Savage Angels: A Savage MC Erotic Romance (15 page)

Like he knew the child in me, knew how to play with her, to coax her and release her, to stroke her and soothe her. He satisfied the child so that the woman in me could come out and be free.

He touched me softly, gently. His fingers knew just how to find and touch the parts of me that needed a man’s hand, a man’s arm, a man’s body. A man.

He had an instinct to touch me, and a slow, insistent rhythm in his strong fingers. A rhythm that knew what to touch, where to go. When to wait. But always with that pulse, like the beat of the pistons under the seat of his Harley-Davidson.

Like he longed for the strength and the sweetness in me, like he ached to tap the sap that rose in me.

He tasted me. Softly at first, gladly, with appreciation. Then hungrily. Then all over my body in a lashing torrent.

His body covered mine, wrapped it. When I first felt his skin against mine, my arms and legs snapped around him like they were sprung. He opened me and he filled me. He wound around and into and through me. Every part of me.
 

Every connection, every muscle memory, every moment of me he took and tamed. He stretched me out over himself, rolled himself into me. We melded together like two great currents in the sea.

And then, when I felt we’d known each other’s deepest inner selves for generations, like we’d been many lives apart to become this thing together, then, there where we were open and complete together, there he turned it all loose.

I clawed at him, I beat on him with my fists. Bit his neck, his chest, his thighs. I shrieked, I sobbed and moaned. At the end, he filled me so much, so hard, my legs crossed behind his back and they gripped with all the strength I had.
 

His body was hard as a tree trunk, and his sweet round ass pumped him into me like a freight train whipping through a mountain tunnel. My whole body clenched and convulsed and my head shook as I clawed at him and bucked on him.

The volcanic gush at the end, mine and his, went on and on, cresting, splashing and bursting. And he said my name,

“Nikka!” and it finally left me spent. I curled up in his huge arms wet, soft and helpless. My nose was in the ridge of his chest and I was drifting away on a misty lake.

And that’s exactly when a hammering started on the door. A voice outside said, “Cox, you got to come. Looks like a raid.”

He was in jeans and a tee and at the door in a half a heartbeat, and I was behind him as fast as I could move. At the bottom of the stairs I caught him up by the door to the bar and I heard the raised voice grating from amid the commotion in the bar.

“We are here acting on intelligence regarding a serious felony,” he sounded such a comical ass. As if anything that Dwayne would have told him could remotely be classified as ‘intelligence.’
 

“You will all be checked and searched for drugs, firearms and parole violation.”
 

The scene in the bar looked like a freeze-frame in a biker movie. Cops all around the room, all pointing weapons, and about four times as many bikers sneering and snarling at them.

Lump had his nose against the barrel of an evil-looking pump-action. Officer Glenn was holding it fairly steady, but you couldn’t mistake the beads of sweat on his top lip. The voice at the center of the room boomed on, “If anyone can provide us with information...” in the middle of the room he was actually standing on a chair.

I didn’t want to use the little girl voice. That may have been the first time I realized that was what I would normally do. Say,
Oh, Daddy...
and wait until he crumpled. I didn’t want Cox to hear me do it. And I didn’t want to hear me do it, I didn’t want be that whiny little girl any more. Somehow I was done with that.

I realized then that I didn’t want to do it to Daddy either. It was a big night of firsts for me. As it was, he stopped talking when he saw me.

The atmosphere shifted immediately. The electricity in the air somehow drifted, blew like smoke. Cops fingers were still on the triggers of their weapons, but the knuckles were not white anymore. There weren’t so many clenched teeth.
 

The cops all looked mightily relieved, most of the bikers looked bitterly disappointed. Daddy looked about an eighth of an inch smaller all round.

I said, “Daddy, let’s you and I meet at the diner for breakfast in the morning, OK? I’m here and I’m fine, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

Cox said, “You go on with your daddy, Nikka. I’ll meet you at the diner after breakfast. If you’d like. Would you like that?”

God, he looked fine in loose jeans and a white tee. I said, “Yes.”

Dogs of War

Bogart had offered men and equipment to Butcher, as much as he needed. He said that all that he wanted was explosives and heavy ammunition. Nobody knew all of the details of the deal, not even the full council.

When Butcher came to the club to pick up his supplies, even the Norwegians were quiet. Everybody watched in silence as the huge man, covered in ink and scars, lumbered through the clubhouse to the back, picked up two massive crates and carried them, one on each shoulder, back out to his truck.

He wore a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off, open, nothing covering his trunk of tattooed muscle. Along with a heavy belt hung with black leather pouches and several sizes of hunting knives, he wore combat fatigue pants and heavy boots.
 

Leather straps were wrapped tight on his biceps and around his ridged, sloping forehead. His thick bottom lip was studded, and he had four sliver teeth. He was bald with no eyebrows, a thin black mustache and he was ugly enough to frighten coyotes.

He took the stairs up to the small room upstairs in the corner. Left a couple of backpacks up there and the floor shook as he lurched back down, and out. On his back was a patch that said,
Warhog
. The clubhouse stayed quiet for a many twenty minutes after he left.

This was some heavy weather.

That evening, the atmosphere in the clubhouse was subdued. In part that may have been because the only available girl in the place was Angelica. She had a look on her face that left no room for doubt; anyone came near her, she’d break off their thumbs or worse. Her sister Inez was nowhere to be seen, nor was Gypsy. Cox and most of the
Savage MC
were absent elsewhere, too.

Only Bogart and Hacker perched at the bar with Rusty passing them shots. A call came on Hacker’s cellphone and he stepped outside to take it.

Came back in after a few minutes and said to Bogart, “That was Jake. The
Muertos
want to talk.”

Bogart didn’t look up from his shot glass. “Shame they didn’t have anything to say yesterday. Could have saved a lot of mayhem.”

Hacker got a beer from Rusty, took a sip and sat alongside Bogart, “He said that Butcher shot three of his men.”

Bogart said, “Mm.” Without any obvious interest.

Hacker told him, “He shot them with a grenade launcher, Bogart.”

“Mm.” Bogart said again. “His manners are pretty challenging.”

Hacker began, “At least having him around has quietened the...” but Bogart held up a hand. He knew that Hacker was going to say ‘Vikings,’ and he didn’t want the slightest risk of one of the Vikings hearing it or hearing about it. A war inside the clubhouse as well as the one outside would have been way over the line.
 

Everyone was uncomfortable at leaving the enforcing in Butcher’s hands, but the vote was unanimous, and they were going to follow Bogart’s plan. All the way to its end.

Twenty minutes later, they heard the truck engine climb the slope outside and Butcher returned. He stomped up to the clubhouse and across the barroom floor, and he looked at Bogart on the way. Bogart looked over the tops of his shades at the big man.
 

Butcher reached around the bar and took a fresh bottle of Jack, then climbed the stairs to his room. Angelica looked at Bogart. Drew a breath and her face tensed momentarily. Then she picked up a clutch bag and went upstairs, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Much later, in the dead of night, Bogart was still in the clubhouse, sat at a table with an almost empty bourbon bottle at his elbow. Rusty was with him at the table. A few other bikers slept on couches or in the softer, fraying chairs.
 

Butcher came down the stairs heavily, one of his backpacks over his shoulder. He passed Bogart a look on his way out to the truck. The engine coughed into life, and then faded as Butcher drove away down the hill. Bogart checked his watch.

About ten minutes later Angelica came down the stairs. Looked around the clubroom. Saw Bogart was awake and asked him, “You know where Beanie is, American?”

Slip Kid

From inside the car I made a call on my cellphone. As soon as I got an answer I said, “Hi, it’s me. Listen, don’t say anything, don’t speak, okay? I need you to meet me, right away. You know that place we’ve been, at the edge of town? Don’t say anything, just make a sound to tell me that you know where I mean.” a grunt came from the phone, “Can you meet me there in forty-five minutes, it’s really important, okay? Will you do it?” Another grunt. I hung up.

The dark sedan stayed way behind me as I made my way across town. I parked right by the metal entrance door of the neat little diner. There was almost no-one there at that time in the afternoon. I took a booth in the window, ordered coffee and I waited.

Sure enough, as I nursed my coffee, I watched as the dark sedan pulled slowly into the far side of the parking lot, and it was soon joined by another car just like it. From that distance, I could just make out a red bob of hair.

Daddy showed up, out of uniform and in his private car. When he slid into the booth opposite me he said, “So, what’s this all about, baby doll? What’s with all the cloak and dagger and the, ‘don’t say anything.’?” I was about to tell him when the dragon lady from the FBI slammed her hand on the side of the table and pushed her badge in Daddy’s face.
 

Tall and wiry in her charcoal pant suit, a white shirt open way too far, she seemed thrilled breathless by her mantra, “Special agent Heaver, FBI. Put your hands on the table where I can see them.” She leaned over the table at him and Daddy gave her a long dry look as he laid his palms on the table top. “Show me some ID, and tell me the purpose of your meeting here.” I knew Daddy would have great timing, but I couldn’t wait. I said,

“Oh, haven’t you been introduced to my daddy? You would probably know him as police chief Ballmer.”
 

Daddy said, “Have you been harassing my little girl, Heaver? Because if you have, there’s a report going straight up the line to my old army buddy, Section Chief Fullerton.”

Heaver’s green eyes widened and her face twitched as Daddy went on, “Tell me, is Sam Fullerton your boss’s boss or is he your boss’s
boss’s
boss? The case will be of particular interest to him, since he is Nicoletta’s godfather.”

Agent Heaver sagged as Daddy said, “Now, would you like some coffee while you tell us what it was that you wanted to know?” Heaver mumbled and flustered as she backed away from the table and almost ran out of the diner.