Craving Absolution
I would have laid into her—it was stupid as fuck that she hadn’t said anything—but goddamn, she looked sexy as hell. She was wearing some loose Dickies, red Vans, and a tiny-ass white tank top, and it was like looking at my dream girl at fourteen. Instead of yelling at her, I’d rushed her into the house and banged her against the front door.
She dropped her guard during sex. It was one of the only times that I could get a read on her, so I used it to my advantage. It seemed to calm her down, at least for a while, and I really dug the relaxed Farrah.
There were a ton of things about Farrah that drove me up the wall, but she’d still come a long way from the girl I’d first met. She rarely drank anymore, she found a good job that she seemed to enjoy, and even though we argued about it, she wouldn’t let me help pay any of her bills. She was acting like an adult—doing her thing without using Callie as a crutch, and there was nothing sexier than a woman who had her shit together.
She’d also gained back a little of the weight she’d lost. I still couldn’t figure out why she gained it and lost it like she did, but I was happy as hell that I’d never had to say anything about it. Her collarbone and hip bones weren’t as prominent anymore, her elbows and knees losing a little bit of their sharpness. She was beautiful before, but goddamn, she was a knockout when she gained a couple of pounds.
Shit was good. We’d settled into life and I was practically living with her, which she didn’t seem to mind. All the pieces were finally falling into place—Callie and Grease had settled into living together for the first time, Gram had found a senior center to hang out in when she wasn’t helping with Will, and Farrah was working and feeding her book addiction every time I turned around.
If a man who did what I did for a living could be content, that would be the word that described me.
But I should have remembered that the minute you settled in and thought things were good, that was when shit happened. Life was once again about to punch me in the throat, and I didn’t even see it coming.
I was on my way to the club after leaving Farrah exhausted in bed. She still refused to have anything to do with that part of my life, and I had to admit, it made things a little tense. I had to spend a shit ton of time there. I wasn’t trusted enough to go on any important runs yet, but I was making small trips for information and doing daily club shit.
I was also expected to be at the parties for members, and there were so many of them that there were parties all the fucking time. I wanted her with me at the parties, and asked her to go every time, but her answer was always no. Almost four months later and she still wasn’t over the shit that happened at Dragon and Brenna’s.
Poet had called and told me to get my ass to the club early, so I was surprised when shit was quiet as I pulled up. A new recruit was at the gate, and it was a little weird when he started scrambling to open it for me. We were both prospects, but the guy treated me like I was his boss. Idiot.
None of the bays were open, and it was silent as I hit the door to the main room. I took a quick look around, and for the first time since I’d been hanging around, there was absolutely no one inside. I almost turned around and left when I heard voices coming from the room off the back of the bar. It was a room the boys called “church” and I’d never been allowed inside—yet another thing I wasn’t trusted to be a part of.
I debated sitting down at the bar to wait, but as I walked toward the bar, Poet stepped into the doorway, his face emotionless.
“Come on in, kid.” He gestured with his hand and stepped back into the room.
I really didn’t want to. Shit, I wasn’t getting a good feeling about the entire scenario. My mind was racing, trying to figure out if I’d done something to piss them off, but I couldn’t think of anything.
Poet, Slider, Doc, Grease, Dragon, and an old-timer named Smokey sat around the table, their faces drawn and tight.
“Hey, brother, we’ve got a situation,” Grease said quietly as his eyes met mine across the table. “Sit down.”
I made my way to the only open spot at the table, and was glad as hell that I’d already pulled out my chair when Poet started speaking, because if I hadn’t, my ass would have been on the floor.
“Early this morning, Tommy Gun’s woman was attacked,” he said. “Someone lit their fucking house on fire.” He paused to clear his throat and run his hand over his hair, from his forehead to the end of the long red braid hanging down his back. “Kids and Trish slept on the top floor. Didn’t make it out.”
The men were emotionless as they watched me take in the news, and as much as I wanted to pretend like it didn’t have any effect on me, I couldn’t hide it.
My head dropped forward as I squeezed my eyes shut. Fuck.
Trisha and Tommy had been together since they were fifteen years old. It was kind of crazy how well they balanced each other. They were both quiet—didn’t really get into any of the drama at the club or any of that shit—but anyone could see that Trish was Tommy’s North Star. She kept him grounded, stopped him from doing stupid shit without thinking it through, and gave him a reason to keep his shit together and come home. She’d given him five kids; the oldest was eleven and the youngest was three. Three girls and two boys. All gone.
Holy fuck.
“Where’s Tommy?” I asked Slider.
“Got home this morning from Portland, found the house and called us. He’s in his room. Fucker’s huge and we could barely corral him, had to have Doc knock him out,” he replied.
I paused for a minute to let it all sink in. They’d obviously wanted me there for a reason, but I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t even think about it. My head was too busy sorting through memories of Trisha and the kids.
Their oldest, Cameron, had a serious case of hero worship for me, and the kid followed me around whenever Tommy would bring him to the club. When Curtis, their five-year-old, was there, the worship was multiplied by two—he loved his older brother and if Cam wanted to be just like me, then Curt did too. Fuck me. I hadn’t had much contact with the girls, but what I’d seen of them, they were sweethearts. Little replicas of their mother, one of the sweetest women I’d ever met.
This was going to rock the club’s foundation, no doubt about it.
Shit, I was going to vomit.
I stood up and took quick steps to the outside door, losing what little was left in my stomach from the night before.
“You ready to come back in, brother?” Grease asked after I’d stopped dry heaving.
“Yeah. Be right there,” I replied.
When I got back into the room, the guys were speaking quietly to one another, but with one hand gesture from Slider they all fell silent.
“Tommy took some boys up to see what was going on with one of our suppliers in Portland. Name’s Thompson. The guy’s a pussy, but he’s been a solid contact for almost twenty years, so when he called saying he couldn’t do business with us anymore, I figured something or someone was fucking with him. Sent the boys up to give him protection if he needed it, or some incentive if that was the case,” Slider informed me.
“Turns out the man was already dead,” Poet added. “New gang up there took out his family and took over their business. Real shady shit.”
“Why am I here?” I asked, gesturing to the room we were in.
“Need you to go do your thing in Portland. Find out who these guys are and what they’re doing. Don’t ride your bike—we’ll give you one of the cars in the shop. Wear some of those college-boy clothes you have, get in and out,” Slider replied. “Need to know if they’re behind this shit with Trish, and if they’ve got any more plans to fuck with us before we retaliate.”
“I can do that,” I told Slider confidently. “Leave today?”
“Yeah, within the next coupla hours,” he said. “Don’t worry about shit down here. I’ll keep an eye on my daughter, and Grease is takin’ care of Callie and your gram. Just do your job and get your ass back here.”
“Will do.” We s
tood up from our chairs, and with a nod I left the room. I had a ton of shit to get ready if I was going to leave in two hours.
First on the list was Farrah.
With Tommy and Trish heavy on my mind, I started up my bike and headed toward home. I needed to see my woman and get lost in her for a while.
I had a feeling shit was going to get a whole lot worse before it got any better.
Chapter 14
Farrah
For most people, a day off work would mean a chance to sleep in until noon and lie around in their pajamas all day, but I couldn’t do it. I tried to find things to do when I wasn’t scheduled to work, so I wouldn’t have to sit alone in the apartment. It was still too quiet without Callie and Will, and it made me antsy.
I still saw them a lot. We spent time at Gram’s or brought Will to the park, but it wasn’t the same. Callie’s inner circle had widened; she was having playdates and shit with other women from the club, and even if I’d had kids, I wouldn’t have been a part of it. I’d been steering clear of all of them except for the few times Trisha had brought her kids over to Callie’s.
Even though it was my choice to stay away, I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being left out of their little group.
I’d made plans to go garage-saling with Gram, and we wanted to hit all the good ones early. There was a science to it that Gram had mastered before I was born, and she’d been slowly letting me in on the secrets over the past couple of years. I think she was afraid that if she told me everything at once, I’d start going without her. She hadn’t realized yet that I didn’t really need any secondhand tablecloths or clothes hangers—spending time with her was the draw.
If you were looking for the good stuff, you always went as early as you could on the first morning the garage sales were open, usually Friday. It was imperative to get there before the hordes descended and all that was left were some mismatched McDonald’s collector glasses and an old recliner that smelled like buffalo ass. On the flip side of that, if you just wanted the really cheap stuff, you’d go Sunday afternoon when the sale was ending and the seller just wanted the shit out of their driveway. They’d be selling their stuff for a dollar or less, just so they wouldn’t have to haul it away. Sometimes we went crazy and showed up on both days.
I finished getting ready—it was a 1950s housewife kind of day—and was packing up my purse when Cody walked in the front door. I knew immediately that something was wrong. When he closed the door behind him, he locked the dead bolt with more force than was necessary, then pulled on the doorknob as if checking to make sure that the lock was in place. His broad shoulders were tight and his body was jittery as he turned to face me.
“Hey, handsome,” I called quietly. “Thought you had to go to the club this morning?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stomped toward me, the usual grace in his movements completely absent. I wondered if I should call Gram and ask her to come over—he was acting really strange—but before I could even finish the thought, he was in my space and lifting me up. I wrapped myself around him, wondering what the hell was going on, but stayed silent as he shuddered against me.
“You going to work?” he asked into my neck.
“No, I was going to run errands with Gram,” I answered, running my fingers around to scratch the back of his neck softly.
“Grab your phone and text her, Ladybug. No errands for a while,” he ordered.
“What’s going on, Cody?” I whispered, my stomach churning at the emotion in his voice.
“Text Gram,” he repeated.
I leaned down to the back of the couch where I’d left my phone, and sent a quick text to Gram letting her know I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, and that Cody said we shouldn’t be running errands for a while. I didn’t understand what that meant, but Gram must have, because all she did was text back “OK,” which was actually pretty damn good since she usually couldn’t remember how to reply. As soon as I was done, Cody snatched the phone out of my hands and tossed it.
He pulled back his head and smashed his mouth onto mine before the phone had even landed on the couch. I jerked as he bit my lower lip and sucked it into his mouth hard, letting go of my ass to slide under my dress, his hands desperate and wild on my skin.
It didn’t take long before his desperation was feeding mine; it seemed as if every time he put his hands on my skin lately, I was ready for him. Like some kind of Pavlov response, I’d been trained by months of incredible sex, so the instant he touched me, my body started winding up.
I never understood the whole “panty-ripping” thing in romance novels; it seemed like that would leave freaking fabric burns on your hips, but maybe I was just wearing the wrong kind of underwear. The thought flashed through my mind as Cody reached between my legs to rub over the crotch of my underwear, but before I could debate the merits of flimsy underwear, he’d pushed it to the side and thrust his fingers inside me.
“Hold on, baby,” he whispered huskily as my back made contact with a hard surface. It must have been a wall, but I wasn’t sure which one since my eyes had closed and my head had fallen to his shoulder as his fingers pumped in and out. He fumbled with the button on his jeans, and his fingers halted.
“Don’t stop!” I murmured frantically.
“I’m not. I’m not,” he mumbled before pressing his mouth against my shoulder and biting down. He must have gotten his pants undone and pushed out of the way, because before I could complain again, I felt him against me. “Guide me in, Farrah.”
I lifted my head, our gazes meeting from only inches away, and I swallowed hard. His eyes were red and watery, and his jaw was tight as he stared at me, waiting for me to follow his direction. He looked at me like I could save him, but I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Normally I didn’t walk away from emotions, I ran, so for a split second I thought about making a smart remark, just to break the tension.
But for the first time ever, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t think of a word to say because I knew I had go against all my instincts and comfort him. I had no other choice; there was no other choice. I tentatively leaned forward so our noses were touching, then rubbed mine up the side of his as I reached down to move his cock so we were lined up. Before I could move my hand back around his neck, he slammed inside me.
There was no finesse to his movements, no thoughtful glances to see how I was doing, or lingering touches to make sure I was climbing with him. He was oblivious, grinding and thrusting and holding me close as his breath stuttered shakily in and out. He felt good inside me, really good, but I knew I wouldn’t orgasm. I needed more than I was getting to find release, but surprisingly, I didn’t care that he’d forgotten. In some perverse way I was glad that I wasn’t going to orgasm, because this time wasn’t for me. For some reason, he needed me to hold him—to get as close as we possibly could—and I’d never refuse him that if I could help it.
His hips started to slow, and he groaned low in his throat as he pulled me away from the wall. My hands had been soothingly running over his shaved head as he pounded away, but I paused when he came to a complete stop. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me into the bedroom, still planted deep inside me, and unzipped the back of my dress with one hand.
“I’m sorry, Ladybug,” he crooned as he lay me on the bed, pulling out to strip my dress over my head. He ran his hands from my shoulders to my hips, then with a sigh, he rested his forehead on my sternum.
“That’s okay,” I reassured him, leaning up on my elbows to watch him nuzzle my belly. “What’s going on, Cody?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. What’s wrong?” I asked, rubbing my hand down the side of his face.
“Just some shit with the club,” he replied, his face losing its vulnerability as he leaned up and flipped me onto my belly. “On your knees, Ladybug.”
We’d done pretty much everything we could do in bed, and I trusted him implicitly with my body, but something felt off. I couldn’t see
his face anymore, and it scared me that he seemed to be hiding it as his body covered mine and he pushed inside me, hard. I yelled out in surprise and dropped to my forearms when I was suddenly supporting all of his weight. His chest was heavy on my back as one of his hands found where we connected, then rubbed quickly at my clit as his other arm wrapped around my chest, his fingers reaching for my breast.
He rode me hard, more aggressive than he’d ever been. I’d have normally been frustrated as hell because I’d never been able to orgasm in that position, but before long, my hips were pushing back into his and I was coming. It went on for what felt like forever, his thrusts fueling the fire until I thought I’d pass out.
When his fingers finally stopped their movement, I collapsed. My hands slid forward until my chest was taking my weight, and I barely had enough strength to push my face to the side so I could breathe. His arm was trapped beneath me, but he yanked it out as he leaned back, and then both his hands were on my hips, pulling me into him. I watched the wall blearily as he pumped a few more times, feeling satisfied and spent.
It would have been the best sex we’d ever had, but after he came with a shout and all was silent, he rested his head on my back and I felt something warm and wet run down my spine.
With a small kiss between my shoulder blades, he left me on the bed. My body felt boneless but my mind was churning as I rolled to my side and flipped the quilt over me.
Was that a good-bye fuck? Had he finally decided to leave? No, no, things had been fine that morning, hadn’t they? It must just be something with the club that was bothering him, like he’d said. But why wasn’t he telling me what was going on? Something big was obviously happening if he was that upset, but I couldn’t figure out what it could be.
Fifteen minutes later, I finally pulled my awesomely sore body from the bed and stretched my limbs. I found my towel from this morning hanging over my footboard and cleaned up, and then shuddering, I rolled the towel into a ball and set it in the corner. I didn’t want to accidently use it again thinking it was clean.