DECK

I wasn’t happy. Actually, I was really fucking pissed off.

I had woken this morning with a smile on my face. I mean a fucking smile. The thought of seeing my sweetness again at drop-off had me twirling around the compound kitchen like a teenage boy. Well, okay, I didn’t twirl, but I came pretty fucking close, and the only thing that stopped me was Creed walking in on me. I had the squirt dressed and ready in record time, only to find Charlie hadn’t shown up for work. And then, I got a call—again, it was Creed—to tell me my woman was walking in stilettos and a ‘tight-arse skirt that would make a grown man weep’—Creed’s words—walking to work! Of course, I jumped straight into my truck and drove along the road Creed said she was on when he saw her.

Gritting my teeth, I held onto my anger as I scowled at the area Charlie had obviously walked through.

On her own.

In a tight skirt.

With her killer body.

Yeah, I was pissed. Enough said.

I drove for another five hundred metres before I finally laid eyes on my woman, and Creed wasn’t lying. She with her beautiful, curvy body poured into a tight as fuck skirt that just reached her knees. Now it wasn’t so bad as far as length went, but Charlie had legs that went on for days. Perfect legs to wrap around my waist. Or to hold open by the ankles. Spread out as I ate her sweet pussy.

But what made the outfit was the way her arse swayed and how the sexy fuck-me heels made her calves look like a man’s wet dream.

My wet dream.

My woman.

Reining in my anger, I quickly pulled up beside the hot, sexy distraction to any male motorists going by and got out, then made my way to her.

“Deck.” She gasped, clearly surprised to see me—at first. Then a look of understanding crossed her face. “Ah, chin lift guy on the big, black motorcycle was one of yours,” she concluded rightly.

“Yeah, Sweetness. That was Creed. Now, you wanna tell me why you are walking to work this morning?” I asked as I took her hand and led her over to my truck. It was a fairly hot day, and she shouldn’t have been walking, and especially, not in that area.

Opening the car door, I ignored her protests and lifted her into the passenger seat, turning her so her feet were hanging out the door.

“Sweetness,” I prodded.

I watched her shake off the fog she seemed to be stuck in.

“Oh, um, I mean, my car, I left the lights on last night, and my battery was dead. And I slept in, so yeah, I had to walk.”

She watched in fascination, and I thought aw as I took off her stupid but sexy shoes and began to massage her stocking-covered feet. I had always found stockings on a woman sexy. Just something about the silky feeling as my hands slowly made their way up her leg turned me on.

“Baby, why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have your number,” she whispered, her face going red.

She was chewing on her lip again, munching away like it was her last meal. I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands reached out and framed her beautiful face as I leant in and took those lips. And I knew the minute our lips came together that yesterday hadn’t been a fluke. This woman was mine.

Game over.

Done.

Enough fucking said.

And I was happy as all get out as I felt her arms wrap around my shoulders, and she pulled me closer to her. Our bodies were as close as they could be with one person standing and the other sitting sideways in a truck cab. Her moans of pleasure fuelled my desire. Her skills in kissing were so innocent that I could tell she hadn’t done much of it. And that made me want to roar like a fucking lion.

In my heart, I knew she was untouched. I also knew I should not have been happy because of it, but fuck it, I was.

I lifted my lips just a breath from hers and smiled when she tried to chase them.

“Let me show you, Charlie,” I whispered as I descended on her sweetness once again, expertly showing her how good it was between us. I angled my head so I could take the kiss deeper.

I fucking devoured her. There was no other option. I couldn’t go slow. I had to claim her with the kiss, make it so she never wanted another man’s lips anywhere near hers. Just the thought fuelled our kiss even more. And I was shocked as shit when her warm, wet tongue tentatively delved into my mouth—searching for its mate.

So I gave it to her.

Our tongues danced as if they had known each other forever. There was nothing awkward or messy about the kiss. It was perfect. It was new. It was us.

All too soon, though, I could feel Charlie’s gasp. I needed to slow it down and not just for Charlie. My dick was hard against my zipper, painfully hard. I had to remember where we were. I nipped at her bottom lip, and with small, wet kisses, I made my way across her jaw and down her neck where I sucked on her pulse point, which was really working overtime. I loved the effect my kiss was having on her. I really fucking loved it. Her neck was a thing of beauty. Long and slim, classically sexy.

“Deck, we should stop.” Her declaration sounded unsure and nervous.

“No, we shouldn’t!” I wanted to shout.

“I know, Sweetness. Just, just give me a minute, okay.” My breathing was coming out in pants. And we had only kissed, I marvelled to myself as I thought of what was to come for us.

“Yeah,” Charlie agreed softly as she laid her cheek against my chest.

I could feel her mouth move against it and knew she was smiling. So was I. Damn, if only Darth could see me now!

We stayed there for a good few minutes, just holding each other. Controlling the heated desires we both had. I’d never held a woman, not with our clothes on, anyway. It felt nice, good. But only with Charlie. Only with my sweetness.

“Deck,” Charlie prompted. “I really have to get to work. I can’t afford to be docked too many more hours today,” Charlie explained self-consciously, her faint blush staining her pretty face.

Her words finally penetrated my lust-filled mind.

“Docked?”

Charlie looked at me like I had grown two heads. “Well, yes, of course. When I’m not working, I’m not earning,” she explained.

“Are you casual, baby?”

Nodding, Charlie reached down to the truck floor for her sexy but soon to be thrown away heels. After she put her shoes on, I helped to adjust her in the seat, pulled the belt out, and then buckled her in. All the time, my eyes never lost hers.

“Then we better get you to work, hey?” I pressed my lips to her gently one last time, using extraordinary powers to pull back and not devour her again.

Her smile was wide and happy, and her green eyes danced with so many emotions that it nearly took my breath away.

Pulling away, I closed the door firmly but didn’t slam it. If there was one thing that was my pet peeve, it was slamming car doors. They weren’t meant to be, and anyone who did never got back in my truck. Which is why Squid, the club’s prospect, wasn’t allowed to get in my ride anymore. The dumb-arse slammed fucking everything he touched.

Making my way around the front of the truck, I climbed in and settled into my seat, going through the same process I’d put Charlie through with my seat and belt. Once I started up the vehicle, I instantly reached over and took Charlie’s hand in mine. I brought it up to my lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles as I carefully pulled out into the traffic.

My world was starting to move back to where it belonged. Charlie was safe with me and was on board with what was starting to happen to make us an ‘us.’

Looking over at her, I could still see her pulse delicately beating against her porcelain throat, but I still saw apprehension. I needed to take it easy, but I was not slowing down. I’d never had this happen to me, this all-consuming feeling to conquer, protect, and own. At thirty-six years of age, I figured it was happening for a reason. It didn’t happen in my twenties or with Shiloh’s mum, but it was now, and there was no way I was going to let it go.

Kissing Charlie’s knuckles one more time, I let our hands fall to my thigh. I looked at Charlie as she looked at our joined hands, and the smile that played across her face hardened my resolve. This woman was mine.

After dropping Charlie off at work and prying her keys from her, I called the compound and had Squid and Seb meet me at Charlie’s shitty flat. We loaded up her piece of shit car and transported it back to the workshop we had at the compound.

The two prospects were decent mechanics and had been in the army before their release six months before. Both of them had seen a tour of Afghanistan and were onto their second when their team was ambushed. Seb’s injuries had been worse than Squid’s with Seb losing a few fingers and a small piece of his forearm, which earned him a medical discharge.

Squid lost his hearing in one ear and chose to leave when he was offered a discharge instead of staying on in another capacity in the army. Hence why the stupid prick kept slamming everything.

“Make this crap car work like it’s brand new, boys,” I ordered. Satisfied they had everything under control, I walked towards the front doors of the compound. The two huge wooden doors had the Wounded Souls’ insignia carved into one side—a skull wearing a battle helmet with a crutch and a sniper rifle intersecting each other instead of crossbones. It filled me with pride to see it every time I opened the door to the main room.

Booth and I had taken out time to come up with that particular design. It represented everything we were. Hard-arse soldiers and broken. Booth’s and my broken might not be able to be seen like some of the brothers, but we were broken and dealing with it every day. Some days are harder than others, I thought to myself as I pushed open the doors and went in search of my pres.

We’d had a few troubles at two of the club’s businesses. The strip club and the bar and grill. Even though I ran the construction business, as one of the founding members, I had my hand in each of the pies, so to speak.

It didn’t take me long to find Booth, though it took me longer to figure out what the fuck he was doing. He was in the kitchen with his hands on his hips, staring down at what looked to be some sort of shortbread dessert.

It actually looks really good, I thought as I realised with all the rushing around this morning, I had forgotten to eat breakfast myself.

“Brother?”

Booth turned his head to look at me. He looked totally and completely baffled.

“You see this?” he asked, pointing at the tempting treat.

“Yep.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Not sure I understand the question, brother.” And I didn’t. He was acting really weird. Booth was normally sharp as a tack, and his ability to be on point and precise was why he made the best commanding officer—aka CO—I’d ever had. But right now? Right now, I was thinking he was losing his mind.

“Look at this place, Deck. It’s fucking clean all the time. There is food all…the…time in the fridge and cupboards.” Looking around the kitchen, Booth waved his arms in the air. “And smell that? The fucking smells that come from here now make me hungry all the fucking time!” he ranted at me.

Jesus Christ, he had finally lost it. Shrapnel or something had moved in his body to his brain and punctured the bloody thing.

“Booth, mate.”

“And the clean clothes,” he interrupted me. “My laundry is always done! And smells like fucking flowers and vanilla or some shit.”

“Okkkaaaay, as entertaining as this meltdown is, we gotta talk about some issues that are going on. Meet in the war room in ten, brother,” I said. I wasn’t sure he’d heard until he gave me a distracted chin lift while still staring down at the shortbread and muttering about spring flowers and ironed seams in his combat pants.

This could be fun to watch, I thought absently as I walked out of the kitchen to find the club’s VP, enforcer, road captain, and treasurer. All of us made up the founding members of the Wounded Souls, and each of us was head of a particular business. I was head of the construction, and Booth was head of the gun shop and range. VP Steel headed up the bar and grill where his large physical presence helped keep the drunken louts mostly under control. Mannix, being the enforcer, was the perfect choice to work the strip club. The man wasn’t as tall as the rest of us brothers, but damn, he was built like a brick shithouse. He and Darth rivalled each other for size, Darth just winning in my book. Getting Darth—the large prick—to smile was hard, really hard, but my squirt could do it no problem. Shiloh was always bringing a smile to my face.

Then we had Creed.

If any of us was broken beyond repair, it was our road captain. He also ran our bike and car custom shop where we offered everyday mechanical work to custom car and bike builds. Seb and Squid worked with him. There was nothing the man couldn’t fix. He could build anything from scratch and make it beautiful. But Shiloh could not make Creed smile no matter how hard she tried. He was never mean to her and took his turn babysitting her, holding her, or kissing her boo-boos when needed, but never did he smile.

He was broken on the inside and the outside. His face was badly scarred from an exploding IED. Then the other scars on his back and stomach happened when a horrific bike accident took the life of his pregnant wife, which explained why Creed never took a pillion passenger on his bike. Creed was one of my closest friends before the army and during our enlistment, as well as Darth. The club gave Creed a reason not to put a bullet in his brain. Harsh, yes, but a hard fact and a dose of reality when dealing with PTSD.

“Brothers, war room,” I demanded as I walked past them towards the sanctuary that was only open to patched officers unless otherwise invited.

Decorated in basic black and dark green, it had comfortable, leather wingback chairs that surrounded a huge oak table with our insignia etched into a glass panel recessed into the table. The rest of the room was tastefully masculine except for the small pink castle playhouse in the corner. Shiloh was a big part of our lives and allowed anywhere we went. The only exception—and I did mean only—to every rule in the club.

I waited for everyone to take his assigned seat, watching with a smile as Booth dropped into his chair, giving his shirt a whiff as he sat. Stupid prick was certainly letting the laundry issue get to him.

Looking at the empty chair, I raised my eyebrows in question.

“Where is Ford?”

Before I could get an answer, the war room door burst open and in tumbled Ford, and I mean tumbled. This man was a full-blown fucking mess. His shirt was unbuttoned, his hair all over the place, his boots not laced properly, but there wasn’t a thing the man couldn’t do with a computer and the club’s finances. He was a fucking genius and a really great bloke. Shiloh adored him, and next to Darth, he was her next best partner in crime.

“All right, you brought these matters to my attention, Deck, so you take the lead on this,” Booth announced, his game face back on, nice smelling laundry and shortbread put aside.

“Okay, well, I’m not sure how much of a problem these are, but”—I zeroed in on Mannix and Steel—“I got three phone calls this morning, one after another. First, it seems there have been a few complaints about the food at the bar and grill—off cheese or some shit.” I held up my hand to stop the interruption I knew was coming from Steel. “Hold on, Steel,” I said, waiting for him to acknowledge my request. His jaw ticked, but he gave me a curt chin lift. He was compliant for now. Satisfied, I continued, “Two, I had a call from WorkSafe, saying there is a danger to the staff behind the bar. And three,” I looked at Mannix, “and this one is a bit more serious and worrisome. Officer Prick Face rang me to tell me there are whispers at the cop shop that drugs are being dealt at the strip club.” I knew as soon as the words were out that Mannix was going to lose his shit. He ran a clean club, clean girls, and took a zero-tolerance policy on anything illegal.

“The fuck you say,” Mannix roared, totally pissed off. “There isn’t one girl there using or dealing. I’ve got that place wired with so many cameras that I can see each and every patron at any time of the night, and I’ve got Dundee glued to the monitors every night.” Leaning forward in his chair, Mannix planted his hand on the table. His scars seemed more pronounced with his anger, and the veins in his neck were jutting out and pulsing. His left eye, dead from the explosion, was not covered by his usually present patch—Shiloh loved his patch—and without it, he was intimidating—even to me.

“No drugs are in my club,” Mannix said with a growl, his deep as fuck voice full of anger.

Booth put his hands up and motioned Mannix to calm down. We all knew what could happen if Mannix was let loose to go rogue.

“Easy, brother. We know. These complaints seem trivial compared to the bar and grill. Steel, take care of the kitchen, and see that Darth goes around the bar to make sure it’s safe.” Booth was at his best when taking charge and delegating.

Steel nodded, but his gaze was on Mannix. They were blood brothers, and their bond was palpable. Steel was concerned, so that made me concerned.

“Ford, pull up all the feeds for the last two weeks at the strip club. Use that fucking expensive recognition software you just had to have and check shit out. I don’t know what is going on, gentlemen, but I want answers, and I wanted them yesterday. We run clean businesses, and for Officer Prick Face to give us a heads up, it must be serious.” Standing up, Booth pushed his chair back in and under the table. We all did—conditioning from our training was to leave everything the way it had been before we’d gotten there. Habits that would probably stay with us forever.

“Another thing.” Booth stopped and looked at Ford. “Find out who the fuck is cleaning and cooking in my goddamned compound. Ask Vegas to come find me and explain. This shit is pissing me off.”

I didn’t bother to hide my laughter, and neither did Steel or Mannix.

“What’s the matter, Pres? You don’t like smelling like spring flowers and vanilla?” I teased, figuring he couldn’t make his way to me before I escaped out the door.

Booth glared my way. “Maybe I might go pick up Shiloh from day care and the lovely sexy Charlotte,” he goaded, hitting me exactly where he wanted.

“Fuck you, Booth,” I muttered. Fucking prick.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, arsehole.”

“Who is Charlotte? How sexy is she?” Ford asked from his chair, obviously completely out of the loop.

“Mine.” I growled and made my way out of the war room. I still had an hour before I had to leave to pick up my girls. Time to punch something.

“Creed, wanna go a few rounds?”

“Fuck, yes,” he said, growling in response.

Oh, fuck! Maybe I’d picked the wrong brother to go toe to toe with inside the ring today.