The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (15 page)

Tires squealing turn both our heads from the loading. Red and blue are the first things I see, and that’s never good. A cop car creeps into the lot with officers staring out the window, straight in our direction. Buck instantly stiffens, his hand going uneasily for his beard. It’s a nervous tick.

“Fuck ... fuck!” he mutters under his breath. Each fuck grows increasingly angry out of his mouth as he starts to pace the parking space.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. Jerking to a stop, he looks at me and frowns. Uh oh.

“Parole.” Oh yeah, fuck is right. The cop car grows closer and Buck starts fidgeting even more, touching his pockets, searching for something. He pats at his chest and frowns, “Fuck, my gun.” Yeah, triple fuck.

I do what any level-headed, sound-minded friend would do. Distract.

Fisting Buck’s shirt, I jerk him to me, right between my knees. “Come here.” His body is hard and unforgiving against mine. Wrapping my arm around his neck, I pull his face to mine. His eyes are crazy wide, and confused as hell.

“Go with it,” I whisper, letting my body and lips melt into his.

Mouth to mouth, I smash my lips to his. It’s rough and wild, and believable. I put on a show, letting my hands roam from the waist of his jeans, up under his shirt to his chest. I try damn hard not to enjoy this. I’m just helping a friend out here, that’s all.

Buck’s scratchy beard rubs on my skin, his lips soft on mine, and his rough hands are on my thighs. If this were real, I would say it’s so fucking good.

“Babe,” he growls against my mouth in what sounds like a strangled protest. Ignoring him, I feel for his gun. Fuck, I can’t find it.

Wrapping my legs around his hips, I pull him closer for better access.

Body to body.

Chest to chest.

Face to face.

My fingers skim metal and I sag with relief. Jerking the gun from his holster, I pull it from under his shirt. Between our bodies, I slip it into the waist of my jeans, all while Buck gropes me. He has one hand in my hair, the other on my thigh, fingers creeping. His mouth is devouring mine. Every hard, stiff inch of Buck that can reach me presses even closer and I almost lose control.

“Mr. Walker,” a man barks sternly in our direction. It’s said like a curse, but Buck doesn’t stop. He’s literally consuming me. A throat clears and a car door slams, and sadly, the magic is broken.

There’s reluctance in his kiss. He doesn’t want to stop, but he has to ... we have to. Public indecency is a punishable crime after all, and I’m sure the cop is looking for reasons to harass Buck more. Breaking away from my mouth, his forehead drops to my chest and he groans. Under my hand, I can feel the heavy beat of his heart. He’s as worked up as I am. “Fuck, Lennon.”

Fuck is right.

Tipping my head around Buck, I see the cop staring at him disgust. He’s sneering and his eyes are narrowed. Buck and him aren’t friends, I gather.

“Officer,” Buck growls, standing up straight. Turning around, he leans back in between my thighs, shielding me with his body. “What do you want?”

“Saw you were in the neighborhood. Thought I’d roll on by to make sure things were good with you.”

“Shit’s peachy,” he answers, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “Nothing worth stopping by to see.”

“Well, that’s for me to decide now, isn’t it? A man on parole is worth seeing, wouldn’t you say? Worth a pat down?” He’s taunting him.

“Do your job, officer.”

“Plan on it.”

Looking Buck up and down, the cop seems to be sizing him up, seeing if he’s worth patting down. Once he’s done with Buck, his stare slides from him to me, and he gives me charming smile. His eyes are the size of saucers as he stares at my legs wrapped around Buck, ankles crossed in front.

“Ma’am, everything all right?” he asks me. Sliding my arms around Buck’s neck, I lean my chin on his shoulder and smile sweetly at the cop.

“Yep.”

“You be careful with this one,” he says, jerking his chin at Buck.

“It’s Buck who should be careful,” I purr, giving him a winning smile. 

“What’s your name?” The bulge in his blue state-used trousers is growing by the minute. He likes me ... he really likes me.

“Trouble,” I say in a singsong voice, giving him a wink. This guy is too easy, like putty in my hands.

Laughing, he shakes his head. The cop thinks I’m funny. Leaning in, I kiss Buck’s neck, letting my tongue linger on his skin while I watch the officer’s pupils dilate. He likes watching me.

Buck’s hand moves to my thigh and tightens. “Babe,” he growls quietly in a warning. He should be on his knees kissing my goddamn feet. I just saved his ass from possible jail time with my distraction tactics.

“Well, Trouble, be careful.” Looking back to Buck, he nods stiffly, his eyes narrowing in a warning, “I’m watching you, Mr. Walker.” The cop gives him a final once over before getting back in his car and driving off. The car disappears and Buck sags into me, sighing, rubbing at his beard roughly.

“Fuckin’ hate that guy,” he mutters.

“Why? I kinda like him. He seemed sweet,” I tease. Buck turns, eyes blazing as he pushes back between my thighs.

8 - Lover Boy

Buck

“Don’t stop now,” I growl, completely fucking frustrated. Torture isn’t even the half of it. I knew once I got my hands on her sexy fucking body, there’d be no going back. Shit just got real fucking complicated.

“Oh yeah? You think this is going somewhere?” Lennon motions between me and her. There’s a devious smile on her juicy lips. Fuck yeah, she knows it is. Grind yourself all over me and watch me take that shit to the next level.

“Fuck yeah. I’m gonna go as far as you let me.” If she gives me an inch, I’m taking a goddamn mile. I’m gonna take her all the way there.

Smiling, she shakes her head like I’m kidding. She thinks I’m joking. There’s nothing remotely funny about this shit. You can only push a man so far before he breaks.

Pushing my way back between her plump tattooed thighs, I make myself right the fuck at home. Lennon’s little hand lands on my chest, stopping me before I can get started again. She tasted good, so goddamn good. Pushing on my chest she rolls her eyes and bats my other hand away from her leg.

“Back up, lover boy.” There’s not a chance in hell of that now. I’m going to be all up in her personal space as much as I fucking can be after that little stunt.

“You fucking started this,” I tell her, cupping my dick, which is aiming right at her. This shit is painful.

“Yeah, I did,” she smirks, proud of herself. “And I saved your ass in the process,” she adds a little more seriously, pulling the gun out from under her shirt.

Hell yeah, she did. Jumped right into that shit, helping my ass out without hesitating.

Backing off, I give her a little room. “Yeah, you did, darlin’. I really appreciate it,” I tell her with all honesty, taking my gun back from her.

“Eh, no biggie.” She waves me off, looking smug as fuck. In my book, that was huge. She put herself on the line for me, and that shit makes us fucking golden. 

“You didn’t have to do that shit.”

“We’re friends. That’s what friends do.” I’m thanking my lucky stars she thinks of me as a friend. If I would’ve gotten a pat down by that asshole, he would’ve found an unregistered gun on a felon with weapons charges. I would be on my way back to the Pen instead of lunch with her.

“So yeah, big deal, Lennon.” That shit she did for me was cool as fuck.

Kevin Kramer, or Officer Dick Face as he’s affectionately known as around the club, has had a hard-on for me ever since I got out on parole almost five years ago. My time on government supervision is almost up and he’s starting to get antsy, looking for reasons to toss me back in to finish my sentence. Little prick has nothing better to do with his time.

“So, what did you do?” she asks easily, clearly not that damn concerned. I could be a serial killer for all she knows.

“Time for weapons. Let out early for good behavior.” Just saying that shit makes me sick to my fucking stomach. 

“Fun,” she mutters, jumping down from tailgate, completely unfazed. Yeah, it was a fucking blast. Hated that place, which I’m sure most motherfuckers do. It sure wasn’t a vacation.

Wrapping an arm around my waist, Lennon tugs me towards the driver’s side of the truck. Smiling brightly, she sings, “Let’s go, lover boy. I must be fed after such a make out session.”

Lennon’s not big, but she’s not tiny either. I didn’t take her for a four taco kinda broad. The woman eats like a grown man. I’m not sure where she puts it all, probably her big tits or plump ass.

Sitting in a gravel parking lot in front of a taco truck, we’re eating on the tailgate. Drove by and she all but flung herself out the window to get to the tacos. I looked at her like she was fucking insane, and all she had to say was, “I love tacos.” Yeah, I gathered as much.

She put herself out there for me, so I figured the least I could do was buy the woman some tacos. If she wants twenty of them, I’ll buy her twenty, and she’s appreciative, telling me thank you a few times and smiling at me. For her, it’s the little things.

Lennon has shoveled in three tacos so far and I don’t see her stopping anytime soon. With her fourth in hand, she has a fifth in the bag on her lap, and a thing of hot sauce in the other hand.

“Jesus, Lennon, you’re eating them like they’re about to run away from you.” I watch her take a huge bite, bigger than her mouth can fit. With her mouth stuffed full, she grins and lifts her shoulder. “I’m hunwy,” she mumbles around her food. Clearly. It’s not like I haven’t been feeding her.

Twenty minutes and five tacos later, I think she’s down for the count. Throwing herself back in the bed of the truck, she moans, “I’m so full, and it’s so fucking hot out here.”

“You always eat like you’re starving?”

“Yes,” she groans and flops over on her stomach, head propped up her arms, looking at me curiously. I don’t know why she does that shit. I’m not some damn mystery.

“Why is it as hot as hell out here?” she asks like I picked the temperature.

“Summer, babe.” Is the only answer I have for her. This far into the state seems to get hotter than the coast, not sure what she expected.

“Gah.”

I’ve met my fair share of women. Bitches of all kind, and I’ve never in my life met a broad like this one. Lennon is something different. Her and I, I think we can be friends.

“So,” she starts and smirks. Here we go. “What’s your first name?”

“Buck.” Rolling her eyes, she scoots up to her ass and bumps into me, smiling, trying to persuade me in her sweetest voice, “Come on, tell me your real name, pleeease.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my wallet and toss it to her. Her eager little hands scoop it up and start digging through it. There’s no real secrets in there. I don’t hate my given name, nor do I really fucking care about it either. It’s just a name. 

Plucking out my ID, she eyes it, reading over my info. “Jackson Jay Walker,” she sings to herself. “I like it.” Something about her voice saying my name is hot as fuck, but she doesn’t stop there. “Male, thirty-four, Six-two, Two hundred and fifty-two pounds, lives at five hundred Mountain View Drive, Oregon.” Stopping mid ramble, she looks up at me and frowns.

“Yeah?”

“Your license expires in like, four months,” she says gravely.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Jackson Jay Walker.” Giving her my name was a fucking mistake.

“It’s my name. What about Lennon? That’s a weird fucking name.” I shift the subject to her while she fingers around in my wallet, digging out other shit. I live in the land of weird fucking names, but Lennon is strange for a given name for a chick.

“It’s better than the alternative. I’m lucky my mom didn’t name me Moon Beam Shooting Star, or some shit. Try hollering that when you’re pissed,” she mutters, pulling out my cash and counting it. Absentmindedly, she adds, “I was named after famous rock stars. Lennon after John Lennon of The Beatles, my middle name is Rose after Axl Rose from Gun ‘N Roses, and because my mother is a space cadet, she gave me my own special last name, Page, after Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin.”

Lennon Rose Page. It fits her perfectly.  Looking up at me, she shrugs and adds, “We don’t even have the same last name.”

Digging into people’s lives isn’t really my thing. I don’t want motherfuckers digging into mine, so I mind my own goddamn business, hoping they’ll stay the fuck outta mine. Lennon is living with me, and I just gotta know.

“Since you seem to be in the sharing mood, wanna tell me why you’re living here with me?” Nothing fazes her. She doesn’t even flinch when I ask. Lennon doesn’t say anything for a minute, just stares at me intently. I sense she’s working up a story.

“Yo, Lennon?”

“Not living.” She corrects me. She’s as living with me as living can be. It might not be permanent, but it’s living.

“You’re sleeping in my bed, and your shit is all over my house. That’s living, babe.”

“Vacationing,” she concedes. She can call it whatever she want’s, but it’s living.

“So?”

“Just needed a break from life—a place to hang back and regroup. Just had to run away from it all, ya know?” Yeah, I know. I know that real well.