Griz
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Tanner Williams is a fucking virgin. I want to take a sword to Spike’s neck and sever his head. I want to chain him to a post and let the vultures pick his skin from his bones.
I will fucking kill that fucking piece of shit. He was going to have me claim a virgin, rape a virgin.
Except, it wouldn’t be rape now, would it? No, because she wants me. She’s tried every trick in the book to get me to fuck her. And I want to. I want that sweet, bare little cunt on my dick more than I’ve ever wanted much of anything in my life.
If I take her, though …
I don’t need this. I don’t need a woman to complicate my life. I need Spike gone. I need territory expanded. I need deals to go the fucking way they’re supposed to. I do not need a goddamned waif in my bed or worse, in my head.
I pound my fists into the punching bag in the club’s gym. My hands hurt from the two beatings I gave Spike’s face but I don’t care. The only thing that’s going to help right now is violence.
Dex wanders in, eyebrows raised as he takes in the amount of energy I’m channeling into the punching bag.
“Everything okay, boss?” he asks.
“You tell me,” I say, not looking at him.
“The guys are sort of feeling antsy,” he says. “Spike’s been taking cuts of the merchandise. Saying a lot of stuff about how we need to get dirtier, play the game better. Some of the guys are starting to rally behind him.”
Just what I need. Great. Time to be the Big Boss.
“Last I checked, this was my club,” I growl, turning toward him. I must look like a real bastard because he puts his hands up to placate me. “Spread the word that no one makes a decision without my permission. I don’t care if you’re choosing between pancakes and breakfast cereal, you ask me first. You want to screw a girl? Ask me first. Need to piss? Better get permission. Got it?”
“Yeah, okay, boss,” he says.
“Meeting in two nights; all members need to be present. Spread the word.”
Dex confirms and takes his cue to leave. I keep punching the bag until I literally can’t anymore. I think about sleeping in one of the guest rooms, but fuck, this is my club. My property. Fuck if that girl is going to keep me from my own bed. It’s bad enough I can’t go be with my daughter; I won’t be forced out of my space here, too.
Of course, the obvious question is, why I don’t find her a bedroom of her own while she’s here? Why do I want her in my bed, her blonde hair splayed across my pillow, her scent permeating my sheets?
I bust in and find her sound asleep, curled up on the chaise with one of Giselle’s dumb romance books in her lap. She’s in my flannel shirt and her long legs are smooth and perfect. Almost … I almost reach out and run a hand up one shapely calf, up to her outer thigh. Almost, but I stop myself, instead covering her with a blanket and heading to get a shower.
Of course, the thought of that girl is all up in my head. My dick is hard and the more I try not to think about the feel of her pussy around my fingers, the tightening that indicated just how ready she was to burst, the more I want her.
It’s a rare day when I’m forced to rub one out, but I do. I stand there sweating, working my cock like nobody’s business, looking at this sleeping beauty like a fucking peeping Tom. She stretches in her sleep and it’s so sexy that I come, spraying my gunk into my hand.
Could I have gone and found any number of club girls to fuck tonight? Yes. They’d have been ready and willing. I could have had two or three if I’d been in the mood. But here I am, behaving like some frustrated teen, whacking off in the shadows, wishing only for the beautiful virgin sleeping in my bed.
It’s pathetic and it pisses me off, and I stew over it for hours, barely finding any sleep at all.
# # #
Tanner
I wake up covered in a soft blanket. I must have fallen asleep reading, but I know I didn’t have a blanket when I sat down.
Griz is asleep in the bed, sprawled across the mattress, big body taking up the whole thing. He’s got one arm splayed wide and one up, forearm over his eyes. I take in the muscles of his chest, the hair there. I ache to run my fingers through his thick, close-trimmed beard and his wavy, dark hair. His cheekbones could cut someone, and his lips are … oh god, so good.
I let out a wanting little groan and he stirs. He doesn’t open his eyes, just says, “Hey, baby, come to bed,” in a voice thick with sleep. He turns to his side and pats the bed, then starts to snore softly.
It nearly undoes me, seeing him look like this. I’m not stupid enough to think he knows he’s talking to me. It’s obvious he’s thinking of someone else, but yet, I want so badly to be the woman he’s beckoning to bed. I want to crawl into the protective shell his body is making. I shouldn’t want it. He’s my captor, after all. But I do.
I dig through the bag of clothing and find a whole ensemble of running clothes. I dress and pull my hair into a high ponytail, brush my teeth, wash my face, and shave my legs and pits at the side of the tub. Wishful thinking, maybe, that I’d need to be smooth in case someone touches me.
By the time I finish, I find Griz awake, thumbing through my book by the window. I race over and try to grab it out of his hands. He holds it high over his head and his eyes spark with mischief.
“I hope you’re not considering this training for the real thing?” he says.
I blush. “Shut up.”
“Good comeback.” Gesturing toward the adjacent wall, he says, “There’s coffee.”
I groan and do a weird little gallop thing over to the machine, which conveniently slides out of a cabinet in the wall. Fucking genius. As my coffee brews, I turn to Griz, who has pulled on a long-sleeve T-shirt bearing the club’s name and logo, along with a pair of worn jeans that make his ass look delicious.
He catches me looking and purses his lips to one side. “Good view?”
“Mmm,” I grunt noncommittally with a one-shoulder shrug.
“So listen, Tanner,” he says. “I’m going to give you the run of the property today. It’s not fair to keep you locked up here. There’s a gym on the east end. You saw the dining room, and the kitchen’s just across the hall. There’s a pool out back. The garage is further past that, down the path. Feel free to wander, but if you try to leave, the guys will just bring you right back.”
This is the most I’ve ever heard him speak. And he’s saying words that indicate some freedom and trust. I could jump for joy.
“That’s awesome,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
He pushes his lips together. It’s not a smile, but it’s not a frown either. It’s, like, an acknowledgement that he’s made me happy. I’ll take it, but I decide in that moment that it’s my new mission in life to see him smile.
I wonder how often that ever happens?
# # #
Griz
I promised to take Shannon shopping for back-to-school, but I’ve had to cancel. She’s asked when she can see me again, and I can’t give an answer. This means are were tears, and then a tongue lashing from my sister, who tells me for the umpteenth time that I need to leave the club and get into something less dangerous. She tells me she didn’t sign up to raise my kid for me and while she loves Shannon, she feels that Shannon needs her dad right now.
After that fun little interaction, I spend the morning in my office, power-drinking coffee and sorting through various reports from my guys. Dex pops in, asking if I’m feeling any better.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I grunt in response. “I wasn’t sick.”
“You just seemed … heightened … last night. Well, for a while now, really. But especially last night,” he says.
“I’m fine, but I’m not kidding when I say this bullshit side business has to stop,” I answer. “Jackson reported that three guys had a whole side deal with the Juarez family last month. They literally finished our pickup, then walked away to do another deal. What the fuck is that?”
“Spike’s got a few guys running extras. Pills, mostly, some coke. They get enough to sell in a month and split the profit,” Dex says. “The guys think you’re okay with it.”
“Why the fuck would they think that?” I snap.
“Spike’s got ’em convinced this is the way things are in a club,” Dex says, shrugging his skinny shoulders. “I wouldn’t know, as I never been in one but this.”
I eyeball this guy. He doesn’t look like much and is shit in a fight, but he’s loyal. I need more of him, more guys willing to question things, willing to tell me when things aren’t right, or when he has a bad feeling about something.
I don’t need guys doing side deals, taking extra cuts, and treating club property like it’s their own. For one, it makes me look like a weak leader, like I don’t know what the fuck my guys are doing. It makes our partners think they can pull the wool over my eyes, cheat me on business. Second, once a faction of idiots decides to start a little side gig, others follow. And then I’ve got a bunch of assholes thinking they can challenge me for leadership, or territory, or whatever.
It hasn’t always been like this. There was a time when we operated like a well-oiled machine. We rode, we partied, we made deals, we expanded our reach. We made a shit-ton of money. All of us benefited.
Now, since Spike’s gone off the range, things have descended into chaos. And I need to get that shit back in order before I lose everything.
# # #
Tanner
I decide to just walk the property first, just to get a lay of the land. I wander the living quarters, finding probably ten bedrooms, some locked and others wide open, beds made and tidy, like hotel rooms awaiting guests. I hear sexual escapades behind several doors and find myself shocked that this is going on so early in the morning.
Maybe I’m just naïve. I mean, I never spent much time wandering my dad’s club headquarters at all, mainly because he forbade it. I have more freedom here, as a prisoner, than I had there. Of course, I also wasn’t there that much. I would occasionally visit with him, usually for formal functions—honoring someone’s retirement, funeral send-offs, holidays. I always had to stay where he could see me, even after I turned eighteen.
My dad had a house a couple of miles from the club, where we lived together. He never let me move in with my mom, something she’s still pissed about. We were very close growing up, and when they divorced she assumed I’d live with her. He deemed it unsafe and told her if she tried to fight him for custody, he’d have her living on the street.
So, she learned to live with only visitation, every other weekend and every Wednesday. Her house is at the very edge of Dad’s club’s territory, as far away as she could get and still have his financial support and protection.
As I got into my late teens, he let me have marginally more freedom, mainly by way of not requiring someone’s old lady to babysit me when he was at the club. Those were the nights I’d sneak out, or invite younger members of the Grave Robbers brotherhood over to make out. I never went far with them, and I think they were afraid of the consequences if they pushed the boss’s daughter too far.
I guess I’m just not that worldly. But I know one thing: I never felt an ounce of the attraction for those guys that I feel for Griz. And I think he feels that way about me, so I can’t understand why he keeps depriving us both of what seems inevitable.
As I wander outside, I get a few looks. No one says much to me, other than polite greetings. My guess is that Griz put out the word that if anyone touches me, they’ll be in deep shit. By the looks of his bruised knuckles, I get the impression he’s not a man to fuck with.
I find the pool easily, and while it looks mighty inviting on this hot August day, I keep walking until I find the garage. I’ve been a sucker for bikes since I could walk.
A guy in a wife beater, club kutte, and greasy jeans, looks up from a bike as I approach, the gravel crunching under my feet giving me away. I raise a hand awkwardly.
“Hi, I’m Tanner,” I say.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” he says, looking back down at the bike.
“Word travels fast, I guess?”
He grunts a laugh. “When your boss has a girl on her knees on the front steps, you don’t often forget who that girl is. Or who she belongs to.”
I frown. “I don’t belong to …”
“To Griz? Sure, you do. You think he puts on shows like that for just anyone? He showed all of us, and those Grave Robbers fuckers, just whose girl you are. You’re not just club property; you’re his property.”
“So is that why all the guys are being so polite this morning?” I ask.
“Polite? Sure. They don’t want their teeth knocked down their throats. And girls like you make them nervous.”
“Girls like me?” My nose wrinkles. “What’s that mean?”
“Girls who look like you do. No makeup, hair natural, normal clothes instead of stilettos and dresses up their asses. You’re a natural beauty and you have no idea. Guys are intimidated by that.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I saw a few of those … women … and they were quite beautiful. The guys seemed pretty into them.”
“Hookers, you mean? Well, they get paid to look beautiful and fulfill a desire. You’re just … here. And it’s unsettling. Even more so when you’re protected by the boss. He don’t let women into his life. Ever.”
Hmmm. Interesting. I find a stool and hop up on it, watching him as he works. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Tony,” he says. “Mechanic and garage supervisor. Make sure all the bikes run smoothly.”
“How long have you worked here?”
He purses his lips, thinking. His face is kind of wrinkly and the facial expression makes me think of a bulldog.
“Well, I started here when Griz started the club, so like five years, I guess. But I was with him in another club earlier. I knew his old man.”
“Oh, his father was in a club, too?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmmm,” he confirms. “Killed in a turf battle when the kid was a teenager. Good guy.”
“His mother?” I ask.
“Died of cancer a few years later,” he says. “Why you so interested in Griz’ life story all of a sudden?”
“He doesn’t say much,” I say, biting my nails. “He’s hard to read.”
“Guarded, yes,” Tony confirms. “Been through a lot. Built this club up from nothing. Hard to hang onto power, even when you’ve earned it.”
“What about his daughter?” I ask.
“We don’t talk about his daughter. She ain’t part of this, and he wants to keep it that way,” he says tersely.
“Like you guys left Draven’s daughter out of things?” I ask.
“Can’t speak for the decisions of others,” he says. “You don’t seem harmed.”
“I suppose not,” I say.
He goes back to his work, the chatterbox closed for business for the day.