For some reason, this makes me shiver in anticipation. The bell over the door chimes as someone else comes in. He looks over my shoulder and I know I’m about to lose him.
“Don’t forget that ibuprofen.”
“Saint. Wait.”
He stops.
“It’s good to see you.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s good to see you, too.”
I go to the bathroom, locking the door behind me before the first tear falls from my eyes. I don’t know how to fix this void between us and it’s killing me. Maybe, once again, I’m so fucked up that all I cause is pain. If that’s the case, then it’s only a matter of time before I hurt Bash and Razor, too.
We ride until late in the day. Bash’s bike is a little more comfortable than Razor’s, but by the time we get to Mississippi, I’m ready to get off the bike. Our group has tripled in size, making quite the statement as we travel. As the sun goes down and the sky turns different shades of pink and orange, we pull off the highway.
Bash calls out over his shoulder, “We’re getting close.”
I learned six hours ago that close doesn’t mean shit, but at least there’s an end in sight. We ride for nearly two more hours, before turning onto a dirt road. Ahead, there’s a chain-link fence that stands over eight feet tall. Two men stand at the gate as we ride through. They’re wearing cuts with a different logo on them, but I don’t get a good look. When I look over my shoulder, I realize that the fence and gate are covered in camouflaged tarps, so no one can look in.
We ride through trees and the farther we go, the bumpier the road gets. I hold onto Bash’s waist as the bike dips into a big rut in the ground. But, there’s suddenly a clearing in front of us and I see thousands of men and women walking around. We ride past them, and Bash waves at a few as we pass.
One man yells out, “Bout fucking time you pussies got here!” But he’s grinning.
We finally come to a stop in a secluded area. There’s not a soul in sight. Some of the Prospects park, pulling down flags with the club’s logo on them.
We stop and I get off first. Bash follows, and rubs his hands up and down my back, massaging my tender muscles. When he rubs my inner thighs, I moan.
“That feel so good.”
“Keep moaning like that and I’ll be too distracted to set up our tent.”
I grin. “You have magic fingers, Bash. I can’t help that.”
Razor, who’s close enough to hear, says, “And I have the magic dick. We make quite the pair, the three of us.”
My gaze goes toward Saint, who’s directing people where to go.
“Yeah. Quite the pairing.”
Bash and Razor get to work setting up our tent. They asked before we left if I wanted to rough it or sleep in a camper. I didn’t tell them, but I’ve never been camping before, just that I wanted to rough it. I’ve been assured that if it gets to be too miserable, there will be a camper I can stay in if I decide I hate it.
Bash holds open the flap of the tent. “What do you think?”
I peek in. “Looks cozy.”
Razor wraps his arms around my waist. “Nothing like tent sex.”
I turn. “How’s that going to work with the three of us in one space?”
“I’m sure we can work something out, sugar.”
I brush my lips against his. “I hope so.”
Someone calls out his name and he lets out a groan.
“Duty calls but hold that thought.”
He gives me one last kiss before taking off, slapping a man on his back.
I look around, taking in everything. There are mini groups set up here and there across the grassy field, probably other clubs, like ours. People mingle, drinks in hand. The skunky scent of weed fills the air, but it is somehow soothing in the twilight. The cicadas sing their songs and the humid air surrounds me like a thick blanket.
King comes over and asks, “Want to take a look around?”
“Sure.”
As we walk, he says, “I wouldn’t recommend going off on your own.”
“Why not?”
He nods his head toward a group of men who are obviously intoxicated. “Not at night. The later it gets, the wilder things become.”
He takes me around, showing me where the public bathrooms are.
“I’d suggest using one of the campers. The public stalls will be nasty by the end of the rally.”
A woman’s throaty moans fills the air from the bathrooms.
King grins. “Plus, it’s a nice little private place for a quick fuck.”
Heat spreads throughout my body. “Oh?”
“You’ll see -and hear- a lot of that as the night goes on.”
As if to prove his point, the woman in the bathroom cries out, proclaiming to all that she’s coming.
I snort as we walk away.
“The big bonfire is over there. It’s where the live music takes place, too.”
“What exactly is the point of a rally?”
He grins. “The club presidents say it’s a way for the clubs to keep in touch. That may be true for them, but for everyone else it’s a chance to let loose.”
I think of the Inferno Bastards and asks, “Even with rival clubs here?”
“We try to put aside our differences for the week. Of course, booze and bikers are never a good combination, so shit happens. That’s why some of the clubs have reserved areas. We don’t go into their turf and they don’t come into ours.”
“Makes sense.”
He points. “We don’t go that way. Understand?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Well, now that you’ve seen the general layout, is there anything you want to do? Booze? Drugs? Fucking?”
The bonfire makes his eyes glow, as if he’s some kind of supernatural being.
I let out a short laugh. “That’s a loaded question, I’m afraid.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because I’m trying so very hard to be good.”
He leans in. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Maybe it’s the smoke from the bonfire or the smoke from the weed, but I lean in, too.
“You make it hard to be good, King.”
His arm snakes around my waist, his head dipping. Hot breath hits my neck and then my ear.
“I saw the website, Olivia. Fucking hot as hell.”
This makes my eyes open, heart pounding. But, there’s no judgement in his eyes.
“You still doing it?”
“No. I haven’t had to, not since Razor and Bash.”
He pulls me closer, drowning me in his heady scent. “Good.”
Our lips brush and then I can’t take it anymore. I crush my lips against his, kissing him until there’s no air left in my lungs. His fingers work through my hair, holding me in place as he kisses me back. I thought I was a good kisser, but King – god damn, King puts my skills to shame. He walks me backward until my back is pressed against a tree. With one hand, he holds my wrists above my head, his knee pressed between my legs. I grind against him shamelessly, loving the wildness of what we’re doing.
People move around us. If they think this is odd, they don’t say anything. I start to feel guilty about what we’re doing. It’s one thing to have an arrangement with Bash and Razor. It’s another to be making out with King.