Hunter: MC Romance (Hell Reapers MC Book 1) (39 page)

Hunter and I both yelled in surprise. Even though I knew he’d do it.

Barristan made quick, fumbling, scratching circles between us – getting his coat nice and soaked as the two of us laughed.

The night was wonderful, and it was all ours. We had seized the day, and I knew we’d never stop.

Epilogue

Jessica

Eight Years Later

“This is bad,” Tyler groaned behind me at the breakfast nook, “why does
she
get the good one?”

Tyler’s older sister, Reagan, had a shit eating grin on her soft face, “Because you’re the twerp,” she said matter of factly. And then sipped from her glass of orange juice.

I ran circles of dish soap across the thick green plate, “Honey,” I said firmly but with a pinch of understanding, “you know why. And Reagan, be nice to your brother.” I swore those two took after their father too much.

Tyler lazily spooned in a couple mouthfuls of his raisin bran, “It’s not fair though,” he complained, chewing with his mouth slightly agape.

“Once you catch up with your sister I’ll let you have the crunch,” I told him, rinsing the plate that I had dabbed in soap. “You should be happy I’m not your grandmother,” I glanced at my boy over my shoulder, “she’d have taken your OJ away too. She wouldn’t let me have sweets
period
.”

Tyler’s blue eyes, that reminded me so much of his father, bugged out when I said that. Then came the sarcasm of course, “Gee, I guess that makes me lucky huh?”

I smiled and raised a threatening brow at him, and in turn he gave me that subtle, cute little smirk before dutifully eating at his inferior cereal. After I finished cleaning up the last of the dishes, and the kids were nearly done with their breakfast, I sidled over to them and kissed them each on the top of their heads. Reagan was either blessed, or cursed, with my natural hair color – which over the years I had dyed a firetruck red – while Tyler has curly brown ringlets. The club, my mother, Sabrina and a host of my other friends all figured that we would have cute kids together, but I only really started believing them this year.

“Come on now,” I urged, “Uncle Jameson is going to take you guys to school today.”

I made sure that the kids had their lunches ready. Some pre-made bento boxes that I’d spent making a few nights back, full of delicious little goodies.

“His car always smells funny,” Tyler hadn’t developed his filter yet.

“Not as funny as you,” Reagan teased, nudging her brother’s shoulder.

I could already hear the whines in my head of “mom” and every other variation thereof. Still, it was a good problem to have.

***

I ushered the kids off into the back of Jameson’s truck. He hollered for the children to behave and gave me his usual wave and smile, “You look divine, miss Synn,” Jameson complimented. He was sporting a good deal of facial hair now, and the back of his manbun had only gotten longer over the years – the lines of his face giving him a graceful look.

I shook my head, “Oh quit it,” he knew what he’d done wrong. I waved the children goodbye and then kicked the stand back on my mandarin Yamaha FZ-09. I was clothed in a custom, refitted, chiffon dress, that same yellow one that I had worn all those years ago. I knew that it would reveal too much leg, and possibly even some other parts of my skin; but dressing in it made me feel sexy, and the photo guy Fernando insisted I wear it.

Turns out that night at the Ybor, that dude in the suit was scoping out local talent. It’d taken some time for him to track me down and convince me that he wasn’t some creepy stalker, but when he did, I made sure to buy that yellow microphone off of the bar and grill. It held a special place in my heart.

It had taken me a good, long while to even get the desire to want to drive a bike like Hunter. For the longest time I was content with him driving me on his hog, and of course I had a special connection to my Corolla – her times were long since gone, though. But after a few years of riding by myself, I got use to all the new experiences of it and came to really enjoying riding; did it as often as I was able, when the 2019 Accord wasn’t needed.

When I got to the photo shoot that I and Carl had booked at Morlyle Theater, I checked my phone for texts and calls, spotting that Hunter had messaged me

Hunter:
*runs a hand through your hair* missing you deeply babe, doing the shoot today?

Me:
*purrs at your touch* yes it’s today! I am excited! Don’t be late tonight xoxo

Hunter:
*kisses along your neck* you’re gonna do great.

Hunter:
if you still have time, I need to see you. Cock is so hard for you, lover.

Me
: that must be very distracting.

Me
: I don’t know…what’s in it for me, sugar?

Hunter:
oh you’ll see.

Every nerve in my body was firing at full attention, a tightness rocking my core and a delightful wetness pooling at the base of my panties.

After snapping a lewd picture of my lady bits and sending it to Hunter, I found the center stage where Carl Hemlocke was waiting for me. They were dressed up in shades of black, a form fitting V-neck tee and rockstar type skinny jeans. Once again, although it was a style that Carl enjoyed – Fernando and our manager Paul Sailslip, both encouraged for us to dial things up to eleven.

“Oh my god,” they said, “you look so amazing.”

I smirked. Little did my partner in crime Hemlocke know, that my panties were
very
messy right now after my exchange with the husband. I did a small, graceful and playful spin for Carl, “I thought you might like it. You’re the hard edge to this partnership though, I couldn’t pull your look off no matter what they’d do to me.”

Carl slung a thin arm across my shoulder and pulled me into them, squeezing me against their person; the dark green mess of their perfect hair framing their face. “We should switch it up one day. You know, for the fans. Really surprise the hell out of them.”

I laughed, “Maybe. Maybe we could have
you
do the vocals for a change.”

Carl looked mortified, their eyes ever-so-slightly bulging, “I don’t know about that.”

“Come on.”

“No!” They squeaked, or as much as their deep voice could, “I-I could never do that,” Carl tittered nervously.

Carl was never one to be shy or outspoken, but I think the idea of being on stage and singing was a bit too much. It was an odd feeling, to remember how suffocated I felt when I first had to sing like we do now-a-days. “One day,” I assured them, “you just haven’t found what you need yet. To help you cut through.”

They offered a small smile and squeezed me tighter, making me squirm against their touch. By the time we were done jabbering away, Fernando walked in with his camera and his gorgeous assistant wife. Fernando himself was impeccably dressed in a stylish purple crewneck and work slacks, while his wife rocked this peculiar set of jumpers and red bow-tie; her honey-drop eyes sitting behind her horn rimmed glasses.

We did our poses, and had our fun and put in the work that was needed. Ultimately, I felt good about the shoot – and knew that it would do wonders for our third album. I pretty much could only exclusively offer my vocals and lyrics, while my machine of a partner, Carl, did all of the beats, chords and melody lines. It was a good, strong partnership; that had came to be when I sent my manager Paul the same demo I received way back when.

***

Dusk began to rear its ugly head when I pulled into the small, cramped parking lot of mom’s itty-bitty bakery on main street. Her shop was sandwiched between a local coffee shop known as Joles, and a hole-in-the-wall Gyro sit-down. Across the street was a Starbucks and not far from it was
another
bakery called Regalia’s – whereas mom specialized in cookies, Reggie dabbled with various pies and frozen treats. The name had no relation to my sweet daughter’s, either.

It was safe to say that the competition was quite stiff for mom, especially given her age. But she endured, as she always had.

I walked through the glass front door. Bells above me rang.

Fingers of happiness brushed against me when I saw her smile. She was sweeping during the down time.

“Jessica,” she said smoothly, continuing to purposefully clean, “you look nice. I’d never be caught dead wearing that,” she added with a short, stiff laugh, “but for you, it works wonders.”

“Thanks mom,” I stepped past her, heading to the side of the front counter. “I’m just here for some peanut butter M and M’s.”

“Oh is that all I’m good for, huh? They went through the last batch already? You’re spoiling them, Blue Jay. You know when I was raising you—“

“Trust me mom,” I cut her off, “I remember,” I let out a small laugh, “and you’re kind of right I guess. I’m spoiling them, it’s hard to be hard on them.”

Momma stopped her sweeping and walked over to the front counter, folding her arms over one another and resting them on the glass table. “Ah, don’t let me tease you too much,” her face crinkled as I grabbed a Tupperware container, “being a mother’s one of the hardest things you’ll do. You have to raise them your own,” she conceded, scratching an itch on the crown of her head. I remembered when her hair first started coming back, and eventually grew to the fiery tangles today. She was so damn happy. So alive. “You never listened before,” she tilted her head and batted her eyelids, “can’t see you starting now.”

I rounded the corner of the counter and walked over to her, with Tupperware full of treats, kissing her shoulder, “Yep,” I chirped and skedaddled, pushing through the heavy front door, “Tyler and Reggie send their love!”

The last thing I heard before leaving, was: “Next time they better come down here themselves if they want them so bad!”

***

Old Barristan was clawing at the door while Hunter showered. Come on buddy, it’s just a little rain and thunder outside – it won’t hurt you I promise. I brought my naked self to the door and cracked it open to check and see if the kids had by chance gotten up.

Nope. Just my first, biggest baby of the house. “Come on you wimp,” I sighed and cracked the door open further, letting my old mutt inside. He didn’t walk as fast anymore. Wasn’t as playful as he used to be. But he had a lot of love in him, and even though it broke my heart to picture a day when I wouldn’t get to have his lazy licks on my face or hand; it said a lot about the lives that we built. There was little to stress over, leaving Barristan’s old age my only heartache.

He dragged his now very gray coat over to my side of the bed and looked up, considering jumping – the shower nozzle sputtering for a second longer and then going off. My heart dropped a little when Barristan looked over to me and decided to just lay down instead.

Oh, my boy. Please…I felt the first kiss of tears wanting to burst out.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I wanted to cry. I glided over towards my old man and sat down beside him, holding his tired head between the crook of my arm – planting kisses along his neck and back. Behind me, I could hear Hunter stepping out of the shower and drying off, heartbeats passing before he found his way over to us.

I always felt his beautiful presence first. Like an electric aura. He crouched beside us, wrapped only loosely in his pink towel. “How’s our boy?” He asked, a sadness thick in his voice.

“He’s strong,” I squeaked, hugging him a little tighter – listening to his slow, ragged breaths and puppy-like rumbles. “He’s so strong, you know that,” my throat itched and burned, “I can’t lose him. I just can’t, honey. I can’t.”

I heard Hunter sniffle and push out a long, sad sigh, his hand rubbing all along my spine, leaving trails of comforting warmth. “I know,” he offered sincerely, “I’m gonna miss him too. We all will.” It just broke my damn heart, it wasn’t fair that everyone else got to be happy. He was part of this family too, and his loyalty had earned him more than this. It had to.

Hunter and I spent a while talking about Barry, petting him and holding each other. Sharing memories and preparing ourselves emotionally – the vet had said he would probably have at least one more year in him, and I was thankful for that much. We could still go for plenty of small walks, and I wanted the kids to have as much time with him as possible.

Bringing ourselves out of the momentary sorrow, I climbed onto the bed and Hunter slapped my ass, causing me to yelp and shoot my hand to my mouth. I gave him a stern, heated look.

So of course, because of that, he pulled our his nuclear option – giving me that same, devilish smirk he’d always used. “Can’t blame me,” his brows jumped up, and his smile widened, “if my wife’s going to shake her fine ass like that, it’s
going
to get smacked. It’s simple.”

“Naughty boy,” I mumbled. His looks never ceased to stop enchanting me. He still worked tirelessly to retain his cut body, and he’d scored a couple of new tattoos. He had more scruff than when we first got together, more hair and some age lines were becoming apparent. For thirty five, he sure didn’t look it. Whenever we talked about our looks and if we were aging gracefully, I always told him that his body was just slowly but surely evolving into Dad-bod. I assured him that if not for his marriage status, the club boppers would be all over his easily-lickable body.