“Trust me. You scream.” A smile spreads across his face, and I’m taking that as a good thing. Then I remember we’re in the shower. My eyes drop down to see his cock in his hand. I watch as the trace of my virginity washes away.
“All mine?” I echo his own words back to him.
“More than you’ll ever understand.” I didn't think my body could hum with more pleasure than it already was, but Dane proved that wrong. I wrap my hand around his cock as I drop to my knees. Dane stays true to his word.
He always does.SeventeenDaneThe motorcycles roared past all night. When I was in the military, constant exposure to noise was one of the things we were exposed to during counter terrorism training. It’s designed to reduce your sleep and thereby lower your defenses and ability to respond. It was actually pretty fucking effective, and a good portion of our guys washed out from the program because they fucked up the following day due to inattentiveness. There’s plenty of former military who found their way into these biker gangs, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s a tactic one of them brought from their past.
Thankfully, Joy sleeps like the dead. I could probably blow an air horn by her ear and she wouldn’t stir. That’s not a bad thing. I slip out of bed and tuck the blankets around her.
In the other room, I dress silently, slip my gun into my holster, and double-check all the locks. When everything is secure, I text Mick.
Me: I’m going to make a visit to a friend wanna tag along
Mick: Is this friend related to your business
Me: No. non business. personal real personal
Mick: pick me up
Mick is standing outside when I pull up. He lopes over to the truck and climbs in, the door shutting with a quiet schnick. “I only brought one extra magazine. Do you think I’ll need more?”
“No, but if we do, I’m well stocked.” I jerk my head to the cachet of weapons stored inside a long industrial grade trunk in the rear.
My brother shifts in his seat and reaches out to take inventory. Once he’s satisfied that we’re well equipped, I take off.
“You should’ve brought Joy over to the house,” Mick says, checking the chamber of his Glock.
“I don’t want to worry her. Her job is spreading happiness to a bunch of people. This sort of thing would taint that.”
“I don’t want to be telling you how to run your business, but as your older brother and someone who’s been married for years, you always got to be up front with your woman. She’ll find out later anyway, and if she hears it from someone else, it’ll be your balls that are aching.”
“Bells gets mad at you because you’re irritating, not because you don’t tell her everything. She knows everything there is to know—“ I shut up before I can shove my foot into my mouth further. I arrive at the biker’s house before my brother stops laughing. It takes him another minute to gather his composure.
Mick swipes the back of his hand against his eyes, shoves his gun into his pocket, and gives me a nod. “I’m ready.”
“Better be.” I hop out and head for the front door. The toys in the lawn are gone, and the porch that was sagging in the satellite photos is rotted away. “The sat photos had toys,” I alert Mick.
He surveys the yard that’s only partially illuminated by the streetlights and moon. “Either they’re grown or they’re gone, but I’ll be careful.”
Under a carpark attached to the side of the house is an old model Dodge Charger and a shiny black Harley. I scrape off the mud and take note of the license number. The postage size backyard holds a couple broken lawn chairs and crushed beer cans. Flies buzz around a garbage bag that’s partially open. The raccoons will be feasting tonight.
Back around the front, Mick is keeping watch. I knock on the front door like a good neighbor, but no one answers. It’s late, so that’s no surprise. A swift kick on the knob and the door gives way. Mick goes low and I go high—just like it was in the old days when we were in boot before we got separated due to some rule about brothers not being able to serve together. A rush of stale air hits us. Mick pulls up his shirt over his nose and nods for me to go ahead.
No one is in the front room. We move quietly and quickly down the hall of the one-story. The first bedroom is empty. Boxes are piled up in the corner, and the mattress is the floor. There are towels on the floor of the bathroom and a trail of dirty underwear leading to a closed door at the end of the hallway. Inside, the biker lays on his stomach, a beer can on the nightstand next to his phone.