If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel (12 page)

I slump half on and half off a little toadstool stool for two, and Eden is there instantly, wrapping her frail arms around me. “Shh. I’m sorry. Eve, I’m sorry. Can we just be sisters right now, okay? Can you just be my sister right now? I’ve fucking missed you so much.” When I feel her tears soak through her long dark hair curtaining us before rolling down my shoulder, I feel something that can only be described as fear and restraint release.

The binds of my sad childhood, the binds created by fear and loneliness, and timeless hours of self-hatred and solitude let go of their strong hold on my teenage heart. And for the first time in a long time, I feel my sister again.

And no, I know it doesn’t make any sense when I explain it that way, but that’s the only way I know how. I still can’t explain what happened to it in the first place, what happened to that feeling of knowing you belong to a family. It was just there one day—and then it wasn’t. Nothing happened. There wasn’t any one thing I did wrong or bad, I just
thought
I belonged to a family one day. And the next day, I didn’t.

When Eden pulls away, she blinks and I see the only difference between us most people would miss. Especially these days. I comb my fingers through her hair as her blue eyes smile into my brown ones, and I sift a handful of it out to the side and match it to mine, “When did you do this? I like it.” I chuckle around the tears and snot.

After she does the same, she grabs some Kleenex from her purse and hands me one before wiping her own tears away. “I didn’t. When I hit puberty it turned dark. Like yours and Mom’s, I guess.” She shrugs. “Did you know the night you ran away? The night before you got caught at the train station, I’d run away to Chicago? With my boyfriend at the time. We came to get you.” Her chuckle turns into a laugh, but not mine. I stop laughing all together. Mainly because the air in my chest has ceased to exist.

“You what?” I mouth. I don’t even think the words were actually spoken. And she just chuckles harder.

“Yup. Me and Ben. We’ve been on and off for… God. For forever. He’s supposed to be coming in town today, too.” She glances at her watch, but time, or its measure, is the furthest thing from importance.

“You came for me?” I whisper. And my heart, if it swells any more in this damn tight chest of mine, it’s gonna shatter its cage. “Why? Wait. Train station?” That part of her declaration filters and sticks, finally.

“Yeah. Train station. When we were fourteen.”

I shake my head. “But it was at the bus station. In New York. I was in New York,” I clarify. But she’s not getting it.

“Okay, then bus station. Whatever.” She stands from where we were sitting and pulls my hands until I’m standing too. “Come on. Let’s go find something to eat, or a souvenir shop.”

Unfortunately, the eleven months Eden lacks next to me and my years of
differing
life experiences keeps the remainder of our conversation pretty superficial. Consisting mostly of her, her friends, and her new school. And of course her soul mate, Bentley Cain.

I do hold my own, and mention Lauryn and Ty, and how Grams just took me to get my permit yesterday.

“Holy cow! That’s awesome! And you just have to have another driver in the car with a license, and it’s legal for you to drive? What if the other person is drunk off their ass?” She laughs, and I start to chuckle, thinking of Grams drunk.

“I guess. I don’t know.” We’re nearly in stitches when we round the corner and catch Grams standing over Ilsa, crying on the same bench we left them on over an hour ago.

When Ilsa looks up, I see tears in her eyes. “You need to tell her, Ilsa May Blakeney. If anyone deserves to know it’s her. Hell, he’s her daddy. Even if he does run the club down there. Unlike you, I don’t burn bridges. I keep in touch with at least some people from my past. Otherwise the past’ll bite ya on the ass.”

“Oh, shit,” Eden mutters as we step forward. When Grams looks over her shoulder at us she falls into step behind me. “Here goes.”

“No shit. Here goes,” I quietly whisper in response before leading the way back to the adults.

***

I know a bad idea when I’m presented with one, and now after the time I spent being punished for mentally saying
fuck it
when faced with a bad idea—Well, now it’s no one’s damn fault but my own.

When Eden mentioned it to L and Ty, a few hours after an
awkward
supper with Grams and Mom while we shared a cigarette outside of Ty’s, waiting for him to finish supper and come outside—I knew it was a bad idea. How, you may ask? Because the damn hair on my neck and arms stood up.

I flicked the cigarette L and I were puffing on into the same bushes I flick into every morning, and stood from the curb, kicking gravel like a dimwit. “Guys, I dunno. Bikers? We don’t know any bikers. I don’t particularly favor their kind, usually. Or their stereotypical thug in leather look they have going on.”

Ty scoffs as he steps off his bottom stoop before throwing his hands above his head. “Oh for the love of the gods. What’s wrong with this child?” He turns quickly, looking between me and the other two girls, and when his hands land on the top of my shoulders he looks at me like he’s looking at a toddler. “Bikers are sexy. As fuck. And Ty is…” He looks around at the other two teenage girls who are hopping in place, they’re so excited.

“Fly! Ty is Fly!” they shout in unison.

“Right, and Ty needs to hang out with some fly motherfuckers. Especially after that lame ass party of Brad’s last night! And, baby, who is finer than the damn bikers who’ve been running their bikes up and down my street all damn week?”

I look every one of them directly in the eyes. And I tell them. I tell them, every single one. “Okay, we’re going. But this…” I point to the ground. “Mark my words; this is a bad fucking idea.”

The party the night before, for the most part, went off without a hitch. While Uncle Chase did not attend, Bentley called, and I told him exactly what Pops wanted me to say. Then he headed over right after, and after talking for over an hour and a half in the steeple, me, Pops, and Ben all hung out. We talked through most of the issues, heard Ben’s approach on his father's actions, which mirror mine and Pops’. And thankfully, I’m pretty sure we got all our shit ironed out.

I smile, and for probably the first time I can remember, when I rouse fully awake the next morning, I reach out, trying to cuddle with my little partner from last night. And that’s when the mild headache begins creeping in.
Holy shit, I was lit last night.

I don’t even fucking remember who it is, nor do I care. Well, wait—I crack my eyelids, even though it’s dark. But I can still see enough of her.
Whew. Dark hair, okay. It’s not Roxy.
My smile widens as I scooch, spooning closer to the little bit in my bed.

“Fuck, come here, girl. I’m trying to cuddle.” My voice is gruff as hell and I chuckle when she wiggles her butt against my growing erection and begins to squirm. “Come here, you little pipsqueak.” I laugh, pulling her entirely on top of me, front to front. I can hardly make out her profile, but what I can see is fucking gorgeous. “Hey, you.” I kiss the tip of her nose as her arms circle my neck.

I love sleeping nude. It’s fucking awesome. And I think the rest of the world could take a page from my book and start sleeping that way. Actually, just make a rule that crosses all rules: No clothes in bed. It’d make the world a much more peaceful place, I promise.

My headache is completely forgotten, especially when it dawns on me that we’re still skin to skin from last night. And fuck does she feel good against me. I feel my cock settle in the v between her legs, and smile with my lips against hers.

Her mouth is sweet. And warm. God, it feels so good. A guttural groan crawls from my throat and spills into hers as she opens, granting me more access. “You taste so sweet.” My hands cupping her face reach down around her waist and pull her completely up on top of me, until she’s straddling me. And the shit that’s spewing from my mouth, I have no idea where the fuck it’s coming from, but I can’t stop it. “It’s like I don’t want to fucking touch you too much.” Her mouth comes back down to mine, shutting me up, but only briefly. “Shit, you’re gonna drive me crazy, aren’t you, baby?” I ask. Like a fucking idiot.

When I feel her warm cunt soak my cock, I grunt before shoving myself against her. “Shit, you’re so wet.” Her body moves on top of mine, and in seconds, we’re in sync. Our total rhythm. I can’t keep my hands off her. It’s like my palms can’t feel enough of her flesh fucking fast enough. I want her. All of her. All over me. Now.

When her thighs, gripping the shit out of my hips, begin shaking, quivering—I notice her labored breathing and hesitate for just a brief second before reaching both my hands down to where she’s rocking herself against me. And after placing one palm behind her, and the other flat on her abdomen, I hold her still.

And I can’t fucking tell you why. I just did it. I just said, “Breathe, sweetheart. I need you to breathe.” I feel her face nod against mine, but I can’t see her. I can only hear her breathing slowly, underneath all her fucking dark hair surrounding us. “That’s a good girl.” I slowly shift my hand on her abdomen until my thumb can just barely brush the top of her clit. “Now, rock. Little lamb, rock.” I grunt when she moves slightly, then I have to tense my abdomen muscles, flexing the fuck out of them to keep myself in check while she finds her pace.
And I’m not even inside her!

When I feel her legs tense, just before she slides forward a second time, I brush my thumb harder against her clit and it positions the head of my cock just so—that the tip slips in with every one of her rocks forward. And for a guy that’s
never
EVER been anywhere bareback? Holy fuck, I almost explode the first three tiny strokes.

I go to stop her. I mean, I shift. I move, to move...I
think
about taking my hands off her.

I do. But somewhere between moving my hands from where they are bracing her on her front and on her back, and looking up and seeing her silhouette in the dark room as she leans back and starts rocking, tits pointed to the heavens, and she’s earnestly rocking like her little life depends on it, my damn hands still. They stay right where they are, and the words in my throat fucking die.

Her legs are quivering when she leans back over me. “I want you. I’ve wanted you—for fucking ever, Jacques.” Her husky voice whispers against my ear and a second later her tongue dips into it.

To a spectator, it probably appears as though my hands are shaking like a teenage boy by the time I slide my hand behind her ass, reaching...and I’m trying to get her off. I’m serious. I really am. I’m trying to get her off then get her OFF—as in have her leave. It’s getting late, and there’s club shit to do, I’m sure. And between you and me, this shit’s getting really real, really quick—and I don’t even know who the fuck she is!

But when my fingertip brushes the tiny puckered flesh, and her back that was bowed over me arches back as her nails rake down my naked inked chest, I don’t know what happens. I’m telling you—I just meant to fucking get this sweet little lamb off. It was supposed to fucking be about her! I’m out of rubbers! Otherwise, brothers, I’d have
been
shoved ten inches deep inside fucking heaven!

So for the life of me, I don’t know what I was thinking when I reached my hand from fucking with her asshole, to positioning my cock and slamming straight home like it was mine.

I don’t know, therefore, I cannot tell you
what the fuck happened.