Hunter (The Untouchables MC 6)

After he was done with the arrangements, he strode through the last remaining brawlers and cracked a few skulls. Hunter was one of the biggest and meanest looking guys we had. He was very handy to have in a fight.

Or, in this case, when mopping one up.

“It’s gonna be okay, man,” Jaken said, standing beside me and wringing out his hand. His knuckles were bloody, just like mine. I slapped his back.

“Better get that cleaned up,” I said. He nodded and looked at me.

“You, too, my friend.”

We poured vodka over our hands before wrapping them in some bandages we snaked from Doc’s beat-up old black leather bag. Then we got back to work cleaning the place up.

By noon, the place was crawling with relatively sober Hell Raisers and Untouchables. They made short work of getting the place straightened up, including getting the unconscious assholes everywhere back to their clubhouses. Furniture would arrive the next day.

It was crazy to see the two clubs working together so closely after all the years of bad blood. But it was happening.

I couldn’t help it. I was fucking proud of them all. Every last one of them.

“It’s a new day, my friend,” Cain said, watching it all play out with a look of grim satisfaction.

“Hunter made this happen,” I said, wanting him to know.

“I know.”

“I have a feeling he’s stuck with the job,” I added.

The big man beside me sighed deeply.

“I know that, too.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Hunter

“Who wants vanilla ice cream on their pie?” I asked, holding up an old-fashioned ice cream scoop and a tub of full-fat vanilla Haagen-Dazs. There really wasn’t any substitute as far as I was concerned. “One scoop or two?” Miss Ellie smiled and held up a finger. I placed a generous scoop on top of the homemade apple pie she’d brought over for desert, still warm from the oven.

It was a weekly ritual. We had family dinner at least twice a week, once during the week and always on Sundays. This time, it was my turn to host. I’d grilled up some chicken and pork, nothing too hard for the delicate Miss Ellie to chew, and made mashed potatoes. Mason had even dropped off some of his famous hot sauce and the base he used for his chili to add to my barbecue mix.

Mason was famous for his love of fiery peppers.

I’d made a sweeter, less spicy barbecue mix, one that was practically nuclear with Mason’s blend. Both ladies had sampled each. Miss Ellie had preferred the sweet, while my lady had preferred the spicy.

I held a whipped cream can aloft and winked at my old lady. She turned bright pink. Of course, Claire already knew I had something else in mind for later. Not only had I whispered something filthy right before her grandmother showed up, but I’d been teasing her for days about turning her into desert.

It wasn’t long until the dishes were cleaned and Miss Ellie grabbed her fuzzy sweater coat and headed for the door. It was still early, and I told her she didn’t have to leave, but she told us she had her shows to watch and some knitting to do.

“I’ll just make myself scarce and let you two have some privacy,” Miss Ellie said with a wink. Miss Ellie was no fool. She knew we were in the early sex glow, making whoopee day and night phase of our relationship, though in our case, I had a feeling we would never outgrow it.

Claire blushed and sputtered, “Gran,” looking adorably mortified. I just chuckled and walked the sweet little old lady home, pressing a kiss to her parchment cheek at the door.

I waited until I heard the door lock and saw the lights come on inside. Then I jogged back to my place and walked inside. I had a wicked gleam in my eyes when I saw my woman bent over the dishwasher adding powdered soap and a scoop of Borax to the mix.

Damn, she looked good from the back!

“Dishes later.”

“It will just take a second . . .” she said, trailing off as she looked over her shoulder at me. I had ice cream in one hand and the whipped cream in the other. A look of shock came over her pretty face. Shock but also . . . curiosity.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Is that just for you?”

My cock lurched in my jeans. Did she mean she wanted to lick it off me, too? Goddamn, I liked the way the woman thought!

“You can have whatever you want, sweetheart. But I’m going first.”

I didn’t add that I planned to tie her up so I could eat my meal in peace. She could wiggle and beg all she wanted. I was going to take my sweet ass time tasting every inch of her. She would find that out soon enough. And then maybe I’d let her eat some whipped cream off my cock.