Blood & Bones: Deacon (Blood Fury MC 4)

“I’ll be sure to give you a full report.”

She dropped her hand from his dick and stepped back when they heard the bathroom door open. “I need to unpack my things and hang up the couple of suits I brought so they don’t wrinkle.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You do that. We’ll be ridin’ out soon. I’ll stop back and grab my shit later. Wear jeans, layers, closed-toed shoes. I’ll find a brain bucket—a helmet—if you want it, otherwise I got a face coverin’ you can wear with your sunglasses. Up to you.”

She nodded and, as he turned to leave, she called out, “Deke...”

He paused and glanced over his shoulder at the woman he never expected to walk into his life.

Funny how fucked up life could be. Didn’t take much to stumble on the road called life.

“Thanks. I thought I could do this on my own...”

She probably would’ve died trying, too, that was how stubborn she was.

“Now you don’t have to,” he murmured and walked out the door.

Reese squeezed her arms around him a little tighter, causing him to grin. She had left the stick she had a close relationship with behind at the farm.

Hell, she’d left it back in Mansfield.

Deacon didn’t care where she’d left it, he was only glad it was gone for now.

He glanced into his Low Rider’s mirror and saw how carefree she looked with her chin on his shoulder and long blonde strands of escapees from her tight bun whipping around her face. She decided not to wear a helmet since she didn’t want it pressing on her injuries, but instead tied one of his bandanas loosely around her nose and mouth to keep from swallowing bugs.

He could only imagine she was smiling under it. Even with the face covering and the sunglasses, it was obvious the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Even though, in reality, it still existed. But right now, on his sled, that burden had become weightless. At least for a few hours.

The heaviest burden being Warren, of course, who was still out there. Deacon wouldn’t rest until he got the bastard.

They were in the second row behind Cage and Reilly because Reese insisted they stick close so she could keep an eye on her sister.

Reilly seemed to be enjoying the run, sometimes sticking her arms out like an airplane and throwing her head back so the April sun would light up her face. Deacon had no doubt she’d caught every man’s attention on that run, even the ones who had ol’ ladies clinging to them. Seeing Reilly’s blonde hair flowing freely behind her in the wind and hearing her carefree laughter was hard to ignore.

Cage led the pack in the opposite direction from Mansfield since their ride would be a few hours long and Deacon didn’t want to risk being seen by Warren if he was still lurking around town. Two blonde sisters riding with a bunch of bikers was hard to miss.

His preferred method to catching Warren would be to ambush the motherfucker, so he didn’t want to give Warren a head’s up as to where Reilly was. Since they were all wearing their club colors, it wouldn’t be hard to figure that out.

The man might be a piece of shit, but he wasn’t dumb.

The ride did more than help Reese relax. Seeing Reilly on the back of Cage’s sled gave Deacon an idea of how to set that trap for Warren. He’d run it by Judge first, then the exec committee Monday night when they met to discuss the situation.

Come Tuesday, he hoped to have the trap baited and set. Then they’d just have to wait to see if Warren took the bait. If they did it right, Deacon hoped the fucker wouldn’t be able to resist tracking Reilly down.

If Reilly would’ve taken the beating and let it go, Warren would’ve just moved on. But Reilly had the same blood running through her veins as Reese. And Deacon now saw why Reilly had fought back. Plus, she wanted her hard-earned money returned. She wasn’t going to get it by staying quiet.

Today’s club run took a route that would last about four hours total and when they finished, they’d end up back in Manning Grove and at Dino’s Diner.

Sometimes they ended up there. Sometimes back at the farm, depending if someone had thought to get the sweet butts organized to set out a spread for them.

And the sweet butts could not be called dependable. Motivating them wasn’t an easy task. Sig had joked that they needed a head sweet butt who’d be responsible for not only keeping their asses organized and in line but be able to vet them.

It wasn’t enough that they’d put out whenever and wherever, they had shit to do to be able to get and keep the privilege of hanging around the club. In exchange, they got free booze, free food and plenty of free dick.