Protect (3 page)

“Would have been nice to know that was
actually the plan,” Fritter had to agree. “I was sweating bullets,
too.”

“The reaction had to be authentic.” Tiny was
still grinning as the waitress set down their beers.

“
Panic
had to be authentic?” Buck
mumbled before taking a sip off his bottle.

“When you get off, honey?” Knuckles asked the
waitress before she could leave their table. For his part, Fritter
let his eyes linger on the neck of her uniform. Her breasts were
high and pushed together in a way that defied gravity. She caught
him but he kept his face stoic, letting her know he was
looking.

Her return glance was just as indifferent,
then she shot Knuckles a sunny-California smile. “I get off when I
get home to my boyfriend, thanks for asking.”

The table collapsed into laughter as she
sauntered away, and Knuckles had to give her a small salute as she
turned back to chuckle at his cheesy pick-up attempt.

“You’re getting too old for that shit,”
Fritter told him, taking a pull on his beer.

“Is that right, youngin’? You’re getting past
your prime, too.”

Fritter shook his head. “Nah. Still got
plenty in me.”

“Bullshit. Over thirty is supposed to be the
downward slope.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

Now Knuckles stare was a downright challenge.
“What are you saying?”

“Cut this out,” Tank warned.

“You know what I’m saying, old man,” Fritter
goaded, leaning across the table towards Knuckles. “Let me eat my
dinner, then I’ll show you how you get a woman like that.” He
jerked his head towards the lunch counter where the waitress was
now serving coffee to the long-haul truckers.

Knuckles’ grin was maniacal. “There’s no
fucking way.”

“Oh, it’s already started.”

“Fuck,” Mickey sighed, like the fight had
already happened.

“Bull. Shit.”

Fritter’s grin was slow, because he knew that
was the best way to piss off Knuckles; show him his quiet rage had
no effect. “I’m hitting that. Fuck dinner. I’m hitting it before
the food gets here.”

Knuckles hand went out. “Fifty bucks says
there’s no way.”

“A hundred says yes.”

“Fine, a hundred.”

Fritter nodded to their Vice President,
handshake done. “You in, Tank?”

The huge bear of a man chuckled. “No way. I’m
too grown up for school yard bets.”

“Hundred bucks on Fritter,” Mickey threw in,
sounding resigned. “Sorry Knuckles, but he was getting the eye even
after you hit on her.”

“Hundred on Knuckles,” Tiny said, setting his
beer down.

“You guys are so fucked up,” Buck
muttered.

“Who’s your money on?”

Buck leveled an unimpressed look at Knuckles.
“I have no fucking idea. I ain’t betting on this shit.” Then his
look of disdain softened. “Fine. Hundred on Fritter.”

“What the hell, man?” Knuckles actually
sounded hurt, but Fritter was already getting to his feet and
heading for the front door of the diner. On the way he caught the
waitresses’ eye. He stopped, blatantly gave her the up and down,
and her cheeks went pink. He bit his lip and raised his eyebrows.
She nodded, head tilting towards the kitchen. He nodded and went
out the front doors, circling around the building to the back.
There were a few of those plastic crates on the ground positioned
around a coffee can, overstuffed with cigarette butts. Ah, staff
room for the smokers.

He toed the coffee can as the door to his
left opened. It was their waitress, and the second she saw him she
was all business. “I only have fifteen.”

He nodded, cock hard, undoing his belt
already. “Plenty of time, darlin’.”

She nodded, backing up to the wall and
letting him into her personal space. She tasted like coffee as he
kissed her, fast and hot, her hands pulling at his hoodie, getting
underneath it and sliding up his ribs, all nails and scratching.
His hand pushed up the little skirt of her uniform, reaching behind
to squeeze her ass. Nice and hard, on her feet all day.

“Fifteen minutes,” she breathed, breaking the
kiss and unbuttoning his jeans.

Fritter pulled a condom out of his pocket,
tore it open while she watched, her hands on his zipper forgotten,
panting. “Get me ready there, darlin’,” he teased, and she was on
it, fast. Her hands were fucking cold but it didn’t matter. He
rolled the rubber on, and then in a fast move that made her gasp
she was face-first against the stucco wall. One hand was between
her legs, pulling her underwear out of the way, the other went up
to brace himself against the wall.

Lowering his hips he got in position then
thrust up, straightening as he did so. She cried out, head going
back to rest on his shoulder. She was tight, wet, and perfectly
warm. A few experimental thrusts and she was whimpering around a
bit lip. He kept one hand on the wall, hips snapping into her
faster now that he knew what she wanted. His free hand slid down
the front of her underwear, pressing onto her clit and circling
hard.

Just like that she came, screaming through it
while he shoved his face into her hair and bellowed out himself,
coming hard. Fast, rough, dirty, and in public. Five minutes tops.
Hell, she even had time to clean up.

Stepping back he pulled free, tore the condom
off and tossed it onto the pile of cigarette butts. A few scattered
on impact. He tucked himself away, his aching back forgotten as the
waitress smoothed her skirt back down, adjusting her panties
again.

She turned back, face flushed, a bit
fucked-drunk. He had to smile.

“Holy shit,” she gasped, hand on her chest,
eyes falling closed.

“Thanks darlin’,” he said, giving her a kiss
on the cheek. “I gotta go wash my hands. You good?”

“I’m great,” she answered with a smile, eyes
still shut.

“You absolutely are,” he agreed with a wink,
then headed around the diner the way he’d come. Throw in that
hillbilly accent and panties literally fell to ankles. Knuckles was
fucking insane taking that bet.

Before he headed to the men’s room he
approached their table, Buck and Mickey already grinning and
shaking their heads. Knuckles looked pissed, and before he was even
at the table within polite distance he was snapping, “No fucking
way. That smile doesn’t mean
shit
.”

Fritter grinned and shoved his hand in
Knuckles’ face. “Smell that?”

Knuckles hit his arm away. “Fuck off. Fine.
Hope you got crabs from her.”

With a chuckle Fritter went to wash up, a few
bucks richer and much more relaxed.

-oOo-

There was a knock at his motel room door, but
he was already up. In his jeans and bare feet he pulled the knob
inward, scratching his chest and yawning. “What’s up? Thought we
were leaving at ten?”

Buck’s eyes went from Fritter to the motel
bed. Yeah, he’d let two of the working girls stay the night. They
seemed tired. And they were
still
out, although that might
have been the bottle of Jack they killed without any help from
him.

Word to the wise: don’t get blackout drunk
with whores in your room. They will steal your shit.

“We gotta go,” Buck said softly, apparently
feeling sympathy for the women in his bed. “Got a text from Gertie.
Cops found her dad’s body.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Ready in twenty?”

Fritter was already pulling on a T-shirt.
“Absolutely. Make it ten.”

“Thanks.”

He left the door open and headed to Mickey’s
room next. Fritter did up his belt, pulled on socks and boots then
shrugged on his kutte. As an afterthought he pulled out his wallet
and dropped two more fifties on the nightstand. They’d been fun
girls.

He balled his hoodie up under his arm and hit
the walkway, closing and locking the door behind himself. Mickey
was out of his room already too, and they both fell in step behind
Buck.

The Red Rebels had handed Gertie’s dad over
to Sachetti knowing they were just going to ice him. It was the
least the guy deserved; he’d run when his daughter was being beaten
and raped on a regular schedule by a bunch of bikers. Which he’d
known
because those pricks sent video proof. Fritter would
have killed the guy himself, but handing him over and turning down
the reward meant they had a lucrative contract with Don Sachetti,
and if they played this right it would add up to much more than a
one-time payment of a million bucks.

Since then Gertie had somewhat of a little
sister status with the club. Other than Buck, they all viewed her
as someone to be protected and cared for. Plus, she’d busted out of
a biker clubhouse to save their president’s wife, so really she’d
earned their devotion from that as much as from being Buck’s old
lady.

Fritter liked her. She had been a bit wild
for a while, but now she was sweet. And she was going to be a
mother, which was awesome. Her tits were getting bigger, and while
he worked hard not to appear as though he’d noticed them he had to
appreciate them. Her rack had always been awesome. He thought about
her inappropriately a few times before the baby announcement,
though now he fought those imaginings to the back of his mind. It
seemed extra seedy since her and Buck had officially gotten
hitched.

Still, she was hot.

Tiny’s rig was already gone from the lot so
he’d gotten a head start now that their load had been delivered.
With loud yawns and scratched heads they all approached their
bikes. In doing so Fritter knocked Mickey’s shoulder. “Sorry if I
kept you up.”

Mickey shook his head. “You didn’t. I travel
with ear plugs now just so I can get some fucking sleep. You had
the two Chinese girls in there?”

Fritter grinned. “Yeah, man. None of us spoke
any English for a while there.”

“Yeah, I heard,” he muttered, shaking his
head.

“Sorry, man.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

Fritter kept his comments to himself. The
number of times Mickey and Jolene could be heard in the clubhouse
enjoying some alone time with an enthusiastic third party numbered
in the hundreds, so Mickey taking real issue with loud sex would
have been hypocritical.

Hell, Mickey going to bed alone was still a
stunner to Fritter. Yeah, the guy was married. And he’d been
married for a long time. It must have been his unusual arrangement
with his wife that kept him faithful to Jolene, even on the road.
Not a lot of women wanted to watch their men fucking other women,
but that was how the Graingers kept it fresh. So all the power to
them. Mickey was a good looking guy with charm that women really
responded to. Still, when Jolene wasn’t around his dick stayed in
his shorts. It was impressive.

Actually, Jayce had been the same when Trinny
was in the picture. And Buck kept it tied in a knot for Gertie,
too. And Tank? Forget it. Fritter was impressed and saddened by the
state of men in, apparently,
love.
It made no sense, but
there it was all the same.

The ride back to Markham was uneventful. It
wasn’t as sunny as it had been the day before. Instead the clouds
hung low and close, making the humidity uncomfortable. But at least
on the return trip they could just wear their kuttes without
hoodies.

Kuttes and alliances and crime aside, this
was the real fucking reason for his enjoyment in the MC lifestyle.
Riding all day with his brothers and calling it his job;
perfection.

His old man had apparently been in an MC, but
Ma never really discussed the man. Fritter suspected his mother had
been a random one-nighter, but Fritter hoped she was at least a
woman in his father’s Oklahoma port who warranted a regular visit.
He loved his mother but he didn’t have illusions of her sainthood.
She’d been a single mom raising him best she could, but she’d also
been a woman who wanted companionship. His long parade of “uncles”
who spent the night never bothered him as long as they were good to
her.

Markham town limits welcomed them home just
as the rain started, but it was just a light shower. The streets
were barely damp as the club assembled their bikes in an orderly
line in front of Buck and Gertie’s house. For all his devotion to
his wife, Fritter knew Buck felt no guilt for the club handing her
old man over to mobsters who obviously intended to kill him.

And Fritter didn’t feel one way or the other
about it. Okay, that wasn’t true. He was fucking glad the prick was
dead. Anyone who left his daughter to what Dénise had ... Well,
that was a shit father. Fritter didn’t need one of his own to know
that.

Fritter hung out at the back of the group as
they moved to the front door. Buck’s long legs and determination
got him there first, and as the door opened Gertie was in his arms,
pressing her face into the side of his neck. Ah, shit. She was
crying. He couldn’t handle crying women.

Under the overhang of the house they were out
of the rain. Buck wrangled Gertie back inside, Tank and Mickey
right behind them. Knuckles and Tiny stayed outside with him,
Knuckles lighting up a cigarette.

There was a blue Ford Escape outside the
house, which meant Jolene was here. And a low-riding Impala was at
the curb on the opposite side of the street, and Fritter was pretty
sure it belonged to the tattooist the club used, Brady-something.
Gertie was well supported.

“Any reason to stick around?” Fritter
asked.

“Not really.” That came from Tiny.

“I’ll go in and see her after this,” Knuckles
said, holding up his smoke. Right, he was Gertie’s sponsor or
something like that. Yeah, he was necessary. The rest of them, not
so much.

“I’m heading back to Ma’s then,” he decided.
“Grab some sleep. If anything happens—”

“We’ll find you,” Knuckles finished.

“I’ll get back to the clubhouse,” Tiny
mumbled with his deep voice, clasping fists with Knuckles as a
farewell.