The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (22 page)

Lennon is everything a man could want. She woke up with a smile on her face, and not a damn thing to bitch about. Once we were done on the bed, she let me fuck her in the shower. She threw on some clothes she brought in a bag, since the plan was to crash here for the weekend.

I put my cut on and it smelled so much like Lennon, I had to take a second before walking with her to the bar.

Perfect way to wake up.

A big spread is laid out on the bar top when we finally drag our asses from the room. Breakfast of all kinds; pancakes, every breakfast meat, fruit, cereal, eggs of every variety, and just about anything else you could think of, waited for us. That’s the nice thing about these parties. Old ladies from all over throw down when it comes to the eats.

Lennon’s wearing some baggy as fuck sweats, a sports bra, and her hair’s in a messy knot. She’s standing next to Cups, a brother from another Chapter, and his old lady, and she looks sexy. Brit is Cups old lady, and that bitch is hot, but she just don’t compare when Lennon’s standing there next to her. Christ, I got damn lucky.

“You’re catchin’ feelins’,” Rock declares next to me. The fuck I am. The only thing I’m catching is some good pussy.

“Nah.” I like Lennon, there’s no denying that, but where feelings are concerned, there’s nothing there, other than a friendship with a mutual enjoyment in fucking one another.

He laughs, like I told his ass a joke or something. “Yeah, sure.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

Looking over at El, he looks knowingly back at me with a smug grin on his ugly mug. “Believe me, assfuck, I know.”

“That’s cute. Your sweet new term of endearment for me?” I’m done talking about Lennon with this asshole. Her and I, we’re good. What’s going on between us is no one’s fucking business but ours.

“Nice. Avoid and ignore. I know you’re into the chick.”

“I know I’m gonna knock your teeth out if you don’t stop spouting off at the mouth about girly feelings and shit at me.”

“Such a sensitive motherfucker.”

“Dead motherfucker,” I counter with a grin. Holding his beer out to me, I toast him. “To bitches, beer, and brotherhood.”

“To bitches, beer, and brotherhood,” I echo.

Lennon eats and Lennon bullshits. What she doesn’t do is bother me until I nod her ass over to me. I’m tired of watching her from across the room. A couple brothers were sniffing around, and we just can’t have that now, can we? It’s too early to kill anyone.

“Darlin’,” I greet her when she comes walking up, smiling at me like I’m a fucking king. That smile does bad things to my ego. Little by little, it’s getting even bigger.

“I think I might die,” she moans, sitting herself right in my lap, rubbing at her naked stomach. Sitting on a camping chair out back in the beer garden, I try like hell to chase the hangover away with black coffee and mountain air.

“Why are you dying?”

“I think I ate half a pound of bacon. I think I’m turning into a pig.” Twisting her head, she looks back at me and makes an ‘oink’ sound. “Just call me Porky.” Rock practically inhales his coffee on the other side of her when he chokes on a laugh. Lennon laughs right along with him. I love her laugh.

“Jesus, woman.” I start to laugh too.

“Did you just snort like a pig?” Rock coughs out as she whacks him on the back.

“Yeah. What’s it to ya?” Lennon jokes, looking like trouble.

“She always like this?” he asks me.

“Yep.” And I wouldn’t change one goddamn thing about her.

Lennon

During daylight hours, the party dies. Partygoers nurse headaches, feed their hangovers, and sleep off their depravity while the sun is high in the sky. The moment it falls bellow the tree line, that’s when all hell breaks loose, and morals take a back seat to wicked fun.

Tonight is rougher than last night. People are drinking more and partying harder. Last night was the kickoff to tonight, the main event. The music is louder, the fire hotter, and the drinks are stronger. Tonight, everyone is partying like it’s their last night on earth.

I spent the afternoon relaxing and recouping. Nursing a nagging hangover, Buck and I spent most of the day in bed, sleeping it off, gearing up to do it all over again. I won’t lie, that’s been one of my favorite things about this weekend so far, the cuddling. Buck calls it fucking, but I prefer to call it extreme cuddling.

But I’m ready for tonight, ready to be wilder and freer. I remember every toe curling second of last night and this morning. I’m looking for a repeat.

Everyone rages on around us, but tonight Buck seems more relaxed. Sitting on top of the picnic table, he sits on the bench between my knees, drinking his beer, and talking to his people. Me? I’m just happy to be here enjoying the night.

“Yo, Buck. Get the fuck over here,” Rock shouts from around the side of the motel a few hours later. I groan in protest when he gets up. Twisting my ankles around each other, I cling to him like a baby chimp. He’s gonna have to peel me off him.

Why must he move? We moved from the picnic table after we ate to bullshit with the other party people. I swam and Buck did whatever Buck does with his guys. After a few hours, he finally came back to me, scooped me up, threw me around his waist so I was straddling him, and sat back in my vacated chair, and that’s where we’ve been ever since, watching the fire and hangin’.

“Wasn’t gonna set you down. Just hold onto me.” No argument there. Locking my limbs around him, I hold on for dear life as he stomps across the yard towards Rock, carrying me. 

“The fuck ya want?” Buck asks, coming to a stop at the backside of the motel. Legs spread wide, he holds me up comfortably. Lifting my head from his shoulder, I see a group of guys standing around, some of them are holding guns, and the others are looking at those guns.

“Spike doesn’t believe me about your point perfect accuracy,” Tank says, voice full of confidence.

“Stupid motherfucker,” Rock adds matter-of-factly.

I’ve noticed Buck doesn’t go anywhere without a gun. In the truck, there’s a shotgun strapped to the back window. Into the grocery store, there’s one tucked into an ankle holster. Next to the bed, one leans between the side table and bedframe. For a ride on his bike, there’s one resting in the waist of his pants.

“He don’t, huh?” I hear the cocky drawl in Buck’s words vibrate in his chest. “Must not know how I got my name then,” He says with amusement to Rock. They both laugh at the guy’s lack of knowledge.

Spike, the man in question, chuckles himself, although his is less fun and jokes and more sinister. Clearly he’s not interested in Buck, his guns, or his name. “Yeah, I know. Just don’t believe all the damn hype.”

Buck shakes his head sadly and takes a few steps back around the building, hollering, “Prospect, get your ass back here, now!” Buck surveys the area. Finding his target, he points at a guy and sticks his hand out, demanding, “Give me your beer can.”

“But I’m not done,” the short fat guy complains, looking from his can and back to Buck.

“Then drain it, quick.”

I watch him point the prospect across the yard to an old outbuilding. He tells him to stand against the wall and sit the can on his head. The prospect hesitates, his feet dancing in the dirt. His eyes are wide as he waits for the joke. Too bad for him, I don’t think Buck’s joking.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” The prospects voice shakes.

“Time to show us what you got, prospect. This is nothing. You scared? Can’t hang, prospect?” His voice is deep and deadly, and challenging. Watching the prospect, he squares his shoulders and tries in vain to school his face. He’s scared shitless. Buck thrusts the empty can at the kid and points him to the end of the lot. The prospect hesitates on his feet, and Buck pounces. “Either set the can on your fucking head or I’ll have to aim for something else.” Buck jerks his chin over towards the building. The prospect walks off, dragging his feet. Finding his spot, he stops and sits the can on his head, his eyes huge and his hand unsteady. Dropping the can three times, he manages to keep it on his head on the fourth try.

A circle of men form around us all, watching and waiting. Some argue about Bucks accuracy, some bullshit about ammo, and others laugh at the terrified unease on the prospects baby face.

“Should you put me down?” I ask. He walks pretty far, maybe thirty yards or so, before he stops and turns back towards the kid. I don’t know much about guns, but I figure accuracy is important, and me wrapped around him like this, probably doesn’t lend much to said accuracy. I’d rather not watch the prospect die tonight.

“No, just hang on to me, darlin’.” Turning around, Buck faces the kid, who’s green in the face and squirming. Leaning against an old wall, the kid tries to stay still, but it’s just not happening. I can’t say I wouldn’t fidget with a target on my head either.

Reaching a hand behind his back, Buck pulls out a gun. His other arm is wrapped around me, smashing me to his front, holding me in place. Oh Jesus, he’s really about to shoot that can off the kids head, or shoot off the kids head.

With a flick of his wrist, he checks the gun, looking it over. Once he’s satisfied, he looks up at the kid and hollers, “Now stand the fuck still unless you want a couple of extra holes in your head.” I wasn’t sure if it was possible, but the poor prospect pales to the point he’s almost clear. 

“Wait, hold up,” Rock shouts, holding his hand up in the air, waving Buck off. For a second I think he’s about to call off the idea, but instead he says, “A buck fifty says he shoots it first shot,” Rock declares, throwing his bet down with a chuckle. “Let’s make this shit interesting.” Everyone laughs, sans the ghostly white prospect.

“Fifty,” shouts chubby, whose can Buck jacked.

“Two hundred he misses first shot” Spike adds, eyeing Buck carefully, assessing his ability.

“I want in on that. First shot,” Rampage says, throwing back his beer. These boys are pretty sure of Buck.

“Buck, what are you doing?” Squeezing me, he leans his face in close to mine and smirks.

“Shh.” I’m all for fun, but I’m not sure how I feel about live target practice, especially if I’m a witness. “Five hundred on first shot, babe,” he gloats with a big ol’ smile.

“Yeah?” I whisper back, believing in his confidence. If Buck thinks he’s got it, then who am I to argue? I really don’t want to see brains this evening, but I do believe in Buck.

“Oh yeah.” I can’t turn down free money, not when he’s so confident. Buck is a man after my own heart, after all, hustling money out of any situation.

“Five hundred on first shot,” I holler, looking back at the mess of guys standing around, all drinking and laughing. Rock nods at me. He knows, we’ve got this shit.

Buck’s hand sneaks up my back and wraps around my hair. He tilts my head back and demands, “Now kiss me, for luck.” I don’t hesitate. Planting my lips on his, he kisses me, then sucks on my bottom lip before pulling away. “It’s gonna be loud. Don’t let go of me, and no flinching, babe.”

“Okay.”

I feel his arm raise. I count to four before I hear the click of the bullet falling into the chamber; five ... six ... the crack and ring of the gun makes my heart flinch and my eyes snap shut.

Less than a second later, cheers and groans erupt. Manly voices ring out. The prospect shouts, “Holy fuck!” and Rock says confidently, “Told your ass he was on point with that shot.”

“You didn’t miss it, did you?” Shoving the gun back into the waist of his jeans, he laughs softly, “No, baby, I didn’t. I never miss.”

Walking up to the guys, Buck jostles me a little. Sticking my hand out, I demand my winnings, “Pay up, boys.” Crumpled up bill are placed in my hand and I shove them in my top. Buck lifts a brow in question.

“I don’t have pockets. Now, can we go back to cuddling?” I ask as he walks off with me still wrapped around him.

“Fuck no.”

“Why?” Dipping his head, he gets nose to nose with me and says, “Because I’m about to take your sexy ass back to the room and wear that pussy out.”

That works too.