“They went out to dinner, came back, and when they were undressing in his bedroom, I chambered my gun. My brother screamed like the little dickless boy that he was and flicked the lights on.”
“What happened then?” Chelsea and my food is getting cold but we are both mesmerized by Abel’s story. Abel, though? He’s making his way through the stack of pancakes like they’re nothing more than a pile of whipped cream. The fucked up tale of his girl and his brother wasn’t bad enough that it affected his appetite.
“I told him that he needed to sell the house and send me my half of the funds and that if I ever heard from either of them again, the bullet wouldn’t stay in my chamber. I got on my bike and went back to base. A month later I get a check for forty grand which was my share of the house and I haven’t been back. I heard that he proposed and then found her screwing around with someone else. I don’t keep in touch.”
He shovels the rest of the cakes into his mouth and then drains his glass of milk.
“That’s really shitty of both of them but it sounds like you dodged a bullet.”
Abel shrugs lightly. “Best thing that could have ever happened to me. I didn’t marry a cheating cunt, found out that blood doesn’t mean shit when it comes to families, and got a nice little nest egg that I keep tucked away in case I need it.”
“She was a real bitch.” Chelsea’s mouth is screwed up and I can tell by the way she’s gripping the fork that if Abel’s ex was standing in front of us, Chelsea’s fork would be in the bitch’s forehead.
“Plus you got new brothers now and not one of them is going to stick their dick into pussy you’ve claimed.”
“Not interested,” Abel replies.
Beside me Chelsea gives a tiny sniff of disbelief. She thinks he wants an old lady but doesn’t trust one enough to let himself care but I can see Abel’s done with this topic.
“”Let’s talk about the Misery crew and what the fuck we’re going to do with them,” I say.
“I vote for firebombing them,” Chelsea offers, “Or maybe not firebombing them but the house at least.”
“I like Big. He’s a good guy and I don’t think he’d back someone who wasn’t worth following.” Abel waves his hand for the check. “Junior’s hiding something but I don’t think he’s the type of person to stab you when you’re not looking.”
“But he will knife you when he’s looking you in the face. That’s not very comforting,” Chelsea says.
“We’re all a little feral, baby.” I plant a hard kiss against her temple. “Even you.”
The night I was hauled in for questioning over the murder of a local Fortune woman, Jessica Trainor, Chelsea looked ready to bring every one of those dirty cops down.
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue because I’m right.
“Back to the hellhole?” Abel says after paying the bill. This little trip is funded by the Death Lords so we don’t worry about splitting meals.
“I’d like to register for classes this morning. The next set of courses starts in two weeks.”
“How about I drop you off and then when you’re done I’ll pick you back up.” I don’t want Abel being stuck with the Misery crew without backup. “Then we can go look for someplace to live.”
“Sounds good.”
The beauty school that Chelsea is going to attend while we’re in Minneapolis is in a nice brick building in St. Louis Park. I tell her to wait while I go around and open the door for her. After I help her out, she gives me a weak tongueless kiss goodbye. Using my body, I shove hers against the side of the truck and pull her head back by the ponytail to show her exactly how we’re going to be saying goodbye when she goes to classes.
When she’s flushed, panting and pressing her sweet hips up against me, I release her. “You can go now.”
She scrunches up her nose and scowls. “Thanks a lot. Now my panties are wet and all my lipstick is on your face.”
I thumb her plump, rosy lower lip. “Like I said. You need to invent coffee flavored lipstick.”
Her hand comes down and cups me between my legs. Expertly she rolls my balls and rubs a firm palm against my growing stiffy. It’s almost too cold out here to get a hard on but my dick knows whose hand that is and he eagerly stands at attention.
I growl but she dances out of my embrace.
“You can go now,” she laughs and waves as she runs up the steps to the entrance. I mock chase after her and she squeals loudly before disappearing inside.
I watch as the blonde ponytail sways as she disappears from sight. I’d like nothing better than to follow her inside, find a small deserted closet and fuck her until it’s hard for her to stand but duty calls.
Abel doesn’t say much as we drive back toward the Misery MC’s clubhouse. About ten minutes out, he breaks the silence. “You really love her.”
“Yeah.” His statement’s full of wonder—as if it’s impossible for him to imagine loving anyone like I love Chels. “Can’t live without her. Worst part of being in prison was not seeing her. I made her stay away. Wouldn’t let her visit me because it was too fucking painful.”
“The other night…with Big. Why’d you pick him?”
The other night he’s referring to is the night we arrived at the Misery MC. Someone from the Misery MC insulted Chelsea and Big, the efficient killer who burns the evidence for Misery, offered up apologies in the form of eating Chelsea while I fingered her. She came like a bottle rocket. It was hot as hell, but probably not something we’d repeat.
“Because Chelsea mentioned something off hand about wondering what it’d be like being Annie—two guys getting off on bringing her to a happy place.”
“Why not a Death Lord?”
Why not a—? Oh shit. I kick myself for not recognizing earlier what Abel was hinting at when we were talking about our housing situation. Abel wondered why I’d picked a stranger and not someone I trusted.
“Shit man. The offense was from the Misery boys, not you. We got no problem with you.”
Able doesn’t look convinced.
“It’s Chelsea.” I’m not running her down here, just laying out her feelings. I think she’d do the same if she were here. She likes Abel. “She told me that it’d have to be a stranger. Someone she wouldn’t see on a regular basis because it’d be too embarrassing. She gets off on watching but she’s not into the showing off.”
Abel processes this explanation through his bullshit meter. “Okay. I’ll buy that. For the record, I’m not into the sharing either but I admit that I didn’t want to be somewhere if I was making people feel uncomfortable.”
“You’ve never given Chelsea an extra look so I guess I didn’t think you’d even be interested.”
He gives me a hard stare. “You’re kidding right?”
“No.”
“Wrecker, man, you start growling the minute another guy shows Chelsea even the slightest bit of interest. Plus, there’s Judge. There are easier and less painful ways to kill myself than step on the toes of the Death Lords’ president and his son.”
I am possessive of Chelsea but I also like making her happy. If she told me that having sex on the baseball field in front of sixty thousand fans would burn her up like tinder on a hot day, I’d do it because I get off on her getting off. “Okay, maybe once but I swear on my mother’s grave that the Big thing was spur of the moment and never to be repeated. Chelsea still blushes whenever she walks past him.”
“True. Big finds that funny, you know.”
“I know and so does Chelsea which makes her even more embarrassed.”
My phone buzzes. I toss it to Abel since I’m driving.
“Your attorney wants you to call her when you have time.”
“Great.” I’m still a person of interest in the Jessica Trainor shooting plus I have a year left of parole. She’s probably calling about that. “Ignore that and give Judge a call. Let’s find out if he knows what happened to any of the older members.”
Abel dials up Judge.
&n
bsp; “No one over the age of forty is left in the club?”
“That’s right. The only guy even remotely older is Moose—the one dealing the meth. He’s thirty-five. Has two sisters. About six feet and wiry. Brown hair.”
“Moose. Moose. Yes I think I remember him. He seemed decent. Rough around the edges. Didn’t like authority but loved his sisters something fierce. Would do anything for them. Those girls must be in their twenties. What else is going on? “
I explained the insult to Chelsea and how it led to one of the guy’s turning in his cut rather than apologizing.
“Abel took care of that for us.”
“Junior okayed that?”
“Yeah.”