Recovery (6 page)

“Right?”

Leo shrugged, swallowing the last of his beer and standing up, pulling on his cut.

“Right,” he finally said. But he didn’t sound very sure of himself. He looked down at Chase, his eyes bloodshot and intense.

“This stays between me and you, alright?”

Chase nodded.

“Of course brother.”

After that, they never spoke about it again. At times, Chase wondered if Leo even remembered telling him. But then, he would notice a certain look in Leo’s eye that told him that he did. He might have been well past intoxicated, but the weight of his words held a certain impact.

One that neither man could easily forget.

“Fuck,” Chase said aloud to himself, bringing himself back down to reality. His voice echoed off the monochromatic walls of his bedroom. He needed a shower, but the steam leaking from his bathroom door indicated that Trish was already inside.

She worked nights at the small diner her family owned, Logan’s Eatery. Chase and the boys had been frequenting the place for years. It was where Chase had first met Trisha. She was the daughter of Trey and Lucy Logan. Trey was the Founder of the Dark Knights, a club out of San Francisco, and his wife Lucy ran their diner.

Chase fell for Trisha almost instantaneously, but love was hardly what motivated him. He was intrigued by her, but more so, by the fact that she understood the club lifestyle and its inhibitions and duties. When you’re the daughter of an outlaw like Trey Logan, it kind of just comes with the territory.

She didn’t expect more from Chase than he could offer her. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t nag. She was the epitome of everything the wife of an outlaw was expected to be. The problem, of course, was that Chase didn’t love her.

At first glance, she was perfect for him. At 5’10 and one hundred and ten pounds, she complimented Chase – all 6’3 and two hundred pounds of him – quite well. Hell, she could have easily been a model if it wasn’t for her small town upbringing. She was tone and busty, but not overbearingly so, with legs for days and a pair of lips Chase had fondly come to know as “perfect for blowjobs.”

The best part of all was that she wasn’t even remotely conceited. In fact, it occurred to Chase early on that Trisha was quite unaware of how stunning she was. She was quiet and submissive, with aspects to her that could be best described as “awkward,” but damn if she wasn’t nice to look at.

Chase was infatuated with her. He looked at Trisha like a penny that just needed a little polishing, and he made it his mission to do just that. Three months into their relationship, he went to Trisha’s father and pleaded to him for his daughters hand in marriage.

It was the only way Trey Logan would allow Trisha out from under his thumb, and Chase knew that. He also knew that he would be proud to have Trisha marry someone like Chase – a fellow outlaw. Someone that would protect his daughter just the way he had.

“It would be a privilege,” Trey said to Chase, firmly shaking his hand and offering him a beer as though he had known him for years – not just five minutes. Chase figured it must have been his bike, a classic 1987 Harley. That, and the patches that adorned the back of his leather cut. A silent reminder of what he was all about.

They were married two months later, after knowing each other for a total of five months. But neither one of them seemed to care. They walked down the aisle of a packed church, surrounded by their friends, families, and fellow outlaws. When the ceremony was over, the Disciples escorted Chase and Trisha’s limo out onto the freeway, the engines of their bikes reeving.

They spent their honeymoon in Cancun. They ate Mexican food by the plate full, drank until they couldn’t anymore, and smoked more joints than either one could count. It wasn’t love, but it was something. They were best friends, and the sex was more than enough to keep Chase satisfied and at bay.

At least…for a little while.

By the first full year of their marriage, Chase found himself feeling restless. Trisha was beautiful, fun to be around, and more than understanding of his lifestyle. They ‘clicked’. As she put it, they were each other’s person. But there was still something missing, and after meeting Layla Carter, Chase was beginning to understand what it was.

Trisha didn’t have any fire in her, at least not in the way that Layla did. And while it was great that she let Chase do whatever he wanted without ever asking any questions, it was also Chase’s biggest problem with her. She should have cared when he was out late and came home smelling of another woman’s perfume. When she would find empty condom wrappers in the pockets of his ratty blue jeans while doing the laundry. When he disrespected her, time and time again, just to see if she would finally react. But she never did.

In fact, Chase couldn’t think of a single time over the course of their relationship that she had reprimanded him for anything. She was
too
nice. Too perfect. Too understanding. And while that was exactly what had attracted Chase to Trisha in the first place, it was also what made him feel the most disheartened and bored.

But now, he just needed a release.

 “Hey,” Chase said, stripping off his clothing and stepping in the shower behind his wife. He grabbed her by the curve of her waist, placing a wet kiss on the cusp of her neck, which was adorned with a slightly faded tattoo of a rose.

“Hey baby,” Trisha said, reaching around to squeeze Chase’s muscular shoulder.

He reached for a washcloth, lathering it with a bar of soap. Trisha turned around, taking it from his hands. She ran it over his chest, down over the V that led to Chase’s pubic bone.

“How was your day?”

She always asked, but Chase knew she didn’t really expect any answers. She was like her mother in that way. The dutiful wife. Only asking the questions she thought were appropriate.

“Just fine.”

 Chase was giving her his standard answer. One stripped of any details. The things she didn’t want to know anyway. He grabbed at her as she nodded, attempting to step out of the shower. She grabbed at a towel that hung behind the door, but Chase pulled her back.

“Just stay a second.”

Never being one to protest, Trisha did as she was told. She turned around, looking up at her husband. He towered over her, his muscular body blocking any water from making contact with her own. As though on cue, she brought her lips to his chest, reaching down to clutch his manhood, which was concealed by a sea of blonde pubic hair.

Chase groaned. It was the first time in a long time that he had pursued Trisha sexually, but he needed a release. The second woman in his life, Laura Beth, had taken off months ago. She had cited the fact that she “just didn’t feel like Chase cared enough about her,” as the reason. The last Chase heard, she and her pack of bike warming groupies were in Vegas – pursuing the members of a new club, Dark Spirit MC.

In one quick move, Chase pinned Trisha against the wall of the shower. It was rougher than he usually was with her, but she didn’t stop him. Chase grabbed at Trisha’s soapy breasts, cupping one in each hand and giving them a squeeze as he thumbed at her erect nipples. An unexpected moan escaped the confines of her lips. He could feel the goose bumps forming on her arms as she gripped at his tattooed back for support.

He brought her slender legs up around him as the water poured above them. Trisha’s honey blonde hair was soaking wet and sticking to her face. She looked beautiful. Chase couldn’t deny that. “Come here,” he groaned, reaching back to clumsily turn off the water. He pulled Trisha against his chest. A soft murmur escaped her lips, but she didn't object. She allowed Chase's lips to find hers, gasping as he fondled her throbbing clitoris with his right thumb.

He kissed her eagerly, bringing his free hand to her jaw for support. Their tongues tangled, their teeth hitting against each other, but neither one of them pulled away. Chase bit Trisha's bottom lip playfully, a groan of urgency surfacing from his throat.

It was then that Chase realized that it wasn’t Trisha he was thinking about. As his callous hands traveled over her curvaceous body, he found himself imagining someone else entirely.

Layla.

It was ridiculous and Chase knew that. He didn’t fucking know her. He didn’t
want
to know her. She had drama written all over her. She was a citizen. A junkie. And above all, Leo’s flesh and blood. She was off limits to Chase or any of the other boys on that basis alone, but Chase couldn’t shake the reaction that his body was having just by thinking about her. He couldn’t take his mind off of her.

As Trisha kissed her way down Chase’s body, he tried his best to focus on her and what she was doing to him, but every few seconds his mind would wander back to the vivacious redhead who eagerly awaited him at Leo’s cabin. Sure, it might not have been Chase that Layla wanted, but she was relying on him nonetheless. He had made her a promise. He said that he would find her a fix, and while he hadn’t meant it at the time, he found himself wanting to follow through on it just to have a reason to be around her.

Not wanting to pull himself from his fantasy, Chase shut his eyes tightly, groaning as Trisha’s lips and tongue flickered against his nipples. He imagined it was Layla and could feel his girth hardening against the flesh of Trisha’s inner thigh.

“This is unexpected,” she said softly.

Chase groaned, opening his eyes in a haze. His eyes burned against Trisha’s. Chase willed himself to focus on her as he reached down, grabbing his manhood in his hands and gripping Trisha tightly. Then, in one sharp move, he plunged forward, his cock breaking through the wet barrier of his wife’s slit. She moaned, accepting every inch of Chase inside of her, digging her nails into his back.

Chase could feel her tensing up beneath him, but she didn't resist. She spread her legs, pressing her knees so that they were up against the wet tile-wall she was pinned against. Chase pounded her with every ounce of energy he could muster, holding her arms tightly.

She was fair skinned and Chase knew she would be a bruised mess the following morning, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He gripped her until all the blood drained from her wrists. He pulled them over her head, causing her to stretch and her large breasts to balloon up around her collarbone.

He ran his tongue over each one of Trisha's erect pink nipples, pinching them between his thumbs and fore fingers.

“Who am I?” he grunted, his hands finding their way up around Trisha's neck. He lightly choked her, testing the waters.

“Chase –” she sputtered, her face draining of color. Just as Chase began to pick up rhythm, Trisha reached forward, pressing her hands against his wet chest to stop him.

“I’m late on my birth control,” she whispered, unable to make eye contact with him. Chase stopped thrusting. He grabbed at Trisha’s chin, turning her face and forcing her to look up at him.

“You’re
what
?” he asked her, his tone stern and uneven.

It was the second time in a month that Trisha had “forgotten” to take her pill on time, and Chase was beginning to suspect that it was hardly accidental. If there was one thing Trisha wanted more than anything it was children, but Chase had made it clear early on that he didn't think it was in the cards for him. The idea of being a father scared the shit out of him, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Trisha.

Instead, he had told her that he wanted to wait until the club was in a more stable place before they tried for children, and it wasn't entirely a lie. Chase was second in command. Master of arms. What that meant was that his children would be expected to grow up in the club, just as he and Trisha had.

When Chase and Richie were growing up, they spent practically all of their time around their father and his brothers, the Diablos. They were family, as thick as blood could make them, and it was always stressed to Chase that he would one day be expected, as the older of the two boys, to take the reins when his father, the clubs acting president, no longer could.

“I see a lot of myself in you,” Chase’s father once said, “just try not to make the same mistakes I did when you're running this club one day.”

There it was. The sordid warning that lingered over Chase’s head his entire adolescence.

“Don’t be me,” his father said, “be better.”

As his father’s first child, a son, Chase’s future had been planned for him long before he was even born, and Chase wasn't ready to subject any children of his own to the same fate.

“What are you thinking Trish?”

Chase stumbled out of the shower, his fist making contact with the wall above the toilet. He cursed as blood surfaced on his knuckles, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself. He was fed up. Tired of beating the subject of having children into the ground. Tired of Trisha sabotaging his efforts to keep it from happening.

“We talked about this,” he bellowed, watching as his wife cowered naked in front of him.

She wouldn't fight back. She wouldn't argue. She never did.

Frustrated and horny, Chase stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself.

“You do this on purpose and you know it!” Chase yelled. He grabbed a pair of jeans from his bedroom floor and pulled them on. A rustling noise sounded from behind him. He turned around. Trisha was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, dripping wet with tears surfacing in the corners of her blue eyes. She held a towel in place around herself as she stared at Chase, a look of guilt mixed with sadness etched across her pretty face.