Thrash (15 page)

“
I said I will later,” she
snaps. Placing her hands on the counter behind her, the shirt lifts
up, showing off the curve of her inner thigh.

“
I don’t got Church until
later. I got time,” I say. For some reason, I think this is going
to rectify the problem. For some reason, I think she’s telling me
we don’t have time. But she’s not. There’s something I’m missing
here, and it’s upsetting her. Nic’s not a crier like Alex is. I
swear, every time I turn around Princess is trying to stop herself
from crying. Nic’s more like a proud, wounded bird. My eyes focus
on the little robin on her wrist once again. She may be hurting,
but she damn sure won’t let you see her sweat about it, much less
cry.

“
Well, I don’t and I’m not
doing any shopping, so…” She trails off. I take a deep breath as
the frustration builds. Trying not to snap at her and her steadfast
refusal to go grocery shopping, which I know has not one fucking
thing to do with not needing food in this house and everything to
do with something else, I close my eyes for a second. Once I open
them, I stomp forward and lean over her, placing my hands on the
countertop on the sides of hers.

“
You really don’t wanna go
grocery shopping with me?” I ask. She steels herself then peers up
at me, a fire blazing in her eyes.

“
I’m not going shopping
right now,” she says, squaring her shoulders. Looking down at her,
I bend and grip the back of her upper thighs and pull her ass up
onto the counter.

“
Tell me no and I’ll
stop,” I say hoarsely. She doesn’t say anything. She just bites her
lip and leans into me and slides my zipper down, pulling out my
dick. I smash my lips against hers and start dry fucking her pussy
through her panties. My hands travel up her shirt and slip under
her panties and kneed her ass.

“
Condom?” I grunt, pulling
away from her mouth. She kisses my neck then nips at my
ear.

Whispering, she says,
“Bathroom.” Pulling her off the counter and holding onto her tight,
I walk up through the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.
The door is open and when I walk us in, Nic reaches out and shuts
it behind us. The second the door’s closed, we’re grabbing at each
other and yanking clothes off like we’ve been deprived of this for
a fucking century, and not just a week. She fiddles with a drawer
to her left and yanks out a handful of condoms and drops them on
the counter. Once we’re totally unclothed, I grab her face and fuck
her mouth with my tongue. Her hands fight with the plastic wrapper
of the condom. She barely gets the damn thing on my dick before I’m
thrusting inside of her. We both come quick and hard. Our bodies
are covered in sweat, and we’re panting like a pair of dying
animals.

When I pull out, I yank
off the condom without even looking and keep my attention on Nic.
She stretches and climbs off the counter then reaches into the
shower and gives me a perfect view of her naked ass. Walking up
behind her, I pull her to me and take my half-hard dick in my hand
and grip her hip as I run my dick along her swollen pussy. Testing
the waters, I kick her legs apart just enough to expose her
completely to me, and press myself into her slick core. She moans
and grips the wall in front of her and pushes back at me, plunging
me deeper. After the last time I rode her bare, I shouldn’t be so
stupid, but I can’t help myself. I hate wearing a rubber, and she’s
just so hot and tight and wet. So fuck it. I ride her bare and
hard, and I regret nothing, not even when she says, “Fuck, you’re
so big this way,” and I come sooner than I intend, do I think this
is a bad fucking idea. Because now that I’ve felt my girl bare, I’m
not going back.

An hour later, we’re on
our way to the grocery store in her car after we shower properly.
Even me asking her if she’ll suck my dick doesn’t ruin the mood,
even though she laughs at me and says, “Not just no, but hell
no.”

The car is definitely in need of some
repairs, but I have to wait until she’s not paying attention to get
it into the shop where most of my better tools are. She’s been
offered and has refused enough help in the past that I know better
than to outright tell her I’m going to fix it.

Two hours later, we’ve
been up and down every aisle in the grocery store. I’m told that
they don’t need peanut butter and then when I insist, I’m told that
I grabbed the wrong kind. As it turns out, the wrong kind is the
expensive kind. And that’s when I finally clue the fuck in. The
cupboards are bare and the fridge is empty because she’s between
paydays. I don’t need the specifics to have figured it out. I grew
up dirt poor and remember the lean days between paychecks well.
It’s one of the reasons I wanted to hook up with the club so badly.
I didn’t want to feel that fucking low ever again. But looking
around at Nic’s house, how everything is near falling
apart—including her—I feel the first slight bit of shame I have in
a while. Nic belongs to Forsaken. Her well-being is our
responsibility, and if this is how she’s living then we’re fucking
failing at our job. So halfway through the store, we start all over
again, and when she bitches I tell her to shut the fuck up. It’s
the only thing I can say that actually does get her to shut up.
Still, we fight over who’s going to pay the bill even though we
both know she can’t afford it. And I win because the cashier fears
my patch, but not Nic’s bitching.

And four hours later,
after I took a much-needed nap on the couch and fixed myself a
sandwich—because despite the fresh supplies the woman
still
won’t fucking feed
me—it’s time I head out. I still haven’t seen her shithead brother,
but I have to go because it’ll be time for Church soon. After
spending the last few hours with Nic, the last thing I want to do
is walk away now, but I have to. Soon though, she will be asking me
to stay, not eagerly walking me to the door like she is now. When
the door shuts, I walk to my bike and start her up then head for
the piece of shit place that Ryan and I share, leaving behind a
place that once was a very happy home.

Chapter 12

This shit with Princess is turning the
club sideways. The guys haven’t said too much to Trigger because
they’re still trying to figure him out. Plus, it’s not like he’s
ever been Mary fucking Sunshine. We’ve just never had something
like this happen before—a member hooking up with a chick the club
doesn’t approve of. I mean, Grady’s wife’s got a bad meth problem
that’s fucking up his life royal right now. The club hasn’t said
shit about her. Nor have they said a goddamn word about any of the
fucked up bitches Diesel brings into the fold—and he’s got those
hoes on rotation. They’re not even permanent.

But what Alex did? That shit is
something else. Princess sold her dad out like he was nothing to
her, and maybe he was, but still. She ratted on her fucking family.
I get the situation she was in—having to choose her brother or her
father—and I get why she chose her brother, but fuck. No amount of
shared breakfasts and snarky conversation is going to let me forget
that. She’s a rat, and as much as I wish she wasn’t, it’s the way
the club defines her now. Silence is a big fucking deal around
here, and she couldn’t manage it. And seeing how twisted up Trigger
is over her makes us all nervous.

We have to be able to trust a guy’s
judgment because he’s the guy next to any one of us, fighting for
us. His head being fucked like this, and he could start justifying
that shit she pulled. Then we lose a brother, and that kind of
fracture can pull a charter under. At this point, I couldn’t give a
shit about Trigger being with Princess. Not really, anyway. I’m
just tired of talking about it, and as much as I think it’s a bad
fucking idea, it’s not my choice to make. Besides, with the way
Princess tunes into his every move, I don’t know how much longer
we’ll be able to keep her away from him.

Sitting down in my seat across from
Ian, the club’s treasurer, I survey the room. Ever since we voted
on the trip to Brooklyn, Jim’s made it mandatory to be armed at all
times, even in church. Being at the table with my piece is odd as
hell, and I can’t say I’m not on edge because of it. Every single
one of our guys looks grouchy as fuck. This is going to be fun.
Slowly, the guys filter in. When Ryan drops his moody ass into the
seat beside Ian, I turn away. The tension in the room is high, and
we all know what we’re here to talk about: Princess.

It’s total bullshit that Grady’s making
this a fucking thing, but he is. He worries what kind of heat
Princess is going to bring the club. If he weren’t a senior
officer, I’d tell him to suck his own dick. We’re already in deep
where Princess is concerned, so what does it fucking matter if
Trigger gets in deeper? It fucking doesn’t, that’s what. If he
thinks Ryan is going to wait for his approval to talk club business
with Princess, he’s dead wrong. It’s the way shit goes, and any
motherfucker who says he doesn’t talk club business with his woman
is a bitch ass liar. Shit was different before she got here, but
now that she’s here and making friends, it’s time to let this crap
go.

It feels like it takes for fucking ever
for the guys to get their sorry fucking asses in their seats. When
Jim finally slams the gavel into the wooden table, I’m tense as all
get out. Jim clears his throat and leans forward in his chair.
“We’ve never had a situation like this before—this shit we’re
dealing with about Alex. I thank you again for doing what you do
for this club and for each other. I’m just sorry that we feel we
have to do this.”

Jim ain’t even that old, but he sounds
just like his old man when he gets going like this. Back in the day
when Ryan and I were kids and Rage ran things, we would find a
corner to hide in and listen in on Church. It was a big deal that
we never got caught—which brings up concerns over lack of adequate
security—but back then we thought we were the shit for pulling it
off. Rage used to speak with the same slow manner during Church
that Jim does now. That family has some seriously strong genes.
When Jim was my age, he looked almost exactly like Ryan, and Rage
looked how Jim does now. Come to think of it, maybe if we just
showed Alex a picture of what awaits her years down the road, she’d
pack up her little crush for good and we could call it a
day.

“
Forsaken Old Ladies have
always been what keeps us from killing each other. Our women know
our secrets and our troubles. They know our dirt, and they love us
anyway. Shit, Ruby’s gotten more dirt on her hands on behalf of
this club than half of you bitches have. Our women trust us to get
our shit done, and they expect us to call on them if need be. But
that can only happen if we can trust them. Some members have come
to me, concerned because they don’t really think Alex can be
trusted and they worry how deep Trigger’s getting with
her.”

“
She can be trusted,” Ryan
mutters. He blows out a deep breath and shakes his head. “Do we all
have a bunch of fucking pussies or something? We’re grown fucking
men sitting around talking about relationships and
shit?”

Grady’s chair scrapes as he pushes it
back a few inches then looks down the table to his left, meeting
Ryan’s eyes. Everything seems all calm and controlled now, but one
wrong move or one wrong word and any of these guys are likely to
pull their gun.

“
Some of us question your
judgment,” Grady says to Ryan. It was Jim’s time to talk, but it
looks like that’s over now. The club’s taking the floor.

“
I’ve been questioning
your judgment for a long fucking time,” Trigger says
back.

“
You might want to explain
that one, brother,” Grady says, drawing the words out.

“
It means that you can’t
keep the mother of your kid off the glass pipe, so I don’t know
what fucking business you have worrying about me and mine,” Trigger
bites back. And just like that, the shit has hit the
fan.

Grady shoves his chair back and stands
up. Ian moves backward quickly to avoid being the meat in a knuckle
sandwich. And Trigger—he just fucking sits there and very slowly
turns toward Grady. Standing, Ryan looks relaxed. He always does
just before he’s about to fuck somebody up. I don’t know that he
even can fuck Grady up, but it looks like he’s damn determined to
try.

“
Sit down,” Jim says
firmly, but neither man moves.

“
This ain’t your business,
Pres,” Grady says, using his nickname for Jim. Very slowly, he
reaches behind his back and wraps his hand around his pistol. Fuck.
And this shit is why we don’t bring guns into Church. The once
quiet room erupts into a cacophony of sound as the entire table
pushes their chairs back and draws their weapons at the same time.
Trigger pulls his piece, and, when his eyes focus in on Grady, they
widen just slightly. I’m so distracted by everybody else’s
reactions that it takes me an extra second to stand and draw my
piece, but when I do, I got Trigger in my sights. He’s wild as
fuck, and even though I don’t think he’d shoot Grady, I’m not sure
I know him as well as I thought I did. Best friend or not, shooting
another patched member is a fucking death wish—especially doing it
in Church. Fuck Jim and his fucking call that we need to be at the
ready in case Mancuso shows up.

At least if I lay Trigger down, I know
it’ll be quick. One of these other fuckers shoots him and he might
bleed out on the floor for a couple of minutes before he finally
passes, and I don’t want that kind of suffering for him.