“I am. Now shoo.” He backs out with a pissed off look on his face but hopefully he remembers that the reason he’s here is to whip the club into shape.
I pull out the clean sheets from Grant’s duffle. He didn’t bring much and his bag is bigger so I stuck a bunch of extra shit in his bag. I pull off the comforter, gingerly holding an edge, and then lay the two flat sheets down. The comforter goes back on top. Down the hall I find a grotty bathroom with dark growth around the tub’s edges. The sink looks marginally better. I do my business quick and then hustle back to the room. I brought a special outfit for tonight. Ordinarily if I go to a mash, I wear jeans and a tight t-shirt. Tonight, though, I’m going all out. Gray wool over-the-knee socks with white ribbon at the top are paired with a black leather skirt that ends mid-thigh. Not too short, but not a skirt that allows me to bend over either. Unless, of course, Grant’s behind me. My shoes are black leather Mary Janes with a three inch stacked heel.
On the top I pull on a white Harley t-shirt that is shot with silver threads. I tease my hair up into a big cloud, line my eyes with black eye liner and color my lips with the reddest lipstick I own. The whole look is a sluttier version of Britney Spears’ iconic school girl look. I know Grant loves that frickin’ video but he loves me more which means he’ll be seriously turned on by this getup.
The door pops open when I’m spritzing the setting spray and I nearly shoot myself in the eye with the stuff.
“That meeting went fast,” I note. A quick glance at my watch reveals that it’s nearing dinnertime. My stomach growls. “We eating here?”
He nods. “Ordered pizza. A bunch of people are coming over. What are you wearing?”
“Like it?” I rise and twirl around. The skirt bells out a tiny bit.
Behind me I hear a growl and then I feel a hand in my hair as Grant drags me back against his body. He buries his face in my neck. “If there weren’t a couple dozen strangers coming to this house in the next ten minutes, my cock would be in your pussy so fast and hard that they’d hear you all the way to Fortune when you screamed my name.”
His hand sweeps beneath the short skirt and cups me in a rough fondle. I gasp when his fingers slip under the elastic of my undies.
“Just a couple dozen,” I scoff playfully. “That’s the excuse you’re going to use?”
His answer is to plant a hand in the middle of my back and tip me forward. I catch myself on the handle of my little two-wheeled suitcase. “Shit baby, I think I could come just looking at this ass.” He pulls the skirt up to expose my butt.
Our temporary room is at the top of the stairs and through the thin walls, I can hear the front door opening and closing and the murmurs of greetings.
Do I care that there are a bunch of random people filtering in downstairs? Nope. I shift my legs wider apart and tilt my butt up toward Grant. He releases an appreciative breath. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous but there’s a mess downstairs and I told Junior I’d help him clean it up.”
With a sigh I stand up and brush my skirt down. “That sounds like zero fun.”
“I know, baby.” His eyes are locked on my skirt. With a regretful sigh, he tips his neck to the side and taps a finger against his pulse point. “Kiss me.”
“I’ll get lipstick all over you,” I warn.
“I know. I want your mark on me. So kiss me, mess me up and we’ll rub it in. I don’t want there to be any problems tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
He just taps his neck again so I lean forward and lick him. When he groans, I go for the bite. His arms tighten around me and for a minute, I think he’s going to forget about the company downstairs and throw me on the bed but he’s too much his father’s son which means duty before play. I let him go and rummage around my junk for a makeup remover tissue. I use it to smear the lipstick, leaving a noticeable residue behind.
“You think a lipstick mark is going to keep the women off of you?” I ask skeptically, folding the tissue and then laying it beside my makeup.
Grant has a hand on the doorknob but isn’t in any hurry to leave. “No, but every bit of armor helps. Junior says that the crew left over is dysfunctional as shit. There’s a lot of infighting amongst the brothers over chicks. He doesn’t trust more than a couple but his dad brought in a fuck-ton of patches in the last few years—like eight or so and there are even more prospects and hangers on.”
“Why doesn’t he just kick them out?”
“They know too much. He didn’t say what they know about exactly, but he feels that if he cuts them loose, either they’ll go to a rival club with information about Misery’s deals or they might even rat the Misery boys out to the cops.”
I release a low whistle. “That’s not good.”
“Junior thinks that most of the guys are decent but isn’t sure. Tonight he’s introducing Abel and I as nomads breaking off from the Death Lords. We’re going to stick around here for a while. We’re using you and your beauty school stuff as an excuse. When you’re down there, remember not everyone’s friendly. Don’t drink anything that doesn’t come from Abel or me. Don’t eat anything either.”
“Eating?”
As he rubs a frustrated hand over his hair, I admire the bulge of his biceps that peeks out from beneath his short sleeved t-shirt. “Sounds stupid, I know, but I feel like we can’t be too careful. We’re out of here tomorrow because I’m not leaving you alone in this shithole.”
“Why is it in such awful condition?”
Grant opens the door and ushers me through. “Junior says they moved here a year before his dad died. He hasn’t spent any of the club money on it because his father was sick and then after, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay. Plus, it’s a bunch of guys under thirty and you know we don’t know how to fucking clean.”
I roll my eyes at this because Grant is a neat freak. He’s probably more grossed out by the bedroom and the general condition of this house than I am.
15
CHELSEA
Downstairs the common spaces are filling up. I don’t see a lot of leather cuts so the crowd looks like it’s mostly made up of prospects, hangers-on and women—or girls more likely. Nearly everyone looks to be around Wrecker and my age which feels odd to me. The Death Lords is an older club with men like Judge and his friends although Judge has made an effort to bring in younger guys like Abel, who has to be is in his mid-twenties since he served two terms in the Marines. Easy and Michigan are in their thirties but the rest are an older crowd and Judge has a strict age limit on the women allowed at the mashes.
Here, though, some of these girls could easily be in their teens. I shoot a concerned glance at Grant but he’s being drawn away by Junior to meet the few guys who are wearing Misery cuts. He gives me a quick hard kiss on the temple.
“Remember what I said,” he mutters and the leaves me standing with Abel between the entrance of the front room that has two sofas facing each other and a dining room that has only a table that is currently filled with cans of beer.
“You stuck being my babysitter?”
A small smile curls up at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe it’s the other way around.”
Hmm. There are a number of girls trying to catch his eye. He’s letting his hair grow out and it’s curling around his ears and falling over his forehead. He looks like an older, hotter Tim Riggins with his strong jaw and wheat blonde hair. If I wasn’t totally gone for Wrecker, I would definitely be making a play for Abel. He moves with confidence and a sense of purpose. Plus, he has the cut. For some girls that’s all they need to get their panties wet.
“Do you want me to vet them for you?” I tease.
“Sure. I like them quiet and not crazy.” He leans against the door frame, one foot in the front room and one in the dining room and his watchful eyes miss nothing.
“What does crazy mean to you? Because for some guys that means no texting every day and for others it means don’t leave a dead bunny on my pillow.”
His gaze swings to me. “That happen
outside of a movie?”
I nod. “Not a pillow exactly, but Flint had been dividing his attention between a couple of sisters at a meet-up down in Missouri. It was a week long and he just figured that because it was a meet-up, there was no point in making a choice. Anyway, he’d spent too long with one of them, so at the end of the week she stuck a dead rabbit in one of his saddlebags.”
Abel winces. “I’ll remember to stay away from sisters.”
“And the underage. Where are all the older members?”
“Junior said that most of his dad’s friends have drifted away in the last year. There’s only a couple members in their thirties.” He gestures an elbow toward a stocky male with a long beard and a big pot belly. “Pig over there is about thirty-five and been with Misery for twelve years.” Pig has a girl on his lap that can’t be more than sixteen. My stomach starts to hurt.
“And the other one?”
“Moose, but he’s not here.”
“Oh is Moose the one we saw at the bar?”
Abel nods. “That’s right. He’s been with the club for over a decade. Thought he should’ve been president but none of the old guys would back him and most of the young guys like Junior.”
I make a face. “Junior’s a terrible road name.”
“And Pig is much better?”
Before I can answer, a girl about my age stops beside me. “Hey, cool vest.”
She’s punked out in a black t-shirt, tutu, black tights that are ripped around the thigh, and motorcycle boots. It’s a good look but not one I’m confident enough to carry out.
“Thanks, cute skirt.”
“Like it?” she twirls and the layers of tulle flare out and then fall back again. “I made it myself.”
“Really? that’s amazing.”