Reprise (4 page)

The drummer started with a beat on a cowbell then the rest of the band kicked in, and that’s when Tiny had to look.

Mallory was at the microphone, guitar to her stomach, smiling brilliantly at the audience as a few people shouted encouragement. He knew the song—his parents had the album just like hers did. Linda Ronstadt,
Poor Poor Pitiful Me
.

Shit. How the hell had he forgotten about her singing? She did it all the fucking time. She’d been both the church and school choirs. Never pursued it afterwards, not that he knew of. But back when he knew her, she’d liked to sing, and he loved listening to her join in with the radio in the truck.

And to the baby. She sang to the baby all the time.

Her voice cut into the instrumental intro of the song, and he found himself smiling. Her voice was deep, rich and raspy like she lived in a bar, the cigarette smoke making it rough. But it was there. She was a great singer—always had been.

It was another shot to his heart that she looked good. His dad was right; her extra weight was superbly placed. The satin-looking black dress she wore was a wraparound number, locking and loading everything just right. Those tits were high and proud, and while the guitar was hiding some of her he knew her hips would be round and inviting.

The hair threw him. He knew very damn well she was
not
a natural redhead.

Transfixed, he stared, engrossed in the performance. The band was okay, he knew only enough about music to recognize some basic talent. But shit, Mallory shone. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

The girl he knew all those years ago was absolutely in there. When she smiled all sassy, the shine in her eyes. Her confident body language. Somehow there was
more
of all the good shit he remembered. So much more, finely tuned and enhanced.

Then the song changed, and his warm and fuzzy buzz vanished. Popped. Fizzed out like the head on a beer.

“Now some Janis Joplin. I named my guitar after this one,” she was saying, almost lost in her fingers as they strummed out the start of a song he knew very well, too.

“Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train...”

He set his glass down, nearly choking on that last mouthful, and swiveled around on the stool. There was no way he was staying. He was back behind the wheel of the truck before he realized he’d left the bar.

That reaction was a hell of a surprise. Out in the truck he steadied his breathing and focused his spinning mind, but there was too much swirling, so much that he’d forgotten cascading back onto him. An avalanche of hurt and heartache.

But there’d been some good, too.

-oOo-

“I’m nervous.”

He’d looked down at the little brunette, about to pull his T-shirt off, suddenly wary. “You a virgin?”

She’d laughed, and it made her chest shake, holding his attention. “No. I’m just…I don’t do this kind of thing.”

He nodded, yanking the cotton off his back and tossing it to the foot of his bunk. Her hand came up to trace across his chest, then down the center of his stomach. He stilled, letting her touch him, hoping she’d get more comfortable.

“You feel strong.”

He shrugged with just one shoulder, meeting her blue-green eyes. She was biting her lower lip, eyes dropping to run over him. “I wanna take these jeans off you.”

She looked a little startled.

“I wanna fuck you, Mallory.”

“Oh...okay.”

“Just saying exactly what I want so you’re not wondering. No need to be nervous. That’s what I’m after. What do you want?”

“I...” she looked down and to the side, the smile small but a lot of cute at the same time. “I want that, too.”

“Good.” He loomed over her, planting his hands on each side of her shoulders. When he lowered his head to kiss her she brought her head off the flat pillow to meet him, her breasts rising to brush against his chest.

With a growl he lowered his weight onto her, winding his arms under her to hook over her shoulders. She let him take her mouth, completely and roughly, her soft chest cushioning him in such a thrilling way his cock throbbed.

One of her legs hooked around his, and she was open to his hips, rubbing against him. Fuck, a bit more of that and he’d be done.

He parted their mouths, and she gasped, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re killing me, but other than that everything is just fine.” His hands were working at the fly of her jeans but she didn’t seem to notice until he was tugging the waistband over her hips.

She arched her back and lifted her ass to help him. He gave a chuckle, pulling them off and tossing them towards his shirt. Cotton panties, little white things.

He dropped his mouth to press a kiss right under her bellybutton. Her fingers played over his hair, uncertain. With his teeth he grabbed the front of those panties and yanked at them, pulling at them a bit.

It made her laugh, again in surprise.

Overtop of the fabric he moved his mouth lower, tonguing at her clit with the cotton in between them. She gave a soft moan, her legs spreading wider, hips tilting up.

He nibbled at her with his lips, gently and teasing until she was whimpering. When he was sure she was turned on enough he moved back to pull the panties free, then fell on her with lips and tongue, the time for lead in over.

“Oh fuck!” Her back came up off the mattress sharply, hips bucking. He didn’t let up, lapping and sucking at her until she was pleading for him to stop.

He sat up and wiped his chin, grinning down at her as she blinked and panted. Her entire face was pink, skin shining with sweat. He could turn on the truck’s AC, but he liked her sweaty, the nipples of those amazing tits only hard because she was turned on.

He unzipped his fly, pulled his erection free and was rolling on the rubber when she sat up, still panting. “Oh God.  You’re big.”

That brought a sneak laugh out of him this time. “You say such sweet things.”

She covered her mouth and met his gaze, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. It’s just...I mean...”

“It’ll fit, honey,” he assured her leaning over her to coax her onto her back again. “How wet you are, it’s gonna fit just right.”

She shuddered.

“So don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You come good?”

Her smile was terribly nervous. “What? Yes.”

“Still feel it?”

Mouth open, just as he nudged against her opening, she nodded, eyes sliding closed.

“Give me those eyes, honey.”

Her lids fluttered open, mouth still slack, and he eased his hips forward, pushing his way in, so slow it hurt. But it was worth it to watch her eyes widen, mouth fall open all the way, hips squirm, back arch, all before she gave a satisfying moan.

“See? Perfect fit.”

She nodded, breath hitching as he pulled away an inch or two then drove home again. This time as she moaned her eyes slammed shut and her head fell to the side.

“Still good, honey?”

“God, yes,” she whimpered, eyes flying open to look at him again. “So good. Please...please don’t stop. Do that again.”

“What? This?” He did the same small
withdrawal and slam back, making her brow furrow. The show she was giving was almost as good as the snug grip she had on his cock, and this time he pulled out nearly the whole way before giving it all back to her.

“Jesus!” she sputtered, hands coming up to grip at his forearms, nails digging in. This time when he pounded into her there was no adjustment period, no pause to prepare. He let his hips fall into a regular tempo; not too fast but with plenty of power.

She felt good. Fucking amazing. With his weight up on extended arms he could see her ride out everything he was doing, and she took it all like it was a gift from the fucking angels or something. She was moaning, crying out “Oh God!” and “Jesus!” like it was Sunday morning. And her tits; fucking Christ those tits bounced and swayed with every thrust.

When her nails dug deeper into his skin and one leg slung up over his lower back he knew she was close. Problem was, so was he. And with all the sensory overload he wasn’t sure how he’d last to see her through, but he wanted her to come.

Fuck yes, he wanted to watch that more than he wanted anything else.

“Honey, you gotta help me out.”

“What?” Her chin was high, neck and back arching sharply, jutting her chest up. He almost lost his train of thought.

“Take one of those pretty tits in your hand. Play with it.”

No hesitation. She grabbed one of those beauties and pinched the distended nipple, moaning around her bit lip.

“Now touch this delicious clit of yours. I wanna see you explode, honey.”

Her eyes were on him, unsure.

“Touch yourself, honey. Fuck, I wanna see that.”

She didn’t need much convincing. Her hand slid down his arm to the juncture of her legs, then with two fingers she pressed down and made a circle over her clit, making herself cry out again.

“Fuck, honey. That is so fucking hot.”

Her answer was a whimper, but she didn’t stop. Her fingers moved faster, in tempo with his hips, and when it broke through her she let loose with a hell of a scream, no words. Just shouting, hips bucking against him wildly, hand leaving her breast to dig all five nails into his bicep.

Perfect. Gorgeous. Also, the death of his control.

Harlon came with a shout, buried in her up to the root as his entire body twitched through his release. When it was done, his head hung forward on his neck, wonderfully exhausted.

“I should...I should really go.”

It was whispered but it cut through their heavy breathing He brought his face up so he could look at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. My friends will be wondering where I am.”

He pulled free and wrapped the condom in some tissues while she got dressed, turning her back to him while she did it. Which was pretty cute when you thought about it.

“Thanks,” she said when she was dressed, pulling her purse onto her shoulder and smiling at him in the light coming through the windows from the parking lot standards. “That was really fucking good.”

He grinned and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “It was really good,” he agreed. “You take care, Mallory.”

Without pouting or an argument she got up and left the truck before he even had his jeans done back up. Maybe it was the post-orgasm brain, but he was pretty damn impressed with how she handled that. Then again, maybe he’d just let his dream woman walk out on him.

Chapter Four

The clubhouse was quiet for a Friday. There were girls hanging around, and Spaz and Rusty had a game of pool going with a couple of them. The rest were milling around the bar, knowing that they wouldn’t be getting any action until much later.

Knuckles wasn’t there, that was the problem.

It wasn’t that he was the wild man life of the party. But the Red Rebels scattered around the room were waiting for word from him.

He was popping his mob hit man cherry that very night, and they were all anxious like they’d lent him their car or some shit. The assignment had come through two days before, the same day Tiny had returned to Markham after hauling most of his parents’ stuff to the Salvation Army, and his mom’s favorite recliner to the home. Tiny was already in a fucked up head space from walking away from his father and mother in their barely-furnished home, knowing that his mom was getting left behind, on her own, very next day.

And his old man was settling in to die in his bed.

Then a phone call came late afternoon from Anthony Guidinger, their attaché, sort of, to Don Michael Sachetti. He had Knuckles’ first assignment. The guy took the call in absolute secret, on his own in the boardroom, running through the routine until he had it set. Really, Guidinger took a lot of planning out of it. The itinerary was supplied, and that morning Knuckles received the weapon he was to use. All he had to do was get himself to the address, make the killing a messy one, and get gone.

He’d still need a pickup, though. So Tiny was waiting.

The doors opened and everyone straightened, turned, then slumped again when the entire assembly realized it was just Tank and Rose. Tank pulled his old lady close and kissed her cheek, then let her wander over to where Gertie, Jolene and Davie Junior had taken over a seating area next to the juke box, not without a swat on the ass first. Then he approached Tiny and Jayce at the small table they were parked at, sipping their beers in silence.

“No word then,” the big guy groaned, sinking into his seat and motioning for a beer. It wasn’t a question, it was a hypothesis.

“Not yet. Makes me nuts not even knowing the address.” To prove it Jayce leaned forward, elbows on the table, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No phone on him, either.”

“That’s just smart though,” Tiny mused, setting his empty bottle down. “Cell phone towers have placed a lot of killers at crime scenes.”

“I know. Just complaining.”

“He’ll be all right,” Tiny assured their little group after a long pause.

No one said anything. There was just the soft clack of pool balls until his cell phone went off.

Everyone jumped and Tiny was on the little handset fast enough to show he was more worried than he was letting on. “Yeah?” he barked into the phone.

“I’m hungry man. Feel like picking up some Chinese for me?”

Tiny smiled as his back eased. He nodded to Jayce as he replied, “You got it.”

“Thanks buddy.”

He ended the call and got to his feet. “He’s calling for a pick up.”

“Thank fuck,” Jayce breathed, leaning back in his seat.

“You want back up?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Tiny assured Tank, bumping fists with him. “I’ll get him home quick.”

That afternoon Tiny had dropped Knuckles in an unremarkable neighbourhood in Markham, unsure of how the guy was going to get
anywhere.
And he knew better than to ask the plan. Knuckles didn’t want anyone to have any information about what he had to do.

Tiny headed for his Ram, swinging into the driver’s seat while lighting up a cigarette and rolling down the window. Seatbelt lawfully latched, he headed out to Markham’s only Chinese restaurant, on the north side of town. Kim’s Cantonese was a greasy spoon but the food was good, and for twenty bucks you could feed a small army.

Tiny caught sight of his brother through the windows, and he was eating. So he parked in a customer spot and got out, heading inside with a jingling of bells announcing his arrival.

Knuckles had three foil entrees on the table in front of him, eating off one porcelain plate. Tiny sat across from him, taking the white plate a waitress brought over with a “Thanks.”

He unwrapped the utensils from their napkin sock, finally breaking the quiet. “Hungry, huh?”

“I wanted the almond gai ding, but I like their fried rice, too. And this ginger beef is fucking awesome. There’s just so fucking much of it all.”

“I can help with that.”

“Have at it,” Knuckles invited with a laugh, eyes still on his plate.

Tiny grabbed a little bit of everything and dug in, waiting for the other guy to lead the conversation. And he was right; the ginger beef was fucking awesome.

They ate in silence until Knuckles pushed his plate away, wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on his bare plate. “I just...I needed a minute before I could go back to normal life, you know?”

Tiny nodded, repeating Knuckles’ wipe and toss routine with the napkin and pushing his plate away. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

Knuckles’ arms were straight out, hands splayed on the tabletop. He still hadn’t met Tiny’s gaze, and just as he was about to start worrying about the kid those icy blue-grays came up, totally level and calm. “It’s different when you don’t know them. I didn’t have a beef with that guy, he wasn’t out to get me or the club. And he wasn’t a danger. He didn’t even fight back. That’s...that’s a totally different kind of deal.”

Tiny looked around, but the nearest booth was a family of seven whose parents were trying to keep those kids on the good behavior side of things, so no one was paying them any attention. “You alright?”

Knuckles tightened one hand into a fist. “Yeah. No, I mean, I’ll be fine. Like I said, I just need some distance for a bit. Then I’m ready to go back.”

“Take all the time you need, man. What do they got for dessert?”

Now Knuckles grinned, and it made Tiny feel marginally better, even if it was bullshit. And it might be. “They got pie.”

“Chinese pie, huh?”

“Nah, good old American apple pie. It’s really good, too.”

Tiny nodded and held up a hand for the waitress. “Then we’re having pie.”

With slices of pie and coffee in their bellies, the remaining food in a carry out bag hanging from Knuckles’ fingertips, they headed to Tiny’s truck a half hour later. He lit up behind the wheel again, rolling down the window out of consideration for his passenger.

“Hey, I never did ask how it went at your parents’ place.”

Tiny shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. I mean, it’s weird clearing out all the furniture I grew up around and trucking it to the Sally. I think the old man wanted me to keep more of it but ... not sure how to tell him I live in a hotel room that’s fully furnished and already seventies-sensational.” If Knuckles wanted a new subject topic of conversation, he got it.

“Can’t imagine remembering furniture.”

Tiny chuckled. “I lived there until I was twenty-five, man. It’s not that I have a great memory.”

“Your mom’s got Alzheimer’s?”

Tiny wobbled his head. “Kinda. They say dementia. The only way to be sure is with an autopsy.”

“How’s your dad doing?”

“Not good. The cancer’s back.”

“Shit, man. Really?”

Tiny nodded.

“Radiation or chemo?”

“Neither.”

“What do you mean?”

“He ain’t fighting this time around. He’s done.”

In the silence Tiny looked to his passenger seat, and Knuckles looked as stricken as if he’d just found out this info about his own father. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nah. He’s tired. And that shit, the chemo, is fucking rough, man. He’s tired. He got mom in the home, that’s taken care of. Now he’s just going to wait.”

“I can’t imagine getting to that point.” Knuckles turned to look back out the window. “Jesus. That must be real despair.”

Tiny cleared his throat, again convinced that keeping his own grim diagnosis to himself was the right call. He didn’t need that kind of reaction. For all he knew, Knuckles would knock him out and drag him to the chemo ward in Bakersfield.

“He gets to choose,” Tiny finally said, voice quiet. Ending the topic. “That’s dignity.”

Nothing more was said. As they pulled into the clubhouse lot Knuckles eased his door open, grabbed the grub, and paused before closing his door. Tiny looked at him through the truck’s cab, expectant.

“Thanks for the ride. And for sitting with me. And…just for talking.”

Tiny gave a smile to show it was no sweat off his ass. “Don’t mention it, Knuck.”

“Still. Thanks for getting it. Kind of, anyway.”

Tiny shut his truck door and followed his brother across the concrete to the squat building that now had music booming out of it. Jayce opened the door just before Knuckles got to it, handing over the kutte that he had left behind. Knuckles shrugged it on, and Tiny did the same behind them.

Inside each Red Rebel approached Knuckles silently, hand up. Every palm was clasped before the brother was pulled in for a shoulder-to-shoulder man hug, then turned back to the room. Across the way, the old ladies were watching all this, sensing the solemnity of whatever it was that had just happened. After a moment Gertie handed Davie over to Rose and came forward, her face hard to read. She walked up to Knuckles, trying to give a smile, but his face likely told her this wasn’t a celebration.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, but Tiny was able to hear it.

Knuckles smiled and ran his hand down her arm, ending the movement by squeezing her hand. “I’m good, Gertie. Thanks.”

The redhead hugged him, obviously not taking his word for it. After a moment Knuckles hugged her back, patting her back like he was reassuring her. With Knuckles being her sponsor, those two had a very close bond. Tiny wasn’t sure how Buck handled that. If it was
his
woman, the last guy she’d be allowed to hug in front of him would be Knuckles.

“He’s alright, honey,” Buck eventually said, pulling her shoulder back. Not jealous, though. More out of concern for Knuckles. “Go back to Davie, ‘kay? We gotta meet.”

“All right,” she mumbled, turning away and headed to where their son was bouncing on Rose’s hip.

With a slap on Knuckles’ shoulder Buck led the man towards the boardroom and Tiny fell into step behind them.  With everyone assembled around the scarred, chipped-top conference table Spaz shut the door and scooted to his new seat at Tank’s right. The one that used to be Mickey’s seat.

“Okay,” Jayce began, sharply rapping his knuckles on the table. “First thing’s first. Knuckles did his first job solo for the Sachettis. He’s not going to report details to us, so I don’t want any of you pressuring him for them. But we gotta know at least one thing; anything odd to you?”

Knuckles cleared his throat and ran his thumb across his bottom lip, shaking his head. “Nah. Guidinger’s intel was good. Everything was exactly how he’d said it would be.”

“Still hate that fucking guy,” Fritter mumbled, and Tiny’s shoulders eased further when Knuckles smiled as the group cut up at that.

“Duly noted,” Jayce said wryly, then he nodded and sat up, turning away from Knuckles’ direction. “Okay. Next order of business. Rusty and Tims have been with us for three and two years, respectfully. Rusty’s prospected for a year and a half, and a year for Tims. Any thoughts here? Knuckles, you sponsored Tims. Full patch, or not yet?”

Knuckles grew serious now. “I know it’s just a year, but I think he’s all in. He took to all this like a duck to water, he fits in.”

“And he’s fucking handy to have around during a fire fight,” Tank chimed in, leaning his chair back. “You all know about the Gypsys rolling up on us outnumbered, but I wouldn’t be sitting here today if it wasn’t for Tims.”

“He’s another soldier,” Buck said, measured, careful not to offend. “He takes orders, follows them to a T. We need that, for sure.”

Jayce nodded. “Great. We’ll get him a patch made, next meeting will be a patch-over party.”

There were more noises of agreement around the table, and Knuckles was grinning again. Patch over parties were a blast, Tiny loved them. Basically, new members were hazed through alcohol until they did stupid shit and basically pissed themselves before passing out.

Good times.

“Rusty,” Jayce went on. “I sponsored him, obviously I think he’s great.” More chuckles at that. “We know my dad basically sent him our way, saw good muscle with a bit of brain to him. Let’s face it, we lack brain.”

“Speak for yourself,” Knuckles spat out, all mock outrage.

Jayce grinned wider like it was validation the guy was okay. Tiny certainly read it that way.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Tiny said. “Hard to get a read.”

“You don’t talk much either,” Fritter pointed out.

“With you yapping, who can get a word in?” More laughter, and while Fritter pretended to join in he also flipped the bird.

“He’s hella smart,” Spaz spoke up when the yuk yuks died off. “He’s some kind of math savant. Human calculator.”