Blood & Bones: Ozzy (Blood Fury MC 9)

He’d never backed away from a fight and, if he was pushed far enough, he wouldn’t back off with teaching a lesson to the cocky ex-con. Scar stood there appearing deceivingly relaxed when he was probably prepared for Ozzy to get in his face and maybe even get physical.

Instead, Ozzy did what the asshole least expected. He used his damn words. He hated every second of it. “Might need to clean your glasses, then.”

“Don’t wear glasses.”

“Then you better get some.” Ozzy made sure his tone held a sharp warning.

Scar casually sliced off another piece of apple and lifted the blade with the fruit to his mouth. “Didn’t know I got vision coverage under my insurance plan.”

Ozzy snorted. “When d’you ever have a fuckin’ job where you had insurance?”

“Got free medical care inside.”

“Then go back,” Ozzy suggested. “I can help make that happen if you got the dumb-fuck notion it’s better inside than here.”

Scar dropped his head as he sliced off the next piece of apple, but Ozzy didn’t miss his grin. Yeah, the fucker thought he’d bait him.

It was all a fucking game to Scar. One he might lose if he wasn’t careful.

Ozzy turned enough to keep Scar in his peripheral vision but also to keep an eye on Dutch to see when the garage owner was done doing his thing.

“Christ,” he muttered. How long could the old man go?

Ozzy didn’t want to be jealous but, for fuck’s sake, how could he not be?

He wanted to have the conversation with the old man before the run, not afterward because the man might just disappear later and Ozzy would miss his opportunity.

Fuck it.

“Angel, wrap it up,” Ozzy said as he moved closer. “Need to speak to the old man.”

One of Dutch’s eyes opened and it glared at him. “Who the fuck you callin’ old?”

“You, old man.”

“You ain’t no young buck. Bet I got better stamina than you.”

Right now, seeing what he was seeing, Ozzy wasn’t going to argue that. “You got a good twenty-five years on me.”

Dutch’s fingers gripped Angel’s hair even tighter as he began to guide the sweet butt’s head up and down his dick faster. “Bullshit. I ain’t that old and you know it, asshole.”

“The grays on your nuts say otherwise.” Dutch was only about fifteen years older than Ozzy, but he liked to bust his balls anyway to get him riled up.

“You wanna get a better look while you’re suckin’ them?” Dutch growled.

“Didn’t know you were into that.”

“Just gotta close my eyes. A trick you probably learned in prison. Sure that ugly motherfucker standin’ over there knew that trick well. Feels the same when your eyes are closed. Right, Scar?”

“Now, Dutch, don’t make the prospect cry.”

Dutch huffed out a half-laugh and his jaw got tight as Angel sped up her pace. “Why you interruptin’ my Sunday mornin’ routine?”

“‘Cause I can and ‘cause if you didn’t want to be interrupted, you shoulda taken it elsewhere. And anyway, most men’s mornin’ routines are shit, shower and shave, not shit, shower and suck. Bet you haven’t seen a razor in a long time.”

The single opened eyeball pointed Ozzy’s way. “You’re one to talk. When’s the last time you’ve touched a fuckin’ razor?”

Ozzy slid his fingers down his beard. “Difference is I trim mine. You just let yours go like you’ve been lost in the jungle for the past twenty years.”

Dutch snorted and then glanced down at Angel. Her eyes were now open and she was listening to the exchange between him and Dutch, her eyes bouncing back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. Her pace hadn’t paused once during the exchange.

“Get it, girl,” Dutch told her.

Ozzy scratched the back of his neck as Angel “got it,” and Dutch gave it to her. With two final pumps of Dutch’s hips, Ozzy knew the exact moment the Original shot his load down Angel’s throat.

A few seconds later, Dutch’s eyelids lifted, he patted Angel on the head, said, “Good girl,” and then pulled his spent dick from her mouth before tucking it back in his jeans and zipping up.

As Dutch fastened his belt buckle, Angel got to her feet and turned to Ozzy with a look that he could read clearly since he’d seen it enough.

“Next time,” Ozzy muttered at the unspoken offer. “Got business to talk about.”

One of Dutch’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows lifted. “Business?”

“Yeah. Not for anyone’s ears but yours right now.”

Dutch frowned and tugged on his beard. “You need to talk about it now? How much time we got before my knuckle-headed son calls for us to mount up?”

By knuckle-headed son, he was referring to Cage, since Dutch’s youngest boy was the club’s road captain.

Ozzy shrugged. “Won’t take long, just need a minute.”

Dutch jerked his chin to the rear door of the bunkhouse. “Outside.” He turned to Angel. “Come get us if they start a search party.”