RUSH (A Stone Kings Motorcycle Club Romance) (6 page)

I took note of the way she said it.  “Sounds like your family isn’t all that close.”

“Nope,” she replied, her tone angry, brusque.  Something shifted between us, and suddenly the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Abruptly, she moved a step away from the car — away from me — and looked awkwardly at the ground.  “Um. I think I should be going now.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I let her take the lead.

“Yeah. Okay,” I nodded.  She reached for the handle of her car door like she suddenly realized she was late for an appointment.

“Um. Bye,” she said, refusing to look at me.

I watched her drive away.

“Bye,” I said.

Seton

I barely slept that night.

When I got home from my encounter with Greyson Stone, Carly was there. She seemed to realize that there was something up with me, because she kept looking at me out of the corner of her eyes and trying not to let me notice. I knew I was acting nervous and weird, and I could tell I still had the flush of sex in my face, just from the way I felt.  When Carly had asked me how my day had gone, I just managed to make her believe that I was acting strange because I was freaked out about Wes cornering me alone in the hallway.  Which, to be honest, I was still freaked out about. But that’s not what was on my mind as I got ready for bed.

I was thinking about Greyson Stone, and how he had almost driven me out of my mind with just his hand.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, and what he’d done to me. Belatedly, I realized I’d been so discombobulated by the way he had teased and tormented me that I hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t finished himself.  He had made it all about me, making me his with just a whisper and a touch. Had he not wanted me? I worried, blushing at how wanton I’d been, letting basically a stranger do whatever he pleased with my body. But the memory of his lips, soft but hard, and the gruff brush of his beard against my skin sent a rush of heat coursing through my body, and I thought back to what he had whispered in my ear right before he had made me come:

“Someday, I’m gonna bury my face in between those legs and lick your pussy until you come all over my face. I’m gonna make you scream so loud your throat will be raw for days. And then I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. You know it’s gonna happen. You want that, don’t you?”

Oh, God, yes.  I wanted that.

And just like that, even though Grey had made me come harder than I ever had before, the thought of what he had promised me at that moment made me ache with an unbearable need to be released. I lay in bed, my body on fire, throbbing for his touch, until finally I reached under the covers and brought myself to orgasm, whispering his name as I came. Finally, I was able to fall into a fitful sleep, where I had dreams of him between my legs.

The next morning, I was feeling unsettled but better.  In the light of day, what had happened between Gray and me in the parking lot felt more like a dream than reality. Even so, I found that I couldn’t quite get him out of my mind. Carly had left early for a training class at the salon where she worked, so I was on my own for the day. The prospect of two days without any routine, which had sounded so attractive to  me yesterday, now felt like torture.  So, I decided to do what I always do when I’m feeling jittery or on edge.

I cook.

I spent the morning distracting myself from thinking about Grey by dreaming up different dishes I’d like to try, and making a shopping list. After a quick run to the store, I came back and cleared the kitchen counters in preparation for a long day of cooking.  I picked some rhubarb from the tiny patch of land I’d managed to commandeer in the side yard, and with the strawberries I’d bought at the supermarket, I set out to make a strawberry-rhubarb pie.  Once I had the pie in the oven, I started preparations to make a new recipe for homemade ravioli with arugula and pancetta. I’d found the recipe online a few weeks earlier and hadn’t yet had the time to try it. The recipe involved making the pasta from scratch, which was just the kind of meditative work I was looking for.

I’d been in the kitchen for a couple of hours when I got a text from Cal.

Hey wats up

Immediately suspicious that he was going to ask me for a favor, I texted back:

Not much. You?

Just wondering how u were doing.  u want to go get dinner or something?

Surprised but pleased, I thought for a second and then wrote him a reply.

I’m cooking ravioli and strawberry-rhubarb pie. Want to come over here for dinner?

A few seconds later I got this:

That sounds great! When?

I replied:

Come over whenever you want.

The response was immediate:

Cool ill be there in an hour

I set down my phone, trying to wipe the floury fingerprints from the screen, and turned back to my work, humming.  I thought back to how I had learned to cook in the first place.  When Reed had left home, my mom had pretty much abandoned all pretense of taking care of Cal and me.  After a few months of existing on microwave burritos and frozen pizza, I had taken on the task of making us food so we wouldn’t starve to death. I had started with simple things that took ingredients that we were likely to have in our poorly stocked kitchen: quesadillas, grilled cheese sandwiches, spaghetti.  Eventually, as I got older and earning some money babysitting, I would sometimes use my allowance to buy more exotic ingredients.  I liked the peaceful meditativeness of cooking. I liked that it felt like I was in control when I was in the kitchen. And if something didn’t turn out, I was the one who had made the mistake — which meant that I could learn how to correct it.

I hadn’t been cooking much lately, so this impromptu time in the kitchen felt especially precious to me now. I resolved not to let so long go before I spent an afternoon cooking again.

A little over an hour later, the low sound of a motorcycle engine approached.  I suppressed my irritation at the thought of Cal making such an irresponsible purchase, and washed my hands so I could go get the door.  I got to the door and opened it just as he was about to ring the bell.

Cal was standing there in a clean white T-shirt and his leathers, and held a six pack of beer in his left hand.  I tried not to show my shock. This was the first time I could ever remember him not showing up to my place empty handed.  Normally, Cal took.  He didn’t give.

“Hey, sis!” He said with a grin.  He opened the screen door and gave me a quick hug as he passed through. “I hope this goes with ravioli,” he said, holding up the six pack.

“Beer goes with anything,” I assured him.  “Go on through to the kitchen.”

I followed him through the living room and watched as he went to the refrigerator to put the beer in. He took a beer out and offered it to me. Another first: the Cal I knew should have just taken one for himself and thrown the rest in the fridge.

“Thanks,” I said dumbly as I took the bottle from him. He nodded and took a second one out of the pack before putting the rest in the fridge.

Cal sat at the kitchen table as I worked on dinner, sipping his beer and telling me funny stories about what he’d been doing since I’d last seen him.  I decided to take a cue from his new-found thoughtfulness and put him to work on making a salad.  “Here,” I said, handing him a head of Romaine lettuce.  “Wash this, and then tear off the leaves and throw them in the salad spinner.”

“Come on, See, I don’t know how to do this stuff!” he complained.

“Sure you do,” I replied, waving him off. “Wash. Tear off leaves. Tear them into a size that’s easy enough to eat with a fork. Throw in salad spinner.  Spin.  If you can figure out the mechanics of a motorcycle, you can do this.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, but he took the lettuce from me and went to the sink. He even did a halfway decent job of it. I had him grate some parmagiano for on top of the salad and the pasta, and by that time, I was more or less finished with the rest of the meal.

Cal set the table while I plated the food and brought it in. Cal got himself a second beer, and without pretense dug into the pasta. “Oh my God,” he groaned as he chewed. “Damn, See, I’d forgotten what a good cook you are.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, and loaded up my fork. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s freaking fantastic,” he enthused, taking another bite. “You know, you really should cook for a living. You’d be a great chef.”

“I don’t know about that,” I protested, but I smiled happily. It was nice to be appreciated. And if I did say so myself, the ravioli was pretty damn good.

We ate in silence for a couple of minutes, during which time I found my thoughts turning back to Grey, and the Stone Kings.

“So…” I asked. “Things are good with you, it sounds like.”  

“Yeah, great,” he nodded. “I mean, I’m pretty busy with the MC, but I like that, you know?”

“What… what sort of stuff do you do with them?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

Cal looked at me briefly, and then back down to his plate.  “Uh, actually, See… I can’t really talk about it.  See, that’s kind of one of the things.  Loyalty to the club is really important, and that involves keeping club business to ourselves.”

I frowned.  “It’s not, like, anything illegal, is it?”

Cal looked back up at me.  “Look, See, I don’t want to talk about it.  No offense.  But I’m not going to.”

I didn’t know what to make of that.  But Cal seemed pretty resolute, so I figured that pushing him on it wouldn’t get me anywhere, anyway.  So, I tried another angle.

“What are the other members of the club like?”

“Tough,” he admitted.  “Like, ‘don’t fuck with me’ tough.  These guys don’t take shit from anyone.  But they’re like a family. A brotherhood.” His tone grew enthusiastic. “The president, Grey, he comes off as really hard, and he can be pretty rough on the prospects.  But I think underneath he’s a really good guy. The rest of the brothers in the club seem to really respect him.”

Cal kept talking, but I didn’t hear much after that. My mind was in a daze.  Grey was the president of the Stone Kings? I had only barely been able to get my mind around the fact that the man who had leaned me up against my car and made me scream with pleasure was a member of a biker gang… but the
president
?

What did the president of an MC even do?

Then it hit me. The man who had done things to me I didn’t even think were possible wasn’t just some random member of the Stone Kings. He was the
head
of the Stone Kings. And although he was clearly too young to have been involved with my father’s death, he might know the person who killed him. Maybe even well.

Grey Stone was my enemy. Why didn’t I feel the hatred that I should? My stomach roiled in confusion and I put down my fork, my appetite suddenly gone.

Cal had continued to talk as my thoughts spun out of control, but he eventually noticed that I didn’t seem to be paying much attention.  “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden, See,” he remarked. “Anything wrong?”

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I choked out the only response I could. “I’m fine.”

Cal must have interpreted my silence as worry. “See,” he began, “it’s okay. Really. Nothing bad’s gonna happen to me. The club isn’t what you think it is.”

“Isn’t it?” I asked sharply.

Cal looked down uncomfortably. “Well, I mean… they’re not choir boys. But the club protects its own. And they do a lot of good in the community. Silent auctions, bike runs for charity…”

“Stop,” I interrupt him. “Just, stop.”

He stopped talking, his brow furrowing in frustration.

I sat still for a moment, willing myself to change the subject.  But I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question I knew he wouldn’t want to hear.

“Cal, doesn’t it bother you at all that a Stone King killed our father?” I asked quietly.

Cal shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about that, See.”

“What? Why the hell not?” I asked, my voice rising. “How can you possibly not have a problem with that? I don’t understand how you think it’s just fine that a club you are prospecting with is responsible for our father’s death!”

“Stop it!” Cal yelled. He shook his head angrily. “Seton, there’s stuff you don’t know. Stuff Mom told me. Dad brought it on himself. He never should have gone after a club member. Dad was nothing but a drunk, anyway.”

It was as though he’d dropped a bomb right in the middle of the room. “How
dare
you talk about our father that way!” I shouted, my eyes filling with furious tears.

“See—“ Cal began.

“No!” I yelled. I slammed my  fist down on the table.  “Get out, Cal! Get out now!”

Cal stood and watched helplessly as I put my head down on the table and sobbed.  I couldn’t believe that my brother thought of our father as nothing but a useless drunk. Cal had been so young when Daddy died, he barely remembered him, I knew.  Just like I knew instinctively that my mother had reduced him in Cal’s eyes to nothing but a sad caricature.  But it didn’t matter that I knew it wasn’t true. I couldn’t take it. My heart couldn’t take it.

Cal tried to touch me once, on the shoulder, but I angrily pushed him away. Eventually, I heard him walk slowly toward the door and leave, shutting the screen quietly behind him.

I couldn’t bear for Cal to be part of the Stone Kings MC. I just couldn’t. I would do anything to stop him.

Even if it meant confronting Greyson Stone.