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“Night, Shay.”
He mounted his sled, started it and forced himself to take it around to the back of the motel where he parked it.
For once, he was trying to be smart.
Though, he felt like a dumb fuck for not taking what he wanted for the first time in his life.
Chapter Seven
As soon as Ozzy pulled up to The Barn for Sunday’s run, he shut his sled down, dismounted and went on the hunt for the oldest surviving Original.
Dutch.
At least oldest surviving that they knew of.
He had an idea of where to look for him because the old man had his pre-run ritual.
Ozzy took long strides through church, jerking his chin up in greeting to whoever was hanging around before the run. Some of the guys who lived in the bunkhouse didn’t roll out of bed until a few minutes before. Members like him, Dodge, and Shade, the brothers who didn’t live on the property, came a little bit earlier. But not by much.
Nobody in their right fucking mind wanted to roll out of bed early on a Sunday. Especially the brothers with ol’ ladies. Ozzy didn’t blame them. If Liz was still…
He shook his head and kept moving, readjusting his thinking.
If he would’ve had Shay in his bed last night, he would’ve taken her again this morning before heading out.
Not seeing the garage owner in any of his usual spots, he yelled out to Rook standing behind the bar, sucking down what looked like a huge mug of coffee. “You seen your old man?”
“Unfortunately,” Dutch’s oldest son responded, tipping his head toward the bunkhouse. “In the back since he now thinks it’s his job to wake up everyone still sleepin’.”
“In a very unique way,” Jet added with a grin, also with a travel mug of what Ozzy guessed was coffee in her hand. Possibly even spiked since she had to deal with an asshole like Rook as her ol’ man.
He yanked open the door that separated the bunkhouse from The Barn and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior of the long corridor.
A female voice came from his right. “Coffee, Oz?”
The single swinging door to the kitchen was propped open and he spotted a couple of the sweet butts. He stepped inside to see Brandy and Amber. Easy, with his long hair already pulled up and covered with a leather skullcap for the ride, was leaning back against one of the stainless steel counters, a plate in hand and held up to his lips, using a fork to practically shovel what looked like eggs into his mouth.
“Want breakfast, baby?” Amber asked, coming closer and stroking his chest under his cut.
“Whataya makin’?”
Amber shot him a smile. “What do you want?”
He considered the sweet butt’s question. He could have her make him a plate of eggs and maybe some toast or something, or he could get in a quick blowjob or fuck.
He’d used Shay as his spank bank material last night, but his fist wasn’t nearly as good as the real thing.
He could bend Amber over, close his eyes and imagine…
Her hand slid from his chest down his gut and then she rubbed his soft dick over his jeans. “Can’t decide? I can help.” She winked.
He hated when the sweet butts winked. They were horrible at it. It wasn’t sexy, it was awkward. And when they did it, it looked like two elephant ears flapping together because of their fake eyelashes with gooped-on mascara.
But if a couple of them scrubbed the makeup off their faces, they’d look about twelve. So, it was best to keep the makeup on and just deal with scrubbing lipstick off his dick afterward, or washing his pillowcases when their makeup ended up smeared all over them.
Small price to pay for great head or tight snatch who he could easily evict from his bed afterward. He never let any of them stay the night except for…
“Fucking motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath.
Amber’s forehead wrinkled when she frowned. “I do something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No, babe, ain’t you. Gonna pass on your offer. Lookin’ for Dutch.”
If he drank coffee right now, he’d have to keep pulling out of formation to take a piss alongside the road. Then he’d end up at the back of the pack breathing everyone else’s exhaust.
It seemed the older he got the smaller his bladder got.
“You see him?”
Amber stepped past him and into the doorway to peek her head out. “He’s not in the hallway?”
“Didn’t see him. Who’d he pick this mornin’?”
“Angel.”
“Maybe he’s done already.”
“Then she better get her ass in here to help,” Amber huffed with a toss of her red hair. Not naturally red like Red’s, but a dyed red that wasn’t anywhere near natural. He had no idea why these girls liked changing the color of their hair so much.
