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CHAPTER SIX
Gabriel
I pull her close and kiss her deeply. She gasps, then melts and wraps her arms around me. I keep kissing her sensually and let my hands travel all over her body. She moans and twitches and when my hands travel in between her legs, I feel she is wet again.
I pull my lips off of her and growl, “And your fourth.”
I roll on top of her and hold her face so she looks straight into my eyes. I watch her expression as I slowly slide my cock inside her and the way her eyes widen and her mouth drops open into a gasp when I push in is the sexiest thing I’ve seen in my life.
“Which one is she?” Shotgun asks, pulling me from my thoughts of the night before. He’s sitting at the bar. At the moment, only he and I are at the club. Everyone else is on a ride through the mountains. Ordinarily, I’d be a tail gunner and Shotgun would be out front but the two of us are preparing for a charity event a few towns over. That’s the excuse, anyway.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He doesn’t have to roll his eyes to let me know he thinks I’m foolish to pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about. He’s sixty-four years old and he’s a founding member of the Ridge Devils. He plans on announcing his succession plan in a year. That way, he’ll still be president when the club turns forty. I’m happy with the plan because that means I’ll be back on the bike for thirteen months before the announcement. My fears about people accepting me after my absence are pretty much nonexistent now.
He doesn’t respond but just cracks open a beer and sip it. If there’s anyone who looks like an old-school biker in this club, it’s Shotgun. He has a goatee that’s something like eight or nine inches long, grey, and flowing when he’s on his bike. He has kind eyes but when he’s angry, those eyes turn dark and menacing. He’s not dark and menacing now, though. He’s just not going to put up with me avoiding the subject.
“She’s not one of the girls,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. That surprises him. “Townie?”
I nod. “Della’s babysitter.”
“That little girl?” he asks. There’s a slight flash of anger now. “You’re hitting some high school kid?”
“She’s in her first year of college already, Shotgun,” I say. “She’s not a little girl anymore and it just started when I got back, not before.”
He nods. “Still, she’s a nice girl. You want her mixed up in all this?”
It’s a fair question. “She’s the townie I saved from those city assholes here for Cart.”
He laughs and says, “You can get all the pussy you want just by looks and you go around like some knight in shining armor. Jesus, save some for the rest of us.” He hands me the beer he cracked open and grabs another for himself. “You serious about her?”
“Yeah,” I say, “but how could you tell?”
“Because the girls practically kneel in front of you and reach for your dick and you’ve ignored them for a month.”
I laugh. “No, they don’t.”
“All right, maybe they don’t fall to their knees, but they wiggle their asses for you and bend over in front of you and pretty much do everything but drop their panties and spread their legs for you and you don’t touch.”
I shrug. He’s right. I got the welcome blowjob from… Well, I’m ashamed to admit I don’t even remember the girl’s name. That’s it, though. “I guess I’m pretty serious about Cayla,” I say.
“Well, you’re going to have to introduce her to the club at some point,” he says, “if serious becomes really serious. Try to make that later instead of sooner.”
“I will,” I say.
Shotgun’s concern is understandable, and it’s not lost on me how fortunate I am that he gives it to me. This is not a conversation he would have with any other member of the club, but he and I have a special relationship.
My dad died when I was eight and less than a year later, my mom remarried. Her new husband wasn’t abusive or a jerk or anything like that, but he just didn’t care about kids all that much, and he and my mom didn’t have a lot of time for me after that. Shotgun stepped in and basically became my adoptive father. My dad wasn’t a member of the club, but he and Shotgun were friends and Shotgun felt that someone should step in to be a father figure for me. I love him as if he were my father and the fact that he’s willing to advise me against introducing my girlfriend to the gang until we’ve been together for much longer and she has a chance to get to know me and decide if my lifestyle is something she wants to be involved in just shows that I am right to revere him.
“So what are we going to do about the Coyotes?” I ask.
The Coyotes are a rival club. They’ve been mostly well-behaved the past ten years or so since Shotgun put down their last incursion into our territory, but they have a new leader now and like a lot of new leaders, he feels a need to establish himself by causing a fight. Nothing serious has happened yet, but they’re moving in on some of the outer edges of our territory. Last week, Styx caught one of their pushers inside our town. He chased the man off, but on his way out, he warned Styx that there would be hell to pay.
So now, the club is split. Half of us want to have a sit-down with the new head and see if we can convince him to honor our territorial boundaries and the other half—mostly the younger guys—want to go straight to knocking over one of their bars, trashing the place and knocking a few heads around in a show of force.
I’m in favor of a sitdown, but I don’t want to rule out the knocking heads around yet. I know that makes me seem like a violent asshole but trust me when I say it’s worse to show weakness than it is to show strength.
