For Her Honor (2 page)

Chapter One

Not
hing like a little afternoon tail – times two.

Unburying his face f
rom a nicely trimmed pussy hovering above, Taz looked down at the blonde riding him. “Put some effort into it, gingersnap. Some of us gotta get back to work.”

The blonde p
icked up the pace, bobbing up and down as Taz thrusted his pelvis up to pitch his cock even further up her snug little snatch. “Much better.” With his trademark devilish smile, he went back to his feast, lapping his studded tongue over the brunette’s clit. One hand anchored her hip while he shoved two fingers of the other deep inside. She sighed first then squealed. Loud.

“
Guess I found Disneyland,” he gloated. The brunette was on the brink. And judging from the blonde’s little cries, so was she. “C’mon ladies, let’s bring this threesome home.”

After s
everal minutes of licking, thrusting and rocking, the trio finally peaked. In what order, it didn’t matter. Taz didn’t need confirmation. His cock and fingers felt all the evidence he needed, which was absolute heaven. The brunette moved away towards the head of the bed while the blonde carefully climbed off, both lying on their stomachs. Sitting up, Taz peeled off and discarded the condom before rubbing his hands together. “Lunchtime’s over, sweet things,” he announced, giving both their asses a sharp slap. “Think ma’s got some pastry in the fridge. Go help yourselves. Then you gotta get dressed and book.”

With coy giggles, both women slid off the bed, careful to do so slowly and seductively, thrusting out ass
and tits to give him the best view. Naked, they disappeared out of his old bedroom while he flopped back down. Twirling the barbell stud over his right brow, he checked the clock. He had exactly a half hour to gas up his bike then get back to the body shop where he’d be up to his ass in crumpled metal. Since his mom’s house was within pissing distance of the gas station and clubhouse, he figured he’d lay back and chill for another fifteen. Hell, he probably could’ve done that to the very last moment if he’d just eaten his lunch – and his roast beef grinder! – in his room at the clubhouse. It was certainly quiet enough there. Ben and Tanner were at the mill, Wes was manning the shop with a prospect, while Vic, Aero and Doug were up in Ohio meeting with the Hogs before swinging over to southern Penn to discuss ‘vetting’ procedures with Antonio Conti. The
consigliere
for the Caprese family was ‘old school’ and preferred face time over anything that could be traced.

He sighed with satisfaction, stroking the brunette’s juices l
eft behind on his beard before sucking his fingers like a lollipop. Damn, he loved pussy. Almost as much as loved the healthy fee coming in every month from the Caprese gambling enterprise. Weekly security at the ‘rings’ set up near the four Mountain Skull charters in-state, as well as two new ones waiting to be established as soon as Conti approved of the men Vic personally hand selected, fattened their wallets. Yeah, things were going good. Smooth. No drama. A good thing on the surface, but it itched a man like Taz. If his proclivity to inflict his own special kind of drama couldn’t be scratched, he’d go stir crazy. It was why he fucked like a freight train in multiples rather than resort to Dahmer-esque tactics on innocent, furry woodland creatures to expend his pent-up energy.

Bored just lying
there, he sat up - his body from his clavicle to his torso, from wrist to shoulder, was a myriad of ink against the white bed sheets. It was all invisible under long sleeves. His piercings, well…..that was a different story. His brows, nose, lip and tongue and nipples either bore studs, bars or miniscule hoops. Only his ears were kept clean of any metal. Combined with his demon-black hair, brows, goatee and eyes, he looked every inch the Tasmanian Devil his mother nicknamed him when he was ten. Twenty-six years later, that name was symbolic of behavior far worse than being a mischievous rascal.

A s
queak, sucked-in voices, then an opening door followed by a crash pricked his ears. What the hell were those bitches doing in there? Then a loud, familiar voice summed it up.

“
Taz? You here………..what the hell!?”

Speaking of his mother.

“Shit!”

B
efore he could pull on his jeans, both girls bolted back into the room. Their hands were doing a poor job of covering their naughty bits. Hearing footsteps closing in, he sat back on the bed and threw the covers over his lower half. No sense in giving his mother her second shock of the day. “In here.”

He really didn’t have to announce
it. All his mother had to do was follow the trail of naked girls. And when she did, Janice Morrell stopped in the doorway looking a cross between pissed and mortified. She also looked as if she needed to lay off the tanning spray, but she insisted it camouflaged the wrinkles and age spots which had crept up on her fifty-five-year-old face over time. Eyes made up with lilac shadow and spiky mascara went from the two tarts jumping into their clothes to her son. “Really, Taz?”

“Little privacy, ma.”

“What’re you doing here?”

He smiled lasciviously.
“Midday sustenance.”

“
In my house?”

“
You’re supposed to be at the bakery.”

His mother
didn’t look as if she wanted to have this discussion as the girls shimmied their lovely assets out of the room, having to squeeze by Janice in the process. Giving the girls a chastising look, she turned it up on her son. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain your lap candy in my house.”

“Dorm’s filthy.”

“I wonder why.”

“Girls haven’t cleaned.”

Janice huffed. “Haven’t I taught you to pick up your own shit?”

He shrugged.
“They’re better at it. Chill, ma. I ain’t fuckin’ ten anymore.”

She pointed a finger at him.
“Watch that mouth, Gabriel. You’re not too old for me to smack it, if I didn’t think I’d snag my hand on something.”

Taz cringed whene
ver he heard his given name. Of course, like most mothers, his used it when she was on the warpath. “Uh….can you leave so I can get dressed? Gotta get gas and back to the shop.”

Shaking her
head as if he were a lost cause, Janice left. Taz popped up, closed the door, then threw his clothes on as fast as he could. He loved his mother to death, but she was getting a bit ornery as she began her ascension towards sixty. He was all she had after conceiving him in a backseat at eighteen. But to suck her teeth at his sexual escapades after she most likely sucked half the dicks of every hair metal band in the eighties was a little hypocritical.

But he knew her constant shift in moods was due to one thing and one thing only.
She could care less what outlet he plugged his dick into, so long as the recipient had a ring on her finger and a future grandchild in her belly. What for? He had a roof over his head, money in his pocket, top shelf booze at his disposal and pussy who didn’t nag about taking out the garbage or hogging the remote or – geez Louise – drag him shopping. No-fucking-thanks.

Slipping his cut over his mechanic’s shirt, he left the room
he still considered his. It had been ever since they were able to move out of his aunt’s, after his ma began making decent money as a grocery cashier by day and bartending at The Water Rock at night, before it was shut down in the late eighties when the Skulls moved in and took over. Up until then, Janice Morrell had more interest in dressing up in spandex and attending rock concerts every other weekend rather than being a homemaker. As Taz got older, he didn’t mind his mother leaving him on a Friday or Saturday night only, for her to pour herself in the following morning reeking of booze and weed with backstage stickers still clinging to various parts of her body.

He couldn’t
fault her for her past. She got knocked up young, the provider of that sperm which sprouted him being some dumb jock who was trying to piss off his girlfriend. His mom survived being kicked out of the house because her sister took her in. After Taz was born and old enough, she began to sow the oats she’d missed out on earlier by being a groupie, until she finally got her shit together and saved her paychecks to move into this tiny, 2-bedroom ranch which was still her home.

And still just as dated.
Paisley carpet in muted brown spanned every room. Dark paneling covered the walls from floor to midway, while pale yellow paint covered up to the ceiling. Mirrors covered in gold squiggles favored one wall in the living room furnished with a green tweed couch and beige La-Z-Boy recliner. His mother was of the mind that if it wasn’t broke, it didn’t need fixing or replacing. It enabled her to save even more, to open a little cookie and cupcake stand in the center which, over time, ballooned into Sugar Me, an homage to her favorite Def Leppard song.

After washing his hands and face in the bathroom, he headed to the kitchen. He found his mother
leaning up against the counter, cigarette in mouth, lighter in hand. “Didn’t answer my question, ma.” He opened the fridge, leaned in and pulled out a mini éclair. “Why’re you home?”

Flicking the
silver lighter, Janice puffed on a Marlboro. “Closed up. Took a half day. Place was a zoo this weekend, so I’m tanked.”

Taz wasn’t buying it.
Not one bit. His mother never – ever – closed up early. Tuesday was the bakery’s only official ‘closed’ day. That’s when a service came in to do a thorough cleaning. State officials could be pricks about those things. Shoving the éclair in his mouth, he grabbed a half gallon of milk. “I ain’t stupid, ma. You’re lyin’. What’s up.”

He went to chug from the container, only to wisely reach for a glass after a glare from his moth
er. “Nothing’s up, Taz. Just tired.”

Washing the pastry down, he then pulled t
he cigarette out of her mouth. “Then stop smokin’ and go lay down.” He tossed the cigarette in the sink and ran the faucet.

“Shit, Taz.
I only got three left.”

“I don’t give a fuck, ma.”
He ignored his mother’s look at his obscenity. It wasn’t as if she was a virgin to the word, but he tried to respect her by keeping his language clean. Then he went and nailed two bitches in his old bed. Damn, he was a hypocritical douche. “You’re beat. You’re home. Lay off the tobacco and go rest. I’ll stop by after work, bring Chinese or somethin’. I mean it. I don’t want you……”

“Alright, enough.”
Janice pressed blood-red polished fingers to her temples. Stacks of rubber and various metal bracelets ringed both wrists. “You talk too much.”

He grinned.
“Part of my charm.”

“How about using some of
that charm to get a decent girl?”

Here we go again.
“Ma…..”

She held up her hand, eyes winced closed.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. It’s just, you’re pushing forty. Time to think long-term. Ben did.”

Taz shrugged, swigging more milk.
“He lucked out. Smart, knows her shit. Plus, you see the body on her?”

“Yeah – and it’s pregnant.”

And here came the second thorn in Janice’s side.

“You ain’t gonna let this go, huh ma?”

He knew that look. She gave it to him often. The
‘why can’t I get you to understand where I’m coming from as a mother?’
look. “I don’t want you to wind up alone. I’m not gonna be around forever for you to crash on that couch every Sunday and fuck whores in your room while I’m out.”

He scratched the back of his head looking sheepishly regretful.
“I’m sorry, a’ight? And you’re only fifty-five – same age as Elle. Don’t see either of you kickin’ the bucket anytime soon.”

“Least if she does go, she’ll have the memory of a married daughter.”

The woman would not let this go. Maybe it was a stretch to compare his mother to Elle Connors, who was steeped in town importance, clout and – right now – wedding plans for her daughter. Even though the two women had club ties, he knew his mom always felt several rungs below Elle’s ladder. As Elle was the president’s wife, just about every woman was below her, including the old ladies. Going from an unwed, teenage mother tossed out of her home to the owner of a successful bakery in town she built from scratch (no pun intended) didn’t seem enough to separate Janice from her wild past. Then again, maybe if she stopped dressing as if it were still 1989, toned down the makeup and nail polish and stop bleaching her hair, she’d be taken more seriously. But just as his ink, piercings and devil-cut facial hair was what made Gabriel Morrell ‘Taz’, his mom seemed comfortable looking as if she were about to attend a Poison concert.

“C’mere, Jan.”
Just like she used his given name when she was ticked at him, he used hers to soften the mood. He put his arms around her shoulders and gave her a good, long squeeze. Janice had never married. A string of boyfriends here and there – most which Taz scared away by so much as showing up – was all the male company she’d had in her life. Her nagging him was just her way of making sure he didn’t wind up like her – alone. “I’ll be fine, ma. Maybe - someday.” It pained him to make even that much of a half-promise. Being saddled with an old lady, house and kids may suit Vic, Tanner and – more recently – Big Ben Lawson, but Taz wasn’t sure if or when he’d be ready for that.