“Harry? We’re going to see him right now?”
“Yeah. You owe him money, right? It’s time to pay up.”
“And you’re just going to walk up to him and hand him a stack of cash?” I ask.
“I said I would take care of him, and I will,” he mutters. Dropping the towel, he steps into a pair of jeans and pulls them up sans underwear.
“Okay. Thanks,” I tell him.
Flashing me a crooked grin, he says, “I know a better way for your mouth to thank me.”
“Oh, so you’re finally going to let me blow you?” I ask while my fingers play with the floating charm on my necklace, moving it back and forth on the chain.
“I have a mind to make you get on your knees and suck me off right the fuck in front of Harry,” Malcolm tells me. “But we should probably wait until we get home before you pull my dick out, so he doesn’t feel the need to put a bullet in me. At least no more so than usual.”
“You scared of him?” I ask curiously.
“Fuck no,” he mutters. “But I’m not stupid. My whole crew is going with us, and I won’t turn my back on that snake for a second.”
“Good,” I reply. “He’s an asshole who can’t be trusted.”
“Like father, like daughter?” he remarks.
“He’s the one who put me up to stealing from you!” I remind him.
“After you stole from him. What did you use the money for?” he asks.
“What does it matter?” I ask.
“Just curious to know what you would risk your life for. If you weren’t his kid, I have no doubt your body would be bloated and floating in the middle of the ocean somewhere.”
“Thank you for that lovely image,” I scoff.
“The truth is usually ugly, honey. You’re old enough to have figured that out by now.”
“Oh, I have,” I assure him.
“Right, well get your ass up and get dressed. We’re meeting the guys in half an hour.”
“Okay. Good thing I grabbed a change of clothes from my place before work yesterday.” I sigh heavily as I force myself out of the warm, comfy bed and make my way to the bathroom. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that Malcolm’s eyes are on my naked ass, watching it like it’s a big ole jar of honey and he’s a ravenous bear.
“Like what you see?” I tease him.
“I’d like it even better if it was doing what I fucking said,” Malcolm remarks. “Get some clothes on before I have to fuck you over the sink, and you make us late.”
“You’re the president, remember?” I remind him while turning my back to the doorframe and cupping my breasts to fondle them suggestively. “You can be late if you want, and nobody could do a damn thing about it.”
“I hate being late,” he growls. “But I fucking hate walking around with a hard dick even more.” Stomping over to me while jerking the zipper of his jeans down, he says, “Bend over the counter and spread your legs. I’ll rub my cock on your clit until you get wet enough to take it.”
“Yes, sir,” I easily agree when he grabs me by the elbow and ushers me into the bathroom.
Malcolm
* * *
I woke up this morning with my face and my dick throbbing so hard I gave up on sleep and took a hot shower to try and relieve both aches. Turns out that getting off inside Naomi is one helluva pain reliever, making me so relaxed that I don’t think anything can get to me today, not even Harry fucking Cox. Silas was right — I did need a little stress relief in my life.
My new state of pussy-induced zen is the reason I decide to squash shit with Fiasco as soon as Naomi and I get to the clubhouse. The rest of the guys are standing around with their bikes in the parking lot, waiting for us.
“About fucking time,” Fiasco mutters when my bike cuts off. He’s standing the furthest away, his thick arms crossed over his chest, a pouty scowl on his face that’s more notable thanks to his busted lip. He’d gotten hold of a tongue depressor and some duct tape to hold his busted finger in position. I rethink my decision to make amends with him when his eyes eat up Naomi in her tight, yellow cotton halter top and frayed denim shorts, which are so tiny that I’ve seen panties with more fabric. She’s hot as hell, I know, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy having a man she’s been with before eye-fucking her like he’s remembering every second of what she did with him.
But for now, she’s mine, not Fiasco’s or anyone else’s. I made sure that argument, at least, is settled.
“Stay here,” I tell Naomi, reaching back to give her a very intentional stroke of my palm up her bare, tan thigh before I climb off my bike and march up to him, my helmet still on in case he decides he didn’t get to throw enough punches last night. I need to keep some of my brains unscrambled if I plan to stay in charge of the MC.
“We cool?” I ask Fiasco, holding out my palm to him. He stares down at it for several silent seconds, refusing to uncross his arms.
“You shouldn’t have beat me. I had the upper hand the entire time,” he grumbles.
“I know. I got lucky in the end,” I say to try and smooth things over with my brother rather than rub the truth in his face – I’m a smarter, faster fighter than he is which is how I was able to force him to tap out. If anything, that’s probably what pisses him off the most. He had no choice but to give up unless he wanted to be choked out. Men like us don’t enjoy quitting. We prefer to fight to the bitter end, no matter the cost. I embarrassed him by forcing the surrender, more so than if I had knocked his lights out with a hit.
“Whatever,” Fiasco huffs. A moment later, he rolls his eyes, lowers his arms and shakes my hand.
I squeeze the bones in his hand harder than necessary before I lower my voice to warn him, “Do yourself a favor and don’t forget our deal or try some bullshit with Naomi because your feelings got hurt. You don’t talk to her or touch her; and if you want to keep your eyeballs in your head, you’ll stop staring at her. Understand me?”
“Yeah, prez,” he replies, sneaking only a brief glance over at Naomi, who has her head turned, looking over her shoulder at us. “I gotcha.”
“Good,” I tell him as I let his hand go. Speaking up so the rest of the guys can hear me, I say, “Let me do the talking today with this prick. Your job is to keep your eyes open and be ready to fuck things up if shit goes sideways.”
“You sure about this, prez, walking into this asshole’s palace?” Dev asks.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan, one that hopefully won’t lead to a single drop of blood,” I assure the guys. “Now let’s go and get this over with.”
When I stroll over and prepare to throw my leg over my bike, Naomi says, “Fiasco barely has a scratch on him.”
Grinning, I tell her, “Yeah, well, the worst of his scars are on the inside – I broke his pride, but it’ll heal eventually.” Once I’m in position, I warn Naomi over my shoulder, “Better hold on tight, honey. After all the fucking trouble you’ve caused me, it wouldn’t do to lose you on the side of the road somewhere.”