The Riot (Hell's Disciples MC Book 5) (7 page)

Walking into the kitchen, I see the freezer door wide open and my heart sinks.

No.

Looking inside, I know I’m not going to find anything, but I still look, finding exactly what I expect. Nothing.

“Shiiiiiit!” I throw my hands up in defeat. Two thousand bucks is gone. It’s not a lot, really. It’s nothing to most, but I had been saving up for a new place. Just my damn luck. Letting my head sag, right along with my heart, I sigh loudly.

“What’s wrong?” Rock asks from somewhere behind me. I’m too preoccupied to turn around to look at him because I’m busy killing people in my mind. A butter knife in the eye sounds right. “Ellison?”

“Nothing.” There’s no use in telling him. He’ll insist upon replacing it, and I don’t want to owe him anything.

“Let’s go.”

“What? Where am I gonna go?”

“Where do you wanna go?”

“I’m not sure,” I shrug, but I can see the wheels turning behind Rock’s gaze. He’s got a plan.

“You’re either sleeping here with me or my place with me. Your pick. But either way, I’m with you.” I’m not sure I’m down with either option. Rock and I don’t do the sleeping in the same bed thing.

“Times up. Pack a bag.”

“Rock—”

“Pack, or I’ll pack for you.”

I weigh my options. I could stay here, be up all night scared shitless, or I could be at his place, uncomfortable, but less scared. This is so fucked up.

***

Dropping my bag at his feet, he looks down at it and back up at me, smirking. He got his way.

“Finally ready to move in with me?” Right. That’s exactly what I’m not doing. I packed everything I own in four minutes.

“You’re funny.”

“Babe, you know I’m a fuckin’ riot.” Yeah, he’s something all right.

***

Rocky lives above Tink’s bike shop in a small studio apartment with a leather sectional in one corner, and a giant king size bed in the other. Nothing else. No pictures, no knick-knacks. I think there are paper plates in the cupboard, and there might be milk in the fridge, but it’s likely expired. Rock lives here, but he doesn’t
live
here.

Where he
lives
is the place his mom raised him, in the little three-bedroom house in what was once the bad part of town, but now it’s considered up-and-coming. He’s fixing up the place, slowly, but surely.

Crawling into the middle of Rock’s bed, I sit Indian style, waiting for him. This is awkward.

Watching the bathroom door, Rock comes walking out and my heart starts to hammer against my chest. Propping my hand under my chin and my elbow on my knee, I physically hold my jaw up, keeping it from hitting the bed. He’s wearing a pair of old sweats with a hole in the knee and the waist frayed, and nothing else. I swallow back a pained moan.

So fucking hot.

I tear my eyes away from him, looking down at my hands in my lap instead. I let the man do dirty, nasty things to me, yet I can’t stare directly at him. He’s like the fucking sun.

“You gonna be okay over there?”

No. “Yes.”

“You sure?” Absolutely not. When I don’t answer, he says, “Baby?”

“Hmm?”

“You look good there on my bed.”

“I do?”

“Fuck yeah.” I think I kinda like being here in his bed too.

Bed Buddies

Buck

“Stop movin’, babe.”

She’s rolling and flopping around, keeping my ass awake. I’m not sure what the hell she’s doing over there on
her
side of the bed, but I’d assume she’s practicing her gymnastics routine with all the bouncing she’s doing.

Couldn’t wait to get her in my bed, but now I’m rethinking it.

“I can’t sleep,” she declares. She shoots up out of the bed, messy blonde hair sailing over her face.

Clearly.

“Ya don’t fuckin’ say.” I’ve been damn near bounced clean off of the bed from all of her rolling and flipping. “Lay your ass back down, babe.”

Sighing, she throws herself back down and flops over, facing me

“Yes?” I’m so fucking tired.

“This is weird. We’ve never done this before, and I’m used to staying at my place.”

“Yeah? Why’s it weird?” Can’t see why anyone would miss that dump she lives in. Sure, inside her place is nice. Ellison made the best out of what she had, but it’s nothing worth missing.

“I’m not home, in my bed. It’s so quiet here.”

Quiet?

“Want me to make truck noises, shoot off my gun, go into the other room and shout some drunken bullshit?” I can’t stop the laugh that pours from my mouth. She’s so fucking difficult, it’s stupid. I can’t seem to figure this girl out. Years of friendship and I’m still trying to piece together the puzzle that’s El. She’ll let me fuck her, but she won’t sleep with me? She makes no sense, but she’s a woman. I figure she doesn’t have to.

“You’re so damn funny tonight,” she mutters, rolling onto her back, the blanket pulling down across her stomach. I instinctively lick my lips at what’s uncovered.

Wearing a sports bra and a pair of tiny booty short looking things, she looks damn fine, even wearing that stupid one boobed thing. It’s an unflattering piece of shit. She could wear a sack and she’d make my dick hard though, so I have nothing to complain about.

“Could fuck you to sleep.” I offer her my expertise. I can put her ass to sleep, given some fun time.

“Oh yeah?” she laughs. What the fuck does she have to laughs
about?

“Is there a reason you always feel the need to push me, babe? You know I can fuck you to sleep.” Testing a man’s patience is a skill Ellison’s mastered. I’ve watched some strong assholes crumple under this woman.

“Would it be the fun if I just rolled over every time you crooked a finger? I’ve gotta keep you on your toes, and no one does that better than me.” She’s got me there.

“Wish you would roll over,” I mutter, letting my arm fall back over my face. I’ve been having a lot of sleepless nights lately, and tonight I’ve got one less thing to worry about here in my bed, but I’ll be damned if she’ll let me sleep.

“Whatcha got in mind for me?” She gets up and on her knees and rests her hands on her thighs. Hovering over me, she’s got a little man-eating glimmer in her eyes and a sneaky little smile. “Show me.”

I’ll show her.

What do I have in mind? My face between her thighs and my tongue in her pussy. Maybe her ass bouncing around on my dick. How about bent over the couch?

“Panties off and I’ll show ya.” Now to get to work.

***

Propping myself against the wall, I lean back against the cold plaster, catching my breath. I tried to wear El out, but I think it was the other way around.

I watch her crawl away from me and get out of bed. I have no fucking clue where she thinks she’s going, but I watch, intrigued.

Standing at the foot, butt ass naked, she bends over. Her round ass is perfect, and right in my goddamn face. My cock swells, hungry for her again. She’s gonna kill me.

Grabbing the pair of gray short thingies that barely cover her fat ass, she slides them slowly up her legs and over her ass. Standing there with her tits out, she searches for that ugly sports bra deal, and I happily watch, knowing she ain’t gonna find it. I stuffed that dumb-ass thing between the mattress and box springs.

She makes a sloppy knot with her hair on top of her head, and catches me watching her.

Pure fucking beauty.

Ellison is a masterpiece. Even the imperfections are perfect in my eyes. Jesus, this pedestal I put her on is mighty fucking high.

I want a
real
woman with real curves, real ass and tits, and a real face. That’s a real woman. What I go to bed with is what I want to wake up to. Nothing wrong with that fake shit, it’s just not my flavor. My flavor is all Ellison.

She’s every-fucking-thing, and it’s scary.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I give her her space, I sleep around, yet the thought of her getting nasty with some other motherfucker makes me violent. No one deserves her. Not five minutes ago, she was reverse cowgirl, straddling my waist while she played with her cunt for me, and there’s a good possibility she does this shit with someone else. I
hate
the idea.

I fucking hate it.

I’d fuck her and only her, every day for the rest of my life and die a happy man if she’d let me. But that’s just not how this shit works. This is all we’ll ever be. I might hate it, but I’m not good enough for her. Someday she’ll find her Prince fuckin’ Charming, and she’ll see me for what I am. When that happens, I figure it’ll be for the best, and I’ll be stuck figuring out how to live without her.

“Rocky? You all right over there?” Ellison’s standing at the end of the bed with her shoes in her hand. If she thinks she’s leaving, she’s fucking high. She’s mine tonight, and I’ll be goddamned if I let her go.

“Babe, where the fuck you think you’re goin’?” I grab her hand up in mine. “You’re not leavin’.” Not tonight. Pulling on her, I tug her ass back into bed and right into me. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

Ellison

A scar runs right across Rocky’s back. It’s ten inches long, raised and jagged. I remember the night it happened like it was yesterday. A sucker punch from his drunk of a dad put him through their front room window. Rocky showed up at my house drunk, bleeding, and pissed. There was no relationship between Rock and his dad, but that night cemented an already doomed fate. 

There’s a scar on his upper lip, a story he still won’t share. His knuckles and hands have been beat into a mess over the years.

Each inch of skin tells a story.

Sleep is something I just can’t find tonight. Stuck in my head, I’ve tossed and turned until I gave up.

Sitting up, I watch him sleep soundly. He looks peaceful, something he never seems to be. On his stomach next to me, his hands are tucked under his head, and he’s turned away from me. Twenty years and this is a first for me. I’ve never had the perverted pleasure of checking him out without quick glances or stolen looks. Sure I’ve seen him naked, but never have I been able to appreciate it fully and privately.

Rocky is all man. A body built from hard work and rough living. He doesn’t spend hours in the gym, and he doesn’t follow any bullshit fads. He’s built on something real—a rough life—something we share.

Each one of his tattoos tells a story. Some I know, because I lived them right along with him. Each scar, every tall tale, and shared memory are ours.

Carefully scooting towards the end of the bed, Rock jerks, his shoulders tense and his back stiff. I’ve been caught.

“You goin’ somewhere?” he grumbles, his voice rough from sleep. My internal debate lasts a solid second before I decide it’s not worth the risk.

“Nope.”

Crawling back under the covers, I do something I’ve never done. I roll over and cuddle up to him. Throwing an arm around me, he pulls me in close, my face in his chest and my leg resting between his.

Content, I let him keep me close, right where he likes me.

***

Rock takes me to lunch once we finally roll out of bed. On the back of his bike, in the cold morning air, he flies down the highway, headed for our place. Burying my face in his back, I breathe him in.

The snowy bitterness of the mountains gives way to the cool saltiness of the ocean the closer we get to the coast. A touch of nostalgia tugs at my heart at seeing the familiar surroundings as we burn up the pavement. 

It’s a little diner on the 101, thirty minutes outside of town, at the edge of the state where land meets ocean. Rock pulls in, swinging around the side to park. It’s an old place, but it’s well taken care.

Hopping off the back of the bike, he throws an arm over my shoulder and asks, “You hungry?” The weight of his arm over my shoulders is solid and heavy, but comforting.

“Starving.”

A few checkered booths line a wall of windows that look out to the rolling blue waves of the Pacific, and a couple tables sit between them and the small bar top. It’s a hidden gem of a spot in the middle of nowhere, and it’s
our
place.

We sit in our seat in a corner, looking out on the ocean. Rock slides in and reclines. Sliding into my own seat across from him, I smile, thinking of the first time he brought me here.

Following Rock in, all six-foot-two inches of him, I putter, feeling like fucking shit. The rough ride here did not help my twirling stomach. Why did I drink so damn much? Hiding in his shadow from the blaring morning sun, I walk close behind him, watching his body move stealthily through the lot while I clomp along after him.

Tugging on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I wonder where it came from. Did Sammy give it to me? And why am I wearing Lizzy’s shoes? What the hell did we do last night?

Groaning, I push my aviators even higher up my nose, helping to shield the devilish sun and the morning after shame.

Throwing open the diner’s door, he holds a hand out in a, “Hurry your ass up” gesture. “Come on, drunky.” I have no comeback. The idea of coming up with one witty enough to say hurts my drunken brain.

Rock picked me up from a night of drinking—
hard
drinking. It’s the summer before my senior year, and we decided to let loose before it was time to get back to the grind. The night started out fun, but ended with me hiding outside in some bushes, calling Rock for a ride. Of course he came without question.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” I mutter at his back as I follow him inside.

“Yeah,” he grunts, blowing my thank you off. Not unusual. Rock is stoic, hard and unwavering.

“No, really. You’re always there.” I’ve come to count on Rock. He’s the only stable person in my life, and that’s saying something for a man in an MC.

“I’ll always be around, El.” I’m counting on it.

“Promise?” I tease, sliding onto the bench seat next to him. I tease, but really, I’m dead serious. The idea that someday Rocky might not be here is the one thing that scares me most in the world.

“Promise, babe. But El…” he stops and looks at me with his eyebrows drawn up in what looks like annoyance.

“Yeah?” I frown, confused as to why he’s giving me the stink eye. Do I smell that boozy? Oh God, did I throw up on my jeans and forget?

“Can’t sit next me, babe.” Oh. Well, that does nothing for my fragile teenage heart. Sometimes I wonder if he hears the things that come out of his mouth.

“Okay,” I grumble as I crawl out of the seat like a kicked puppy. I love Rocky, but sometimes he’s such a dick. So sweet, and so fucking mean.

Plopping down on the bench across from him, I throw my arms over my chest and pout. I’m too hungover to care how immature I look. Rock chuckles to himself when he sees me secure my glasses again. He thinks it’s my hangover, but I’m hiding my hurt behind the dark tint.

“That’s better.”

“How so?” I huff, fiddling with the sweatshirt. Picking at the strings, I don’t look at him. I should have called my brother. Doubtful he would have come to get me, but walking would have been better than this.

“Now I can look at ya, watch your pretty face.”

Oh.

Now
I
feel like the dick with a hangover and an attitude. Real cute.

I love Rocky mean, bad mouthed, black souled and all.

“Afternoon,” the waitress smiles as she walks up, red lipstick smudged on her front tooth. She’s wearing a replica fifties dinner dress, and a beehive to rival all beehives on her head. “Our specials are…” she starts to say brightly while handing us our menus, but Rock waves her off.

“We know what we want.” She gives him a puzzled look, but nods. “Go ahead then.”

“I’ll take the double double with fries and a beer, and she wants a single with onion rings and a strawberry shake.” Rock doesn’t ask me. He doesn’t even look at me when he orders for the both of us, but the waitress seems satisfied, and turns to leave.

“Excuse me. Can I have fries instead of onion rings?” I ask her while I look directly at Rock, who’s now looking back at me, head cocked and eyes dancing.

“She’ll have the onion rings,” Rock informs her.

“The fuck I will. I want fries.”

“She
will
have onion rings,” he says with finality. She’s been dismissed, but she’s too confused to hear it in Rocky’s voice, since she remains standing at the table, probably wondering what the hell she should do.