Baby Page 2

  No one understands him. They believe Saint is nuts—a pretty boy with the drive to kill and coat himself in his victims’ blood. I wish Saint would just tell them he’s Indian, that he does this for a reason. I thought he was crazy the first time I saw it as well; hell, I tried to take off and leave him behind. I didn’t get very far and haven’t been able to leave his side since then.

  I think he enjoys the fear in the brothers’ eyes when his skin’s stained scarlet. Not to mention, he’s the whitest Indian you’d ever come across. Shit, half the brothers probably wouldn’t believe him even if he did tell them about his heritage. We practically grew up together through our teenage years and so on, so I’ve seen it all firsthand.

  “We’ll barbeque this weekend.” I suggest the first thing that enters my mind.

  It’s not ideal, but it’s the quickest rationalization I can come up with. “We can head over to the pigpen and get some hogs; it’ll keep him busy, if he can chop them up.” I leave out the part of him offering up some of the pigs’ blood as a sacrifice to his ancestors and the various gods he chooses to worship.

  He absently agrees, his distracted stare locked on his ol’ lady, Princess. “Appreciate it, brother. I’ll catch up later; I got shit to take care of.”

  “Bet,” I mutter, but he’s already striding toward the Ice Queen also known as Princess, his ol’ lady. There’s no telling what he has to deal with. Being the Prez, he’s always taking care of business.

  Drinking deeply from my vodka-cranberry-Sprite cocktail Blaze conjured up for me, I can’t help but think of how I ended up here. I’d be nothing if it weren’t for Saint. He saved me and has continued to do so ever since I was a teenager. If I have to defend his brand of crazy for the rest of my life to repay him, I will.

  “Sinner?” Cherry, a pretty little redheaded club slut saddles up next to me.

  She’s nothing special—mousy nose, a spattering of freckles...the usual. Her looks do next to nothing to garner my attention, though other brothers around here seem to appreciate her attention toward them. As long as she sucks my dick well and doesn’t talk much, then I don’t mind her bothering me too much.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you two want to have some fun?” She squeezes into the spot between my body and the empty barstool next to me.

  She’s a wild one and loves fucking both of us. Can’t say I don’t approve of her type of fun. Saint usually has a decent time with her as well, and she’s nowhere near his type. He likes the college girls, but I prefer the older women. Give me a woman ten years older than me, and I’ll enjoy every moment of their experienced asses.

  Shrugging, I let loose a sigh. “You wanna fuck both of us? Who’s to say I’d even let you fuck us?” I would, but she doesn’t need to know she has any type of allure over either of us.

  “I was-I was...umm, I do want you both,” she stammers, attempting to conjure up the answer she thinks I want to hear.

  The truth is, no one has the slightest fucking clue what I actually wanna hear fall from their lips. The ones that give in easily lose my interest the quickest. Of course, I want to boss ‘em around a bit, but when they’re not too scared to give me a little lip in return, that’s when my dick gets the hardest. It’s usually the Mexican bitches that’ll give me just enough spice to make me want to have them over and over.

  “Ah, but you think you can handle it? Two cocks in you at once? Didn’t you cry the last time we fucked you?”

  I have to screw with her; hell, I screw with pretty much everyone. I’ve learned along the ride if you fuck with people enough, most leave you the hell alone. After living through my own version of hell, I’m determined to never go back there. I’ll be the biggest psycho dick around if it ends up protecting me. Saint was the one who taught me how to protect myself.

  “I enjoyed it.”

  Scoffing, I roll my eyes at her unimpressive answer. She wants me, yet she’s doing fuck all to get my cock hard. “Right. How bad do you want this cock? More than Saint’s, or do you want him more?”

  “I want you both.”

  She’s playing it safe. It’s typical for chicks that’ve been around Saint and me before. They want bad, but they’re never too sure just how bad they actually want it. They either love our brand of crazy or it scares them.

  My eyebrow hikes, my eyes skirting over her tits she has nearly on full display for anyone in the club to see. “Yeah, but surely you must think one of us fucks better than the other. I bet it’s me. That’s why you came to me, huh? You better not let my brother hear. He may carve your sweet little ass up if he does.”

  “Please, Sinner. I didn’t mean to come off that way. Please, don’t let him get angry.” The rumors obviously hold up merit as she scrambles to backtrack, in fear. She has no reason to freak out though; Sinner only kills people he thinks are evil. Cherry’s just a whore; she’s not a wicked being.

  Chuckling, my fingers brush her chin tenderly, enjoying the sound of her begging. “Relax, Cherry; I’m sure he won’t hurt you...much. Let him fuck your ass, and he’ll be nice. Me, well, you better wrap those fat lips around my cock if you want my attention. Think you can handle that?”

  “Yes, I promise I can.”

  The chicks around here practically salivate at having the chance to sample us both at the same time. I’m used to it. We’ve been a team since shortly after he stepped in that shitty day so long ago. I still look up at him with wonder in my eyes sometimes; I can’t help it. Where everyone else notices evil, I only see a saint.

  “Careful what you promise, Cherry. What do we get if you break your word? Saint will want blood; no matter how sweet you bitches around here believe he is...he’s not.”

  It’s the truth, but so many of them are too fucking dumb to see through his pretty-boy charade. That’s all it is—an act. He doesn’t give a shit about any of them. Hell, neither do I. We’re just interested in fucking. End of story.

  “But yo-you’re the nice one, right?”

  I shoot her a sinister smirk, swirling the liquor in my glass while her mind races. Her stammering answers full of fear are pathetic. I love knowing I have people on edge, but if they don’t buck up, eventually, I get bored. It’s the same shit, different day in my eyes.

  Shrugging after a moment, I swallow down the rest of my beverage without replying. Am I the nice one? Compared to Saint? Sure, I can be. I’d never outright let any of them know that though.

  “I’ll find you later if we wanna fuck.”

  “Okay,” she responds with a slight grin. The bitch has won, and she knows it. One thing about my brother and me is we like to fuck—a lot.

  Saint’s palm lands on my forearm, wanting to pull me in closer, but I turn away. We’re in front of the compound—not the right place for us to be close. I’d rather wait until we’re in one of our rooms, and he knows it. “We’re headed to the farm.” Changing the subject, I take swift strides to the parking lot putting some distance between us.

  “Someone fuck up?” Saint questions, following me to one of the brothers' trucks. It used to be Scot’s, God rest his soul, but he was killed a while back. Now we use it as a communal truck. I know it’s what he would’ve wanted if he’d had any say in the matter.

  “No, we’re going to barbeque this weekend, and we need some meat.” And I need to get you preoccupied.

  He grunts. “I thought you were headed out of town this weekend?”

  I’d mentioned I might have plans, but, I’m surprised he remembered that. I told him when we were piss-ass drunk, in hopes he’d forget. Then, once I left this weekend, and he called me, pissed off, I’d have the excuse of already telling him but him forgetting about it.

  It’s kinda fucked up, I know. I don’t have a choice though. One small lie to keep him happy and it’s worth the guilt I feel in return.

  “Yeah, I might. Nothing set in stone though.” Total bullshit, I’m out of here as soon as I can be.

  Fuck man, what els
e does he remember? I don’t normally keep shit from him, but I do have one big secret I’ve managed to keep buried. He would most likely flip his shit if he found out too, especially since we don’t make it a habit of keeping stuff from each other. He can’t know, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it in the dark.

  On a run a while back, I made a horrible drunken mistake that I’ve been kicking myself in the ass for ever since. Of all the stupid things to do, I got married. And the real kicker is, I never told Saint about it. I knew if I did, he’d carve her up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and I can’t have that on my conscious.

  She may not be the best woman, but she’s also a mom—albeit a horrible one. Call me a pansy ass or whatever, but I’ve stuck around for her kid. I couldn’t just leave her high and dry when her mom’s already done that. Two months into the sham of a marriage and she popped smoke, leaving her daughter behind without a backward glance. At least that’s what Jude, her daughter, believes.

  I’ve been able to mostly keep in touch with Jude by cell, but occasionally if I can make my way over there, then I do it. I like to check on her and see how she is with my own two eyes. She’s not a baby or anything; hell, she turned eighteen right around the time I met her. Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about if she’s still breathin’ or if shit’s not messed up around their trailer. The fact that she’s insanely gorgeous doesn’t make it a hard feat to visit either.

  Her mom pretty much set her ass up for failure, living out in the middle of nowhere. The girl’s smart; she has a part-time job at the library, and she takes classes online. That’s not the issue; it’s that her mother left her to pay the rent and everything else without giving her any money for it. They live in a tiny ass town with hardly any jobs, and if she works more hours, she won’t have time for her college classes. She probably would anyhow, but the library’s too poor to offer her more time even if she wanted it.

  I’ve stuck around these months to make sure she has what she needs, and partially from guilt. So far all she’s needed has mostly been money. Thankfully, not sure I could handle much more. This feeling inside me when I attempt to cut free of her swarms my chest, and in a sense, I blame Saint in a way for being my savior. I don’t owe this girl shit, but I find myself attempting to be my own version of a savior for her.

  The first time I showed up after her mom’s disappearance, she was completely out of food. Never felt so livid inside before—not even when it comes to Saint. Maybe because I know he can hold his own; Jude, on the other hand, not so much. The worst part of all was knowing that it was my fault. Her mom had disappeared because of me.

  The girl was sweet and quiet in the beginning, unnoticeable in a sense. Then she got more comfortable with me, and the teasing started, and it was like I finally noticed her. She had the most perfect set of tits and plump lips that I didn’t see anything else afterward.

  The first time she had the guts to flirt, it began with her calling me ‘daddy.’ Boy, it drove me up the fuckin’ wall. I wanted to be anything but her daddy at that moment.

  That shit hasn’t ever turned me on before, always more of the opposite. She thought she was something else, too, grinning full of mischief. It made me want to bend her over and smack her ass to show her just who that ‘daddy’ was she was mocking.

  Another thing, I’ve never been too picky when it comes to pussy. If I’d had the option to choose in the past though, it’d always be an older, more experienced woman. I love it when a woman knows exactly what she wants, and this one is the complete opposite. I’ve wondered if even Saint would know what to do with this one. Not that I can seek his opinion on it with the shit hole I’ve dug for myself.

  Jude’s too innocent, untouched, and enticing like no one before, and those are the exact reasons why I shouldn’t have her—why I can’t have her. Not to mention how Saint would react if he found out I was going out of town and omitting the truth from him for this young woman. He’d be off his rocker with anger courtesy of my lies and the fact it was for a female.

  “Where you headed?” He glances my way as we drive down the dirt road, approaching the other side of the hog farm owned by the Oath Keepers MC. The farm has become a staple to the club; we’ve created nightmares for many motherfuckers crossing the club. You never know just how loud a grown man can scream until he’s eaten alive by a hungry hog.

  The original Prez bought it awhile back, but since then has split it between Ares, Viking, and Princess—Viking’s ol’ lady. She and Ares are damn near siblings, and with both of them tied to each chapter, it works out for all of us. Vike built our clubhouse on the same plot of land, just farther down the road. We could’ve walked I suppose, but we need to load the meat in the back of the truck.

  “Viking has me going on a run.” It’s an outright lie, but as long as it keeps Saint in check, Viking should cover for me if asked.

  “Want some company?” There’s longing in his voice, and it has me swallowing down the truth. He wants to be needed, it helps keep him calm. And I do need him, just not for this.

  “Nah, you heard what Prez said in Church the other day. It’s essential to keep the clubs full right now after all the shit that’s gone down with Nightmare’s kid getting stolen. He may be home now, but we still have to make sure there are enough brothers at the clubhouse just in case any motherfuckers show up.”

  “I’m not a babysitter. I didn’t give up being a NOMAD to sit home all day and play with my cock. Either you find something for me to do, or I’ll go on my own ride.”

  “I did. You’re taking care of the hog now and then chopping him up for the barbeque.”

  “That’s bullshit. I should be handlin’ shit with you. Since when do you go on runs alone anyhow? I’ll tell you since we turned in our NOMAD patches, that’s when. I don’t like it. I should be around to watch your back.”

  “You are, and if I thought this was going to be dangerous, then you’d be riding with me.”

  “Right.” He rolls his eyes like a petulant child, his stare trained out the passenger window watching the trees and brush as we pass.

  I don’t like that he’s upset or that I have to keep lying to him. It’s only for a little while longer, once I get everything squared away with ol’ girl then it’ll all be in my rearview, and Saint will be back to being my top priority.

  “Ruger’s been gone awhile,” I bring up, attempting to change the subject, but he just shrugs, not in the mood to talk about the guys.

  I try again. “Cherry came around lookin’ earlier. Wants to fuck.”

  “Yeah?” he murmurs, not impressed.

  “Said she was feeling lonely, wants us both to fuck her.” I try on a grin for size, hoping it’ll lighten him up. It does nothing.

  “Another loose pussy.” His irises flick over, skimming briefly before turning back to the window. “We ought to head back down to Mexico and try out some more Latina pussy.”

  “So, no to Cherry, then?”

  “I mean, if she wants to fuck, and you’ll be there, then I guess I will be too.” His gaze sparkles as he meets mine and a little bit of his annoyance has faded. His signature charmer grin pops up, and it’s hard not to smile back. He’s full of mischief, one thing that’s always drawn me to him.

  “Stop,” I weakly protest, putting the truck in park.

  His hand grabs me before I can bail out. “Just sayin’ we could fuck now and forget Cherry.”

  Releasing a groan, I nod, giving in. “You win, Saint. We fuck now, and then we have a hog to kill. Come on.”

  Viridity

  (N.) Naïve Innocence

  Reaching forward, I stack another book in the correct place and breathe a sigh of relief. My days don’t suck quite as much when I’m scheduled to work; it’s when I’m home that I get to thinking. I try to watch TV sometimes to keep my mind occupied, but I just don’t care for it much. My online courses tend to keep me busy a lot of the time, but it all boils down to being home alone.

 
My mother was never around much, but she was occasionally, and she always had her friends with her or her flavor of the week. I never looked forward to them though—most were total creeps. Well, except the latest. I learned not to expect much out of her, and in return, she was the same way with me. Not the perfect mother-daughter relationship, but it was ours.

  The craziest part of this last guy that my mom brought home is his name is Sinner. I refuse to call him that though. The first time he told me what to do, a snarky comeback popped to the front of my mind, and it started the nickname Daddy. It drives him crazy—I know it does—but that’s part of the fun of it.

  And Lord help me, the man is sinful looking. His voice is a lazy rasp, his words drawn out like a true Southerner. I love listening to him speak or just watching him breathe. That sounds totally creepy, but it’s true. He’s gorgeous just living, not doing anything. Some mornings I’ll even catch a peek of him putting his shirt on straight from the shower; my imagination loves to run wild with that.

  Most of the men before him, I flat out ignored or tried to have minimal amount of interaction with as possible. Their attention wasn’t the good kind, and I didn’t want any of them to think they could cross the not-so-subtle line I’d drawn between us. I was lucky in that department, and they stayed away.

  There were lewd comments here and there as to be expected, but that was the extent of it. However, there were plenty of nights I didn’t sleep—worried I’d have unwanted company. Thankfully, none ever crossed the threshold, or I’m sure I’d be a totally different person than I am today, and not in the good sense.

  Besides all of that and the fact my mother was always messed up on something, I miss just knowing someone else is in the house. Sharing a pizza or hearing the radio play from her side of the trailer always gave me just enough comfort to not need much more from her. It gets quiet, and when it gets too quiet, I go a little crazy inside. Pretty ironic considering I do online classes and work in a library. You’d think I’d be the type that wouldn’t want any interaction with other people, but that’s not the case.