April 13th. Just a date on a calendar, right? Not for Shooter. Nope. That was the day his heart was ripped out of his chest and thrown in a blender. A day that changed his life forever.
In high school he’d foolishly thought he and Quinn would marry after graduation and eventually start a family. He’d prospect for the Hell’s Minions MC and she’d go to college.
Wasn’t it a kick in the head when life had a way of not going as planned? As far as he as concerned, it was all Quinn’s fault and he’d blame her until the day he died for throwing away what they could have had.
Fine. Life goes on.
Fast forward twelve years.
He should have known today, of all days, would be the day Quinn Palmer came crashing back into his life. April 13th. Just his luck.
If it wasn’t for an urgent call from his sister Mia saying she was in trouble, he would have never come face to face with the woman who wrecked his world. He wouldn’t be standing here with all the old hurts and memories he’d buried with booze and women for the last twelve years clawing at his insides.
Part of him wanted to make sure she and Quinn got home safe, then abruptly disappear from her life like she did his and never look back. Another part of him wanted to grab her by the arms and shake her, demanding to know why she destroyed everything between them.
If this was Fate giving them a do over, wouldn’t he be a fool not to take it?
Shooter stood at his kitchen sink, staring at the date on his phone, completely oblivious to the sun streaming through the window. If he were to look outside, he’d find the day was bright and warm without a cloud in the sky, and a complete slap in the face to how he was feeling. For him, the day held nothing but regret, heartache and what-ifs.
April thirteenth might be just any other day on the calendar for most, but for him it would always mark the end of innocence and the death of a dream. The day he realized the woman he thought he would be spending the rest of his life with was not the woman he thought her to be at all.
Quinn Palmer gutted him when he was eighteen years old, thereby ruining him for any other woman. Because of her, he would never be in a long-term relationship again. He’d given her his heart and soul and she’d crushed him. If she’d stabbed him in the eye with a knife, it couldn’t have hurt any more.
At least if she’d stabbed him, the physical pain and scars would have eventually faded. As it was, the emotional blow she served him was way more deadly. The scars she left behind would never heal. Not with time. Not with distance. Not with booze and endless nights of fucking women that meant nothing more than a good time and a physical release. No, after Quinn, he swore off relationships for good.
For the last twelve years, whenever April thirteenth rolled around, Shooter embraced the pain for one day only. He wouldn’t allow her to have the other 364. For twenty-four hours he would do one, or a combination, of three things. He would hole up in his house and drink until he passed out, reliving the good times he’d had with Quinn, wondering how things had gone so wrong. The next, he would go to the clubhouse and drink to numb the pain and bury himself in easy pussy. Or, lastly, he’d play the what-if game while he drank himself into a stupor. What if Quinn hadn’t done what she’d done? Would they still be together? Would they be married and have children? Would they be happy?
By far the last option was the worst. During those years he drank as much and as quickly as possible, hoping to cut the game short. If he could just sleep the day away and skip over it, he could spare himself endless hours of pain. The second method of dealing with this date was his favorite. Although, he wasn’t sure favorite would be the appropriate word used to describe the drinking and fucking binge he used to survive the day.
He smoothed his hands down his face and groaned. Damn, he hated this day. As if a DVD set to auto-play, the memories came flooding back.
When things between Quinn and himself first happened, he’d hated her guts and never wanted to lay eyes on her again. He would often wonder how they were going to live in the same town, possibly running into each other from time to time, and what would happen the first time they came face to face in public somewhere? As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. As soon as they graduated high school, she was off to college, he and Kingston nothing more than dust in her rearview mirror. Like they’d never been. He still didn’t know how she did it. Like she flipped a switch and she no longer had any feelings whatsoever for him. No lingering doubts. No second guessing as far as he could tell. It made him wonder if he’d really known her at all. He would love nothing more than to be able to shut off all his feelings and live life without pain.
After her four years of college were up, he thought for sure she would be returning to Kingston and found himself once again imagining how their first time seeing each other again would play out. Shaking his head, he realized he’d wasted his time worrying for nothing. He’d heard through his sister, Mia, that Quinn moved an hour away to Bristol. Mia said she only came back to Kingston when she couldn’t avoid her parents’ demands for her company any longer.
Although things between himself and Quinn didn’t work out, his sister and ex-girlfriend remained best friends through the years. He never told Mia why the two of them broke up and from the questions she asked, Quinn had never told her either. He told Mia he didn’t care if they remained friends, he just didn’t want to talk about her or hear about how golden her life was.
After twelve years you would think he would be over the pain. But no. No, he was not. And it was looking more and more likely that he would be spending today like he’d been doing all these years. Drunk off his ass and his dick buried deep in some sweet butt’s pussy. Come to think about it, the last three or four years his brothers must’ve caught on to this particular day on the calendar. Someone was always trying to keep him busy with one project or another. That must be why Ruger said he needed help moving furniture around this morning and why he just got a text from Blue saying everyone was to come to church at four.
That meant he couldn’t start working on a good drunk until after four. Blue tended to get pissed whenever one of the brothers showed up shitfaced for meetings.
He checked the time on his phone and saw that he had about an hour until he needed to be at Ruger’s. Fuck it. He would go now and see if Josie might be making breakfast. If his friend was going to make him show up this early, the least he could do was feed him.
Ruger opened the door with Cora on his hip. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was standing up every which way. Cora was laughing and patting his cheeks with her tiny hands. “Hey. You’re early.”
“Yeah. And you look like hell.” Shooter followed him inside, closing the door behind him. He got a whiff of something and the smell was not pleasant. Was that Ruger the smell was coming from? “Dude, when’s the last time you got a shower?” He pulled a chair out at the kitchen table and dropped into it. Ruger placed Cora in her high chair then took the seat across from him. He vaguely remembered Ruger telling him one or both of the kids had been sick or teething or something. He couldn’t remember.
“Shower? Uh, I don’t know.” He scratched his head, clearly confused. “Tuesday? I think I might have baby puke on me somewhere. I don’t know. It’s all been running together.” He pinched his shirt and pulled it to his nose, taking a deep breath. “Ugh.” Ruger’s face screwed up in disgust before he reached behind him and yanked his t-shirt over the top of his head. He tossed it in the general direction of the laundry room across the kitchen.
Shooter couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s suffering. “Where’s Josie and Reed?” He hadn’t seen them anywhere since he came in. He did see that Reed must’ve had his breakfast because there was smashed cereal and baby food on the tray of the other high chair.
“She’s giving him a bath. Just got this one dressed before you got here.” He latched onto both her hands in one of his then leaned in and blew a raspberry on his daughter’s neck. She squealed and laughed like a loon.
Shooter thought she was so damn adorable, he leaned in and landed some kisses on her cheek, earning some giggles for himself as she scrunched her neck and tried to evade more. He watched Ruger grab a box of Lucky Charms and dump a good amount on her tray. Cora squealed again, bouncing in her seat, her little fists waving in the air. “I take it she likes Lucky Charms”, he chuckled.
Ruger laughed and shook his head. “Yeah. She eats the marshmallows and Reed eats the rest. They’ve got eating cereal down to a team effort.” He poured himself and Shooter a cup of coffee and brought it to the table. “What do you think church is about this afternoon?”
Shooter leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around his mug. “If I had to guess, I’d say something to do with the Steel Disciples.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking, too.”
Shooter was silent as he watched Cora eat her marshmallows. He loved the way she used her finger and thumb like they were tweezers and she was playing that game Operation.
Ruger took a drink from his cup then placed it back on the table. “You ever gonna tell me what April thirteenth means to you?”
Yeah, just like he suspected. Ruger and the brothers had caught on. Today was the first time anyone had outright asked him about it, though. Shooter shrugged and tried a little evasion. “Not sure what you mean.”
“Yeah. You do.” Ruger gave him the look he’d perfected over the years. The one he used now as the Minions’ enforcer that was guaranteed to make the person on the receiving end squirm. Luckily, Shooter didn’t squirm easily. It didn’t stop Ruger from continuing his line of questioning, though. “How long has it been that you’ve been celebrating April thirteenth with booze and pu—uh, women? Drowning yourself in booze da—darn near to death a couple of times. Six, eight years?”
Shooter smirked at Ruger’s attempt to not curse in front of his daughter. Josie didn’t like it and if she caught him doing it, she would usually pop him on the back of his head as a reminder. She was scared to death the kids would start daycare swearing like sailors. Or bikers.
“Twelve.” Before Ruger could really get going with his interrogation, Josie came in with a clean, squirming Reed. The front of her shirt was soaked, testifying to the fact that Ruger’s kids could be little hellions when they wanted to be.
“Hey, Shooter.” Josie leaned down and put Reed on the floor. He took off crawling, making a bee-line straight to the toys in the living room. She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear with one hand, the other resting on Ruger’s shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed from wrestling her son both in and out of the tub.
“Hey, Josie. How’s it goin’?”
She released a deep breath and smiled. “Not bad. The kids keep me busy.”
Shooter snorted. “I’ll bet.”
Josie patted Ruger affectionately on the shoulder. “Watch the kids while I get my shower?”
Ruger reached up, snaking his hand behind her head, pulling her down for a quick peck on the lips. “Sure, babe.” A steamy promise was shared between the two that a blind man would find hard to miss. Shooter was happy that his friend had found someone that made him that happy but secretly, he was also a little jealous. That could have been him if not for Quinn’s treachery.
Shooter watched as Ruger turned to watch his wife walk away. Never once, in all the time he’d known his friend, had Ruger ever looked at another woman the way he looked at Josie.
“Hey, man, can you keep an eye on the kids for about fifteen minutes?” Ruger asked over his shoulder, still focused on the door where Josie disappeared.
“What?”
Ruger turned to face Shooter. “I need to get a shower, too. You know, since I haven’t had one since Tuesday.”
Shooter burst out laughing. “Yeah, sure, but you owe me.”
“Anything,” he agreed, bolting from his chair. He yelled his thanks, jogging down the hall.
Shooter pulled Cora from her high chair, shaking his head and chuckling. “Your mom and dad are nuts. You know that?” He brought her to the living room and sank to the floor, turning her loose to play with her brother. He leaned with his back against the couch, a sense of melancholy settling over him. He couldn’t help but wonder if he and Quinn would have had such beautiful children. How many would they have had already?
He was brought out of his self-torture when Reed conked him on the head with a toy motorcycle. “Momomomo.”
He dodged another good whack by taking the motorcycle from him and showing him how to roll it on the floor. “That’s right buddy. Motorcycle.” He handed it back to Reed and watched him roll it back and forth while making baby engine noises. Of course, the more noises he made, the more drool that he produced. “Ow.” Shooter jerked his hand up and shook off the momentary pain. He looked down and found Cora smiling up at him, waving a pink Jeep at him. The little stinker had run over his fingers and thought it was funny. “Oh yeah? Well, take that, you little cutie.” He leaned toward her, tickling her chubby sides and kissing her cheeks. She swatted at him, trying to fend him off. “I’m so glad you look like your momma. Your poor daddy is gonna have a time trying to keep those boys away from you.”
Shooter felt Reed pull himself up using his t-shirt. It would seem he didn’t want to be left out of the fun. “Ow. You little stinker.” Reed had a handful of his hair and was tugging on it. “Cocococo.”
“You don’t think I’m hurting your sister, do you?” Shooter freed his hair from Reed’s surprisingly strong grip. “I’m just tickling her and stealing kisses. Now it’s your turn.” He leaned to the other side, tickling and kissing Reed, causing him to laugh hysterically like Cora. He now had a baby pinned on each side of him, tickling them and laughing with them. That’s how Ruger and Josie found them.
“Hey. What are you doing to my kids?” Ruger chuckled. He stood just inside the living room, his hands on his hips, a smile on his face and a look of having had a good fuck. Josie was standing next to him, taking pictures with her phone. She was constantly taking pictures of the twins and whoever they were around at the time.
“Oh my God,” Shooter wheezed. “I think I might be getting too old for this shit.”
“Shooter,” Josie admonished. “Language.”
He held his hands up. “Sorry. Sorry. I don’t think I’ll have to work my abs today thanks to all the laughing. My stomach actually hurts from laughing so hard. How do you do this all day, Josie?”
She shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t know. I just do. They’re mine and I love them to pieces. Not that the occasional break isn’t appreciated it. So, uh, yeah, thanks for the break. We really needed it. The rascals are teething and cranky, so their sleeping schedule has been off. It’s so easy to get busy with the kids. Ruger gets busy with the club. So, yeah, thanks for that.” Her cheeks were flushed and she was giving him two thumbs up.
“I know I should probably be embarrassed considering you know what we spent our time doing but I’m so damn happy to get some that I don’t care.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, Josie.” Shooter laughed from his seat on the floor. She must have really needed a good fuck for her to break her own no cursing rule. “Glad I could help. Give me a call the next time you need a break with your husband and I’ll watch your kids.”
He turned to Ruger. “Do you really have furniture to move or was this all a ruse so you could have sex with your wife?”
“Yeah. I have furniture to move.”
—
The brothers shuffled their way into church, one by one dropping into their seats. Shooter pulled out the chair next to Ruger and sank down. He had a bad feeling about this meeting. He’d had a bad feeling all morning and it didn’t have anything to do with the date being April thirteenth or that Ruger had conned him into moving furniture for him. Something bad was brewing. He could feel it. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.
He tuned back into his surroundings to find Cole ribbing Ruger about having something on his face. It was dark brown and smeared. Cole cringed as he pointed at it. He gagged when Ruger swiped at the brown substance then stuck his finger in his mouth to taste it. “Chocolate pudding.”
“You are so fucked up to taste it like that.” Cole was so disgusted, he experienced a whole body shiver. “What if it had been,” he paused before he finished with, “shit?”
“Lighten up, man. The kids are way past the point I might end up with baby shit on my face.” Ruger smiled. He loved harassing the fatherless guys. He said they made it too easy. “Don’t you think I would smell it if it were shit?”
Shooter and several of the men laughed at their antics. He wanted to get the meeting done and over with so he could get on with numbing his mind and blocking old memories best forgotten. His drunken brooding time had already been diminished when he was called to help Ruger move furniture this morning. After that he wouldn’t allow himself time to drink before church because Blue would be pissed. That meant he had to continue to wait.
As the room grew silent, he leaned back in his chair and swiveled his focus to the head of the table. Blue silently stared at the table, rubbing his thumb absently along the smooth surface. Whatever he was thinking about weighed heavily on his mind. No one rushed him. He’d speak when he had it sorted.
While they waited, Shooter took a moment to admire the new table. It was a large oak table easily seating twelve people. The club as a whole had opted to replace the old table, not wanting to be reminded of their less than stellar past. A past polluted by Mayhem. In the center of the table, each of the men involved in the takedown, and those who wanted a better future for the club, burned their names. They wanted the Minions who came after them to know who to thank for taking the club back and bringing it back to what it should have been all along. A brotherhood. A family.
Blue’s mouth was set in a grim line and his brows were dipped. “Got a call today,” he began. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “Slay from the Demons of Havoc reached out to me.”
The news that Slay reached out to the Minions for anything was shocking. There was bad history between the Demons and the Minions. Mostly because Mayhem had decided to do business with them without the knowledge or support of the club. Mayhem agreed to sell the Demons’ drugs and guns in Kingston in exchange for their help to take out the Sons of Hades. The SOH were considered allies at the time but it hadn’t mattered to Mayhem. He wanted their territory and would do anything to get it, including handing over his son, Slate, to the Demons when he couldn’t come up with the money he owed them.
Luckily, Blue found a way to come up with the money and smooth things over with the Demons once Mayhem was taken out of the picture. A truce was reached. As long as the Demons stayed out of Kingston and didn’t try to push their drugs, guns or whores in their town, things would be smooth between them. The deal was struck and both sides appeared satisfied. There would be peace. As a parting shot, Slay had made the comment that even though things were cool between the two clubs, it didn’t mean they were going to be best friends. So, for him to reach out to Blue for something was cause to be suspicious.
“He wanted to know if we’d been experiencing any trouble lately with a group of bikers calling themselves the Steel Disciples.”
Shooter knew it. All roads were leading back to the Steel Disciples. They were like mist. They appeared and disappeared as if they were a part of the wind. The brotherhood was having a hell of a time trying to find out where their headquarters were located, what their agenda was concerning the Minions and Kingston, and why the hell they’d never heard of them until now.
“Why would he call and ask that?” Slate wanted to know. He exchanged looks with the other men at the table, checking to see if they were as shocked by the news as he was.
“He says he’s been having shipments hijacked and a few of his men have come up missing only to be found dead several days later. They’ve also had an influx of heroin and some of the businesses are being shaken down for protection money. The Steel Disciples are saying they’ll protect the businesses against the Demons of Havoc. Some of the bars are being pressured to sell heroin out of their back rooms.”
“Sounds like what we’re going through.” Slate drummed his fingers on the table, not liking what he was hearing. “Makes you wonder how many Disciples are out there that they can spread themselves so thin? Or are they fucking with us one day, then skipping over to the Demons’ territory and fucking with them the next?”
“All good questions.” Blue and Slate exchanged a look between them. “If we could catch one of the motherfuckers, we could turn Ruger loose on them and get some answers.”
“So, what does Slay want?” Cole asked.
“For now, nothing but comparing notes. He wants us to keep each other apprised of what’s going on. It may come to a point where the two clubs might have to band together to push these pricks out of our towns. His words, not mine.”
“Maybe we should reach out to the Sons of Hades and see if they’re having any trouble with the Steel Disciples,” Slate suggested.
The Sons of Hades had become a support club of the Hell’s Minions almost a year ago. They weren’t a huge club but they had good numbers. They were being approached by another club at the time that wanted to bring them into the fold, but it wasn’t a good fit for the SOH they’d said. That being because the interested club wanted them to branch out into drugs and whores, provide protection for shipments. It was rumored the club was branching out into human trafficking. The Sons of Hades heard about all the changes going on with the Hell’s Minions and approached Blue about being a support club for them. They liked the idea of the Minions going legit. It fit with what they were doing with their club. If Mayhem had still been in charge, they would never have approached the Minions. Chances were the club wanting to take them over may have forced the SOH to come on board or possibly taken them out.
“What the fuck is going on? Has the world gone crazy?” Ruger scratched his head.
Shooter turned to him and smiled. “Did that feel good?”
“Felt so fucking good.” Ruger’s smile was priceless.
The guys at the table were laughing and Slate smiled as he asked, “Josie still enforcing the no cussing rule?”
“Hell yeah,” Ruger replied shamelessly. He’d been couped up with the twins for two days and monitoring his language was taking it’s toll. As far as Josie was concerned, he could swear anywhere he wanted, as much as he wanted, as long as it wasn’t in front of the kids.
“Go ahead. Get it out of your system.” Blue leaned back in his chair, giving Ruger time to cuss.
He tipped his head back and yelled, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
Blue laughed and shook his head. “You good?”
“He should be feeling pretty damn good. He got to fuck Josie and swear all in one day,” Shooter volunteered.
“You know, I find it ironic that you, a man who was used to getting pussy anytime, anywhere with a crook of his finger, has now been reduced to getting it occasionally because your own kids are cock blocking you,” Slate pointed out from his seat to Blue’s right.
“Yeah, I know. It’s sad, isn’t it? I got it more when they were tiny babies and slept through the night than I do now that they’re older and teething and crawling and getting into everything. Hell, the other day, I thought Josie was going to have a heart attack when Cora came crawling into the kitchen carrying a dildo. Thank God I snatched it up before she got it in her mouth. If she’d done that, I don’t know who would have been more traumatized, Josie or me.”
“Are you shitting me?” Shooter wheezed. He hadn’t known about that one. Priceless. Absolutely, priceless.
“Yeah, I’m serious. I can laugh about it now, but at the time I thought I was going to throw up.”
“You know,” Cole started, fighting hard not to laugh as he poked fun at Ruger. “If you think about it, in twenty years, Cora just might own one for herself.” His eyes flew wide as Ruger launched himself across the table, intent on getting his hands on him.
“Take that back, motherfucker!” Ruger’s chair went flying back behind him, crashing to the floor. He was up and scrambling over the table, swinging at Cole. The other man’s laughing only incited Ruger’s rage further.
Slate jumped up, trying to shove Cole back while Shooter tried pulling Ruger down from the table. Ruger rose to his knees on top of the table, his hands up and out to his sides, “I’m good. I’m good.”
Blue was standing at the end, his eyes darting from one to the other. “Everyone cool?”
“Yeah. I’m cool.” Cole picked his chair up and was starting to take his seat when Ruger swung out and connected with his jaw, knocking Cole on his ass. He stayed on the floor, rubbing his jaw, smiling up at Ruger. “You good now?”
Ruger knelt over him from the table, his chest rising and falling heavily, his fists clenched at his side. “Yeah, you asshole.” He pointed at his friend. “Don’t ever talk about my daughter like that again.”
“It was a joke,” he laughed as Slate helped him up from the floor.
“Bad fucking joke, man.” Slate shook his head and settled in his seat once more.
Ruger righted his chair and plopped down. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, “I hope you find yourself a woman and have nothing but girls.”
Cole’s smile dropped like the thought made him sick. “Touché, my friend. Well played.”
That right there was what Shooter loved about his club. They were family. They could shoot their mouths off at each other, throw a few punches and then things went back to normal.
“Okay. Now if everyone can settle down for a minute, maybe we can get through this meeting.” Blue was trying to get things back on track. A loud banging on the door stopped him before he could get started. Had to be one of the prospects. No one else was out there when they came in. “Trojan, get the door.”
Trojan cracked the door, listened to whatever the prospect had to say then closed the door. He turned to announce, “KPD are here. They’re letting them in at the gate.”
“What the fuck?” Blue stood and moved toward the door. He spoke to the prospect for a moment then turned to look at Shooter. “They’re here to see you.”
“What? They’re here to see me? What the fuck for?” Shooter couldn’t imagine why the Kingston Police Department would have any reason to want to talk to him. The club was in mostly legitimate businesses, no drugs, no guns, no whores. He didn’t have any outstanding tickets or warrants that he was aware of. So, again, what the fuck?
“Church is over for now. Let’s see what this new headache is about,” Blue announced to the group before leading them out to the main area just as the police were coming through the door. They met the officers halfway. “What can we do for you, officers?”
“It’s detectives. Detective Scott House,” he pointed to himself then his partner, “and Detective Larry David.” They both showed them their badges before proceeding. “We’re here to speak with Kell Buchanan.”
Detective House appeared to be in charge. Upon meeting him, he seemed friendly enough, no preconceived opinions about bikers that Shooter could determine so far. His partner, though, had anti-biker club written all over him. Great. Detective David already had him guilty of whatever they came there to talk to him about. Where House was tall, lean and in shape, David was on the shorter side, getting a paunch around his middle and his mousy brown hair was thinning. Shooter’s gaze dropped to his left hand and noted the man wasn’t married. Yay. An all around bitter man.
“That would be me.” Shooter stepped forward.
The detectives sized him up, exchanged a look between them, then asked, “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
“Not really. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my brothers.” They didn’t seem to like that answer. Too damn bad. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “What’s this about, detectives?”
“Do you know a woman by the name of Loraine Adams?” House asked him.
“Loraine Adams?” Shooter rubbed his jaw, trying to think whether or not he’d ever met a Loraine. He was coming up empty. “No, I don’t know any Loraine’s.”
Detective David pulled a photo out of his jacket pocket, handing it to Shooter. “Do you know this woman?”
Shooter took the picture reluctantly. He didn’t know why, but he had a bad feeling about this. He met Blue’s eyes then focused on the woman in the picture. The woman was pretty. She had blonde hair that she wore in a bob that was shorter in the back then got longer toward the front. Her blue eyes sparkled and her smile was open and friendly. She had a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth above her upper lip. He remembered it well. It had fascinated him at the time and he couldn’t help nibbling it. “Yeah. I know this woman, but she told me her name was Lori. She didn’t give me her last name.”
“Can you tell us how you know her?” Detective House asked.
“We met at a bar two nights ago, we flirted around, then she invited me home.” Shooter’s bad feeling was getting worse. “Why are you asking about Lori?”
The detective avoided answering Shooter’s question. “What bar did you meet her at?”
It did not go unnoticed that neither detective answered his question. He knew what they were going to say.
“Shooter asked you a question,” Blue cut in, gaining Detective David’s attention. “Why are you asking about Lori?” Blue stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a grim, don’t-piss-me-off expression on his face. Shooter had to give it to the two detectives, they didn’t let on that they were the least bit frightened of the ring of bikers slowly scooting closer to them.
“Loraine Adams was found dead yesterday morning and from what we can tell, Mr. Buchanan may have been the last one to see her alive.” Detective House addressed Blue while carefully watching Shooter.
“What makes you think Shooter was the last one to see her alive?” Slate stood with his hands hanging loosely at his side.
“We checked Miss Adams’ phone and found that she sent a text to a friend of hers around 11:30 night before last saying she was going home with ‘Shooter.’ She also had a picture of the two of you at 214.”
“That’s it. I can see where this is going.” Blue’s arms dropped to his sides. “We’re done here. Any more questions and you can talk to his lawyer.”
“You can’t decide to call off an interview.” Detective David’s face was turning red. Clearly the man hated bikers and he sure as hell didn’t like to be told no. “We’re interviewing Mr. Buchanan. This has nothing to do with you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Shooter took a step closer to Detective Asshole. “It does have something to do with him. And him. And him. And all the rest of them. They’re my family. My brothers. And this interview is over. I’m not talking to you again without a lawyer.”
David moved in so that he was a mere foot from Shooter. “Got something to hide, Shooter?”
“Not a fucking thing. Just don’t like your attitude toward bikers, Officer David.” Yup, refusing to call him detective pissed him off. His face was bright red and Shooter could swear he heard the man’s teeth grinding from where he was standing.
Before the man could do something that might cost him his career, Detective House grabbed his partner’s elbow and pulled him back. “That’s fine, Mr. Buchanan. We’ll be in touch.” He handed Shooter a card with his name and number on it. “Contact your lawyer then give me a call. I’ll need to speak with you sometime tomorrow. It would be best if you came in voluntarily to assist us with this investigation.” The part about making them come get him would be a bad idea was left unsaid.
Shooter waited until the detectives were out the door and the prospect at the gate called to say they were off the property before he turned to Blue. “I have no fucking clue what the hell they’re talking about. I met Lori at 214. We talked, we drank, she asked me back to her place. We fucked. I left. End of story. She was alive when I left. She was asleep, but alive.”
“We believe you, Shooter. Never had any doubt,” Blue confirmed as he clapped him on the shoulder. “Just didn’t want you to get railroaded. It would be in your best interest to call Junior now and get this taken care of. With what we’ve got going on with the Steel Disciples and their unknown backers, the last thing we need is to have the police showing up here unannounced.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” Shooter ran his hands through his hair, a heavy weight settling on his shoulders. He remembered Lori. She was a cute, curvy blonde who gave amazing blow jobs and fucked like a rodeo star. They’d both had fun, each getting off more than once. She was passed out from exhaustion by the time he left her. He felt horrible that she was now dead. What the hell happened? Fuck, he needed a drink.
He pushed up to the bar and had a seat. He waved for Danny, a new prospect, to pass him a beer. He thanked the kid and tipped it back.
What a fucking day.
—
Shooter was on his third beer and second shot. He was standing with his back to the bar and a wannabe sweet butt was on her knees taking turns sucking his cock and then Slate’s. She must’ve thought of this as an audition. “Damn, woman. You’re pretty good at that.”
She stopped what she was doing and smiled up at him. “If you and Slate want, we can go back to one of your rooms and have some fun.”
Sounded like a good idea to him. Slate stuffed his cock in his pants and helped her up from the floor. He held her hand, leading her down the hall to his room, knowing Shooter would follow.
Slate already had her naked and was kissing her when Shooter caught up. He closed the door behind him, set his beer on the dresser and began stripping. With an appraising eye, he had to admit the woman was hot as fuck. She wasn’t overly curvy but she had enough to hold onto. He really liked her pert little ass and how her long, wavy blonde hair spilled down her back. She was young, probably early twenties if he had to guess. The Minions had a strict rule of no one under eighteen allowed in the clubhouse. The guys manning the gate knew to check IDs of anyone remotely looking underage.
He stroked himself a few times before stepping up behind her. He had his chest to her back, his hard cock snuggled up to the crack of her ass. “What’s your name, sweetness?”
Shooter spun her in his arms as Slate stepped back to strip his own clothes. Her smile hinted at untold pleasures. Her heavy-lidded, whiskey-colored eyes were framed with thick lashes. The way she licked her lips an open invitation.
“Evie.”
Never one to pass up an invitation, he swooped in and kissed her pink, plump lips. Damn, she kissed good, too. He pulled back and saw Slate was ready. They eased the woman to the bed, Slate on one side, Shooter on the other. Now it was their turn to give this woman pleasure. By giving her pleasure, they found their own.
Shooter leaned down to brush his lips against hers, and she accommodated him by opening her mouth to take his kiss. His hand found it’s way to her tit and plucked at the tight nub, adding to her excitement. From the way he could feel her body moving, Slate’s hand had ventured farther south and ended up between her legs. She moaned into Shooter’s mouth, feeding his need to bury his cock.
He pulled away and watched as Slate slid further down the bed. He tossed her legs over his shoulders and settled in for a feast. Shooter watched, fascinated as the woman writhed and moaned. “Feel good, Evie?”
“Yes,” she released on a hiss.
When he and Slate shared a woman, one of them always brought her to release with their mouths first. Neither man had small dicks and would need the added lube to work their way in. Evie’s hips picked up in speed the closer she came to letting go. Her hand tightened in Slate’s hair, holding him where she wanted him. It didn’t take much more before she shouted as she shattered. As she lay struggling to catch her breath, Shooter said, “We’re not done with you yet. Get ready for round two.”
Evie’s smile lit with excitement. She couldn’t wait to do that again. Lucky for her, he and Slate could do this all night.
Slate sat at the end of the bed, then laid back. Shooter helped Evie to straddle Slate’s hips, then watched as his friend positioned his dick so she could ease her way down. Slate waited until she was completely seated then pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Shooter watched Slate fuck her for a few minutes then stepped up to join in.
He squirted a little lube on Evie’s tight little hole before he pushed at her opening with his finger. Finding little resistance, he pushed further until he was able to slide his finger all the way in with no problems. “Have you had your ass fucked before, Evie?”
“Just with toys.” Her voice was thick with need.
“All right, darlin’, I’m going to ease my way in. You good with that?”
“Yes.” She nodded her head then buried her face in Slate’s neck. He whispered softly to her, trying to keep her relaxed.
Shooter wiped the sweat from his brow. Fuck. If he didn’t get his cock in her ass and soon, he was going to explode. He pushed the tip of his cock against the tight hole and squirted more lube. As gently as he could, he pushed against her ass, feeling the natural resistance.
“Take a deep breath in then bare down as you release it, Evie. He’ll be in in a minute and baby, it’s gonna feel so good having two men fucking you at the same time.” Slate smoothed his hand over the top of her head soothingly.
She did as Slate instructed. “Fuck me. I’m in. You’re doing great, Evie.” Shooter smoothed his hands across her back and around her globes, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Now for the fun part.”
Slate pulled out and slid back in then Shooter did the same in her ass. They kept at her, moving in and out slowly until they felt her getting impatient. Fuck, it felt so good, so tight. Slate caught his eye and gave a nod of his head. Time to speed things up. When Slate pulled out, Shooter went in. They did this over and over, picking up the pace. Shooter could feel Evie tightening which would only make her pleasure better. She started slamming herself back and grinding her clit on Slate. “Oh, shit. I’m gonna come.”
“Come for us, Evie,” Slate commanded, wrapping his arms tighter around her, pumping hard and fast into her pussy.
“I’m scared to. What if it hurts?”
“Won’t hurt, Evie,” Shooter tried to reassure her while holding off his own orgasm. Slate had to be struggling as hard as he was because she was tightening down hard enough that when she did come, she might push them both out. “Come, Evie.” Shooter barked and slapped his hand on her ass. That was all it took and she groaned long and loud through her release.
“God damn.” Shooter let himself go and hammered her poor ass. He couldn’t stop now if he tried. His sole focus was emptying his cum into the condom he was wearing. “Fuck, yeah. God damn, Evie. Feels so good.” He slowed his thrusts and eased out, allowing Slate to find his own orgasm.
“Shit, girl, you’re strangling my cock.” He held onto her hips and pushed her down as he was coming up. Over and over he pounded her pussy until he roared through his own orgasm.
Shooter had gone to the bathroom to dispose of his condom. While he was there he got a warm wash cloth and brought it out to Evie. She was still sprawled out on top of Slate, softly snoring. He shook his head and gently wiped her off. “Another one passed out from too much cock.”
Slate chuckled and slid her off to his side, then got up to dispose of his own condom.
Somewhere on the floor, Shooter’s phone was ringing. He bent to retrieve it from his jeans pocket. He held it up and saw his sister, Mia’s, face on the screen. Well, this was going to be awkward with him standing here naked. He put the phone to his ear and pinned it against his shoulder as he slipped his jeans on. “Mia. What’s up?”
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