean look when he sees the curiosity on my face.
“Don’t ask,” he whines.
“If I can get two bottles of water, I’ll cross my heart and pinky promise not to.” I smile, making the sign of the cross.
“Yes, ma’am. Never seen you here before. You a new bunny?” he asks, checking out my tits.
“Hell no! I’m here with my man from Miami.”
“Shit! Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean any disrespect. You must be with the Miami crew that just rode in.”
“Yeah. I’m with Brax—I mean Sparrow.” Shit. Sometimes I forget to refer to him by his road name.
“The VP!? Oh fuck. Please, don’t tell him I thought you were a bunny.”
“Don’t sweat it. It was an honest mistake. I’m Sierra.” I offer him my hand after he sets down the bottles of water.
Taking my hand and giving it a gentle shake, he introduces himself, “They call me Havoc.”
“Stop trying to fuck this bitch and get me something to drink, prospect.” Whipping around, I can’t believe this skank just called me a bitch. She doesn’t even know me.
“Ton—”
“Now!” she snaps.
I turn my back and smile sympathetically at Havoc. He seems like a sweet guy and doesn’t deserve her bitchiness. I would love nothing more than to cuss this heifer out, but for all I know, she’s someone’s old lady.
Once he delivers the bitch her drink, he moves closer to where I’m seated, and I ask him about the surf.
When I mentioned how awesome it is that they literally have the ocean in their backyard, Havoc quickly let on that everyone here loves to go surfing.
I’m just about to ask him where I can get a board to use when strong arms wrap around me from behind.
“Doing okay, baby?” Braxton asks, his scent enveloping me.
“Of course.”
“Except for Tonya being a bitch,” Havoc mumbles under his breath.
“What’d you say, prospect?” he growls.
“I said, except for Tonya calling your ol’ lady a bitch.” Damn. I was hoping he wasn’t going to mention that to Braxton. I don’t want to cause any problems.
Lifting my chin so that we’re eye to eye, Braxton asks, “Baby. Did someone call you a bitch?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I promise.
“The fuck it ain’t. In our world, Birdie, if someone disrespects you, they’re disrespecting me. And that shit doesn’t fly, baby.” I guess he has a point, but I still don’t want to make trouble.
“What’s wrong?” Chief asks as he sits down next to me. Damnit.
“Someone called my woman a bitch. What’d you say her name was prospect? Tonya?” Braxton asks.
“It’s fine. Please. I don’t want any trouble,” I beg, looking from Braxton to Chief.
“The fuck? Tonya! Did you call Sparrow’s old lady a bitch?” Chief shouts.
“If I did?” she screeches. Before I can say anything else, Chief is out of his seat and hauling the blonde bimbo down the hallway.
“Come on, Birdie. Let’s go put our stuff in our room, and then we’ll head on over to my aunt’s for lunch,” Braxton says, leading me toward a staircase.
We packed light, so it doesn’t take us long to get our things situated. Once I change my shoes, we’re heading back out the door. As I step to the side so Braxton can lock our door, I see a shadow leaning against the wall, and I yelp when it startles me.
Stepping into the light, Chief grins before quickly sobering and offering an apology for the bitch at the bar. “I’m very sorry about Tonya, Sierra. She won’t bother you again, and if for some reason she does, you let me know.”
“Thank you, Chief, but it really wasn’t necessary. I’m tougher than I look.” I grin.
“I bet you are, darlin’. Where are you two headed off to, Sparrow?”
“We’re going to my aunt’s house for lunch. Do you want to tag along? She’s one hell of a cook.” It’s sweet that Braxton is inviting him to come with us.
“Fuck yes. I could use the distraction.” When I finally get to see Chief’s eyes, I can tell that he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Once we step outside, he quickly puts his shades back on, hiding his worries from the world.
I don’t know what I expected when Braxton said we were going to be having lunch at his aunt’s place, but Ocean Palms assisted living facility wasn’t it.
“Surprised?” he chuckles.
“Very. I don’t know why but I had it in my head we’d be coming to a cute little bungalow in a suburban neighborhood. I never pictured this,” I say, sweeping my hand in the direction of the five-story complex.
“Did you?” I ask, Chief.
“I remember him mentioning he had family in a nursing center, but I didn’t want to pry,” he responds before teasing Braxton. “Brother, I don’t know how these people are going to feel about bikers strolling up into their quiet little sanctuary.”
“Come on. It’s not what you think, but make sure your gun’s holstered, so nobody shoots at us,” Braxton laughs with a serious look on his face.
“Well, that’s ominous,” I mumble as we walk through the automatic sliding doors.
“What the fuck? It’s like the geriatric Sopranos in this joint,” Chief says far too loudly, drawing attention.
He’s not wrong. There is a half dozen Italian mafia-looking men playing dominos.
The troubling part is that they have guns sitting out in the open on the tables.
As I look around the room, I start to realize that the men standing in the corners that look like they’re supervising and observing aren’t orderlies at all; they’re security.