Where Souls Spoil (35 page)

“You should have seen her, Princess. She was sucking my dick like her life depended on it. Full on suction action. I’m telling you, if Hoover could patent that shit, they’d knock that rolly ball vacuum shit off the market.” Alex just stares at me as I go on telling her about the fantasy I have—Nic sucking my dick so hard I think she’s gonna inhale the damn thing—as if it were real. I’ve used this fantasy to jack off until my dick is sore each night since I fucked up and Nic left me.

“You’re disgusting,” Alex says in protest and scrubs her makeup-free face. Looking down at her bowl of cereal, she takes in another spoonful, refusing to look back up at me. This is a game we play, she and I. Well, she might not be playing, but I like talking to Alex. I’m kind of short on friends these days, and Alex is my kind of people. She says what she thinks most of the time, even though she keeps catching herself and waiting for punishment. I consider our conversations an educational experience for her. There can’t be all that much that she learned under the thumb of her bastard father. Still, she’s not my girl, and that reminder is wearing on me. I need to get my ass reassigned off babysitting duty so I have more time to figure out how to fix shit with Nic.

“You enjoy my company,” I say, flashing her a devastating smile. She looks up, her cheeks heating just slightly, but her face remains flat.

“You’re pretty much my only friend aside from my aunt. Should my social circle expand, you can expect these little sessions will come to an end.”

“Pssh. The only ending I want to talk about is a happy one,” I say, reaching out and grabbing her bowl of cereal and pulling it toward me. Alex fights me on it, making a mess before letting the bowl go and practically sloshing milk all over my cut.

“I’m not even going to ask,” she says, shaking her head. I wrap one arm around the bowl, and take a heaping scoop of cereal from the bowl, and shove it into my mouth. I don’t really like cereal, but it’s bugging the fuck out of her to see me eating from her bowl.

“Orgasms, Princess—the ultimate happy ending.” The look on her face is priceless. She’s really good at giving off this innocent vibe, but I know damn well that there’s one wild bitch underneath all of that well-practiced shock and disgust. She stands from her seat at the table, crosses the room, and opens a kitchen cabinet, pulling out a granola bar. She waves the bar at me as she forces herself to keep a smile off her face. “You know all about orgasms, don’t you?”

“I hope you get a VD,” she says and walks down the hall and into her bedroom.

Just as Alex’s bedroom door shuts, the sliding glass door at the other end of the hall slides open, and Ryan, who the club nicknamed Trigger for his tendency to shoot first and ask questions later, steps into the house. Despite his best attempts to play it off like he didn’t just time that shit, his eyes keep traveling to the closed door as he stalks my way and sits across from me in the seat Alex just left. He says nothing, but sits there with his cold eyes fixated on mine. Trigger’s been the closest and longest friend I’ve had, but after the shit I pulled the other night, I have no doubt he’d put a cap in my ass if I gave him half a chance. Not that I’m entirely pleased with the shit he did at the clubhouse. End of the day, it wasn’t his fault though. I fucked up, and that shit is on me—nobody else.

“What?” I ask. I know what his problem is, but I want him to say it. It’s been increasingly obvious the last few weeks how attached he is to Princess and after that shit he pulled at the clubhouse, he and I have some shit to sort.

Even before he started calling her Cub, I noticed it. He stays away, but whenever he knows where she is, his eyes will continue to travel there. His face always contorts in some kind of emotional discomfort. It looks like he has to take a shit, but he can’t—a feeling I get all too fucking well. I’d call him a pussy and tell him to man up, but the longer Nic goes on avoiding me, the more I feel his pain. I need her to talk to me.

We were building something, and I was about to have Jim call a vote to see if one day the club might consider voting her in. Only Ruby and Mary have been voted in. Barbara never wanted it, and Layla’s been too damn sick to stay clean long enough to be a mother, let alone be an Old Lady. But Nic—she’s the perfect Old Lady, even if she doesn’t know it yet, and I’m damn determined to make her mine.

“You need to back off, brother,” he says in a voice that’s meant to be menacing. It would be if he hadn’t deserved that little show in the field, but he did. Every time I slid my finger into Princess’s pussy, I practically laughed knowing he was watching. It was killing him, and it’s killing him now.

“You don’t wanna share, brother?” I ask and raise an eyebrow at him, letting the comment sink in. Despite the fact that he and Ian have no blood relation, they were raised as brothers and that much time together has given them, at the very least, similar mannerisms. His shoulders hunch in, and the muscles in his arms grow tight with the desperate need to fuck something up royally. He won’t hit me here in the house, if only for the fact that Ruby has a no-violence indoors policy. She’s lost too many lamps to that shit.

“She’s a kid,” he says in dismissal of my suggestion, but I won’t let him off that easy.

“Oh no she’s not. I’ve been in her pussy, man. She’s tight and slick. No meat curtains or nothing—just a perfect fucking cunt.” I’m pushing it and enjoying myself way too fucking much, so much that I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

He doesn’t even flinch. The only indication he gives that he heard a word I’ve said is the constricting of his throat. The less he reacts, the more he’s internalizing it. I waited a long time to pay him back, and I can finally say we’re one hundred percent good.

Slowly, Trigger reaches into his vest and pulls out his .38. He can’t shoot me without getting himself shot in the process. It’s in the club bylaws, and if there’s one thing he gives a shit about, it’s the club. He unclicks the safety and places the gun on the table. I smirk and say, “Do what you gotta do, brother, but we’re good now.”

It takes him a moment longer than I expect it to, but when he realizes what I mean, he shakes his head. “This is about Nic?”

It’s like he forgot what he did all those years ago, and maybe with the blow he’s been doing lately, he has. But that shit from the other night? No fucking excuse. He hasn’t forgotten what he did.

Still, some debts had to be paid, and now that they have, I can move on. I just had to wait until he gave enough of a shit about someone. He won’t say it, but I don’t think this thing with Cub’s going to go away. He looks so much like his dad, and Alex looks so much like her mom. I see Jim and Ruby and can easily predict seeing that be Ryan and Alex in a few years—with their own bastard son fucking up some young girl.

“How long has it been since I fucked her?” he asks. I fight the looming tension in my shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not like I made you watch while I did it.”

“You got a beef with me, you take it out on me,” I say, standing up and getting right down in his face, leaning into his personal space. “But you fucked with my girl, and that was a bad move. Just because you can fuck her up like that doesn’t mean you should have. Be a fucking man and take your shot at me, because get this, brother—cut or no cut, history or not, I won’t turn a blind eye again. The next time is the last time. Do not test me,” I growl.

Without another word, he stands and leaves the way he came. I push the cereal bowl away and rub my eyes until they hurt. Trigger didn’t make me watch, but he sure wasn’t quiet about it.

xxx

“She was tight, dude—like virgin tight,” Ryan says in excitement. “Do you think she was a virgin?”

“I don’t know,” I say. This is the last thing I want to talk about—Ryan sleeping with Nicole. He knew how I feel about her before he did it. She’s hot and funny, and every now and then she rides to school on the back of her dad’s Harley. He’s a member of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club with Ryan’s dad. She looks good on the back of a bike. I just wish she were riding on mine.

One day it will be mine.

Ryan’s nowhere near being a virgin, and Nicole’s so much younger than us. He had no fucking right going after her at that party—not after I told him I was going to ask her out. Plus, she’s barely a freshman, and we should be graduating next year. Well, we would be graduating next year if we’d passed all of our classes. I’m behind by four, and he’s behind by five. My mom’s pretty mad, so mad that she’s threatening to take away my car. I think if I flash her a big enough smile she’ll give me a few more weeks to bring my grades up. It won’t do any good, but by then maybe Ryan and I can convince his dad to let us prospect at the motorcycle club. That’s been the plan since we were kids, and we’ve never deviated from it. Unfortunately, Mom doesn’t get it, but one day she will. One day Mom will see that the club’s the best option. College is a fucking joke, and it’s not like there’s many great jobs in this town. One day she’ll see, and then Ryan and I will officially be brothers. Patched in life and patched in death.

Chapter 11

As I pull
up to Butch’s house, I realize I have no fucking clue what the hell I’m going to say to Nic’s brother when I see him. It’s been too damn long, but I’ve had shit to take care of in Nevada. Whatever I decide, it just needs to get the point across that he fucked up and remind him what it means to fuck with Forsaken. I don’t know what the fuck his sister’s doing about his attitude, but it’s not up to her anymore. His ass was mine the second he screwed up my paint, and, as my woman, her problems are my problems.

The small ranch house’s yellow paint is so faded and chipped it looks almost gray. The lawn is overgrown and flows into the street, driveway, and walkway to the front door. The house never looked like this before Butch went down for that shit in Oakland. That was one thing about Butch Whelan—even after his Old Lady left town—he made damn sure his kids had a good home. How Nic and Jeremy were going to figure shit out without him was one of his biggest worries when he went away. A man like that—one who gives a fuck about this kids—is one I can respect. Unlike my own father, whoever he may be.

I turn off my bike, kick the stand down, and dismount, then walk to the door. I make a mental note to make one of the prospects come by and mow the lawn. When we have a clear enough forecast, I’ll set it up for them to paint the exterior.

The house is quiet, but I know damn well they’re home. Neither of them is a morning person, and Nic’s car is in the driveway. I slam my knuckles against the wooden door with enough force that the sound it creates could wake the dead. And still, the house is dead silent.

“Truancy Office,” I shout and continue to knock loudly and obnoxiously. It’s a Friday morning and I know Jeremy’s taking summer school. Fucking punk. With any luck, Nic won’t recognize my voice.

“Goddamn it, Jeremy!” she shouts from inside the house. Her voice is raspy from sleep. Even as irritable as she sounds, I still like to hear her talk. “If you skipped again, I’m not going to save your ass!”

The front door flies open, and I smile at the sight before me. Nic’s bleached blonde hair is in a messy, falling bun atop her head, which tells me she slept on it like that. Letting my eyes travel down her too-fucking-skinny frame, I realize she’s wearing a faded black tee-shirt that’s about ten times too big. The large collar droops over her shoulder, exposing her bare shoulder blade and the corners of a tattoo of vines and roses that trails down her arm to her elbow. She blinks rapidly, squinting from the late morning sun that’s shining in her green eyes. Recognition dawns on her face, and her bewildered surprise morphs into an angry scowl.

“So you’re grouchy in the morning,” I say. “I’m going to keep that in mind.” She doesn’t move or offer me entrance into the house, so I take it upon myself to get past the doorway. I step up and into the house with my heavy boots and move forward. When we’re close enough to touch, she moves backward and then moves around me to shut the door.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. I ignore the question and make my way into the kitchen. It’s not exactly tidy, but isn’t really dirty, either. It’s just lived in—with magazines and newspapers strewn about the counter and a few bills sitting opened beside them. The sink has a few plates, glasses, and a fry pan in it waiting to be washed. From the looks of the floor it could probably use a sweep and mop, but it’s not gross like it is at mine and Ryan’s place.

Off to the side of the room is a round breakfast table. I pull a chair out and plop down, listening to the wood creak beneath me. Following behind me, Nic enters the room and leans up against the sink.

“How much is it going to cost to pay for the scratch on your bike?” she asks and moves toward the table. When she gets closer, I see what her eyes are fixated on—her purse. It’s hanging off the back of the chair beside me. Reaching out, she grabs the strap and lifts the purse into the air. I catch my fingers as they itch to move in her direction. I’ve been thinking about that shit she said last week. Actually, I’ve been thinking about that and her pussy, but she’d be damn pissed if she knew that my preferred way to make up is by getting my dick inside of her again.

That night brought me back to being in high school and thinking she was bad ass. But back then she thought she was too good for me and the MC. Dating that jackass Darren—who she apparently still keeps in touch with—who thought the rules the MC laid down for the town didn’t apply to him. I knew Nic belonged with a guy like that—who could give her more than some bastard from the public housing development like me could.

But I never stopped thinking about it.

And damn if seeing him with her at the coffee shop didn’t make me want to slit his fucking throat and wash the floor in his blood.

“Not a dime,” I say. She pauses and sets her purse on the table, giving me a grouchy gaze. Looking around the kitchen makes me hungry, and I think I want a sandwich. “Why don’t we talk about it over lunch?” I suggest. Her eyes widen slightly as she looks around and then down at the shirt she’s wearing.

“I’m not going to lunch with you,” she says, shaking her head. I shrug and lean back in the seat. “What part of ‘I’m not doing this’ didn’t you understand?”

“Then we’ll eat here. What are you going to make me?” I ask, ignoring her comment.

The look on her face is incredulous. She’s obviously not up for playful in the mornings. Maybe I can work on that. She takes a long moment to look at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot before she breaks out into a hearty laughter. She throws her head back and lets her entire body shake from laughing so hard. My eyes travel down her torso to her tits as they bounce around. It’s so rare that Nic smiles, and even more rare that she seems even remotely happy. I drink this moment in for all it’s worth and revel in seeing her this way.

“I’m not sure what you find so funny. I’m hungry and you need to feed me,” I say in a mock serious tone. She looks down at me with the faint twinkle of laughter in her eyes.

“So go find an Old Lady,” she says then clears her throat and runs a hand through her hair. Her body is spotted with tattoos here and there. Like it was yesterday, I remember the string of star tattoos she has on her lower belly. There’s nine of them, and I want to know what they stand for. But it’s the tattoo of the robin that’s on the top of her left wrist that catches my eye. It’s a beautiful tattoo—very intricate with excellent coloring. The reds and the yellows of the bird rest above a light teal background. I’d recognize that work anywhere, even if I didn’t know that Torque—one of my brothers who’s doing a year in county—did it for her birthday last year.

Unable to stop myself, I reach out and grab her left hand. She drops the hand that’s in her hair immediately and looks down at me. Her eyes hold a curiosity she refuses to voice. I give her hand a light tug and bring her closer to me. She moves slowly, but doesn’t pull away. I move back in the chair, which gives her enough room to crawl into my lap. Not that she will, but it’s something I’m about to try to make happen.

“Come here, baby,” I say quietly and pull her down on my lap. I hold her firm, expecting a struggle, but she doesn’t give me one. For once, she’s agreeable and plops into my lap. She turns to face me and shakes her head just slightly. Her silence is so absolute that it makes the entire room feel sad and lonely. Or maybe that’s me, because when I’m near her, I just want to be closer. If she’s standing next to me, I want to touch her. If she’s in my lap, I want her naked. If she’s bitching at me, I want my dick inside her. It never seems to be enough, and I wonder if it ever will be.

“Don’t think I’m going to feed you just because you’re trying to be charming,” she says, but it comes out as a whisper. Again, so very quiet.

“I bet if I made you come a few times you’d want to feed me,” I say lowly and bring my lips to her neck.

“No,” she says, but her body sinks into me.

“No? You don’t like this?” I ask her as I place gentle kisses on her neck. A shiver runs up her spine, making her body shake in response.

“No, and I’m not going to feed you,” she says. Quiet. Breathy. Fuck. “That’s not what we do.”

I stop what I’m doing and pull back, narrowing my eyes, and give her a hard look. Trying to keep my voice quiet so I don’t send her running, I say, “What we do?”

Her eyes travel around the room before they land on my cut. She reaches up and places a hand above my heart right on top of the patches that says FORSAKEN and FORT BRAGG. Giving me a soft pat she lets her eyes travel back up to mine. “This. You’re Forsaken and I’m a Lost Girl. I’m not your girlfriend, and I’m not your Old Lady. I don’t do feeding times.”

The realization of what she’s talking about hits me between the eyes and makes my gut turn to mush. We were on our way somewhere before I fucked it all up. Now she’s just compliant and disconnected, and I hate it. The way her voice sounds and how she’s touching me, she might as well not even be in the room with how present she is. As much as she pissed me the fuck off, and fucked up in front of the club, I’d take every insult she has to give better than I can take this. It’s maddening.

My head swims with a thousand responses I could give her. I could try to make her feel better by telling her that it’s not like that with us, and I could tell her that brothers fall for Lost Girls all the time. She already knows I want her for my woman, I want her voted in, and even if she doesn’t want to believe it,
I
believe that we can get over this shit. She pisses me off, and I’m going to piss her off, and she’s just going to have to come to terms with that. But if I tell her that, she’ll run. Nic doesn’t do sweet because she doesn’t know what to do with it, but asshole she understands. Only, I don’t want to be an asshole right now. I like the quiet and the closeness. I like feeling of her pressed up against me. The last thing I want to do is to give her a reason to run, and being an asshole would do just that.

“You think too much,” I say with a grumble.

“And you don’t think enough,” she protests. She’s wrong, but fuck if I’m going to argue with her right now. I don’t know how many more screw-ups she’ll forgive before she convinces Chief or Diesel to get the club to vote on shooting me. Not that they would, but I wouldn’t put the attempt past her.

“Look,” I say and lean toward her. Her entire left side presses against me. Her skin is so cold, and her nipples strain beneath the aged tee shirt. “We make the rules. If we decide that all we do is fuck, then that’s all we do. If we decide that you cook for me, then
that’s
what we do. There’re no fucking rules here, baby. The only rule is ‘you don’t fuck me over and I don’t fuck you over.’ That’s it.”

She turns her head away from me. Raising her chin toward the ceiling, she says in a much harder voice, “But you
did
fuck me over. You fucked me over, you humiliated me, and you’re acting like it’s on me to do better.”

“Clean slate, babe. I fucked up, I get that, but we gotta move past that shit.”

“No,” she says getting loud as fuck right in my ear. “Fuck that, and fuck you. You wanna be my man, you need to do better. You wanna call the shots and take care of shit in my life, then show me that you can. Buckle up, dude, and quit puttin’ that shit on me. You fucked up, and I moved on.”

“I
am
your man,” I say, taking her face in my hands and forcing her to keep her attention focused on me.
Buckle up
, she said and it’s like sitting in church and listening to her dad tell us to stop being pussies. Buckle up, he’d say, and we’d listen because Butch wasn’t one for casual chitchat. He spoke and we fucking listened. Which reminds me, I need to get word to Butch about me and Nic. I can’t visit him myself because of my record, and we don’t put club business down on paper, but as a brother, he’s got to know I’m making his daughter my Old Lady. It’s only right.

“No,” she says. “No man of mine hurts me that badly. No man of mine fucks a filthy whore like that when he knows I can see him.
That does not happen
. So no, you’re not my man.” Her words twist in my gut, making me feel like a fucking loser. I have to do better for her and by her. Short of fucking up club business, fucking up by not taking care of your woman is a big fucking problem. Rage, Jim’s dad and our previous charter president, had a zero tolerance policy for failing at being a man.

“I’m going to do better by you, going to take care of you,” I say, placing a kiss to her forehead.

“And for how long? When does this expire?”

The blow is small, but it feels like a shrapnel bomb that goes off, leaving tiny little splinters all over my flesh. Her once soft body turns rigid, and she pulls away. I don’t fight it, but let her stand and then cross the room. She’s like a cat—territorial and guarded. Resuming her place in front of the sink, she folds her arms over her chest. I stand from my seat and concede that we’re not going to get anywhere today. She doesn’t need bullshit apologies, she just needs me to be here and prove her wrong.

To my left is the refrigerator, which is near the gas range, and adjacent to the sink, where Nic’s standing. I stand and walk to the fridge where I open the door, expecting to find it a little light on groceries, but totally unprepared for what I find. There’s a mostly empty jar of pickle juice in the door and half a stick of margarine in the butter compartment. There are no eggs or bacon, or even sausages. In a package that expired a week ago, there’s a few tortillas and some mostly empty condiment containers. There’s no milk or soda and not a single fucking beer—which is just blasphemy. A few other items are strewn about in the fridge, but nothing that could create anything edible. The freezer isn’t much better. There are a few bags of frozen vegetables and a gelato carton that’s growing freezer burn on the container.