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Sig, Red, Dodge and Syn made up the fourth row.
Rook and Jet were in the fifth row with Shade and Chelle.
Rev and Reilly made up the sixth row, and since Dozer was one of the last to join the formation, he filled the spot Whip left open with his departure.
Dutch, riding solo of course, was in the seventh row next to Woody.
Easy and Whip made up the last row. Now with the two newest members, the formation was getting longer.
Whip shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head and pulled down the bandana he tied around his nose and mouth. He leaned closer to Easy and whispered, “What the fuck you doin’, man?”
Easy frowned. “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m waitin’ for Cage to pull out. What the fuck are you doin’?”
“Meant about Friday mornin’.”
Easy’s eyebrows pinned together and the creases on his forehead became deeper. “What about Friday mornin’?”
Whip glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation. “With Tessa.”
“Got no idea what the fuck you’re talkin’ about, brother.”
“Easy. You’re playin’ with fire if you don’t approach Trip. You know that.”
“Approach him about what?”
“About what the fuck you’re doin’.”
“What the fuck am I doin’?”
Jesus fuck.
“If she ain’t doin’ you, who the fuck is she doin’?”
“How the fuck would I know?” Easy asked. “What’d you see?”
“Tessa sneakin’ out of the bunkhouse. Like early, too. Tryin’ not to get caught.”
Easy stared at him. “She probably needed somethin’ from the kitchen.”
“You tellin’ me Cage and Jem don’t keep their fuckin’ kitchen stocked?” Of course, they did. That was a bullshit excuse, especially since Tessa left empty-handed. And why would Easy use the same excuse Tessa used?
Obviously, the women raided the bunkhouse kitchen since Trip stocked it with fresh foods from the Amish, but not at five in the fucking morning.
“How the fuck would I know what’s in their fuckin’ kitchen? They don’t invite me over for goddamn dinner.”
“You think she’s doin’ a prospect?” That question left a bad taste in Whip’s mouth.
“She better not be,” Easy growled.
“What about the other two?”
Whip’s brother shook his head. “She better not be.”
“Well, she’s doin’ someone. If it ain’t you, then it’s one of them.”
“Tessa’s gotta have better taste than Dozer or Woody,” E muttered.
“Ry ain’t home yet, so I know it ain’t him.”
Easy narrowed his eyes on him. “Why the fuck do you care, anyway?”
Why the fuck did he care?
Whip sighed. “You’re right. Why the fuck should I care? It ain’t me who’s gonna get the shit beat outta me with The Punisher.”
Easy stared at him, his brown eyes a little wider than they should be for someone supposedly so damn innocent. “You think that’s what’ll happen? It didn’t with Rev.”
Whip shrugged. “Don’t matter. Ain’t my problem, right? I just know it ain’t my dick stickin’ her, so it ain’t gonna be me havin’ a blanket party.” He shot Easy a smirk and twisted his throttle, revving the engine. “Great day for a ride, ain’t it, brother?”
Chapter Thirteen
Thank fuck the warm weather was returning because he’d missed the club runs. He missed the bonding with his brothers on Sunday between the ride and dinner at Dino’s or the spread the sisterhood and the sweet butts set up at The Barn afterward.
Those rides were necessary because they actually settled their souls. Every last one of them. Because of that, Cage purposely never led the formation past Hillbilly Hill. Their runs were a time to forget any shit clawing at them or disturbing their peace.
The kids were left at home. The prospects remained behind. It was just the fully-patched members and their ol’ ladies.
The Fury foundation.
The runs were a good way to keep that core both committed and connected. It was one reason Trip required every patched member to go. Otherwise, they needed a damn good excuse.
But during the whole ride, Whip’s mind had been elsewhere. Back at The Grove Inn. In room number one.
Even though he hadn’t answered Reilly, he was definitely heading over there after they dispersed later.
Did he want to go there instead of being on the run? Hell yeah, there was a first time for everything.
Was he stupid enough to break formation to do that? Fuck no. Not unless he wanted his ass ridden so hard it would be raw.
While he didn’t need to keep Fallon a secret, he also didn’t want what they were doing in the spotlight. It was bad enough Ozzy knew. The older biker took any opportunity he could to bust Whip’s balls.
Even so, for the whole fucking three-plus-hour run through the back roads of northern Pennsylvania, Whip had been in auto-drive since he couldn’t think of anything but her.
The confidence Fallon had about her body, with her life, with fucking everything… That shit oozed from her pores.
But it wasn’t only that. It was also the way she sounded while they had sex. Her expressions while she came. The softening of her facial features after she orgasmed, knowing he caused that satisfaction, he took her there.
