Blood & Bones - Rev (Blood Fury MC 8)

However, there was one person Rev would’ve liked to have murdered. Instead, he tended to push that impulse out of his mind instead of dwelling on it. The hatred for the man wasn’t worth Rev doing a lifetime bid in prison. Or even a permanent vacation on death row.

No, the man wasn’t even worth a fucking second of thought.

Rev spat into the floor drain under the lift and watched the foamy, slimy wad slip through one of the metal drain holes.

With the weather nice as fuck today, all the bay doors were wide open. That allowed Rev to see Rook return from a test drive. As soon as the other man parked the repaired cage in the lot and climbed out, Cujo launched himself from the bottom drawer of Rook’s rolling toolbox and beelined it outside to his daddy like the man had been gone for days instead of barely fifteen minutes.

Rook leaned over, scooped up the nasty little fucker and headed inside. He stopped only feet from Rev. “You got nothin’ better to do than stare at dirty oil? Plenty of other shit to do while that drains.”

Rev flipped him the bird.

Rook smirked. “Asshole.”

“Dickhead.”

Rook plopped the Chihuahua onto the floor. “Sic his ass, Cujo!”

The three-pound dog ran circles around his owner with his tail up, barking up at him. Rook pointed to Rev. “Not me, asshole, him!”

Rev laughed. “A stupid motherfucker just like you.”

“Just jealous he don’t like you.”

“I prefer pussy.”

“We got plenty of them runnin’ around out back.”

“The kind that don’t bury their own shit,” Rev clarified.

Suddenly a blonde was there, her hands on her hips, which drew his eyes to them. They were now slightly fuller than a year ago when she first elbowed her way into the club and also took over the garage’s office like a drill sergeant.

Every time she bitched about the extra couple of pounds she’d put on and how she planned to go on a diet, Rev would run down to Dino’s Diner, buy her a loaded buffalo burger and an order of their famous loaded fries and bring them back for her.

Of course, she couldn’t resist.

He didn’t feel bad one fucking bit because, even though the blonde looked smoking hot before, those curves just added to her sizzle.

It also added to his fantasies.

Whip’s fantasies.

Dutch’s derelict dreams.

Probably Rook’s, too, before he got collared by Jet, as well as Cage’s before Jemma.

Having wet dreams about Reilly wasn’t the same as the real thing, though. Kind of like how Pepsi wasn’t close to being the real Coke.

Rev blinked at their shop secretary, wondering why she was getting in the middle of his and Rook’s ball busting.

“Go away, woman,” Rev ordered, turning his back to her. Sometimes if he ignored her, she went away.

“Don’t be a dick.”

Sometimes she didn’t.

Reilly fit right in at the garage. She could give shit as good as she could take it.

She did not cry. She did not whine. The good was she had a dirty mouth and a dirty mind, but the bad was she could bitch—loud as fuck, too—like a typical woman.

Rev grabbed his crotch, shaking it. “Why don’t you suck mine?”

Reilly cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips as she stared at where his hand had landed. “Nah. If I wanted to pick my teeth, I’d use a toothpick.”

Rook howled loudly, causing Cujo to break into another round of yapping. He shook his head and went back to his bay with a grin, his ferocious black-and-tan rat on his heels.

“Why you buggin’ me? Can’t you see I got work to do?”

“Work? You’re just standing there holding onto your tiny dick.”

“How you know how tiny it is?”

“Please. It’s not like any of you give a shit about privacy when you’re sticking your pin pricks into a sweet butt or hang-around out at the farm. I think I’ve seen all of your packages. Or lack of them.”

Whip lifted his head from the engine compartment of the cage he was working on in the next bay. “Who’s got the biggest?”

Reilly put a finger to her lips and turned her eyes to the ceiling like she was thinking hard. After a second or two, she grinned and said, “Dutch. He puts the rest of you to shame.”

Loud complaints went up from him, Cage, Whip and Rook, while Dutch, who was rebuilding a carb at one of the work benches, hooted out loud and pumped a wrinkled fist into the air.

“How ‘bout you go grab a ruler, we all line up and you get on your knees to measure them?” Rev suggested. If she did it naked, it would be even better.

“How about no?”

“Then how about you turn around and march that luscious ass back where you belong in the office.”

“So you can stare at it?”

Rev shrugged. “Of course. I know you work it so we watch it. Don’t even bother to fuckin’ deny it.”