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“You heading in?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “You got time for something first?”
“Sure, got a few minutes. What’d you have in mind?” His cock had filled to capacity once again. With Shell astride him, wet pussy dripping all over his stomach, plump tits staring at him, who could blame him?
“For you to fuck me until I’m screaming,” she said as she rose up, gripped his thick cock, and slid down until he was buried to the root. “Shit.” She echoed his thoughts. Her eyes fluttered closed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to how huge you are. You fill me so damn good.”
He was one lucky fucking bastard.
After taking a moment to adjust to his penetration, Shell’s eyes popped open. “Ready, big boy?” she asked, wagging her eyebrows.
“Bring it, baby.”
And she did, riding him until they both collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving breath.
Two hours later, Copper sat at the head of the table staring at the grim faces of his men. Any of the pressure relief a good romp with his woman provided had vanished the moment he entered the clubhouse. It did help to see Rusty at the table. Sure, things had been a bit rocky as far as his integration back into the club, but having his blood brother at the table meant a lot. Meant he had Copper and the club’s back. They’d get past whatever was eating at Rusty with time. One of the men, however, was missing.
“Where the fuck’s Rocket?” Copper turned to Jig.
With a shrug, Jig said, “Couldn’t get him, Prez. Called about ten times. Texted double that. Went by his house and anywhere else I could think of. His ass is in the wind.”
No. Fuck no. No way in fucking hell Rocket was stealing from the club.
Was he?
Goddammit. He hated uncertainty. The inability to trust men he’d counted on to watch his ass a number of times.
“All right. Anyone sees him later, I wanna chat with him. I’m gonna get straight fucking to it. Fifteen thousand dollars has been stolen from debts we’ve collected.” He held his hand up when murmurs rounded the table. “Shut your fucking mouths. It ends today. I want to know who it is. You’re done with the club. Now, you nut up and come to me on your own, I’ll think about letting you walk out with your bones intact. I find out another way, and I fucking will find out, you might need to be carried out instead. Not that a single man here would so much as toss a cup of water on you if you were burning. Not anymore.”
Tension shot to a palpable level. Copper stood and rested his palms on the table. The men knew he was pissed and they knew one of them was to blame. Mistrust was rampant. They eyed each other across the table trying to determine who was the thief among them. This kind of thing was hell on club morale. He gave them a minute, letting his message sink in.
“That’s all I’m going to say about that for now. I’m too fucking pissed to talk about it further. We got a possible lead on Lefty. Someone who might be able to deliver him to our door. But we gotta do them a favor. Collect a few debts for him. Should be a cakewalk since we do this shit all the time. Zach will get with you if he needs you in on it.”
The men perked up slightly. Lefty being handed over on a silver platter was just about better than sex...just about. Too bad it was tainted by a traitor betraying the club. Hopefully, when all was said and done, getting a little revenge on Lefty would boost club morale after losing a member. Because a member would be lost. Didn’t matter if the money was stolen to fund one of his men’s mother’s cancer treatment. Stealing from the club was a hard and fast fucking no.
“That’s it for now.” He did a slow perusal of the men sitting at the table, pausing to make eye contact with each and every one of them. Well, all but one. Rusty played on his phone, looking bored as hell. So much for having his back and being invested in the club. “My door is open if you got something to tell me. Rust, want to talk to you for a few.”
Rusty rolled his eyes and Copper had the distinct feeling he was raising an attitude-laden teenager. He’d pretty much already done that being the one to raise Rusty after they moved from Ireland. At the time, he’d tolerated it, maybe more than he should have, but who could really blame him. Rusty had just lost his only parent, been ripped from his home, and thrust into an entirely new country. Some pushback was to be expected. Granted, Copper had been so busy with the club at the time, he probably didn’t parent Rusty as much as he should have, but for a twenty-year-old suddenly responsible for a ten-year-old, he thought he did all right.
