First Ride (8 page)

Resting my lips on the tight skin of her back, I kiss the little indent made by her spine, kiss the sides where she’s apparently ticklish because it makes her giggle, and I smile.

She laughs. From nerves, I can tell, but still a laugh. For the briefest bit of time, the importance of the moment is felt. It’s her first. I’m her first. I don’t know where the hell, from what depth that thought is coming from, but it’s there.

I’m the first and I’ll be the only
, I tell myself.

“Here,” I kiss her back one last time and press forward yet again, deeper still. She gasps softer this time as I reach for her hand and guide it down gently until it disappears under her where I place it, training it between her legs to give her just a fraction of the pleasure she’s giving me right now.

I inch my way closer, as close as I can get until I’m swallowed to the hilt, having claimed every inch of her. I kiss the back of her neck and she grins.

“Mine,” I whisper.

CHAPTER SEVEN

MOLLY

Ooh. Ow. Ah….

I take another step across the cracked kitchen tiles. I don’t exactly hurt anywhere; there are no words to describe the feeling. It’s kind of like how I would feel the day after I tried to do some advanced, crazy difficult yoga class. Like I had the time or the money to do something trivial like that.

Some muscles feel tight, some feel loose, and some feel stretched.

Last night was like nothing I’ve ever felt with the couple of college boyfriends I had before It was like something that should have been in some pay-per-view movie or in a dirty novel. It was intense. It was surreal.

I slept like a baby in Dawson’s arms for the rest of the night, only to wake up early, shocked that he was still there despite the claims he’d made last night.

I’ve never met a biker before, but I’ve heard of them. He got what he wanted, why was he still there? It was baffling to me. I could barely look him in the eye after the things we’d done last night, and it was a blessing when he got up to take a shower so that I could finally have a moment to myself, even though he took his body warmth with him.

Perhaps the best part about him leaving me to get into the cramped little bathroom was getting a perfect view of his perfect, tight and muscled ass as he walked away. I felt my mouth drop open as I studied the tan line demarcating where his pants must hang low, his tan, fully-tattooed back on display.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Dawson in the relatively short time that I’ve known him, it’s that he’s anything but shy about his body. Or mine for that matter.

I heard the squeaky pipes of the shower turn off a while ago, with him dressing and making a phone call in the bedroom as I’m doing my best to make some coffee.

My kitchen is small. Maybe small isn’t even the right word. Either way, I’m trying to maneuver around the pots and small appliances.

“Good. Bring the van and the trailer.” Dawson ends the call as he steps out into what would be called my kitchen. “Morning.”

I smile tightly, unable to meet his eyes. “I made some coffee.”

He steps forward, resting one hand on my hip while he reaches past to take one of the two steaming cups. I nearly jump at his touch. He notices. I know he does, yet his hand stays.

“You should probably make more. The boys will be here soon.”

My head snaps toward him. “Boys?”

His eyebrows rise as he sips. “Good coffee.”

“Boys?” I ask again as he sets his mug down to retrieve the folded leather vest, or cut, as I’ve heard him call it, and slip it over the long-sleeved black shirt he wore here last night.

“Yup. All the ones who are in town. Gonna pack this place up and clear it out. Put those prospects to work.”

“Whoa,” my own mug thuds against the countertop so that I can use my hands to express myself.  “What are you talking about?”

The patches sprawled across the worn, broken in leather move away from me while Dawson packs his handgun into the back waistband of his jeans, under his belt.

What the hell am I doing? A huge beast of a man with terribly scary embroidered patches of the grim reaper with two scythes on his back, not to mention a gun hidden under that vest, is here, in
my
apartment, making plans for
my
things.

“Told you last night, Angel. I’m getting you out of this hellhole.” His short brown hair is still damp, with little droplets here and there.

“But--” I protest.

He looks bored, as if I’m about to waste some of his time. “Do we really need to go over this again? Why don’t you take that cute little ass of yours in there and throw some clothes on before they get here? Unless it’s too sore and you need some help?”

He winks at me mischievously.
That little fucker
. Actually, that
big
fucker.

“What about Sasha?” Fear suddenly takes hold. He’s never met her. Surely an animal like him wouldn’t,
shouldn’t
, be around kids.

He shrugs his shoulders. “What about her? Bringing her too.”

“Bringing her
where
?” I’m suspicious.

A loud honking outside draws both our attention.

“Where are we bringing her, Dawson?” I demand.

“Where the fuck do you think, woman? My house. Go get some clothes on. Now. That’s Baby out there. She’ll take you to pick Sasha up and take you guys home.”

I don’t know which one of his words stun me the most.

I think it was …
home
.

~*~

“Maw!” Sasha runs into my open arms the moment she sees me open the apartment door to Lana’s place.

At first, when she learned to talk, she started calling me Maw because she wasn’t able to say Molly- let alone
Aunt
Molly. Now, though, as I’ve had her nearly a year and I’ve seen her speech improving so much, I can’t help but notice how much her
Maw
is sounding like
Ma
.

I hug her tightly, lifting her high enough for her shoeless feet to dangle wildly in excitement. On one hand, it’s so sad that she doesn’t have her own mom, Tina, to call lispy names, but, on the other hand, it breaks my heart in a good way that
I’m
the person here instead.

“Oh, my gosh, Sasha! You’ve gotten bigger since yesterday!” I tease.

Her shy little laugh is infectious and Baby chuckles behind me.

“Uh-uh!” The little girl denies it.

Patting her guidingly on the back once I set her down, I scoot her forward. “Go put your shoes on. We’re gonna take off in a minute. I just need to talk to Aunt Lana.”

Her wild ponytail bounces with each little exaggerated hop she makes back to the bedroom where her things must be.

“Lana, this is Baby. Baby, Lana.” The two women extend their hand forth to the other, around me in the middle.

“Nice to meet’cha, Lana.” I can’t help but notice that Baby is a little different when not barking orders behind a bar. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

Lana knows I don’t have many friends in town beside her. Actually, no one other than her, but she’s taking this in stride. “Thanks. So, do you two work together?”

Baby smiles and nods. “Yup. I’m helping get Angel all moved.”

Lana’s forehead furrows. “Angel?”

I can feel my cheeks flush. “It’s …
kinda
what they call me at work.”

“It’s a thing,” Lana explains. “My Ol’ man started calling me Baby a while’s back. Most girls around the club get a name. Some better than others. Angel’s a pretty tame one compared to a few. Dawson picked a good one. Fits her.”

“D-Dawson?” Lana eyes me. “As in
the
Dawson?”

I had told Lana everything, well, up until what happened last night at least. Everything from Dawson first breaking up the heavy-handed strip club manager’s handling of my abrupt
resignation
, to the money he’d given me, the job, and the ride home the other night. Not to mention everything in between. Every little smirk, every cocky gesture.

Lana’s been in town longer than I have, and the Slayers’ reputation had definitely reached her well before my tales of Dawson did.

“That’s the one. It sort of just … happened.” My voice trails.

Her chin moves forward, shoulders shrugged back, waiting for more. “
What
sort of just happened?”

I swallow. Lana doesn’t judge. That’s one of the things I love most about her. But I can’t tell her what’s going on when I don’t exactly know myself.

“Ready, Maw!” Sasha skips into the room, coat in hand, tiny backpack trailing behind her. There’s some sort of sticky red purple mess near her lower lip.

“You should come by later, Lana. Help Angel unpack and get settled in. We’ll grill some burgers or something I’m sure. The guys are always hungry.” Baby bends down to playfully poke Sasha’s nose. “And, you. I know who
you
are! I’ve heard all about you. Your aunt even showed me your picture yesterday. You sure are a cutie.”

“Um,
Angel
,” Lana awkwardly tries out the moniker. “Where exactly will I be
going
to help you unpack?”

Baby begins to laugh, knowing ahead of time how I’ll be answering the question.

I might as well get this over with. “Dawson’s. I’d give you the address, but I don’t know it.”

My best friend nods her head slowly, digesting the rash information. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s got a whole lot to say, but given our present company, she’s holding back.

“Eighty-two Cherry Blossom Road. The big white house. Come over whenever you’d like. There’s kind of an open door policy whenever we hang.” Baby takes Sasha’s little hand while inviting Lana over later.

I’m not sure it’s such a good idea mixing Lana in with Dawson and his boys, but I can tell by the look in my friend’s eyes that she wouldn’t miss it for the world.

~*~

“She’s nice. Cute, too.” Baby starts the engine to her truck. “Know her long?”

I’m half bent over the cushiony leather front seat, struggling to pick up the doll Sasha’s dropped onto the floor from her car seat. “Junior High. Stayed in touch all through college. When I moved back from school, I needed someplace to live, someplace nowhere near my old town in case my sister’s ex caused trouble. Lana suggested coming to live closer to her here in Riverdale.”

“She good people?” Baby wonders aloud while pulling out into traffic. She looks over to see I’m a bit confused by the question as I situate myself and buckle up. “I mean, trustworthy? Loyal? It’s just that we don’t usually just let random people we don’t know into our business. Dawson’s kind of moving full speed ahead on this one and we’re all trying to catch up.”

I crack my window for just a bit of fresh air. “I trust her with my life. With Sasha’s life.”

Baby nods, satisfied. “Then I’m cool with her.”

Good to know.

“So, this whole
Dawson moving full-speed ahead thing
.” Now that I know Baby’s cool with Lana, I’d like to see how she really feels about
me
. “Happen often?”

She nearly chokes behind the wheel, some sort of weird laugh, and I reach over in case I need to steer. “You kidding me, Angel? I’ve known him a long time. Since I was practically a kid, him being best friends with my man and all. Never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you. Never seen him give a shit about anyone not wearing our patches.”

“You know you can call me Molly, right?” It’s still so weird to me to answer to a different name than the one I’ve had my whole life.

Baby makes a left hand turn, the wheel skimming her growing pregnant belly. “Nah. I like Angel. God knows we can all use an Angel right about now.”

“Huh?” I ask.

Baby shakes her head quickly as if putting the thought aside. “Never mind. Best we don’t go talking about things we shouldn’t.”

It’s like she’s speaking some weird language, confusing the shit out of me.

“Look, I know you’re new to all this, and I’m gonna help you out as best as I can; because back in the day, some other Ol’ lady helped me. First thing to know, you don’t talk about club business. Not with Dawson, not with anyone, but especially not with anyone who’s not wearing
our
leather.”

I can feel my eyes narrow trying to decipher her meaning.

“Our leather?” I’m lost.

“Slayers. Us. Leather. Some people call them colors. Those are our patches. The Reaper. Anyone with one on his back is family. Other charters too. The bitch on the back of his bike? She’s family too, as long as she’s got leather. Some you’ll like, some you won’t. Kind of like sisters. You just gotta learn to live with each of them and when rough shit happens, those are the first people who’ll step up and watch your back. Try not to start any shit with any of them ‘cause some of these bitches can get real catty.”

“You said
as long as she’s got leather
. What happens if she doesn’t?” I’m trying to piece together the missing holes in her advice.

Baby rolls her eyes and sits back, trying to adjust her seat. She hasn’t exactly told me but I’d guess by the looks of her, that she’s somewhere around seven months along. No wonder she can’t get comfortable.

“Those are called Sweetbutts. But, us Ol’ ladies? We’ve got another name for ‘em. Slayersluts. Watch your man, Angel. They crawl around the club, go for your man. They’re second-class citizens. An empty fuck.” Her lip snarls, her words laced with venom.

“Whoa.
I
don’t have leather. And I’m not about to be treated like a second class citizen. Not by Dawson. Not by anyone else.” I’m not liking the way this is going. Flashbacks of last night, of Dawson’s cock in my hand, him swearing not to fuck around. Baby’s making it sound as if it happens all the time, as if the Slayersluts are inevitable.