Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Chelsea and Wrecker (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) (5 page)

“I’d’ve waited,” I tell her as we break for air.

“I know.”

“
S
ome of the
old ladies are going to come by the Cut-n-Curl to get some petty cash from you,” Judge says as we’re eating breakfast the next morning.

The eggs look a tad on the crispy side around the edges. I blame this on Grant. Not only had he kept me up until all hours of the night but he was grim and snotty to me when he woke up.

“You burned the bacon,” he gripes as he shoves a dark piece in his mouth. I have this overwhelming urge to shove his face into the pan of eggs.

Judge frowns. “Bacon’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Nothing is fine. Grant is simmering like a powder keg whose fuse is two inches away from igniting. I’ve held him off from going public for a week and during every furtive moment we’ve attacked each other, but Grant’s tired of hiding. He’s mad every time I creep out of his room and this morning was no different.

“Am I going to have enough in the petty cash?” I ask Judge, trying to divert his attention from Grant.

“How much you got?”

I shrug. “A bit.”

“How much is a bit? And don't pretend you don't know the exact amount down to the penny.” Judge shakes his finger at me.

Reluctantly I tell him. “$2,449.51.” It's not as if I view the money as mine. Truth is that the money belongs to the club and I sit on it because if I don't, everyone is asking for a petty cash loan. Fifty dollars here for a tailpipe or a hundred dollars for a bar tab or forty dollars for a full set of acrylics and soon there isn't anything left.

Judge nods. “The club will cover the, ah, entertainment expenses.”

He means strippers and beer.

“Then what do the old ladies need with the petty cash fund? Food? What about potluck?”

Judge shrugs. “Helen asked if there'd be money for decorations and shit. I said you'd clear it.”

Helen is one of the patch’s old ladies.

“If there's party hats, I'm shoving them up Bang Bang's pucker,” Grant says and we share a smirk. Hats? Like we’re five and Grant’s celebrating his birthday? He got out of prison for crying out loud.

“And we don't need a pin the tail on the donkey game because we got darts and Grant's ass right here,” I snark.

“I know something you can stick in my ass,” he says with a wink and I freeze at the sexual connotation. My gaze darts to Judge who has his face buried in his food again. Grant sobers up quick too but not for the same reason. He’s humorless because he views this as another example of why it's stupid to hide. We're going to screw up. What's the alternative though? Not being with each other? That'd be like cutting my arm off. I couldn't do it but I don’t want to tell Judge either.

His dad raises his head in the ensuing silence and assesses Grant's dark face and my pinched one. “Sara Ellerby stopped by the shop the other day. She brought her little Honda in saying it sounded funny. Maybe you could look at it today?” he suggests.

“Sure, Dad.” Grant stares at me knowing that I don't want him working on anything belonging to Sara, even her car.

“Bet you a five large there's not a thing wrong with her car. She's using it as an excuse to see Grant.”

“Don't know why she'd need an excuse,” Judge says, pushing away from the table. “Two of you looked pretty cozy at the granary the other night.”

My eyes grow wide and I swear my nostrils are flaring. “You what?”

“You got a problem with that,” Grant says throwing his arms out in challenge. “Sara and I go way back.”

If Grant hadn't been fucking me every breathing moment, I'd be enraged—fist forming, steel boot in the kneecap enraged. As it is I'm pissed because I can totally picture the scene at the granary. Strippers and hangers-on everywhere. Orgies on every surface and Sara Ellerby bent over the sofa in her tiny shorts, looking at Grant with fuck-me eyes. And I don't even have the right to protest because I'm the one who wants to keep my thing with Grant a secret. Biting my tongue so hard I fear I’m bleeding, I pick up the plates and start banging them together and carrying them to the sink.

“Didn’t know you had a problem with Sara Ellerby,” Judge comments thoughtfully. “Didn’t the two of you go to school together? Thought you were friendly.”

I’ve never been friendly with that top-heavy Barbie doll, not because she isn’t nice—she is—but because she’s been with Grant. I’m green with jealousy, pure and simple. I shrug. “She’s not my type.”

“Didn’t know you were interested in her as your type,” Grant mocks, bringing over the rest of the breakfast dishes. I throw the water on and pretend both of them are already gone.

Judge comes over and presses a kiss in my hair. “It’s too early for us to be teasing you, isn’t it Chelsea?” I nod but don’t turn around, afraid the compassion and fatherly warmth he’s always shown will cause me to spring a leak in my eye. “You’re a good girl. Don’t know how we got along without you.” He squeezes my shoulder. “See you at the shop in a few?” he directs to Grant.

“Yup, I’ll be over in ten minutes. Got to make a call to my parole officer this morning.”

“Take your time.”

I refuse to face Grant even when he presses against me. “Who do you want to punch out more? Sara or me?” he breathes into my hair.

“Why do I have to choose? I got two fists.”

“You know I'm not cheating on you.”

“I know.” As quickly as the anger arrives, it leaves like water down the drain. Exhausted by my mini emotional breakdown and the lack of sleep, I lean into the dishpan. “I want to tell Judge, but I’m afraid. What if he stops talking to me because he's disgusted or what if your position in the club is put in jeopardy?”

“I don't care about the club,” he says, but his words lack sincerity.

He does care about the club and he should. It's been a part of his life for a long time. His mouth moves against my neck and down the side to my shoulder. Behind me I hear the unzipping of his jeans and then the cool air on my ass as he pulls down my knit pants. He kicks the side of my foot, widening my stance and then bends at the knees. His smooth cock is slid inside me in one swift movement.

“Sweetness, you have to go on the pill,” he groans into my hair. “I can't take this condom shit much longer.”

I gasp as he thrusts inside me again. My hands skid along the bottom of the wet sink. Grant grabs me around the waist with one strong arm and stabilizes me. Outside the kitchen window I see our neighbor Karen watering the low bushes that line her drive. If she looks over here… Grant reaches around the front and presses against my clit and I stop thinking about who’s watching and what's right and wrong. I grip his wrist in one hand and hang onto the sink edge with the other while he pounds and grunts, plucks and circles until I'm out of my mind. He follows close behind, pulling out at the last minute and spending all over my back.

“I can't say that I mind marking you with my spunk,” he says. He spins me around, out of sight from the window and neighborly Karen and crushes me to his mouth. We tangle like that for a few minutes, getting hot and bothered again. Somehow I find the energy to push him away.

“You better get up to the shop,” I pant.

“Yeah.” He reluctantly hitches up his jeans. “Love you, Chels,” he says as he kisses me goodbye.

I stand there with my pants around my knees for a long while trying to figure out what to do.

A
t around noon
at the Cut-n-Curl, Danilo Peterson, Bang Bang's old lady, comes in for a fill and a request for petty cash.

“Must be good to have your brother back,” she says, settling into the chair opposite me.

I wish I could pretend like I didn’t speak English but Danilo was Korean so that probably wouldn’t work anyway. Not to mention it would be insulting to her.

Danilo comes in regularly so this won’t take long. I put on the mask so I don’t have to talk and I start my drill. She talks as I sand, prime and apply the fill.

“What’s Wrecker like to eat these days? He’s been gone so long I barely remember him. Bet Judge enjoys having both you kids at home.”

I can’t be mad at Danilo. She isn’t saying anything the previous customers haven’t already asked in various incarnations of how’s your brother all morning. I’d started off correcting them and saying Grant was my stepbrother but half of them didn’t know who Grant was given that they were associated with the club and folks are only known by their road names.

The other half seemed to forget or not care that he was my stepbrother and gave me a look like I shouldn’t use those petty distinctions either.

But those distinctions mean a lot to me, not because I don’t love Grant enough but because I love him too much and in the wrong way for him to be a brother to me.

“Heard Sara Ellerby is interested in being his welcome home companion,” Danilo says. My hand jerks and takes off a little skin. “Ouch. Careful there.” She gives me a look of well deserved reprimand.

“Sorry,” I mumble behind the mask.

“Judge must think she’d be a good fit for Wrecker given he brought her over to the granary last week. I think she’s desperate to get into the club given her brother’s constant fuck ups.”

Sean Ellerby, Sara’s twin, enjoyed sticking far too many things up his nose but as much as Sara’s situation is a sad one, I can’t keep hearing about her without my head blowing off.

“You coming to the homecoming party?” I ask, in an attempt to get Danilo off the subject. She and Bang Bang have a rocky relationship. I never know when it’s on or off.

“You inviting me?”

Apparently they are off.

“Sure, but bring your noodle dish. It’s pot luck.”

She laughs, her hand jiggling a bit. “You are so tight with the club’s money, Chelsea. Helen told me she’d been instructed to get food money from the petty cash.”

“There’s no reason to put out money for food. Everyone brings something which means we get good dishes and a lot of variety. I’m making the bacon wrapped weenies.”

“Is that what Wrecker wants?”

“Shit, that boy would eat a cow if it was put in front of him,” says Macy, the manager of the Cut-n-Curl. She doesn’t own the place, the club does. Rumor is that Judge bought it for his first wife—Wrecker’s mom who died of breast cancer when he was four—and that it reverted to the club when she passed. I never ask about Julie because it’s still painful for both of them. “Your brother called, wanted to know if you’d be done soon. Said he tried your cell phone but you weren’t answering.”

“I’ll call him when I’m done,” I say sourly.

Fortunately, Danilo and I spend the rest of our time talking about our favorite potluck dishes instead of Wrecker, the Ellerbys or Bang Bang. When she’s done, I step out the back and call Grant.

“Chelsea, you busy today?”

I wrap my arms around me to quell the shiver. It’s so good being able to pick up the phone and talk to him after all this time.

“Some. Got done doing Danilo’s fill. Apparently she and Bang Bang are off.”

“Yeah, I heard that too.”

That means he saw something at the party because Judge doesn’t like people talking about club activities outside the club and Grant hews pretty close to Judge’s preferences.

“Anyway, we done gossiping about Danilo and Bang Bang?” he says.

“Depends on what you called me about.”

“Dad wants me to run up to Ortonville and see a guy about some old Corvette parts. Thought you might want to come along. We could camp near Big Stone Lake and spend the night. Just the two of us.”

The next shiver I couldn’t suppress. Grant and I away from the club, his dad and the town? We could fuck and sleep and wake up together?

“When you picking me up?”

His low laugh curls around my belly and makes my muscles tighten—all of them. “Let’s meet at the house in an hour and we can take off as soon as we’re packed.”

I do one more set of nails that could not harden fast enough for me and run out of the salon as if it’s on fire.

At home, I grab my backpack and throw in a pair of panties, jeans, knit tank, and my skimpiest swimsuit that happens to be three tiny pieces of white fabric held together by string and gold rings. I bought it at the Mall of America on my sixteenth birthday. Grant wanted to have it burned and Judge wasn’t much of a fan either but it was my money and neither of them dared to tell me to put it back.

I ended up buying another one at Walmart in black—with a little more fabric— to get them to stop whining about it. I kept the white bikini and would wear it with girlfriends from time to time, mostly to rile up Grant more than anything. It’s the perfect item for our getaway.

A few toiletries and my toothbrush round out my overnight kit. I run downstairs and pack a few things for Grant. When I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the throaty growl of Grant’s bike as it roars down the street and up the driveway. I meet him in the garage and throw myself at him almost before he’s off the bike. Instead of pulling me against him though he sets me aside.

“Grouch is coming,” he murmurs, adjusts himself and then moves toward the back where the camping supplies are kept.

Grouch is the club treasurer. He arrives not a minute later. Climbing off his low rider, he holds open his arms. “Where’s my big hug, girl? You only give those out to your brother?”