Blood & Bones: Trip (Blood Fury MC 1)

Not every day was a good fucking day, but this one was and he’d take every good day they could get.

The early July weather cooperated. The club was growing. Even if slowly.

And, best of all, today Stella donned her “Property of Trip” cut for the first time. He’d given it to her a couple weeks ago after the last executive meeting where there had been no opposition to the vote on making her his ol’ lady. She said she’d only wear it for the runs and he was fine with that.

But as she approached, she still wore it, which made him smile.

Even if the reason she kept it on was most likely to make it clear to the other women around the courtyard Trip belonged to her.

Because that was how it was. He belonged to her. Every fucking cell in his body was Stella’s.

He was leaning against one of the pavilion’s posts, smoking a hand-rolled and surveying the whole courtyard. Right now, it just included the pavilion with mismatched old and new picnic tables and chairs, the smoker, and a half dozen fifty-five-gallon drums scattered around the area, all burning high, creating pockets of light amongst the dark.

Maybe one day they’ll build a stage and dig a large pit for a bonfire just like the Dirty Angels had at theirs.

Baby steps. He needed to remind himself of that because there were days that went to total shit for him.

Complete and total shit.

There was so much pressure on his shoulders that sometimes it got overwhelming and swallowed him up before spitting him out. Sometimes it was Stella who had to pick him back up, brush him off and encourage him to continue with a hard kick to the ass.

One of those times, she’d insisted, “You’ve helped me. Let me help you.”

Another time she said, “If you need to lean on me, I’m here.”

“You don’t know how much hearin’ that means to me, baby,” he told her. Because it was so damn true.

She saw his vision. She was helping make it come to being.

They all were. Rook, Judge, Ozzy, Dutch, Cage, Deacon, Sparky, Mouse, and Dodge. And now the newest prospect, Shady.

Word was spreading about the Fury’s resurrection and just last week, the man showed up on his doorstep wanting to be part of something that made them much greater as a whole than as an individual.

Judge had given Shady his nickname because the man didn’t say much and was a bit withdrawn. Most of the time, he only spoke when spoken to.

Trip didn’t have a problem with it, but it spooked Judge. Especially since they didn’t know his whole story. Not yet anyway. But then they all had their secrets. As long as it didn’t fuck with the club or shake the brotherhood, Shady was welcome to keep them.

But the man already was proving to be a hard worker and immediately set out in helping Ozzy renovate The Grove Inn. Again, like Crazy Pete’s, another vision that was slow to come to fruition—because it took scratch to make scratch—but would be worth it in the end.

While everybody tonight was chasing the pussy that had shown up—all except for Dutch, though the old man was certainly not keeping his eyes or thoughts to himself—Shady was just observing. If any of the women approached him—and he had certainly grabbed their attention—he’d simply give them a chin lift but didn’t encourage contact.

For a moment it made Trip wonder if Shady wasn’t into women and if that might cause a problem with the rest of the brothers. But if the prospect proved himself, Trip didn’t give a fuck who the man liked to stick his dick into. That was between Shady, his dick and whoever was taking it.

But Trip wasn’t sure that was it—

“Hey,” Stella whispered, interrupting his thoughts and holding out his beer.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, pinching the end of his partially smoked hand-rolled and tucking it away. She didn’t like him smoking around her, so he tried to avoid it.

He accepted the beer and took a long pull before hooking her around the waist and pulling her against him, her back to his chest, her legs sandwiched between his. “I tell you you look fuckin’ hot in that cut?”

She grinned up at him. “Heard it a few times.”

“I tell you you’ll be wearin’ that cut and only that fuckin’ cut when I’m makin’ you come with my name on your lips later?”

“I might have heard that, too.”

“Might need to fuck you doggy-style so I can read that cut while you take my dick.”

“Sounds super romantic, Trip.”

He grinned, tipping the bottle to his lips. “Figured you’d think so.” He took another long pull of beer.

Stella drank from her own beer, then sighed and a moment later lifted her bottle, arcing it in front of her, indicating the courtyard and its occupants. “You’ve built all this.”