EPILOGUE

KICK

December

I sit in the lounge, downing my fifth beer for the night and listening to Crazy flick another fucking Zippo while we watch some shitty fucking National Lampoon movie that they’ve played a hundred fucking times this month. Ordinarily, there’d be a party on a night like tonight. There’d be more blow and bitches than you knew what to do with, but I guess even club whores need a day off. Prez’s old lady usually hosts a barbeque at the house on special holidays—not that the bitch has ever cooked a meal in her life—but the boss is in the doghouse with his little wifey, and we all ate lunch at Tank’s cabin. That was a total headfuck, but it was still nice to have somewhere to go other than this stinkin’ fuckin’ clubhouse.

It’s been a pretty fucking miserable Christmas, but it’s not as if I were expecting Santa to stuff my stocking with a hot brunette. No. The only hot brunette I want doesn’t want me back. Indie made that clear when I went to see her at the dingy little café she’s working at. Fuck her. Fuck them all. Yeah, I wish.

Ivy isn’t around anymore, but there are plenty of other club whores I could take to bed, and it’s not without trying, believe me. But these days I’m so fucking pussy-whipped I can’t even sustain a hard-on with another bitch. I think even my cock misses Indie.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Kick.”

Kick. Not Daniel. And not biker—a nickname I’d grown kinda fond of—but Kick. The name that everyone else calls me.

I watch Raine fill Crazy’s beer. She’s bent double, and her tits are in my fucking face again, but I don’t even feel the hint of a stirring in my dick. She leans across the table to grab my glass, but I shake my head and sit up.

“Fuck this shit. I’m going to bed.”

“You okay, hon?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Darlin’, I’m so far from okay that I’m in my own fuckin’ postcode.”

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Crazy is killing me with that fuckin’ shit. One day I’m gonna ram a Zippo up his arse and with any fuckin’ luck, he’ll light up like a firecracker and piss the fuck off.

“Oh, the girl I kidnapped up and left me,” he says. “Wah, wah, wah. Tell him he’s a whinging fuckin’ little bitch, Raine.”

She shoots him a reproving glare. I lean over and punch him in the side of the head.

“Ow.” Crazy stands and shakes away the pain, his jacked-up hair falling in his face and swallowing up the red cheek I just gave him. Maybe this Christmas didn’t suck after all. “That hurt, you dumb fuck.” He stares at me as if he’s waiting for a goddamned apology, and then he flicks that fucking lighter again three times. Exactly the same amount of times I’m going to punch him in the head if he doesn’t quit that shit. With a recalcitrant look on his stupid-arsed face, he presses his thumb to the wheel.

I glare at him. “Do it again, and this time, it goes up your arse.”

He scowls and stalks off towards the door, pulling it back like the pissy little bitch he is. Jesus, he’s worse than a girl. Raine and I both follow his spack attack and then she shakes her head and turns to me.

“You could be nicer to him. I don’t think Crazy is firing on all cylinders.”

“I don’t think he owns all cylinders, babe.” I down the rest of my beer and stand up, towering over the top of her. “You gonna be alright out here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

“You know Prez is working in his office. I’m sure he’d appreciate a little wench in his stocking …” I grin. “Or in stockings.”

She slaps me on the chest, and I must be getting kinda soft ’cause it fucking hurts. “Never gonna happen, Kick. At least not while that ring is on his finger.”

“So it might happen if we off the wife? I’ll get the shovel.”

Raine gives me a sad smile. “You’re a good man, Daniel.”

“No, I’m really fucking not, but I appreciate you tryin’, babe.” I toy with the ring on my left hand. Indie’s tooth winks up at me from the hammered white gold casing. I had it made just after she left. Held a jeweller at gunpoint until he finished, ’cause I didn’t wanna let the fucking thing outta my sight.  

“She’ll come around, you know,” she says with certainty, reaching up to kiss my cheek. She slaps it gently and then leans over to pick up our dirty glasses. Her dress rides up, exposing the backs of her thighs, and still I got nothin’. Can’t even muster a fucking semi.

 “No, she won’t. And I don’t blame her.” I shake my head. I can’t stand anymore of this sentimental bullshit. I head over to the bar and snag up the entire bottle of JD.

“Merry Christmas, Kick,” Raine says, as I head for the hall.

I lift the bottle in the air and salute her with it. “Merry fuckin’ Christmas, darlin’.”

Once inside my room, I shut the door and go in search of a glass. The place is a fucking mess. There’s shit from one side of it to the other: empty takeaway containers, wet towels, clothes that need washing, and dishes covering every damn surface of the kitchen and coffee tables. Fuck me. I’m gonna need a damn Hazmat team to clean this shit up. I can’t find a clean glass, and I can’t remember buying any washing-up detergent for months. It’s probably a good sign that I should throw all my shit in the bin and start again.

I stand by the couch for a beat and think about turning on the TV, but what’s the fucking point? It’d just be the same shit that’s on out in the club lounge. I carry my bottle to the bed and plan on getting well and truly shitfaced. I wanna drink until I forget. I wanna grab indie by the fucking hair and drag her back to my bed. I wanna shove inside her like I did that night at Prez’s house. I close my eyes, remembering exactly the way she tasted, the way she felt in my hands.

I don’t know how much later it is, but I’m woken by a quiet tapping on my door. I jump up thinking it must be Raine because no other fucker in this clubhouse ever knocked so timidly on my door in the middle of the night. I answer it, shirt off, jeans unbuttoned, hair a fucking mess probably, and sleep crusting the corners of my eyes.

Indie stands in my doorway. It’s a sight I never thought I’d see again, but I can’t get my hopes up that she’s here for me. She probably just needs help killing some other motherfucker that did wrong by her.

She pushes past me into the room and glances around. “Jesus, you’re a slob. You know there’s this new thing that all the cool kids are doing nowadays. It’s called cleaning.”

“Woman, don’t fuckin’ come in here tellin’ me what shit is what. You got no business getting all up in my face about the way I keep house,” I say, scrubbing my hand over my beard. I’ve let it get too long again, and I probably look like a fucking hobo. I don’t think that’s why she’s giving me that timid look she’s got plastered all over that sweet face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you too, Kick.”

“You need me to kill someone else for you? Is that it? You got some other bad guy stashed away needing a bullet to his brain that you can’t deliver?”

“I couldn’t stay with you, Daniel.”

“Get the fuck out. I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“Let me finish.” She gives me those fuckin’ doe eyes that I can’t say no to, and like a douche canoe I just stand there, staring at her goddamned face which has all healed now, save for a tiny scar over her eyebrow. I kinda like it, though; it makes her look bad-arse. “I couldn’t stay because it wouldn’t be fair. I wasn’t whole; I wasn’t who I was supposed to be. They took the life from me, biker. You put it back, but it was all off, you know? I wasn’t me, and I wasn’t strong enough on my own.”

“And what, you run off for a couple months, see some fucking shrink, and now you’re Superwoman?”

“Hardly. I can’t make it through the night without waking up screaming.”

“Join the fuckin’ club.”

“The nightmares were better when you were there. They never stopped entirely, but they were easier to deal with.” She sighs and sits down on the edge of my unmade bed. “I felt you, you know. Before yesterday. I don’t know how, but I felt you near me. Even when I couldn’t see you.”

“What the fuck do you want, Kayla?”

“Actually, it’s Indie now. My shrink advised me to change it. Kayla has too much pain attached to it. I’m not that girl anymore. I tried to be. But I’ve changed; you changed me.”

“What do you want, a fuckin’ medal?”

“Actually, I was hoping for a biker. One about yay high …” She holds her hand about a foot above her head. “Dirty blond hair, dark blue sinful eyes, bad attitude, with a fondness for Subway cookies and killing mice the humane way.”

That pulls a reluctant smile from me. I run my hand through my hair, which I’ve also let grow way too long.

“I want you, biker. I had to leave you to be sure.”

“And now you’re back? So what? You’re sure now, but you weren’t when I came to see you a month ago?”

“Honestly? No.” She sighs. “I didn’t know if there was an us outside of my revenge. I didn’t know if I could love that side of you when I wasn’t dependent on it.”

“And now it’s all rainbows and fuckin’ kittens? I can’t change who I am, babe. I’m not leaving’ the club, and I can’t promise I’m not always gonna come home with a guilty conscience and blood on my hands, because that’s who I fuckin’ am. That’s what life in the MC gets ya.”

“I know.” She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I know I’m not always going to like everything you do, and I’m sure there will be days I want to punch you in the nut-sack—God knows there’s been enough of those already—but I can’t be without you.”

I close my eyes. My chest hurts as if I just took a bullet to it. My stoic expression crumples into a scowl that I attempt to cover with my hands as I tilt my head up to the ceiling, but then she’s there, in my space, crowding me, tugging on my arms, wedging her way into my bruised and broken heart. I don’t wanna let her in. I’ve been feeling so fucking miserable for months, and I’ve grown used to wallowing in the emptiness inside of me. It’s more than that, though. If I let this happen, if I let her in, if I allow her to fall in love with me, I’ll only end up hurtin’ the both of us because I’m shit. I’m the fucking king of betrayal, and no matter who’s on the back of my bike and in my bed, no matter how much I might want her and love her, I’m eventually going to fuck it up. I’ll eventually betray her, one way or another, because it’s what I do. What I’ve always done.

“You turned it into a ring?” she says, tugging on the white-gold band around my finger.

I pull my hand out of her grasp and stare down at her accusingly. “It’s the only thing you left behind.”

She gives me a sad smile. “Not the only thing, biker.”

I scratch at my beard. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you again, little spitfire, and if we do this, I’m probably gonna mess shit up so bad that you threaten to leave me at least once a week.”

“Probably. I do have one hard limit, and if I find out that you ever crossed this line, there will be no second chances. You’re mine, biker. No one else’s. Just mine.”

“Baby, I haven’t wanted up in anyone’s pussy but yours. Can’t even hold a goddamned hard-on without you being in the room.”

“Does that mean you’re hard for me now?”

“Not fuckin’ yet, but keep talking.”

She laughs, and it’s fucking music to my tired-arse ears. I walk over to the bed, reaching out a hand to cup her face, and forcing her to look up at me. “I’ve never been good at this shit. I’m probably not gonna bring you flowers, and take you out on dates, and pick out fuckin’ drapes. But if you’re on the back of my bike, if you’re in my bed, then that’s it for me. I don’t need no one else, just you, spitfire.”

She leans into my palm. “Drapes and dates are overrated, biker. I’d much rather stay home and screw you with the windows wide open.”

I push her back on the bed and climb over the top of her, supporting my weight with my forearms on either side of her head. “I fuckin’ missed you, babe.”

She smiles up at me. “Missed you too, biker.”

I wedge my hips between her legs, grinning like a fuckin’ tool when my cock finally snaps to attention.

’Bout time fucker. It’s only been six months. Jesus Christ. I coulda gone and joined a monastery in that time.

I slide my hand up her shirt, smiling when I feel her bare breasts, her nipples hardening beneath my fingertips. I come up on my knees and lift her shirt over her head. Those tits are just the way I remembered them: pink upturned nipples on pale white flesh that’s never seen a suntan a day in its life. I lick her rosy nipples, tugging on one gently with my teeth.

She arches into me, and I slide my hands underneath her back, all the way up to the nape of her neck. I trail kisses over her tits, up her neck and finally across her cheek to her mouth. She opens for me, allowing my tongue entrance. She kisses me back tentatively at first, then much faster, much harder. I grind my hips into the hollow created by her legs and pull away, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding the tight denim off of thighs that are much fuller than they were when we first did this. She’s still slim, only now she’s got an arse I can dig my hands into and thighs that can squeeze my hips when I’m rocking back and forth inside her.

I remove my jeans and hurry out of them, climbing back on the bed. I position myself between her legs, lifting her hips with my hands beneath them, and then I lower my head to her cunt and lap at her clit. She slams her legs together—or at least, she tries to. Her effort is kinda hindered by my head between her thighs. Her hands wedge themselves between me and her pussy, and I glare up at her.

“You starve a man for six fuckin’ months, show him the all-you-can-eat buffet and then yank the rug out from under him, and close up shop before he even gets a taste?”

“Not that.” She shakes her head.

“Why not that?” I challenge.

“Because I don’t want you to see … I don’t—”

“I’ve already seen it, babe. Believe it or not but a man usually looks at a cunt before he sticks his dick inside it, especially one as perfect as yours.”

She closes her eyes and lets out a shaky breath. Then she sits up. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Lie the fuck down,” I order. “This is the best fuckin’ idea you’ve ever had. I don’t care what shit is goin’ on up in that pretty little head of yours, ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” she says, riling up again. “You want me to ignore what they di—”

I reach up and clamp my hand over her mouth to get her to shut the fuck up. “That shit has no place being mentioned in my bed.”

Her eyes grow wide and then narrow in fury.

“Woman, I haven’t been inside a pussy in over six months. I’m tellin’ ya to ignore whatever self-conscious bullshit is goin’ on in your head because your pussy is perfect, and right now I want a taste, and then I want inside of it. So stop fuckin’ talking, spitfire, let the fuck go, lay back and enjoy my mouth on you, ’cause I promise you’re gonna fuckin’ love it.”

She stares at me for a beat, this incredulous fucking expression on her face. “Lie. The. Fuck. Down,” I command.

Indie glares at me for another second before flopping back on the bed with an irritated huff. She can be as damn angry as she wants—don’t matter. ’Cause I’m gonna eat out this fucking gorgeous pussy, and I’m gonna push into her, and take all night bringing her to the edge, and holding her back from fallin’ if I want to, and there’s not a damn thing she can do about it. Maybe it won’t be today, or in another five years’ time, but I’m gonna make her forget that anyone but me ever laid a finger on her, and she’s gonna love every second of it.

Because I might be a fuck-up. And I might be a criminal, and I might be a worthless piece of shit, just like my dad always told me I was, but that never stopped me going after what I want. And like I told her at that café, she’s all I want.

Just her.