11

I WATCH SAYLOR closely, waiting for her reaction, and I don’t expect any less than what she tells me.

“Good.” She gives me a nod of approval, burning her eyes into mine like she wants me to feel the hate she has for this man that she doesn’t know. I could tell her how. I could tell her why, but I won’t. She doesn’t need the details. I’m sure she thinks it’s because of what he did to me, but it’s not. When I became a Nomad, I took a job. One that I did without question no matter the target.

When I came to Nevada and my mission was to kill a man who stole from the club, I was more than happy to oblige. When I found out he was a brother, I was even happier. I would make him suffer longer because I expected more of him. I had trusted this man, as had my brothers. But, when I found out it was Black, my anger was replaced with guilt.

I knew what Black had done all those years because I helped him do it. I stopped working for Black the day I almost killed him. It had been years since I’d been involved in the business, but I was still guilty. Telling the club was easy. I was ready to accept my fate because I deserved it. But, when I told them, they excused it without question. I knew they just wanted him dead, and they knew if any man should kill him, it should be me.

“Tell me how you killed him.” I look at Saylor, wondering what she could ever get out of this. She reads my unspoken question. Witch.

“I want to know so I can visualize it. I need that imagery to help me process everything you’ve told me. I want a happy ending to this story and that will give it to me.”

Every man dies. Every man has done something in his life to warrant him of it, but hearing those words come from the mouth of Saylor sends chills down my spine. I can’t imagine her wishing death on anyone, no matter their transgressions.

“I can read your body language. I know you’re pissed. I know you have hate for this man because of what he did to me, but he was all I had. He took me in when he didn’t have to. Even though he didn’t want to, he let me stay. He gave me what I needed to survive. He made me a man and I’m not proud of the man I am, but I still owe that to him. Right or wrong, good or bad, at least he did what no other motherfucker on this planet wanted to step up and do. I killed him, Saylor, but it wasn’t like what you think.”

I watch her process my words and can see the disappointment she has in herself. Even from the grave, Black had the power to corrupt the purest of minds. Because it’s Saylor’s he’s fucking with, I want to resurrect him and kill him all over again. And this time, I want him to die the horrible death Saylor was hoping for.

“The last high of his life he didn’t get from coke. I sat at the table with him while he snorted line after line of raw opium and heroin. By the time he realized something was wrong, he was already dead. Black, the only father I knew, the evilest man I know, the one son of a bitch who deserved to die a horrible death, went out the way we all want to. He went to sleep and never woke up.” I watch sadness form in Saylor’s eyes and I wonder why she pities him. “Don’t feel sorry for him.”

“I don’t,” she tells me, and by the way she is glaring at me, she means it. “I don’t. I just hate that he didn’t suffer more for everything he put you through.” Her words are heartwarming. Even though they pertain to the murder of a man, she says them in a way that makes me feel special.

Just before I melt into a pool of mushy vagina on the floor, she changes the subject. “Give me the tour.”

Saylor jumps down from the counter and walks up to me, looping her arm through mine like I’m fixing to take her on a fucking stroll instead of a showing her a shitty little house that smells like varmint shit, or so she said.

“This was my room,” I say, watching as she walks around the room with her eyes closed. If she says it’s perfect, I’m gonna lose it. But she doesn’t say anything. I see her poke her head in the closet and then disappear.

“Where does this lead to?” she asks, and by the echo in her voice I know she is already halfway inside the hole in the wall. I walk in to see her on her knees with her ass in the air. Thank fuck my shirt covers her. “Dirk.” She calls to the darkness and I ignore the thoughts of what panties she is wearing and focus on her question.

“Nowhere. It was once a closet off the bathroom, and someone must have remodeled and just walled it up. I found it by accident.” Flashbacks of days I spent inside the dark hole fill me. It was an escape from Black when I knew he was angry enough to kill me. It was a refuge for me and provided the only sense of security I had my entire childhood.

Saylor backs out of the hole, brushing the dirt from her knees, and smiles at me. “I like it. I wish I’d had a secret room growing up.” I’m glad Saylor didn’t have to endure the shit I did. The thought of her growing up in a house with a man like Black makes me sick. If she’d had a hidden room, she would have used it to escape her parents when she didn’t get her way. Mine was used to save my life.

“I’ll build you one if you want,” I tell her, wondering how in the hell I could do that at her apartment.

“Nah, I’ll just use yours.” Saylor walks out of the room and before I can stop her, she is over the threshold and standing next to Black’s bed. “This was his room, huh?” she asks, looking at me from across the hall.

“Yes. But I’ve never been in there.” And he has been dead for years.

“I think you should,” Saylor says, walking to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. I just stand there, letting her hug me without touching her. It doesn’t feel right—not in this room. “Hey,” she says, squeezing me tight.

“Hey.” Saylor’s hair is dirty. Cobwebs and paint chips are scattered throughout the tangled curls, and I stand there wondering what in the hell she will do to get it out.

“This is your house, Dirk. It doesn’t have to be full of bad memories. We can make new ones.” She pulls back, looking up at me, but she must feel like she isn’t close enough. She wraps her arms around my neck and lifts herself. I grab her hips and hold her around my waist, feeling the heat of her pussy even through my jeans.

“Will you let me help you change this place up a little?” I don’t know what she means by change, but I like the word when it refers to this house.

Before I can respond, she is telling me all the ideas she has. “Just cleaning it up and painting it will make a world of difference. We can even get new furniture. And I’d love to cook you dinner.”

She looks at me, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please? It will give me something to do.”

I have plenty she can do and it doesn’t involve cleaning or painting. It consists of my cock and all the places she can put it. I don’t give a fuck about the house. If she wanted to burn it, paint it, or blow the motherfucker up, I’d let her. If it made her happy.

“I have somewhere I need to go today. I won’t be back till late, but there’s a truck out back. You can do what you want.” I’m not happy about Saylor spending her time cleaning and doing shit for a place I don’t care for, and she knows it.

“I like it here. I’d like to come back or stay a little longer if you will let me.” I look around, surprised at her admission.

“Here?” My bewilderment amuses her.

“Yes. Here. It’s quiet. And it’s just us.” I like it being just us. I like the quiet. I like that she likes this place.

“We can stay until I have to go on another run. And you can come back anytime you want.” She likes my answer.

“Thank you, Dirk.” My name rolls off her tongue and instantly hardens me. “Kiss me,” she demands, in a whisper.

I kiss her slow, working her mouth with my tongue. I grab her hips, pulling her closer to me until my cock is centered between her legs. She breaks the kiss, unlocking her legs and sliding down my body until she is on her knees in front of me. “I want to taste you.” Motherfuck me. My cock is in Saylor’s hands. My fingers are in her hair and when she takes me all the way in her mouth, my knees go weak.

I gently guide her head, looking down at her while she looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and watery, her moans are loud and desperate and her mouth is filled with cock. My cock. The sight of her is as big of a turn-on as the feeling of being inside her. I tighten my grip on her hair and pull her head back until she reluctantly releases me.

“You’re fucking perfect,” I tell her, fighting the urge to come by just seeing her like this. The hunger in her eyes almost makes me want to let her continue, but she deserves more. “I want to fuck you.” She whimpers at my words.

“Please,” she begs and I feel my cock twitch. I lift her from the floor and wrap her legs around my waist, carrying her into the living room. I eye the couch, then change my mind and take her to the deflated mattress on the floor.

I look down at her while I take off my jeans and watch as she pulls her shirt over her head and lays back. Wearing nothing but a pair of satin panties that are soaking wet. For me.

I’m naked, on my knees and inside her before I can stop myself. I wanted to taste her. I wanted to tease her. I wanted to take my time. But what she wants always overrules what I want. I fuck her hard because I know it’s what she wants. She is screaming for more and I’m giving her all I’ve got. I push her legs up until her ankles are at her ears and watch as her eyes roll back in her head when I hit deeper than I ever have.

“Too much,” she manages and I can’t help my smirk. I let her legs down and fall between them, taking her mouth with mine and giving her slow, measured strokes that fall short of that sweet spot she loves, and don’t reach too deep.

“Not enough,” she says into my mouth. I ignore her, fucking her just enough to keep her wanting more. She is trying to pull me deeper. She is begging me to give it to her harder, but the torture will be worth it when I do finally let her come.

“You want on top?” I ask her, knowing what she is going to say.

“Yes!” Her answer is a half sob, half scream, and I know when I flip us she is going to fuck me half to death. I roll to my side, pulling her on top of me. When she sits up, her eyes close when I sink all the way inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispers, and then she starts to move. Ten seconds in and I’m fighting to keep from losing it. Just when I think I can’t hold out, she stops. Her eyes are closed but there is a hint of a smile on her face. I jerk every time her pussy squeezes me, and I want to scream at her because she knows good and fucking well what she’s doing.

“Saylor,” I say in frustration. I’ve never had a woman control me like this and I’m not going to start now.

“Is it too much?” she asks, her eyes still closed, but her face breaks out into a smile.

“You know I can force you,” I warn her, feeling my hands twitch to grab her waist and move her myself.

“But you won’t.” And she’s right. “I think we should stop now and then later we will want it more.” No fucking way.

“Move, baby, or I’ll move you.” Orgasm denial is a powerful thing. And I’m not fucking into it. At least not when it’s me that’s being denied. Her eyes open to that sexy half-mast that has my cock jumping inside her.

“You don’t play fair,” she says, but it’s breathy and I know she wants me to fuck her as bad as I want to. I grab her ass and lift her, and she doesn’t fight it. I raise my hips to meet her and watch as she plays with her tits—alternating pinching her nipples and palming them with her hands. Her body stiffens and she’s coming around me.

My arms are burning in protest, but I keep lifting her up and down on top of me until I reach that feeling of euphoria that has me exploding inside her sweet pussy. When I stop, she falls on my chest, exhausted, and I’m not sure from what. I did all the fucking work—not that I minded.

I like that Saylor’s orgasms are so powerful that they leave her drained. It must mean I’m doing something right. “It’s hot,” she says, breathing heavy. I roll her off me, give her a quick kiss on the cheek, then head to the shower to cool off myself before finding some way to cool the house.

“Where you going?” she calls after me.

“Cold shower,” I say over my shoulder, and she is running toward me before I’m in the bathroom.

—

The shop outside is filled with shit from one end of the eighteen-by-twenty-four-foot building to the other. It takes me ten minutes to find the two old window units I knew were out there, but I finally do.

“So, who takes care of this place when you are gone?” Saylor asks from the door. She is showered and standing there looking dangerously sexy in cutoffs and a white wifebeater with no bra.

“We have a chapter here. They cover the pipes and cut the yard.” I take care of the inside, which hasn’t really been taken care of.

“Well, that’s nice of them,” she offers, and I have a feeling Saylor is looking for conversation.

“If you say so.” I haul one of the units out, and head inside with Saylor on my heels. I put the unit in the living room, figuring it will cool the front of the house, which is where we will spend the majority of our time. Once it’s plugged in and running, I turn to find her fanning herself, covered in a sheen of sweat, and I contemplate turning it back off. She’s sexy when she’s sweaty.

“I’ll get the truck running, and you can go to town and get whatever you want. You may want to go by the grocery store since we are gonna be here awhile.” There is no reason to shield her in my hometown. She is safer here than anywhere else. Now that the club knows about her, have met her and approve of her, no harm could come her way. Not that there was much trouble she could get into in this town anyway.

When she jumps up from the arm of the couch, my eyes land on her chest. “But first you need to put a fucking shirt on.” I stomp out of the house, fighting like hell to avoid thoughts of men looking at her. I would rather go with her so everyone knows she’s mine, but I have other shit to do.

Surprisingly, the truck cranks with no problem. It’s rusty and old, but the air works and it’s full of gas. The Prospects were trying like hell to make an impression. By the look of the manicured lawn, the fact that the pipes in the house weren’t busted and the truck was running, they were doing a pretty good job.

Saylor walks out of the house, now fully dressed. I’m sure people will still look at her, but maybe their thoughts will be a little more G-rated.

“If you take a left out of the driveway, it will take you right into town. It’s small, but it has a hardware store and a grocery store. You should be able to find whatever you need.” I pull my wallet out and hand her my credit card, wondering why men bitched about giving it to their women. What the fuck was money when it was compared to making their woman happy?

Saylor frowns and I wonder what I’ve done to fuck up. “I don’t mind using some of my own money.” I know she is just being kind, but it pisses me off.

“My house. My woman. My money.” She isn’t worried about my threatening tone or the fact that I’m trying to control my anger.

“But it was my idea and it’s only fair for me to help out. I didn’t expect you to take care of me all this time. I can help pay my own way.” Her innocence makes her ignorant. The fact that she has clearly never had a man take care of her doesn’t make the situation better either, and because of this, I should show some mercy. But I don’t.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you think is fair. You’ll spend my money or you won’t spend anything at all. Take the damn card, Saylor. You’re pissing me off.” My words seem to shock her just as much as they shock me. I’m not pissed at her. I’m pissed at the situation, but that’s not what I said. And I’ve hurt her feelings. Motherfucker. I’m such a dick.

But, instead of apologizing, I stomp inside like the asshole I am. I hear the truck crank up a few minutes later, and the urge to chase it down and tell her what a fuckup I am consumes me. By the time I get the door open, she is already at the end of the driveway. Words. They can make a day go from perfect to screwed up in a matter of seconds.

—

I ride back to the bar, wishing I wasn’t in such a shitty mood, and find Nationals in the same place as I’d seen them last night. By the looks of them, I’m sure they haven’t even been to bed. Beer bottles, ashtrays, pipes, and shot glasses cover the patio.

Two naked bitches are laid out on one of the tables, and Jimbo is getting his dick sucked by another. When I walk up, she never stops, not that I expected her to. In this town, sucking the dick of the National VP of Sinner’s Creed MC is equivalent to being crowned homecoming queen. You make the local headlines, and every bitch in the area envies you.

“Dirk.” Roach nods and I walk over and shake his hand so he doesn’t have to stand.

“Roach,” I say before yelling for a Prospect. Two appear in the door, looking just as nervous and out of place as we all did when we heard a patch holder yell for us. “Clean this shit up,” I growl, pointing to the shit that lay scattered around the patio.

I say hey to Jimbo, not interrupting his blow job, and the other three Nationals including Chaps and the two patch holders who look like they could die from exhaustion. To most they probably look normal, but not much gets past me. “You got something for me?” I ask Roach, hoping like hell he don’t.

“Shit’s pretty quiet right now. I may need you down in Texas in a couple weeks, but there ain’t no hurry. I’m trying to figure out how we can handle some shit without getting someone hurt. I’m hoping we can calm the waters with another one percent club, without going to war. It’s our territory, and we don’t want ’em there, but sometimes you gotta make sacrifices for the greater good. I just want you to let ’em know where we stand. They went down there ’cause we let ’em, not for ’em to show their teeth. We all know whose is bigger.”

Roach gives me a toothless smile and I can’t help but smile back. Even when I was a kid, he always seemed to pull it out of me. It’s sad knowing that a man who has taken more lives than any infamous serial killer gave you the only warmth in your life. Until Saylor, of course.

“Just let me know,” I tell him, forcing thoughts of my dark days with Black from my mind. Not too long ago, he was one of the ones sitting on this slab in the back of a shitty bar getting high and calling shots.

“So, Saylor.” Roach doesn’t say any more, he waits for my reaction. When he sees me tense, he smiles. “Tell me about her. I never thought I’d live to see the day you let a woman into your life. I’m glad I did.”

The kindness in his eyes is the same I’d seen for years when he looked at me, but this time it’s a little softer. I guess Saylor has that effect on people.

“I’d rather not,” I tell him. I don’t like sharing shit with anyone. Roach is the closest brother I have, other than Shady.

“Jimbo, I hate to fuck up what you got going there, but I need a minute.” I look over to Jimbo, who mutters something under his breath but pulls the woman’s mouth off his cock and stands up. Not surprising me in the least, I find that it’s the pass-around I’ve had more than once. She doesn’t pay attention to me though; it’s all about rank to her, and Jimbo is higher than I am, therefore his dick is more important than mine. Thank fuck.

Her makeup is smeared all over her face. Her nose is red and raw from the amount of shit she has snorted, and her eyes are wet and bloodshot from taking Jimbo all the way to the back of her throat for so long. And she loves every fucking minute of it. He never lets go of her hair and I watch as she slides her hands between her legs, horny as hell at being treated like the dirty slut she is.

For the first time in my life, I find it repulsive. The other bitches are woke up, transforming them from innocent sleeping forms to ready-to-fuck prostitutes in a matter of seconds. I’m sure a train on both of them is already in the works.

When we are finally alone, I take a seat next to Roach, avoiding his eyes for as long as I can. When I finally look at them, they are expectant. “Tell me.”

I don’t tell Roach because he wants me to. I tell him because it would be disrespectful for me not to.

“I’ve seen her a few times over the past several years. Just in passing. She lives down in Jackson.” Roach nods in acknowledgment, but he wants more. Him and Saylor have a lot in common when it comes to me. They can get shit outta me when no one else can. “I think she might have had a nasty breakup or some shit. She begged me to take her with me. Said she wanted to get outta town. I felt sorry for her.”

For some reason, it makes me feel like shit not telling him the whole truth. I guess it’s written on my face too ’cause Roach raises his eyebrows, letting me know he thinks I’m full of shit. I sigh, shift in my seat, and figure fuck it.

I light a smoke, passing it to him, then light me another one before continuing. “There’s something about her.” I look out at the clear blue sky and feel myself getting lost in my own words. “It’s like she has known me forever. She don’t get pissed at me or bitchy. She’s not like any woman I’ve ever met. I feel like she is in my head, reading my thoughts, and even though I know what she sees is sometimes scary, she never runs from me and I never see judgment in her eyes. It’s almost like she’s some sort of angel, or some shit. I haven’t figured her out yet, but I’m trying. Each day I learn something new about her. And every time I do, I like her a little bit more.”

I sit there, staring at my boots, wondering why the fuck I’m even talking. Roach is silent and when I look over at him, his eyes are distant and for a minute, I think he’s dead. I’m just before calling his name and shaking him when he speaks.

“I had a woman like that once. Paulette. Remember her?” I remember, but I don’t say anything. He isn’t paying attention to me anyway. He is lost in some memory.

What I remember of Paulette is that she was a nice woman. I’d only seen her a few times because Roach didn’t bring her around a lot. She was different from the other women. Quiet and kept to herself. “She’s married now. Got about ten grandkids and lives over in Montana. I thought about killing her ol’ man, then showing up at the funeral and taking advantage of her vulnerability. But she’s happy. I reckon I can’t kill a man for doing something for her that I never did.”

Roach grabs his pipe, taking a hit then offering it to me, knowing I’ll decline. “I reckon what I’m trying to say is this. You ain’t had a good upbringin’. Black didn’t deserve a kid no more than I did. But, he got you and he did what he thought he had to, to make you a man. He did and you owe him that. I know sometimes you hate yourself, Dirk. I know you hate Black just as much. But Black’s dead. He’s gone.

“The only reason I let you do it was because I knew that was the only way you could get closure—move on from the past and start a future. I know you hate him for the things he did to ya. Hell, I hate him for the shit he did to ya. I hate I couldn’t do more to stop him. But you can’t blame the man for the rest of your life. We got one shot, Dirk. One fucking shot in this life. Make it count. Don’t be like me and die an old man all alone ’cause ya think Black beatin’ on ya fucked you up too much to be loved. Let that woman love you. And if you smart, you’ll love her back.”

Roach’s eyes are pleading. They are begging me to take his advice. I don’t know if I will. I don’t know if I won’t. In this moment, all I know is that if I choose not to, looking at Roach is like looking in the mirror at the man I’m destined to become.