Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC TENNESSEE series, book 1) Page 10

  Because I know how those lips taste.

  The kid is terrified, and here I am fucking dreaming about her soft velvety tongue dancing with mine.

  I’m a fucking asshole.

  She’d looked so vulnerable last night. But when I recall it, the image of her in her tight T-shirt and panties hits me straight in the balls, and my dick twitches with appreciation as I curse silently.

  Fucking douche.

  She needs my protection.

  Not my perversion.

  Oh, she’s a tough cookie, for sure. But beneath the façade of bravado she’s terrified.

  Protectiveness washes over me.

  Who are you kidding, asshole?

  That’s not protectiveness you’re feeling.

  That’s a fucking hard-on.

  For the last few days, I’ve mentally tortured myself with the image of her licking salt from her hand and sucking on limes stuck on fucking repeat in my head until I couldn’t take it anymore and had to jerk off just to be able to sleep.

  Yeah, I admit it.

  I rubbed my cock with that image replaying over and over in my head. But after spilling onto my fist and tightly clenched abs, I had clamped some pretty heavy mental shackles onto my thoughts and made myself promise never to think or look at Bronte like that again.

  Clearly, the clamps have come off because here we are.

  I push back another thought of Bronte and her curves and how well her ample breasts fill her tank top and will my focus elsewhere as my hand slides to my cock.

  I just need to ease the tension.

  And not think about her while I’m doing it.

  I empty my mind and let it fill with the sensation of my palm sliding up and down the thick shaft.

  Fucking my hand isn’t a rarity. I’m focused on the club and finding Ghost, so sex isn’t on my radar very often. When my body demands a release, it’s usually my hand I turn to. Or if we’re coming home from a ride, I drop in to see Antoinette.

  My grip tightens, and my cock feels heavy and thick against my palm.

  Jesus Christ, I’m hard.

  I close my eyes and stroke slowly from root to tip, pausing at the head to glide my fingers over the smooth, slippery crown. Tension starts to build in my belly. My balls contract. A pearl of precum pools in the eye of my engorged head, and I swipe my thumbpad through it, dragging it down the hard column, the lube bringing the tantalizing friction to a whole new level.

  Feeling the sensation build, I groan but bite down on my lower lip to snag the noise in my throat. Bronte is in the next room, and I don’t want her hearing me moan in pleasure because I’m jerking off. My hand picks up speed. I don’t want her knowing that while she’s only yards away from me, lying warm and supple in bed, I’m in here rubbing my cock not thinking about her.

  Not thinking about her.

  Not thinking about…

  My balls tighten, full and heavy, getting ready for a much-needed release.

  My cock thickens as my strokes quicken.

  Without warning, her angelic face swings before my mind’s eye, her eyes wide and thickly lashed, those plush lips parted as her tongue slides out to moisten them.

  I can’t help myself. All I can see is my cock sliding in and out that luscious pout.

  It’s all it takes.

  With a rush of pleasure, cum shoots out of me in a soaring pearlescent arc and rains down on my abs as a violent quake of ecstasy erupts through me. Despite my efforts to be quiet, I unleash a growl and pant through my orgasm, pumping my cock hard and fast of every last drop, my body quaking, my heart pounding violently against my ribcage.

  Finally empty, I sink into my pillow, my brain drenched in a warm wave of dopamine and a new spark of something unwanted beginning to flicker in my heart.

  Fuck.

  Frustrated, I throw back the sheets and climb out of bed. I disappear into the bathroom, step into the shower, and attempt to wash away any lingering thoughts of Bronte from my mind.

  Having Bronte live with me is probably a bad idea.

  But there’s no turning back now.

  I’ll just have to suck it up and keep my fucking hands to myself.

  Later that morning, I take Bronte to the clubhouse to speak with Paw and Wyatt.

  “Jack filled us in about your situation,” Wyatt says.

  He’s ex-security. Before he retired, he used to do private security for everyone from television stars to visiting dignitaries.

  “It’s not uncommon for this type of behavior to end up being harmless. But we don’t know enough about this guy to determine anything yet, so we need to put some precautions in place.”

  “You think he’s going to follow me here?”

  I can hear the fear in her voice, and it strikes me hard in the gut.

  “I don’t believe his primary motivation is to hurt you. I think it’s to frighten you,” Paw says. “The Polaroids are a perfect example of that.”

  “He’s been in your room, Bronte. I know this is going to scare you when I say it, and I’m sorry, sweetheart, but he had the chance to hurt you, and he didn’t. He did exactly what he wanted to do… scare you.”

  Bronte looks at me, her face pale. “Is that what you think, Jack?”

  That she is looking to me for reassurance makes my stomach ache with a longing to hold her in my arms and kiss the look of fear off her face. “I do, darlin’. I don’t think he’s out to hurt you. I think the sick fuck enjoys the torment too much.”

  Her throat bobs with a thick swallow. “So, what do we do now?”

  “We’ll tighten security around you. Keep one of the prospects outside whenever you’re home alone. Have some kind of escort when you go out.”

  “That sounds like a giant pain in the ass for you guys.” Again, she looks at me for some kind of reassurance.

  “Are you kidding me? We live for this shit.” I give her a wink, trying to downplay the seriousness.

  Wyatt leans forward. “It won’t be for long, and it’s just a precaution. Remember, he hasn’t shown any desire to physically harm you, so whenever this starts getting up in your head, I want you to remember that, okay? He’s a sick fucker who doesn’t have the balls to show his face. He likes to torment from afar.”

  “And he can do that without coming to Flintlock,” Paw adds.

  The door to my office opens, and Sheriff Pinkwater appears. Pinkwater was in my sister’s year at high school. He was the quarterback. The popular kid. The good-looking guy who was going to leave Flintlock and go on to do great things in the big city. Instead, he surprised the hell out of everyone and joined the sheriff’s department right out of college.

  He’s been our sheriff since his predecessor got shot about ten years back, and he’s been in our pocket ever since. For a motorcycle club to run its illegal marijuana trade smoothly, it helps to have the law on your payroll.

  Bull has a similar thing going back in Mississippi, same with our Louisiana, North Dakota, Georgia, and Wyoming brothers.

  It makes life a hell of a lot easier.

  We fill Pinkwater in, and as he leans against my desk, he takes notes.

  “I agree with your plan. Keep a prospect on her at all times. I’ve got a friend in the department in Nashville. I’ll give her a call and see what I can find out. I’ll also give campus security a call, see if they’ve had any other complaints.” He looks at Bronte. “This asshole is probably in it for kicks and doesn’t plan on doing you any real harm. But let’s not take any unnecessary risks, okay?”

  “She’s staying with me,” I state.

  “Makes sense.” Pinkwater turns back to Bronte. “I’m sure Wyatt and Paw have said it, but I’ll reiterate it. You need a complete social media blackout. Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, they’re all tools these punks use to trace their victims.”

  “I stopped using social media when this all started,” Bronte replies.

  “Good. Does anyone know you’re here?”

  “Just my friends, Riley and Sebastian.
Oh, and the officer who took a couple of the complaints. He knows I’m here.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Officer Johnson. He’s with the police department.”

  Pinkwater takes down the name and then closes his book, tucking it away in his shirt pocket. He picks up his hat from my desk.

  “Like I said, this is probably some jerk getting his kicks over frightening you. Try not to worry.” He looks at us, then back to her. “Looks like you’re in safe hands.”

  After talking with Wyatt, Paw, and Pinkwater, Bronte seems calmer. But to take her mind off it further, I suggest a ride out to one of the mountain trails. It’s where I always go when I need to take my mind off my problems.

  So leaving the clubhouse behind us, we ride along the ribbon of highway cutting through the mountains and head into the late afternoon light. Bronte wraps her arms around me, and I can feel her body relax against mine as the magic of a motorcycle ride takes over.

  Almost an hour in, we stop at one of my favorite lookouts at the top of a peak. From here, the view is a panoramic vista of soaring mountain ridges and sweeping gullies. At the right time of day, the colors change to a magnificent gold as a dying sun bleeds across the green. Like now, everything shimmers in hazy golden light.

  After Bronte picks a bunch of wildflowers, we sit on a large boulder and take in the view.

  “You’ve been amazing with all of this,” she says, crossing her legs and laying the wildflowers between them. “Thank you.”

  She starts to pin the stalks together to make a crown for her hair.

  “I wish you’d come to me sooner, wildflower. I would do anything for you.”

  Bronte lifts her lashes, and her big blue eyes focus on me. “After my last visit… when I kissed you… I was too embarrassed to come back.”

  I reach for her face and push a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was no reason for you to stay away or to try and deal with this on your own.”

  Our faces are unbearably close. Close enough that I can see the thickness of her dark lashes and the flecks of aqua in her ocean blue eyes. She licks her lips, and I can barely stand the longing in me to kiss them.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispers.

  And I smile. “You won’t ever have to wonder.”

  If The Poet wants to get his hands on her, he’ll have to go through me to get to her. And I’m not about to let that happen.

  She smiles and rests her head on my shoulder.

  The moment is wrapped in contentment.

  I slip my arm around her and rest my head on hers. My wildflower is beginning to mean so much more to me than ever before.

  And I know, without a doubt, that I’ll do anything to protect her.

  BRONTE

  Because I need to know how to protect myself, Jack insists I learn self-defense, so we arrange to meet at the clubhouse the next morning. It’s Saturday, and Jack left the house before I had a chance to see him. But I figured he was at the clubhouse, but when I walk in after getting a lift from one of the prospects, the clubhouse is empty.

  Almost.

  Except for one person.

  Sitting across the room, with a cigarette in her long, elegant fingers, is a well-dressed young woman. She’s the epitome of confidence in her silk dress and stiletto heels. Gold bangles gleam on her wrist. Her back is straight as she sits poised on the bar stool, one elbow leaning on the gleaming polished bar.

  I pause when I see her, recognizing her immediately.

  Faith Dillinger.

  Jack’s older half-sister.

  A woman you don’t cross.

  A woman, if you are sensible, you fear.

  With hair the color of straw and eyes as black as midnight, her beauty is in direct contrast to her nature. She’s lethal. Some would say terrifying.

  When I walk in, she’s talking dangerously low to someone on her cell.

  “You listen to me, you little fuck, if you don’t do as I say, I will come down there and kick you so hard in the goddamn balls you’ll be pulling pubic hair out of your teeth for days.” She takes a drag on her cigarette. “Is that a threat? Hell, no. I don’t make threats, you moron. I make fucking promises. Now do what I say, or I’ll get in my fucking car and be standing across from you in your office before you can say I’m a hopeless dope with no balls.”

  Disconnecting from the call, she drops her cell into her handbag in front of her and takes another drag on her cigarette.

  I walk up behind her. “Still being a bitch, I see.”

  She swings around ,and her cold glare hits me like a slap to the cheek.

  “Well, well, well…” a plume of smoke leaves her parted lips as her demon eyes sweep up and down the length of me, “… look what came in with the tide.”

  I fold my arms. “Who were you talking to, your boyfriend?”

  Her gaze never wavers. “My priest, actually.”

  “That was my second guess.” I shrug. “Still torturing people. It’s nice to know some things never change.”

  “Hardly my fault, it’s hardwired into my DNA.”

  “You should probably see a therapist about that.”

  “Probably, but then I do have my reputation as a bitch to protect.” Her eyes are wicked as they narrow. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea and thinking I’m a nice person.”

  Mine narrow right back. “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  Our eyes remain locked.

  Our glares fixed.

  Neither prepared to back down.

  Then, our smiles hit at the same time, two big grins that are genuine reflections of how we feel toward one another. A friendship forged in the firepits of pain and heartache.

  Faith pulls me in for an embrace. “It’s about time you came back to town, you roaming bitch.” She presses a kiss to my hair before releasing me. “God, finally someone to have some fun with.” She gestures toward the stool next to her, then nods to TJ behind the bar. “A tequila for my friend and another one for me.”

  I shake my head. “No alcohol for me. Jack’s taking me through some self-defense moves, and I don’t think he’ll be impressed if I can’t stand.”

  “What my brother doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She signals to TJ and gives her a look that says, pour the bitch a drink.

  I know better than to argue. Plus, a shot of the hard stuff is probably exactly what my frazzled nerves need.

  I sit as TJ pours us two shots.

  We clink shot glasses before downing the hot alcohol.

  Faith’s natural state of being is to be a bitch. She is wildly beautiful but lethally unapproachable, and when it comes to other women, Faith doesn’t play nice. In fact, I’m probably her only female friend. There’s a story there, something etched into her past with the cold blade of heartbreak and grief. But no matter how close we’ve gotten over the years, she’s never told me.

  People are afraid of her and rightly so.

  “So, what the hell has brought you back to Flintlock?” she asks, stubbing out her cigarette in a glass ashtray on the bar and immediately lighting another one.

  “Figured I was overdue for a visit.”

  “I have to agree with you there.” Her dark eyes study my face. She doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t say so. She doesn’t need to. When she’s ready, she knows she’ll get it out of me. “You staying at your grandmama’s?”

  “Only for a couple of days.”

  “Good, you should hang around.”

  “What about you? Why are you in here at noon on a Monday, shooting tequila shots and scaring men on the phone?”

  “Just got back from seeing a potential investment over in Johnson City. A complete waste of my time.” From memory, Faith handles a lot of the club’s investments like real estate. She’s shrewd and business savvy. “I had some phone calls to make, so I had the thought to come in here for a liquid lunch. Why is my brother teaching you self-defense?”

  “He’s got
it in his mind that I should know how to protect myself.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly as she studies my face. She knows it isn’t the whole story.

  “Well, he’s right. Every woman should.” She leans closer as if she’s going to share a secret with me. “Let me know when you’re free, and I can show you a few that he’s never seen.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” I grin. “Speaking of which, eaten any club girls for breakfast lately?”

  “That sounds very girl on girl and kind of sexy.”

  “You know what I mean. The last time I was here you gave one of the club girls a black eye.”

  She shrugs. “She fucked my boyfriend.”

  “He was a guy you had a one-night stand with.”

  “It could’ve been more if he didn’t go and stick his dick in that rancid pussy.”

  “I think you got more satisfaction out of punching her in the face than you did from your one-night stand.”

  “You make me sound mean.”

  “You are mean.”

  She grins. “See. This is why you and I are such good friends. Anyway, I never strike first. I just make sure I strike last.” She takes a drag on her cigarette. “Don’t poke the cobra if you don’t wanna get bit.”

  “That’s good. You should put that on a bumper sticker.”

  “It’s common sense. They should teach it in school.”

  She slides off her stool when Jack appears. Church is out, and the bikers begin to spill into the bar.

  “You’re not corrupting her, are you?” Jack says to his sister.

  Faith rolls her eyes at him and then mashes a kiss into the side of his head. “Yee of little faith. Of course not, baby brother. But you can’t keep her all to yourself, I want some time with my girl.” She looks at me. “Are you free to help get this place dolled up for the party later tonight?”

  “Party?” I ask, confused.

  “Yeah, Jack’s…” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh my God, little brother, you didn’t tell her about the party? I bet you didn’t tell her it’s your birthday today either.”