Floating (26 page)

Kellen’s birthday party goes off without a hitch. Priss has done such a fantastic job. The parents of some of the kids in Kellen’s class ask if she’s a party planner, and whether she will be able to organise their child’s next birthday. Priss just laughs good-naturedly shaking her head, saying no she’s actually an accountant, and this is simply a favour for a friend.

Not having seen Priss for almost four months, I recognise something noticeably different about her as soon as I look in her eyes. Her ability to remain positive, upbeat, and mostly unaffected by her less than desirable circumstances is gone. It looks to me like the weight of the world has finally settled on my friend’s slim shoulders.

Tilly took me aside about a week after the party, filling me in on the events that transpired while I was gone, shocking the shit out of me. Tank and Priss have gone through periods of non-communication before, so that isn’t what shocks me. The longest up until now, is the five months Priss refused to speak to him after the hideous incident at Rough Shod. Nate confided in me about it while I was recuperating from my gunshot wound.

This is different though. There are no glares handed out by Priss. No looks of remorse from Tank, as is the normal progression when it comes to their falling-outs. There is only sadness so deep, it’s turned into avoidance on Priss’s part. Tank, the only way to describe how he looks is to say he appears to be a version of tortured determination. The man is clearly suffering with whatever decision he’s made, and it shows.

I feel horrible for Tilly. The poor girl is caught in the middle and has no idea how to cope with it. Apparently, Tank’s involvement with Tilly is no different than it was before he went AWOL for weeks. If anything he’s put in extra effort to make up for the time he was gone. The fact he isn’t around in the evenings to help with homework or projects, anymore, isn’t going unfelt by Tilly. Tank is somewhat of a father figure to her. Him being absent; changing the dynamics of their relationship is taking its toll on her.

Prospects are now back to taking care of any manual labour jobs Priss needs help with. Tank went as far as to hand over the responsibility of organising them to Saint. Saint is twenty-one-year-old, Devil’s Spawn fully patched member that resembles a freaking Calvin Klein underwear model not a biker. By the look on Tilly’s face when she’s describing the Grade A chunk of man meat, she’s not heartbroken that he’s the one in charge of overseeing projects now.

Another interesting development is that during Tilly’s animated recount of all things Saint, of which there were many, Glock’s face turns an alarming shade of red. Whatever Tilly says has him to taking off minutes later, and returning after more than an hour with a set of bloody knuckles, dishevelled, and sweating like a stuck pig. Hmmm. No kidding. That is a very interesting reaction. I don’t bother to asking Tilly about why Glock looks like he’s about to blow a gasket, or in this case already had. She seems oblivious to his feelings for her. I’m sure as shit not getting pulled into some private battle that may, or may not, end in Tank killing either of them if they lay hands on Tilly. Thinking on it. There’s really no maybe about it. Tank will unquestionably dismember and dispose of the body that belongs to the first guy that ends up as Tilly’s boyfriend.

Secretly, I’m rooting for Glock. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s closer to her sixteen years, at his nineteen nearly twenty. It also has little to do with the fact the man/boy; I get confused on how to define him. He’s certainly not the gangly teenager with acne and limbs like octopus tentacles. He’s not quite a fully matured man yet, so it’s confusing on how I should describe him. Being hot as sin doesn’t hurt his standings with me, either. The reason Glock’s my number one contender for a place in Tilly’s heart is because he looks in need of the softness she can provide. Tilly is all sweet and softness. If she was candy, she’d be fudge; the same consistency from the outside all the way through to the centre. My guess is Glock worked that out within seconds of being in her presence and knows when he’s found a good thing. I wish them the best of luck. They’re going to need it with Tank around as chaperone.

Everything seems to be falling into place. I know, I know, famous last words, and all. I just choose to ignore any nagging suspicion that shit isn’t as it’s portrayed. Sometimes you just have to stick your head in the sand and live for a change.

Within a week of getting back to Blackwater, Reaper forgave me for taking off with no notice, and gave me my job back. I was part-time these days, though.

Reaper knows I’m in the process of setting up my online gallery with Clinton as my PA. It will take up time I won’t have to devote to Skin Fusion, so he either has to accept my reduced hours or find someone else. Knowing that he doesn’t want to do that, gives me the leverage I need to get his approval. On top of that, Adelyn has been given my studio apartment above the shop. As soon as Nate called informing Reaper I wouldn’t need it anymore, Ade was moved in, and the deal about my living situation was sealed.

Adelyn had been renting a cottage, about ten minutes away from work, but for some strange reason on hearing about the vacancy above the shop. Boss and Diesel blew into town relocating all her stuff, commanding she stay where they put her. My love and admiration of Ade grew exponentially on that day. It’s kind of sick and twisted why that love grew, but it is what it is.

I’m manning the front counter when Boss and Diesel saunter through the front door. I say saunter because even twelve years my senior, these two fine specimens of all male hotness can walk with a swag most men never develop. Boss’s booming voice rings out immediately startling me, even though I saw him come in.

“Adelyn Pippa London, get your ass out here NOW!” Wow. Ade is in deep shit by the sounds of it. Diesel stands next to his president and best friend with a scowl on his face that can, I’m almost sure, freeze hellfire.

Standing, and excusing herself politely from her current client, Ade makes her way down the walkway between stations. She slaps a smirking tongue, poking Toby in the back of the head, rounding the desk, standing directly in front of the enormously imposing Boss. Looking up. Way up. Boss is a good foot and a bit taller than Ade. She flutters her eyelashes and smiles sweetly at him. Sometime between Boss walking in and Ade making her way to him, Reaper shows up, leaning in the doorway between his office and the shop floor with a dangerous look masking his features. No idea what that’s about. It doesn’t surprise me though. The guys around here are seriously fucking crazy, they harbour irrational ideals, have mood swings the like not even women in the throes of PMS suffer from. Occasionally. Okay more than occasionally, they also display their latent homicidal tendencies.

Clenching his jaw Boss grabs Ade’s upper arm and leans into her. If he hadn’t been so absorbed by his own anger, Boss would have seen the look of fury cross Ade’s face. Possibly avoiding what happens next. I’m glad that he doesn’t notice, though. It’s awesome for its entertainment value alone.

“Are you out of your fuckin mind, Adelyn? When I fuckin told you to call us if anythin odd started happenin, I fuckin meant it. I have to find out from some dumb as fuck prospect you got troubles, and you don’t have the fuckin decency to call me or Diesel your fuckin self? I’m not playin with you, little girl.” At that Ade flips her bitch switch. Rightly so.

In a sequence of moves straight out of a movie, Ade grabs the wrist holding her arm. She puts pressure on the tendon there, effectively making Boss loosen his grip. Bringing her knee up she connects with Boss’s junk, HARD. Not done completely humiliating him, she whirls behind him kicking the back of his right knee forward, bringing him to the floor, knees first.  Jesus Christ. I so have to get her to teach me that shit sometime. That is EPIC.

Pinning the same hand that gripped her arm behind him, and using both of her stiletto booted feet to stand on his calves, Ade leans into Boss, much the same way he had with her and says, “Now that’s better, isn’t it?” Looking over to Diesel, nodding her head, she greets the now shocked vice president. “Howdy my brother from another mother. How goes it?”

It needs to be noted; Diesel does nothing to help Boss. After Ade’s greeting he looks like he’s about to bust out in fits of laughter, too. He hides it well, or he thinks he does. Diesel is beet red with the effort to contain himself. He is just lucky Boss’s back is to him, or he’d be knocked out in seconds. Reaper appears to be slightly in awe of the tiny tattooed dynamite in our midst. His face morphed immediately from amusement to rage on seeing the handprint Boss left on her upper arm. I shake my head at him to signal he should leave it, for now. There will be time later. I’m just glad that he backs down, for once. It doesn’t happen often. In fact this is one for the record books, I believe.

Going back to Boss, Ade asks, “If I let you up, are you going to be nice, and talk about this shit like the fucking adult you are, or are you going to continue to be a major fucking asshole, and force me to take it out on your balls again?” Grunting his agreement, Ade released him.

In less than a second Boss is up. He has her pressed tightly into his chest, in a bear hug to end all bear hugs.

“Fuck me, Adey Baby. You scared the shit outta me. That fuckwit over there too, if he can stop his fuckin laughin long enough to tell you the same. Green told me you got some deliveries last week, and you never said a fuckin thing to anyone. What’s that shit about?”

The rest of the conversation isn’t for our ears, so Reaper pulls Toby and I, along with both Ade and Toby’s clients, into the break room telling us to stay put. Needless to say, when a furious Reaper tells you to stay put, you do just that. You don’t even think about questioning it either.  Anyway, everything turned out fine, as far as I know. Ade and Boss kissed, platonically, and made up. Reaper got over his snit about the handprint approximately, NEVER, and life went on as usual. Better yet, depending on how you look at it, Devil’s Spawn finally found out why the Satan’s Sons were so hell bent on revenge and using any means necessary to get it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nate

              Is it possible for your cock to drop off from extreme overuse? If it is, I’m one fuck away from mine detaching itself and running away to safety. True story.

Leaving my exhausted, finally sated woman in bed fast asleep, I jump in a quick shower and dress quietly, so I don’t wake her. Slipping my cut over my shoulders, pocketing my keys, wallet, phone, and miscellaneous shit that pisses Ronnie off to have to remove from my pockets, I straddle the only other lady in my life and take off for the clubhouse.

This morning is an impromptu Church meeting. We very rarely deviate from the Wednesday afternoon Church sessions that are our norm. The only times we get called in twice in one week is when there are extenuating circumstances that cancelled Wednesday’s usual meet. This has happened precisely twice in club history. Or, like today there’s news that can’t be postponed.

The ride is short, and considering that we’re moving into winter I’m fucking glad for it. I would much rather have my woman wrapped around me in bed than freezing my balls off in the biting cold I’m riding through, at the moment. It’ll be time to put the bike in for the winter when I’m around town soon. I’ll always ride when I’ve got club business to take care of, but if I’m local I’ll take my truck. No use in having to get my balls amputated due to frostbite is there?

Seven months on, and I can’t get enough of Ronnie. Whether it’s cooking in our kitchen for Kellen or painting on the back porch, so when I get home I have the pleasure of washing every speck of paint off her beautiful body. Even watching TV together at night, or being inside her tight, wet pussy, it’s never enough. I don’t think it ever will be. At least I fucking hope it’s not.

Aside from bickering like a fucking old married people, most days run smoothly, and we work well as a team to raise our boy. To be honest, Ronnie’s fucking hot when she’s riled up. Don’t tell her this, but I might possibly start shit unnecessarily, just to see her sexy side emerge when she’s pissed. That’s just a maybe, though.

Kellen settled into having Ronnie live with us like a duck takes to water. My boy almost abandoned me completely, for the first few months after she came back, preferring to do everything with Ronnie. Even if it was just sitting watching her paint, he became her shadow. Half the time I think it was to make sure she was real and not an apparition. That she wasn’t going to randomly take off while his back was turned. When he saw her shit was unpacked, washing in the laundry room, and he watched her scheduling time off to take him to football practice, he calmed his ass down and just enjoyed being with her.

Everyone else in our closest circle of friends has plenty of shit to keep them busy, and we’re no different. Kendall and Cage have Lexi, who’s seven now, and Wheels, who is just as his name says, Hell on Wheels, at seventeen months. They’re happy, and planning baby number two or three, if you include Miss Lexi. It’s like Cage is trying to get that shit done as fast as humanly possible, too.

Steel and Lou welcomed Caleb William Andrews, or Cal as we’ve taken to calling him, four months ago as only Lou could. Delivering their son in front of Taco Bell, in peak hour traffic, with a dozen or so bikers standing watch was perfectly Lou type drama. I have to admit, we could have done without being called “chrome sucking, dickless, vagina whores,” but whatever helped her through it.

By the grace of God, or whoever the fuck you pray to, Steel made it just in time for the big reveal. Getting kicked in the face for good measure. His wife who, was lying across the backseat of their truck, screaming bloody murder at us if we didn’t produce her, “Useless, wife deserting, super sperm carrying, soon to be castrated husband,” again her words not mine, immediately calmed, but only slightly by his appearance. The fact she caused him a modicum of pain, in comparison to what she was going through, seemed to help, too.

It did NOT make it better having Ronnie, Priss, Kendall, and Ade who was now firmly entrenched in their pussy posse there. They were supposed to help Lou get through the pain. Keep her calm for fuck’s sake, while we were waiting on Steel.

Did they do any of that? Fuck no! What they did do was stand off to the side. Smart women, they stayed out of the foot/kick, danger zone and proceed to laugh their fucking asses off with every insult Lou threw our way.

With those insults, Lou managed to completely emasculate a quarter of the MC in one afternoon. Give the woman a gold star because that shit’s never been done before, and I doubted it would be again. Reaper, who is now a grandpa for the second time, is a clever fucking man. He showed up, saw what was going down, got back on his Hog, and took the fuck off. Not to be seen again until Lou’s ass was firmly planted in a hospital bed, sleeping.

I mean the man loves the shit out of his daughter in-law, but there’s no way in hell he would willingly throw himself under the bus to take her crap. In Reaper’s eyes, Steel is the asshole that married her, so Steel should be the asshole to put up with her raging temper. I totally agreed.

Adelyn is a permanent fixture in Blackwater, now. With her came the entirety of Vengeance MC, on a regular basis. This was not a bad thing, either. The hog roasts were always a guaranteed good time, at least. The basics of why Ade is here, and her background have become common knowledge.

Ade was found abandoned as an infant. Being cared for by Diesel’s mom, Emily, before CPS took her and put her in foster care for years. Eventually, Ade made her way back to Vengeance and has been either with them or under their protection ever since. Most of the club knows there’s a fuck ton more to the story than that, but it isn’t our business. The only people that know the whole story are Priest, Pipe, and Reaper. Needless to say there’s no fucking way any of those guys are talking.

Ade is an awesome fucking chick. She gets along with everyone. Knows what the club stands for and what’s off limits. The women, all of them, club whores included love her. The brothers want to fuck her. I don’t blame them. She’s fucking hot. Ade is also a truly gifted tattooist. It’s like winning the jackpot for the brother that manages to tie her down. The only issue, having her around the club all the time, for BBQ’s, parties, and family events, is Reaper. Just a hint, Ade isn’t the issue.

Not one fucking brother attached or not, gets within two feet of Ade without Reaper snarling like a rabid dog. Afterwards, he denies he gives the first shit about her. Then fucks whatever club whore or slutty hang around he can get his hands on first, to prove it further. The stupid bastard isn’t fooling anyone. You could be a blind, deaf, socially inept, fucking turtle and still know Reaper is hot for his employee.

Take away the seventeen-year age difference, at the forty-six that Reaper is and Ade’s almost thirty; does it really matter if she’s perfect for him? Age is just a fucking number, anyway. The miserable bastard needs to work his shit out, or step aside so one of the line-up of brothers can have a shot, if he doesn’t want her.

I’m not even going to touch on the subject of Tank and Priss, other than to say nothing, ABSOLUTELY, nothing has changed there.

For us, my woman turned thirty a few weeks ago. Aside from dropping to one knee and putting the biggest diamond this side of the Canadian border on her finger, nothing else has changed. She said, “Yes,” by the way; not that no was an option. I was the lucky motherfucker that got the best present on her birthday.

Drunk sex with Ronnie is fucking INSANE. I don’t just mean she lowers any of her non-existent inhibitions. No fucking way. My woman turns wild, demanding, insatiable, and I love every second of it. We didn’t make it further than to close the front door, after coming home from Rough Shod, before she basically attacked me. In turn, I fucked her into the wall. That shit was hot. Every single biting, hair pulling, nail digging minute of it. I made her promise me, before I let her come, that she’d get drunk for me regularly, if this is what she came home like.

Neither of us is in a rush to get married. I want to give her the chance to plan exactly what she wants with no pressure and no dramas. This is the only time she’s getting hitched, so she better make it worth it. Ronnie agreed to plan it all out. We set the date a little under six months from now.

She’s just starting out with the online gallery now named, ‘KAV-e-Art.’ I know, I thought it was weird when she first told me, too. What it stands for is fucking beautiful, though. I may have fucked her as many times as there are letters to show how much I love the name, after I found out what it was. K for Kellen, A for Arrow, V for Veronica, and the E stood for eternally. It’s the perfect name, and she is even more perfect for acknowledging us with it.

Clinton and Stephan came to visit not long ago, for a week and a half. That visit was akin to having to lay your fucking bike down. You don’t want to have to do it, but it’s a necessity, and you practically cry your way through it. I’m not saying I don’t like the dudes. I’m sure they’ve got good hearts and are good people. I just don’t fucking like when ANY man, gay or otherwise, has his hands constantly on my woman. They are no exception. Thankfully, because Ronnie would have flipped her shit at the alternative, they made it out of Blackwater in one piece. I decreed I would be on a run if they ever come back again. I fucking mean it, too. It might make me sound like a pussy saying I can’t handle being around two touchy, feely, gay dudes that have no interest in getting in my woman’s pants, but it is what it is. I can’t and won’t change it.

That brings us to now, and the Church meeting I don’t want to be at. Backing my bike into its usual spot in the second row, third bike from the end, I swing my leg over and dismount. Tank, Glock, Saint, and Dagger pull in within seconds of each other, so we make our way inside together. Turning to my brothers I ask, “Anyone know what the fucking go is?” They all look just as confused as I feel. I assume we’ve all been kept in the dark.

Dagger, my twenty-seven-year-old fully patched brother, who is more deadly with a dagger than a veteran hunter, hence the road name, answers for everyone, “No fucking clue. Got a text at fucking one this morning with the summons. Must be important though, even the brothers on runs have been called in.”

Fuck. That’s news to me. I can’t think of a time when a run has been cut short or called off. Probably because they aren’t. Like as in, never.

Taking our respective seats around the table that’s big enough to seat twenty-six comfortably, we all settle in awaiting Priest to arrive. The matching hand carved timber and leather padded chairs aren’t the most comfortable things on the planet, but we aren’t usually in here for too long. The brothers that don’t fit at the table take their seats against the walls, which are lined with similar chairs. We lapse into silence when Priest enters, takes his seat, followed by Reaper, and Pipe banging the gavel. Signalling Church to order Priest begins.

“We won’t be taking minutes today, Phil, so take a load off,” he says to our secretary. “I’m not gonna take up a lot of your time today, boys. If you’re anything like me and have a woman at home. You’d probably much prefer to be home in bed with her than sittin here with a bunch of dirty bikers.” Uproarious laughter rings out around the table because it’s true, we would. Mostly, it’s because the nervous tension in the room needs an outlet.

Placing both hands on the table in front of him Priest’s face turns serious.

“I’m gonna ask for your patience while I get this shit on the table. No questions and no fuckin interruptions. You got questions, wait till the end and see Pipe. He’ll do his best to answer them all. Have I got your agreement?” A chorus of “Aye’s,” go up around the room before Priest relaxes back into his chair at the head of the table.

Nodding at Pipe on his right and Reaper on his left, he goes on to lay out the information we all came to hear. I’m not sure what we were expecting, but what came out around the table that day was NOT it.

“This vendetta Satan’s Sons have against us has been goin on for years. Up until late last night, we had no fuckin idea what their grievance was regardless of how many times we approached askin them for answers. As you all know, this shit culminated in my daughter being kidnapped and tortured, and Arrow’s Ol lady bein near fatally shot.” My heart speeds up at the reference to Ronnie’s shooting. It’s been over a year, well and truly now, but it doesn’t change the fact it still infuriates me every time I hear or think about it. It probably always will. “All we knew for sure was Isabella Carmichael was involved with them somehow, and that’s about fuckin it. Her involvement is still in question, and I doubt we’ll ever get that answer. With Vengeance MC’s help, you all know we followed up on every lead, and got fuckin nowhere fast with the rest of it.” Heads bob in agreement around the room as Priest goes on, “Last night I took Pipe and Reaper, and had a sit down with Satan’s Sons’ Prez Lucifer, their VP Bead, and SAA Justice.”