The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (14 page)

“Yeah, saw a man wearing a hockey mask and swinging my axe, and he’s headed this way.” Her mouth pops open and her eyes narrow. 

“You’re not funny.”

“Two in the morning makes me fucking cranky, babe.”

“I swear I heard something.” She mutters, walking away towards the end of the porch. What the hell? Grabbing her arm, I stop her before her bare feet hit the dirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” I don’t think there’s anyone out there, but I don’t know that shit for sure.

“Going to check.” I don’t fucking think so. She might have really heard footsteps, and the last thing I need is for her to be snatched off the porch in the middle of the night.

“The fuck you are,” I tell her, shoving her ass back towards the door. “Are you high? You don’t go walking around out here in the middle of the night.” I swear to God, she has no damn clue. “Jesus, Lennon.”

Sighing, she smiles and walks back into the house. “Okay.” Following behind her, I shut and lock the door.

“There ain’t shit out there, babe.” Well, there isn’t shit out there I can do anything about at this very moment. If I hear something, then it’s a whole different story.

Lennon seems content with my answer, so damn satisfied that she doesn’t even bother to stop at her couch. In fact, she walks right into the bedroom, sits on the bed, picks up the blanket and throws it over herself.

“We having a slumber party?” I ask her, gesturing at her body in my bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watch her make herself right at home.

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she informs me.

“Why?”

Turning over onto her side, she shrugs one shoulder. “I like being by your big body.” My big body? “I feel safe when you’re around.”

“You think if someone breaks in here, I’m gonna jump in front of a bullet for your ass?” I’m not sure why I’m even asking. She knows goddamn well I will. That shit’s just in my nature.

“Yes,” she says without hesitation, which isn’t surprising. She can see right through me.

“You sleep in here then, I’ll take the couch.” If it makes her feel better and makes her go to sleep, then I’m down. Whatever it takes to get me back to sleep. Standing, her hand latches onto my arm, stopping me.

“No ... stay, please?”

I’m trying to be nice by letting her stay here, letting her have my bed, a bed I’m pretty damn fond of. I’m trying to be accommodating here, but Lennon’s not helping.

“No,” I say as I peel her hand off my arm.

I’m not trying to fuck about right now. The last thing either of us need is to be sleeping in the same bed. I may have a real hard time keeping my hands to myself. It just isn’t gonna work.

“If you go to the couch, I’ll sleep on the floor by you.” she states firmly. If she wants to sleep on the floor, I’m not gonna fight her on it.

“You do what makes you happy, babe.”

“Come on, Buck. I’ll sleep over here,” she says, scooting towards the edge of the bed, lying almost hanging off the side. “Please.”

I’m too fucking tired for this shit.

“Fuck. Scoot your ass over. Don’t need you falling out.” Grabbing her ankle, I jerk her back towards the middle. I don’t want her falling off in the middle of the night and cracking her skull on the nightstand, waking me up with her bitching and whining.

“But if you wake up with a dick in your ass, don’t go bitching at me,” I warn her before lying back down. I’m not being held accountable for the shit I may or may not do in my sleep, and that goes for my dick too.

“Thank you.” So sweet and so goddamn annoying.

“Yeah, babe, now shut up and go to sleep.”

A hand landing on my chest wakes me up, startling the hell out of me. I’m hot and  uncomfortable, but fuck, I was sleeping hard. Rolling my head to the side, I see a head full of black hair and a tan body too goddamn close to mine. If I was on my side, I’d wake her up with a hard slap to her ass.

Picking up her tiny hand, I throw it back over at her. “Stop,” she groans from under her pillow, kicking me at the same time.

“Stop what?” I ask, shoving her legs back over to her side of the bed with my foot. This king size bed is starting to feel awfully fucking small.

“Waking me up.”

“Payback, babe.” 

Slapping her ass hard, I wake her up. If I’m not sleeping, then neither is she. “Get your ass outta bed unless you wanna stay here all day. I’m leaving and I won’t be back for a while.”

Lennon

“You have a truck,” I muse, staring curiously at Buck wh’s unlocking an old black Chevy I had yet to notice until this very minute. I guess Buck kinda looks like a truck guy too. Bike, definitely, but a truck works for him.

Buck likes to start early, and I mean way too early. The sun is just starting to peek over the trees and the chill is still in the air from the night. Hell, the birds aren’t even up yet. Waking me up with an ass slap was a special kind of wake-up call this morning, but at least he followed it up with juice and a donut.

Standing on the other side of the giant shop under an old carport, I watch him, head down, jamming a key into the truck door, grumbling while he works. Looks like Buck could have used a few more hours of sleep.

Today he isn’t wearing his glasses. I like it.

“You’re real observant this morning.”

“It’s all that cuddling I got last night. It makes me extra perceptive,” I respond sweetly. Shaking his head, I catch him smiling. I think he might like me today. It’s a little tiny like, but it’s there.

Popping the door open, he jumps in with ease. Firing the truck up, he gets comfortable, waiting for me to do the same. Jerking the door open, I gawk up at the space between the ground and floor of the truck. It must be four feet. I formulate a plan of attack to get into this beast.

“The fuck you waiting on, darlin’?” Buck taunts through the open door, eyes impatient, unfortunately irritated. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t like me today.

“Just looking for the ladder, Sasquatch.” Grabbing onto the seat for support, I give it a go. One leg up is followed by a second. A little jump and I’m hefting myself up and in. I barely make it inside without falling back out and onto my ass. Well, there’s my work out for the day.

“Very smooth,” Buck chuckles, watching me struggle. A hand would’ve been appreciated.

“Eh, I’m a woman of many talents,” I tell him, getting comfortable in the old leather seat. “So, why are we truckin’ it around today?” I like the bike, like, really like it.

“Got shit to pick up.”

“Like?”

Smiling wickedly at me, he mouths, “Bodies.”

“Oh, what fun! You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” I lean forward, fingers on the radio dial. “You mind?”

“Have at it, crazy woman.” He mutters under his breath. Can’t argue with that.

This truck is old ... I’d say seventies old. It’s still nice, but still old. There’s only a standard AM/FM radio in here. Flipping through stations, I land on some classic rock. That’ll work.

“Leave it,” he instructs, pushing my hand away from the dial. “Good pick.”

“Why thank you.” At least he likes my choice of music, not that I had much of choice. Only two stations come in up here, country and classic rock.

Tearing down the mountain, I watch Buck out the corner of my eye while he drives. He looks so serious, so stern, with one hand wrapped around the steering wheel, the other thrown casually over the back of the bench seat. His eyes are straight ahead as he watches the road with such seriousness. Serious sexiness.

‘Midnight Rider’ fades from the radio, replaced by ‘Crazy.’ If that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is. Sneaking a look at me, Buck lifts a brow and says, “Wow.” Wow indeed.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he keeps beat with the music as he drives intently to the very apt song.

My eyes have a mind of their own today. He’s wearing a blue T-shirt under his cut, beat up jeans, and boots. His hair and beard are out of control, and he’s still not sexy in that normal sexy way, but I just can’t stop staring at him.

“You’re staring, darlin’.” I am. I’m staring hard.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” I point out. In fact, they’re nowhere to be seen today. They’re not on his head or stuffed in his pocket.

Shrugging his shoulder, he looks over at me and replies, “Trying something new today.”

“I like it.” I do. I really, really like it.

“Sure, babe.”

“Lennon, what the fuck are you doing?” Buck hollers as he comes stomping around the corner and down the aisle towards me. I’m never alone for longer than three minutes when he’s around. He’s always right there, getting on my ass about something.

Jim’s Bait, Tackle, and In Between is an awfully intense ‘hardware, everything a guy could want’ store. I’ve browsed guns, shovels, and fishing poles, and now I’m almost bored to tears.

This is our last stop, hopefully. So far today we’ve had breakfast, stopped eight million times at every place in between, and now we’re here.

Never, ever will I go to a hardware store with this man again. Two fucking hours we’ve been here. He’s wandered and he’s browsed for three gas cans, an axe head, rope, odds and ends, and six giant plastic tubs. The tubs you ask? They’re for ice to keep the beers cold, obviously. The rest of the shit is for the bodies he’s burying later, I guess.

We’re here for party supplies, yet nothing he’s buying, aside from the beer tubs, seems partyish to me, but what do I know?

“What are you doing?” He repeats, stopping directly in front of me and waits for me to open my mouth. 

“Trying to find things to kill you with,” I tell him as I pick up a machete, pretending to Jason Voorhees him to death with it. His forehead wrinkles and he lifts a questioning brow. Clearly he’s not amused. Reaching a big tattooed hand out, he takes the machete from me and sets it in the bin with the others and tells me, “You’re the weirdest woman I have ever fucking met.” If that was meant as an insult, it didn’t work.

“I resent that remark,” I call after him, laughing to myself. He’s always just so serious, so angry. It’s impossible not to give him shit. 

“Jesus.” I hear him mutter to himself as he walks off, disappearing into another aisle.

“You love me,” I argue after him. He must a little or he would’ve kicked me to the curb a few days ago. He stops the second the words leave my mouth. Right, he’s a biker. He doesn’t love anything but his bike and brothers. Now he’s going to dwell on the pointless words. “Relax, big guy. I was joking.”

I walk to him and grab his arm, tugging him towards the registers to distract him from the love he definitely doesn’t feel for anything, other than things with the Harley logo on them.

I have to get out of here before I really do kill him.

“So, what’s the rope and other shit for?” I ask, motioning towards the crap he’s got in his hand.

“To kill you with.” Clearly we both have issues that need tending to.

“Fantastic. Can I go the party before the killing?” I really like parties. It’d be a shame to miss the shindig because I was dead. 

Loading his shit onto the counter, he shrugs. “Sure, why the fuck not.”

“Why thank you.” He’s just so kind.

Following Buck through the store and back out the sliding glass doors, I watch the people we pass watch him. Most people give him a wide berth with their heads down, while some gawk from a safe distance. Others hightail it in the opposite direction. It’s fascinating the way people treat a man in a cut, cautiously and carefully, like he might explode at any moment. People avoid what they don’t know or what makes them uncomfortable. It’s just the way of the world. It’s no wonder Buck and his brothers don’t live in this world.

Tailgate open with my ass planted on it, Buck load his many purchases into the back of the truck, flinging bags and boxes into the back.

“I think you got everything you need. Hell, you practically bought out the store,” I muse, staring at his loot.

“Yeah, I think so.” He nods once. Yeah, fifteen hundred dollars later, I’m sure he’s good.

I watch him jump from the bed of the truck, down and back up again, loading his beloved beer bins. Those he treats kindly. God knows we can’t party without ice-cold beers.