Watching her sleep is only second best to feeling her soft body against mine. Her hooded eyes, the way her mouth turns to a smile when I pull her closer, or how her hand reaches out for me, when I’m not lying next to her. The way her dark hair cascades around her shoulders and frames her face makes her look like a haloed angel. It’s pure magic the way we can talk all night, until we pass out from exhaustion. Every word that leaves her lips is precious, and something that I will never forget, as long as I live. Call me sappy or a pussy, but it’s in these kinds of moments that I realize how much I love with her. We are completely alone, and she is completely mine.

The memories we have made over the last several weeks mean more to me than anything in the world. Well, maybe one of my computers. Okay, both of them, but if I put my bike or drone, Rhonda, in the mix, I might be pushing it. That’s a lie too. She is like finding the rarest of all comic books in pristine condition. She’s so beautiful, and I yearn to touch her.

Presley is the single most important thing in my life, and each day I spend with her, the guilt of hiding our previous relationship haunts me. The messages between her and Beauregard have dwindled each day. I can feel her reaching out to me, rather than him, like she did in the early days after her arrival to the club. But she was still seeking his correspondence during the times I had to be away for club business or work. I had hoped that she would have been done with that relationship in her life by now, yet I also understand her dependence on him. He was her rock, during the pit of loneliness. Until he pushes her away or she knows the whole truth, she will still have a piece of him inside her.

I know that I have to tell her soon, and when I do I’m risking that this will all end.

But she deserves to know.

She needs to know.

And when she does, it may all be over.

 

Even if things do end, the memories of what we had together will have to suffice because after her, no one else will ever compare. The man I am will disappear with her. She will take my sunshine and replace those skies with rain. She is my life and quite possibly, my demise.

Jesus, I was starting to sound like an episode of Sesame Street. Where was the Cookie Monster, when I needed him?

I didn’t want to leave her side this morning, but a text from her brother asking me to join him in his office couldn’t be ignored. The only problem I had was how in the fuck was I going to keep a straight face knowing what we had done on his desk. The answer? I have no fucking idea.

I grab my jeans and shirt from the floor, and slip them on. My phone buzzes, as I pick it up again with another message from Raze.

“I’m coming, boss. Get your panties out of a fucking bunch and give me a second,” I mutter to the empty room.

My cut lies on the back of the couch, and as I throw the worn leather over my broad shoulders, Presley shuffles in the bed. She eases, stretching out her body across the newly vacate space and re-settles. I peer back at her sleeping form, before walking out of the door.

One day, I won’t have to leave you. Unless you leave me first.

The sun peaks through the windows of the hallway, as I creep quietly with my Ninja mode activated. I start playing the sound effects of The Pink Panther movie in my head, as I slink from the hallway into the main room. “Dun-nah,” I sing to myself, when I make it across the main room and into the office hallway undetected. Another successful escape achieved.

The light from Raze’s office beams from under his cracked door. It’s unusual for him to be in so early. Most of the time, it was like pulling teeth to get him away from Darcy and the kids. But with them out of town, I’m sure he couldn’t sleep. Happiness was a good look on him, so we didn’t mind him being a little late. A happy Prez equals a happy club. Well, most of the time.

I peak inside and find my president with eyes glued on his open laptop. Without turning his attention away, he calls out to me.

“Stop fucking sneaking around, and get your ass in here,” he orders.

“Shit, Prez. Grouchy this morning I see,” I remark, as I slip through the door. He gestures to the chair in front of me, and I park my ass. This time remembering to not put my feet up on the desk, like I do with Hero. I can joke with him. Raze is an entirely different story. Getting on his bad side wouldn’t exactly help my pursuit of Presley.

He shuts his laptop with a hard clamp. How the plastic case didn’t break, I have no idea. You’d be shocked to know how many laptops I’ve replaced for the man stewing in front of me. Poor damn laptops didn’t even see it coming.

“Care to tell explain to me what I have been seeing on the cameras?”

Shit. Shit fucking shit. Sweet zombie Jesus take me to hell now.

“Uh, I can explain.”

His face grows sterner by the second, as I feel my life slipping away from me. I was sure that the death date test I had taken online a few weeks back, had clearly said that I would die of an ass kicking in 2050. Apparently, what you read on the Internet isn’t always true. This isn’t how I saw myself dying. There were far more balloons and streamers in my version of it. Plus a few sexy zombies, but that’s another story for a different day.

“Please do. I’d love to know exactly why I just watched my sister sleep in the same pajamas for the last seven days.”

Be cool, V. You can explain this. No verbal diarrhea. Stick to the facts, well the sugarcoated facts.

“There’s a loop on her feed that runs every night,” I admit.

“For what purpose?”

“Her privacy,” I half-lie. “She wasn’t too keen on the two of us watching her sleep.”

“Did she ask you to do this?”

“No. I did it on my own. Keeping her happy seemed like the better course of action, considering the circumstances.”

He considers my answer carefully. The pause in the conversation sends my heart pounding like a bass drum against my chest wall. I bet if he listened hard enough, he could probably hear it from the other side of his desk.

“Do you have the original feed still active?” he inquires, raising his eyebrow slightly.

“I do. The alerts are all still in place for movement and sound,” I declare, hoping that he isn’t seeing through the thin line of my bullshit.

“I don’t like it,” he gruffly mutters. “But I get her point. Just make sure those damn alerts still work.”

“I check them every day.”

“Good,” Raze says, with just a hint of relief in his voice. Did he have suspicions about Presley and I or was this more out of a concern that we had been compromised?

The chances of the latter happening were about the same as Ratchet driving the Sunday school bus, slim to fucking never. Our mainframe and networks were kept in several off-site locations. I had set-up back up servers to piggy back off each other should one fail. Even the back-ups had back-ups, and I had hard drives full of information stashed all over the city in safety deposit boxes.

I had wired our systems to be harder to hack than Fort Knox. The only way someone was going to get our information was by fire-bombing the clubhouse, but even then, my back-ups would be safe. I was a technological doomsday prepper and proud as shit of it.

“I need you to go see Red today.” Raze states.

That sleazy motherfucker was not the biggest fan of our club, after the last time we came for information about Rex. He had other ideas at first about the inside track of breaking apart Rex’s skin trade ring. Mikayla being in our possession now was proof enough that Rex had lost.

But Red was a different story. He was a sly businessman who dealt secrets and bounties like that jolly giant selling paper towels. The underbelly came to him for answers, but also for a price. If Raze was sending me to Red, either he had called us with a tip in the middle of the night, or Raze needed me to press him for more information.

“Sure thing, Prez. What about Presley?”

“I’ve got her covered,” he growls. I want to press him further, but that would only piss him off more, and possibly make him suspicious of my relationship with her.

“Red going to be home this early? He usually keeps the same hours as Dracula,” I laugh. Raze’s face remains stoic. Yeah, definitely too early for jokes. I would have made a comment about him needing to get laid, but his woman was gone, and I liked my balls where they currently hung.

“He’ll be there. Take Slider with you.”

“You got it,” I agree and start for the door.

“Another thing,” he calls out after me. “Is there a reason my sister is wearing your old prospect shirts?”

I come to a screeching halt, pausing just long enough to take a deep breath, before turning back around.

“She needed clothes in a hurry. Figured they’d fit her.”

“I see.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.”

I nod then exit his office with my life. Does he have a suspicion about us, or did I manage to play it off? We need to be more careful, until I’m ready to tell him. Maybe I should wear a disguise, when I sneak into her room, or I could throw him off giving Presley one of Slider’s shirts as well. As soon as the thought of Presley wearing one of his shirts blossoms, I growl inside. Nope. Not happening. My shirts only. No man will put his scent on her body, but me.

The dread of leaving Presley here alone hits hard. She’s been here for weeks, under my care. Now, I had to leave her alone because defying the orders of my president wasn’t something that I could do without outing myself. Raze will keep her safe. I have no doubt he will, but when it comes to Presley, the only person I trusted completely was myself.

Knowing that I could be gone for an extended length of time, I unlock my office door, and snatch the surprise I had planned to give her tonight off my desk. It’s cheesy as fuck, that I will admit freely, but she’ll love it.

I make quick work slipping back into her room and tucking it away on the now empty bed. The spray of the shower is inviting. My cock stiffens at the dangerous thought that crosses my mind about joining her. I was testing the thin resolve of keeping my promise every single night, but until I knew where she stood with me, slow and steady was the torturous race.

I leave quietly and head out the backdoor toward the garages. Slider is already waiting, a sleepy and pissed off look plastered on his face.

Just great. I dealt with Mr. Moody, now I get King Asshole all in one morning. I must be the luckiest guy on the planet. These guys really need to figure out how to wake up on the right side of the bed like me. The early bird gets the tequila worm and all that jazz.

“Morning, sunshine,” I call out to him.

“Fuck you and your sunshine,” he fires back.

 

“Fuck you too, princess.”

He growls and grumbles like a fucking toddler. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. His attitude adjustment will be happening soon enough. I might just request to be the first in line to do it.

Slider slides over his bike. The engine rumbles to life, just as I reach mine. The light reflects off the finish of my 2012 Softail Convertible, and I smile. Black Betty is a sexy fucking piece of machinery. She’s got an all-black metallic body with chrome details, and an engine that purrs like a kitten. She’s sleek and fast, just the way I like her.

The leather seat is cool, when I climb over her stocky body. She purrs, as I flip the ignition switch and pop the kickstand. Slider pulls out of his parking spot, as my fingers wrap around the accelerator. The air is cool, when we hit the outside of the garage and ride towards our destination.

Red’s shithole bar is dark, when we arrive. The nightlife has long since called it a night, which bodes well for us, and our task at hand. Slider and I park next to the backdoor entrance right beside Red’s beater of a pick-up truck. I laugh, when I see the array of his sexual innuendo bumper stickers all over the tailgate and back window. Red might have a dirty mind, but the chances of him getting laid are just about as high as Ratchet and that bus. He is a grease stain on the community. A piece of shit who exploited his female employees that came in search of quick cash. That much was apparent, after Dani and Ricca’s experience here. It was shitty we still had to use him as a middle man, but necessary evils still had to live, until their usefulness was spent.

Slider and I both climb from our bikes, heading towards the door. Slider shoves the door open, before stepping inside ahead of me. Motherfucker still thinks he’s here to run the show, instead of being the back up. The need to beat some sense into him was strong with my inner asshole force. Where was a lightsaber, when I needed one?

 

Red’s office sits just inside the backdoor, and when we enter, he’s sitting at his desk.

“Hell of an entrance there, Slider,” he remarks with a toothy grin. Has the guy every tried to audition for American Horror Story? He’d make a great creepy clown.

 

“Shit happens,” Slider says, as he pops a squat in the chair in front of Red’s desk.

“Voodoo.”

“Morning, Red. Heard you have some information for us,” I start, getting down to business.

“A couple of fellas popped by last night asking around about two women on the run.”

“You get a name?” I ask.

“No names, but I’m pretty sure these are the kinda men you don’t want to cross. Nice suits, expensive watches, and a high-end car,” Red explains, grabbing a toothpick off of his desk top and starts cleaning his teeth with it.

“You get the plates?’

Red slides a piece of paper over to me across his desk, after he ditches the toothpick into the trashcan next to him. He’s a disgusting little shit. I glance down at the paper, before sliding the number into my pocket.

“You get anything else from them?”

“Yeah, I did, and you’re not gonna like it. The man happened to mention that one of the women he was seeking had a million-dollar bounty out on her. The younger one I believe, a two hundred thousand dollar one on the other.”

“Shit,” I exclaim, looking over to Slider.

“You can say that again. Every underground bounty hunter and assassin for hire is going to be looking for them.”

I thank Red, before charging from his office and back out to our bikes. This situation just went from bad to fucking doomsday, and we’re not prepared for the hailstorm about to come raining down on us. I pace around my bike, trying to make sense of it. Ginny’s bounty makes sense because she could turn the tide of the court case against The Zezza’s. But Presley’s is an enigma. She was a witness to their snatch and grab, but why would they want her? Her involvement is microscopic compared to Ginny’s. Unless… fuck. They must know she was treating her. That has to be the reason. They’re afraid Ginny confided her secrets to Presley, and she could be the second star witness in the case, if they got to Ginny and took her out. While Ginny was the ultimate prize, Presley was almost just as important.

Slider climbs on his bike and looks to me.

“You better call him,” he advises.

I slip my cell phone from my pocket and dial Raze. He answers on the first ring.

“Houston, we have a major fucking problem.”

I fill Raze in, as I mount my bike. The stakes have grown even higher, and the target on the girl’s backs has grown exponentially with the bounty.