Burnt (23 page)

The ONLY reason I’m still in possession of my balls right now, is because I told her this in the shower this morning while I had two fingers deep in her tight, wet cunt, and she was rode my hand until she came. If I held out on her much longer, I have no doubt she’ll carved the bastards off, not that, that’d help her situation much, but there’s no reasoning with a sexually frustrated woman I’ve found.

I slip on my cut, and grab Lexi’s overnight bag from the end of her bed, making my way into the kitchen. Grabbing my woman around the waist with one arm, splaying my free hand across her lower belly, I kiss her neck and whisper in her ear.

“You ready to go, Baby?”

“Mmhmm, in more ways than one.” Did I say she was killing me? Releasing her, I give her a swift slap on the ass and listen to her squeal in shock.

After pouring myself a cup of coffee, and refilling hers, I turn to her and ask,

“I hear you, Babe. What I mean is, are you ready to head out and have that boner buster removed?” I named her cast the ‘Boner Buster’, trust me, it’s appropriately named, one night when she was tossing and turning, and managed to almost crush my fucking cock, not once, but three times, effectively killing any chance he had of getting any action that night. Kendall apologised through her laughter, but I can assure you, my cock didn’t think any of that shit was funny.

Rifling through her purse like a mad woman, and picking up Lexi’s lunch box, she makes her way over to me placing her hands on my hips.

“Yep, I’m soooo ready to lose this thing, and I can’t wait to get into the shop and start drawing again. I miss it Dec.” I know she misses tattooing. More than that, she misses just being able to put pencil to paper.

I’ll never be able to fully comprehend how important that shit is to her, but I assume drawing is as integral to her, as riding my bike is to me. I can’t imagine not being able to ride for months, it’d be like I’m missing a limb.

“I know, Sweetheart. Not long now, and you’ll be back at it until your back’s aching, and you’re bitching at me that you’re sore and shit.”

Just then, Lexi runs into the kitchen shrieking, attacking my legs by throwing both her arms around them, and squeezing as hard as she can.

“Daddeeeeeee.” You’d think she hasn’t seen me in a year, but this is what she’s like every morning, and I love it.

Hoisting her up, I shower her face with kisses, looking her in the eye when I’m done.

“What are you screaming about Angel Face? You’re going to send me deaf before my time kiddo.”

She giggles at me while pointing to her head,

“Look. Kenny did all these bitty braids in my hair for today.” Indeed Kenny did. A row of tiny braids line Lexi’s face, leaving the rest of her curly hair free flowing around her shoulders. I love her curls so fucking much that it’ll be a sad day when she grows up enough that she loses them, I still hold out hope she won’t.

“See that baby. Looks good. Did you give Kenny a kiss and say thank you yet?” Lexi wriggles in my arms, so I put her back on her feet and she gifts Kendall with the same treatment my legs just got.

“Thank you princess Kenny. I loves them.”

Bending and kissing her head, Kendall gives my daughter a bright smile that she only reserves for me and her.

“You’re welcome, Poppet. Have you got everything for nursery?” At Lexi’s nod she asks, “Have you brushed your teeth, Missy?” Cocking her brow, Kendall knows damn well Lexi hasn’t. The only thing Lexi seems to forget religiously is, brushing her teeth. I feel like a fucking broken record having to remind her to do it twice a day, every day.

“Not yet Kenny, but I’m going to do it right now.” Skipping out of the kitchen, Lexi head towards the bathroom, I can only hope she doesn’t get distracted and actually remembers to do it this time. Believe it, or not, that will not be a first.

Shaking her head Kendall snickers,

“I swear, she only doesn’t do it because it’s part of the routine for someone to ask her if she has or not.” She’s probably right. Lexi likes her routines, and seeing that in the past, I’ve had to leave her with other people when I’m on a run, or due to get home late, I had to put routines into place early on to make sure she settled okay.

I pocket my keys and wallet, and I walk around the kitchen island caging Kendall in with one arm either side of her. Without waiting, I crush my mouth to hers, and she opens to me instantly. I fucking love the taste of my woman. She tastes like cotton candy with a hint of spice from the cinnamon gum she loves to chew. Her lips are full and lush, the bottom one just slightly fuller than the top. Not to mention, Kendall’s tongue is a work of art, perfect in every way. Strong, agile and silky as fuck. I love kissing her, I can’t get enough of it, and that’s funny, because up until her I didn’t think much of it. She’s changed all that, and more.

Pulling away after a couple of minutes, I see the blush that’s spread up her neck. The tinge of pink in her cheeks, and the glazed look in her eyes. I couldn’t be more fucking proud it was me that put it there. She’s still looking at me like she wants to eat me whole, so I slap her ass again pocketing my phone at the same time.

“Stop looking at me like that, sweetheart, you’ll get yours later when you can’t fucking maim me for life with the boner buster.” She bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking and everything.

Snatching her purse up, she gives Abel a quick rub down just as Lexi makes her way back to us with her backpack, and toothpaste still smeared across her face. I suppose, I should be thankful she made it through the teeth brushing process at all, and not worry that she’s wearing half of it still.

“Come here, Doll Baby, you’ve got toothpaste on your face.” Kendall swiftly wipes Lexi’s face, and Lexi gifts her with a big smile. “Right. All done princess Lexi.”

With Lexi dropped off at nursery, Kendall’s cast removed, and her in possession of a long ass list of instructions for stretching and exercising it, I drop Kendall at Skin Fusion with the promise that I’ll be back in four hours, and a long wet fucking kiss to say goodbye. I

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Living with someone, even someone you know like the back of your hand, is immensely different to just spending a lot of time with them. I love having Dec and Lexi live with me, and I was ecstatic when he told me they were moving in permanently, that being said; it was an adjustment, for me at least.

Where I was used to taking care of myself, and picking up after just me, occasionally Lexi too, cooking for one, laundry for one, and not having to climb over a pile of jeans and leather just to make it to the bathroom in the morning, this had radically changed of late. Dec clearly doesn’t notice my need for a little time to make this adjustment, that or he just doesn’t care. When I say he doesn’t care, I don’t mean about me, or my feelings; I just mean, that I’m sure he figured it would all just work, with little to no effort.

For the most part it has; we have a routine that works for us, Lexi is happy, Dec is happy, and that makes me deliriously happy. All the rest will come with time, or at least that’s what my mom said yesterday when I had a mini-bitch session with her over the phone.

What’s even more exciting is, Trig and his crew breaking ground on the new extension tomorrow morning. When Dec laid out his plans for what he had in mind I was filled with ideas and suggestions. His look of pleasure at my excitement is worth the pain in the ass I’m sure construction, and living with a five-year-old will cause.

Pushing open the glass door to Skin Fusion, I’m immediately assaulted with the smell of the anti-bacterial we use to wipe down all our work surfaces, the buzz of tattoo guns going at full throttle, and the sound of clients goofing off with Toby. I sigh, I finally feel like I’m home. The sound of heavy boot falls, and the feel of muscled arms picking me up, swinging me around until I’m dizzy, snaps me out of my trance.

“Uncle Max, put me down you fool.” Laughing into my hair he does what I ask, not quickly though.

“Fucking stoked you’re back, Tiny.”

Smiling I reply,

“Glad to be back boss.” He chuckles. He hates me calling him ‘Boss’, as far as he’s concerned he’s my Uncle Max ,or Reaper, nothing else. I can’t help picking on him occasionally, it’s so easy to do.

Uncle Max has called me ‘Tiny’, for-freakin-ever, he actually started everyone else doing it I think. Seeing he’s a full foot, and a couple of inches taller than me I suppose it fits. I didn’t like the nick-name when I was younger. I’m aware of how petite I am, and drawing attention to it felt like a kick in the teeth each and every time. As I said before, I don’t have a hang up over it, I just don’t like people to make reference to it all the time. When I turned twelve, I gave up telling people not to call me that and embraced it. What could I do? It isn’t going to change, so I might as well learn to live with it.

Uncle Max made his way back to his station that our front desk manager Veronica had cleaned down and prepped, and Toby yelled a, ‘thank fuck you’re back girl’, to me as he continued laying down ink on his latest victim. Veronica ran up giving me a big hug, while still being careful of my ribs. Veronica is an odd one. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a lovely woman, and she’s beautiful too; possibly the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen actually, but there’s just something so sad about her all the time.

Veronica’s about five foot six, with dead straight red hair down to past her shoulder blades, all natural Lou found out when she went into the salon for a cut one day. She has gorgeous hazel eyes that are almost catlike in appearance, and a body that just doesn’t quit. Meaning, she’s curvy in all the right places, and has the best legs on a woman I’ve ever seen, with the exception of Priss. Veronica is the full package, any guy would be lucky to catch her.

When she started working here about eighteen months ago, I tried to include her in our circle; made up of, Lou, Janet, Priss, short for Priscilla, and I. Priss is the light on a dark day, and so sweet she could rot your teeth. Sometimes I wonder how she keeps her spirits up when there’s so much in her life that has the ability to bring her down. It certainly would have broken a lesser woman.

Priss’s mom, Sally, and her dad, Jones, who was a brother in Devil’s Spawn MC, were killed in a car accident just over four years ago on their way home from visiting relatives in Boulder. Because Sally had been sick the week before, Jones didn’t want her travelling even the hour to Boulder on the back of his bike, so they took their old F250 truck. Sometime after eleven PM on the highway between Boulder and Blackwater, a truck driving well over the speed limit, crossed the median strip hitting them head on. The paramedics that attended the scene said Sally and Jones died instantly, and wouldn’t have suffered. That was of little consolation to a grief stricken Priss who at nineteen, was now the soul caregiver and provider for her younger sister Tilly, aged eleven. Thankfully, Tilly stayed at home with Priss instead of being in the car that night. The horrific sight of the truck when it was towed through town confirmed, that if Tilly had been with them she wouldn’t have made it either.

In a show of strength that I know I wouldn’t have had, Priss pulled herself together within days of the funeral. She increased her shifts at the diner, cancelled her college enrolment in Boulder, arranged counselling for a grieving Tilly, and attempted to put the shattered remains of her now two person family back together. Dad made sure the club helped as much as they could too. Dad approved paying off the four-bedroom ranch style home they lived in, made sure ol ladies were available to watch Tilly when Priss worked, got brothers to do home repairs, maintenance, yard work, and convinced my friend to re-enrol in college, taking the classes online from home to complete her Accounting degree instead of on campus. Priss told me repeatedly over the years that she would be forever indebted to my dad and the club, for everything they’d done for her. Needless to say, dad set her straight and told her she owed him nothing, she’s family, and family looks after family.

The aura surrounding Veronica reminds me of Priss in some ways. They’re both strong women, but it’s obvious that Veronica has gone through some kind of trauma, causing her close off the way she has. That’s where the similarities end however. Where Priss is like a diamond shining bright and beautiful, Veronica is like an onyx; still just as beautiful, but darker, more mysterious.

We invited her to Rough Shod for drinks a few times, to the movies, even a couple of BBQ’s at the club, and a girl’s night at my place we threw for Priss’s twenty-third birthday, as a way of bringing her out of her shell. Sometimes she accepted, but most of the time she begged off with some excuse, or other. It didn’t bother me, her coming up with excuses not to come, I just wished she’d take the time to see she could have some good friends in us, and didn’t have to be alone all the time. About eleven months ago, she agreed to come out with us to Rough Shod one Friday night for a drink after work. Unfortunately, after that night she has declined every invitation we’ve extended her.

Arriving at around 9 PM, after changing at work, and closing Skin Fusion down for the night, we found the booth Lou, Janet, and Priss managed to score for the night. Rough Shod is the proverbial biker bar, right down to the scarred timber floors, cracked high-back leather booths that sit eight, scattered high-top tables and stools, framed prints of Harley’s and engine parts, and of course a few of the Harley prints with the mandatory half naked chick straddling a bike, made up the entirety of the seating area. There’s a small dance floor, and juke box, which is throwback from the sixties, next to the stage that’s set up for live music Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. With a mirrored wall, inclusive of glass shelving behind the bar which is a forty-foot long, waist height, scuffed behemoth. And, of course last but not least, what biker bar would be complete without a lusty busty bar wench? Ours is called Wanda; as in, her hands, eyes, and tongue are Wanda-Ring.

Another thing I noticed early on about Veronica is; she hates to be boxed in. She hardly ever stays behind the front desk at work, unless it’s absolutely necessary, preferring to work at the end of the desk near the swinging doors through to the tattoo studio floor, and she definitely doesn’t sit anywhere, but at the end of the booth closest to the exit. That night was no different, with Janet and Priss on one side, and Lou, I, and Veronica sliding in last on the other.

Most of the guys from the club showed up at one time, or another during the night. Friday’s and Saturday’s being the busiest, the girls were lucky to get a booth, but on the wall, kitty corner to us, I could see Dec, Tank, Victor, Reaper, Pipe and Arrow. It’s not a surprise they got a booth, they always do. Priority seating and all. With a quick wave, we placed our drink order with the waitress, who I took the time to notice she was new, but didn’t bother to learn her name because one thing Rough Shod is known for is the revolving door of waitresses. Originally, most of them loved the idea of waiting tables and serving drinks for bikers; in reality, the wandering hands, ass slaps, and filthy mouths outweighed the quality and quantity of the tips, most leaving within a week or two of starting.

Sometimes I felt sorry for Cal, the poor guy is forever training new staff and putting out help wanted signs. Cal has been managing Rough Shod since his dad passed away about eight years ago, and is in his early forties. He’s a good looking man with a full head of brown hair, goatee, and a build like a security guard that has spent the last decade munching down steroids. Dad tried recruiting him for the club a while back, but unfortunately the amount of work the bar takes, and the lack of reliable employees meant that he declined dad’s numerous offers. Even after dad hooked Cal up with an assistant manager, he still declined to join Devil’s Spawn ranks claiming that he was getting too old for that shit. He’s not quite as old as dad, but I can see what he means, starting out in an MC at forty-something would suck.

After a few rounds of drinks, and a lot of laughter, Veronica loosened up, and we even succeeded in learning a few more details about her life before she moved here eighteen months ago.

Coming from a mid-sized town in Texas, we knew she was twenty-seven, but we didn’t know she graduated Texas U with honours as an art major. Before moving to Blackwater, she worked as an art gallery manager, Veronica didn’t enlighten us as to why she left, and decided to take a position that practically amounted to that of a receptionist that she was way over qualified for, but that’s her business, so we left it alone. She left behind her mom, dad, and twin sister, and most of her other relatives had migrated closer to Dallas years ago, so there wasn’t a lot by the sounds of it to stay for. From the little bits she did say, her and her sister are NOT close, and that’s putting it mildly. Four shots of tequila will loosen nearly anyone’s tongue, the theory held true with Veronica too. Well, unless you’re a big ass biker, then you need the bottle, but it’s still possible.

The condensed version of the story goes; she had a best friend from when she was nine and he was fourteen that lived across the street from her. They got on like a house on fire, both loved the outdoors, the same type of music, movies, and had the same dry sense of humour. As it always does with boys and girls, they grow into men and women. This boy, Nate, short for Nathaniel, grew into a smoking hot piece of man meat, got interested in girls, insert first childhood broken heart for Veronica here, eventually moved away for work when he was eighteen, and she was thirteen, and never came back to visit. Apparently, things were awful for him at home, Veronica didn’t elaborate, but we could guess from the little she did tell us.

When he did come back for a visit the summer Veronica turned eighteen, before she left for college herself, he was more mature, a bit harder, and a whole hell of a lot hotter according to our chatty, tipsy friend. They spent time together over the course of the three months he was home, and as they do, things progressed and she gave him her virginity. He was sweet, kind, and patient with her. What changed everything and prompted Veronica to leave for school a week earlier that she’d planned; was her sister Verity, pretended to be her, dressed in her clothes and everything, got Nate into bed, not just for sleep mind you. Veronica walked in on them, both fast asleep, spied the three used condoms tied off on the floor, noticed the fact they were both naked beneath the covers, and ran. Can’t blame her, I’d run like the wind too. She ran home, packed her stuff depositing it in her little VW Bug, kissed her parents’ goodbye, and left for college. When she got there, she dumped her phone and changed her number, deleted her email accounts, and made sure her fixed line phone, when she got one, was unlisted. Her never returning home again after that day upset her parents’, especially when she hadn’t told them why she wouldn’t come back, but they made provisions visiting her at her two-bed apartment on college campus, then in her studio apartment above the gallery she managed when she graduated. The only caveat Veronica placed on her parents’ visiting was, they were not to bring Verity, and they were definitely not allowed to pass on her contact information under any circumstances. The one time, Donna and Dave, her parents’, dad mention Nate, Veronica told them she had no interest in hearing anything about him, going as far as to tell them she didn’t even want them to mention his name around her. Insert end story here. Veronica hasn’t been home, hasn’t seen her sister, and hasn’t seen Nate in nine years, and has no intention of doing so.

It explained a lot about why she is how she is. It was clear to me that night she was still in love with this guy Nate, she also deserved the opportunity to punch her boyfriend stealing, hoe-bag sister in the throat.

Before I could pull her into a hug to comfort her, the guys passed by on their way out. Amongst the ‘hello’s’, and usual stupid ass comments about tits and ass, I heard a rumbled, ‘Ronnie’. Twisting around, I saw the man it came from, our very own Arrow. Clearly the two of them knew each other, and if the speed of which Veronica snatched up her stuff, and ran out of the bar was anything to go by, they knew each other very well. Arrow stared after her with a look of shock, and a hell of a lot of guilt mixed in. He didn’t stick around for long, but he did stay long enough to answer where he knew her from.