Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC (8 page)

The last shred of control within her snapped, then. She could feel the remnants of her stoic demeanor melting away as she dug her fingers into Gunner’s hair and pulled him tighter yet against her mouth, as her hips bucked and danced with the rhythm of his hand, thrusting in and out of her. That slow, steady rhythm that would drive her crazy with desire. She wanted more, harder, faster. She tried to urge him with her hips but he wasn’t having it. This was his show, and he was going for a slow build.

She gasped when he broke their kiss and stared down into her eyes. The icy blue of his own were darkened with desire.

“So fucking tight,” he grated, “If you’re good maybe I will fuck you later.” The way he moved his body above hers, rocking with the motion of his hand, she could imagine that he already was.

She moaned, “Oh, God,” in response, shutting her eyes. He chose that moment to find her clit with his thumb. He pressed against it with each stroke, the digit sliding against it slowly, pulling all the swirling sensations within her tighter and tighter. A storm was brewing and about to break, and it was going to be explosive. She couldn’t stop it if she wanted to; all she could do was give herself over to everything Gunner was making her feel.

She moaned, long and loud as she spiraled towards her climax.
This never happens, I don’t lose it like this.
Justifications ran through her mind - it had been too long since she’d last had sex or even gotten off at all. It was a fluke. It was because she really liked looking at his face and hearing his voice. It was because he body was just so damn grateful to still be alive and functioning. Maybe she was sick, maybe she had a fever, maybe this was a dream. But when it came down to it, it was just
him.
He played her like a damn expert, as if he’d studied her like a book. His intense focus and his cocky attitude and the way he took his time - she never stood a chance. What woman would?

“Look at me.” Teetering on the edge, she peeled her eyes open and gasped as she stared up into his. Whatever he saw in her face in that moment made him smile - not the wicked smile that had become familiar, but a genuine smile - one that overshadowed all the tension that lived around his eyes. It gave her a glimpse of what he might have looked like if he’d led an easier life, what he must have looked like when he was younger.

It morphed quickly as he increased the pressure of his thumb on her clit without breaking the rhythm of his strokes, the rhythm that was rocking her slowly but surely over that edge, as all the heat inside her bubbled over. Her head tilted back and her mouth fell open as the first intense wave of pleasure broke over her like a tidal wave.

All she could see then were stars.

Gunner thought he might explode right there in his pants when Senna came apart, bucking and crying out and clenching around his fingers. The moment before that, though, when she’d looked up at him with her eyes wide and vulnerable, that look of lust and disbelief on her face, she’d been absolutely beautiful. Even despite the hacked-up black hair. It had made his heart clench - not an organ he was used to hearing from, and not something he was too happy about. It made his fingers itch for his motorcycle and his feet itch for the road.
I have to get out of here.

His cock needed to be dealt with but the longer he looked down at her as she recovered, the more he wanted to flee. He pulled his fingers from her sopping wet cunt once she stilled and tore his own pants open. She peered up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “What are you-”

“Quiet.” He pulled his cock out and watched her expression. He knew he was packing a monster, and the look of glee on girls’ faces when he revealed it was downright priceless. He wished he could create a collage of them.

Senna wasn’t immune. Her eyes popped wide and she bit her lip as he stroked himself, kneeling above her prone figure. “Stay right there,” he growled. This wasn’t going to take long. He had to get out of there. He stroked himself fast with a tight grip, using her fluids to lubricate the way. She looked unsure as she watched but this wasn’t about her anymore. “Lift your shirt higher,” he grunted, positioning himself over her, knees to either side of her waist. She did as he asked, leaning back and pulling blouse and bra up to her chin.

It was only a matter of moments. The sight of her tits bared and offered to him like that pushed him over, and he came hard, grunting like an animal and spurting hot jets of cum that splashed against her exposed skin.

She peered over the shirt. “You don’t want to have sex?”

“Oh, I do. And we will.” He tucked his cock away before it had even fully deflated. Alarms in his head were blaring,
escape! Escape!
It was past time to hit the road. He could think better out there. “I’ve got a lot to do. Starting with torching that van of yours.”

“Oh.”

He gave the room one last glance-around. The walls were closing in, suffocating him. He sprang to his feet. “Swear you won’t let anyone else in.”

“Promise,” she whispered. She sounded sad. Maybe disappointed.
Escape!

“Good. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back tonight, maybe tomorrow morning.”

Then he fled. He was out the door and across the parking lot as fast as his legs would carry him without outright running.

By the time he was on the road he was laughing at himself. He hadn’t run from a girl like that since high school.

He reached Heaven’s Highway around mid-afternoon and realized promptly that he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep in yet. He found a missed call on his phone from his father but he pushed it aside. There was no message so it couldn’t be all that important. Instead he made his way to the back office, settled back in the chair, and put his feet up on the desk.

Just an hour
, he told himself.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Bad things always come in threes. Gunner wasn’t a spiritual man by any means at all, but he held to a few superstitions and knew this rule to be true. He’d lived it all his life. Looking back, he should have seen the third blow coming. Banishment from the club, hiding the girl - they were considerable troubles. He should have braced himself for number three.

Not that being braced would have made it any easier. The third strike would have knocked his boots clean off no matter how ready he thought he was. But he’d had no hint of what was coming, no clues, he wasn’t ready at all.

Both Jupiter and Yards burst into his office. "Did you take care of her?" Jupiter demanded right away.

Gunner squinted at him. He needed to dance around some half-truths, here. "Problem solved. What the hell is this about?" He gestured between the two men. They exchanged glances that could only mean something was wrong.

"Well?" he asked, "Are we having a tea party? Want me to paint your nails? Spill it."

Yards finally spoke up, speech slurring less than usual. "You need to call your father."

"Why, what the fuck, someone die or something?" He meant it as a flippant comment, but when their eyes slid away, he realized he'd guessed right and his stomach sank into his shoes. Someone had died. "Get out."

They shut the door behind them but he could hear them hovering in the hall, speaking low, behaving as if they were waiting for some shit to go down.
Waiting for me to fucking explode.

If I'm calling my father then that means it isn't him, so what's the big fucking deal?
The coppery taste in his mouth as he picked up the phone told him that he already knew. His clenched fist shook and he made himself release it and flex his fingers.
If I don't make the call and hear it, then it doesn't exist. I haven’t talked to him in almost three years. Haven’t thought about him in months. I can go on pretending all is well
.

The phone rang in his hand, lit up with the name, “Nomad.” He cursed himself,
fucking coward
, before answering the call.

"Dad?" He never called the old man that anymore but it just slipped out. He realized he was shivering and sat back down in his chair.

"I'm sorry," Nomad said, "It's Jay."

No first names. We called him Alvarez
. Gunner closed his eyes. "What happened?"

His father sighed. "He shot himself. They're keeping him alive but it’s not good."

Shot himself.
It echoed in his mind as if it had been shouted into a canyon.
After we spent all that time together trying to
not
get shot. Protecting each other.

"Son? Are you there?"

Could I have protected him from this?
"I'm here." Why did he feel so cold?

"Come home. Don't worry about club shit for a while. His mother is looking for you, she says you ought to come say goodbye."

Gunner groaned. "Keeping him alive" had sounded like there was a chance.

"I know there's a lot of shit going on right now," his father went on.
You have no idea
. "You can stay with Lily and me if you'd like."

He would have preferred to have his father berate him for losing touch with his friend for so long, accuse him of not being around when Alvarez needed him,
blame
him. Not this kid gloves bullshit.

"I'll think about it." He hung up and stared at the wall, unable to form a complete thought.

His whole world was in shambles.

Alvarez, his brother in arms, had tried to kill himself. He was dying right now.

The man's face came to Gunner's mind, unbidden. The way he'd looked sitting in that bare hospital room where Gunner lay injured, when the rest of their friends were cold in the morgue below.

He'd looked like a ghost, then. Hollowed out. Insubstantial.

There'd been six of them, together since basic, brothers in every way but blood. Four years together, two tours, and four of them killed on the same day, in the same instant.

They'd all thought they were invincible when they were together.
Like a bunch of fucking children
. He thumbed his tags, deep in his pocket, and squeezed his phone until the screen cracked. He felt no better.

Fuck Alvarez. Like I don't have enough shit to deal with right now. The bastard.

He jumped from his chair and paced the office. Three steps one way, two steps back. Again, then again.

Too much.

Trouble begets troubles. Bad luck draws more bad luck. The only way out is to break the cycle, and Gunner hadn't figured out how to do that yet. Giving a shit about anything would have helped, starting with himself. Not being such an angry, arrogant bastard to everyone he met. Eschewing violence as a first resort.

We weren’t even talking anymore. It shouldn’t feel like this.

His phone woke him from his thoughts. The screen revealed "Jester" as the caller.

"What?" he answered. The two rarely got along, and he was one of the last people Gunner wanted to talk to.

"Brother. We heard. Wanna get fucked up?"

◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙

Home was a six hour drive away but Jester and Irish were already on the road and in town when Jester called. Bill hadn't sent them. Neither had Gunner's father. Hell, they were probably going against Bill's wishes, seeing as how they were in the middle of building some partnership with the Eagles. But their fellow club member had some troubles to drink away, and damned if they weren't going to help him do it.

"Let's tell all the girls they're on tonight!" Jester announced as he stepped into the back office that evening, "Where's your motherfuckin' Rolodex?"

Jester was poison. He was a junkie and an alcoholic and partying with him could only result in a whirlwind of self-destruction for all involved. Irish, being the youngest and newest member, would have the delightful task of staying just sober enough to keep an eye on the front door and make sure neither of them tried to take off on their bikes. With what Jester had planned, though, they wouldn’t be able to find their way out of the parking lot if they tried.

Gunner looked the younger biker up and down. Irish had been a member for only two years and there were currently no prospects at all.
Does he know he’s gotten himself sucked into an old man’s club?
At least Jester and Gunner himself had the excuses of their fathers.