Tread: Biker Romance (Ronin MC Series Book 1) (21 page)

I HADN’T FELT THAT WAY
since the last memorial ceremony in Afghanistan. I felt like something was being ripped away from me.

That’s why I did it.

I needed her to be with me.

I needed her beside me.

I wasn’t foolhardy enough to deny that I was trying to fill a hole in my soul with Grace.

The reasonable part of me could shut the fuck up; I was going with what made me happy.

Right here, right now, that was keeping Grace within arm’s reach.

One fire out, one to go.

Walking outside, I found her lifting fifty pound bags of dog food into trashcans that were half her size.

“Let me help with that.”

“I’ve got it.”

“You have a minute for me?”

“I’ve given you some already today. You need another one?”

“Yeah, it’s lookin’ like that.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Look, Tatum, you’re probably going to bitch, but I need to run something by you.”

“What? If you tell me she’s pregnant, I won’t believe you.”

“The hell? No, we haven’t even gotten that far yet. I need you to let Grace borrow some stuff that she can wear to the saloon tomorrow. I’m not tryin’ to go back there tonight.”

“Why? You movin’ her in?” Tatum snorted, like it was the funniest shit in the world. She nailed it on the head, and by the way I was taken aback, I had already given it away. “Oh my fucking god. It was a joke. She’s just staying the night, right?”

“No, we aren’t there yet. Tate come on. Please don’t throw a fit.”

“Throw a fit? Am I still five?”

“Stop. I need this.”

“I still don’t understand why this week’s muse is moving in? That is what that silence meant, right? And what do you mean you aren’t hitting it yet? Are you saying you aren’t in it for the booty?”

“Tatum, knock it off. It isn’t like that. The connection with Grace . . . it’s different. I sleep better when she’s around. I breathe easier when she’s next to me. I feel motivated for the first time in forever when I think of her.” I tried to get my point across, but it made no sense to my ears. We definitely had our mother to blame for our incoherent rants.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, confirming my previous thought.

“Life is hard enough without these demons inside my head, pulling Houdini’s when I’m not looking. Hitting switches in my brain while I sleep. I barely sleep anymore, I can’t eat, and until now I’ve been filling a hole inside of me with whatever pussy and booze I can get my hands on. Is that really what you would prefer for your brother than Grace? Do you hate her that much? I’m getting more peace from her than any drug or drink I can get my hands on, and I’m not even hittin’ it yet.” I smiled, that ought to ease the mood.

“Dirt bag.” Tatum flatly labeled me.

“Ha! It’s true, though. Since I’ve been back, I’ve been going through life half-assed. Other than Mom, you, the MC, I got nothing to pour my efforts into. No drive to put my life on the line to protect the border like it should be every time I’m out there. I didn’t realize it until recently, but I need more.”

“I understand, I guess. That’s how I feel . . . sometimes.” Tatum stared off into the trees for a long minute.

When she finally made eye contact again, I pulled her in to hug her close.

“I need this, Tate. Please. Help me.”

“Okay.” She paused. “At least Kit’s room will be hers again. That should help Royal ease up, too.” She took a long swig of her beer and started walking with me back towards the house.

“So you’ve got yourself an old lady, huh?”

“It’s lookin’ that way.”

“And you aren’t scared shitless? This is the big C word.”

“Tatum, we don’t say that word,” I scolded her with a smile.

“Not that one, asshole. Commitment. It doesn’t make you shake in your cut?”

“I live for the adrenaline, sis.”

“Figures.”

WHEN WE PULLED UP TO
my house in my truck, my bliss washed away in a wave of fear.

Oh shit.

When was the last time I cleaned my room?

Was the kitchen all fucked up?

Don’t tell me I had dirty underwear sitting in the bathroom hamper?

I slid into the driveway of my house and hit the brakes hard enough for Grace to grab the dash.

“Shit, sorry, babe.” I turned to Grace. “Just . . . h . . . sit tight for a few minutes. I have to . . . check something real quick.”

I tore out of the truck and ran almost full speed through my front door.

Living room was decent.

Kitchen had been cleaned up by someone, probably my mother.

Bathroom had clothes in it, and I scooped them up.

I darted into my room and got to work.

The bundle of clothes in my arms got bigger and bigger. With every article of clothing I picked up, another one would fall from the ball. I managed to get everything that would cause me embarrassment into my arms and headed for the dirty clothes hampers.

Darting down the hallway, I was almost to the living room when my fear grew a thousand fold. I heard the creak of the screen door, and the patter of heels in my foyer.

I hesitated a split second. Should I go back to my room?

Throw all this shit in my closet?

No. I could make it.

I picked up the pace as I was crossing the living room towards the hamper. Grace turned the corner, and I dropped everything, like I was caught with my dick in my hands instead of dirty clothes.

“I—Hey! I thought I told you to wait, babe!”

She had a startled look on her face then her gaze slowly fell to the floor. Almost instantaneously, a hand covered an extraordinary large grin and her face started to flush. I scooped up everything as quickly as I had before and, with clothing leaving a trail behind me, carried off the clothes to the garage where the washer and dryer was.

“How chivalrous of you to try and tidy up.” Her little fists were propped against her hips. She was smiling and shaking her head slightly. I was mesmerized by her hair brushing over her bare shoulders. My eyes skimmed her tiny shorts and leather jacket, and I could not believe she was in my living room.

To stay.

Her—well, Kit’s—skull and cross bone halter top was doing magical things to her tits. Almost as great as the shorts when she bent over. I moved my eyes from her head to the boots on her feet. In the bar tonight, she was sexy. Here, with this backdrop, she stole my breath. She was in my house. I wanted to puff out my chest as she looked around at my hand-me-down furniture and too big TV. Grace was mine.

“Welcome home,” I whispered before I invaded her space, leaning in to give her a kiss.

Our lips met and she grabbed my waist, holding me close. I pulled her in and started backing into my room. I filled my hands with curves of the softest silk, creating valleys with my fingers.

I fell back on the bed, pulling Grace down with me. Her lips parted and my tongue slid inside.

The taste of her, so clean and warm, made me want to drown in her. I retreated and her tongue pressed the attack.

My hands searched her back. One landed to gently caress the nape of her neck. The other hand cupped her breast, and I shuddered knowing I was the only man that had ever touched these beautiful tits, and they were mine.

I could feel her exhale sharply as I found her hard nipple and pinched it between two fingers.

The phone buzzed in my pocket, momentarily breaking my concentration. I detached my mouth from hers and nuzzled her head to the side for more access. I kissed and softly sucked at her neck. The slightest of moans escaped her lips, making my cock strain to break free of its prison.

“Your sounds are so sweet, baby,” I whispered roughly against her ear.

My phone buzzed again and I released her breast to fish it out of my pocket before chucking it against the dresser, but it fell off.

Close enough.

My hand broke new ground, cupping the bottom of her barely covered ass cheek and rocking her into my hardness. Her soft shorts allowed enough sensation for her to earn me another sound. A gasp this time, so sweet I wanted it for dessert all the time.

She pulled away to lie on her side, our mouths never parting as tongues stroked and tasted. Grace slowly moved one of her hands up my thigh in between my legs.

My cock raged with anticipation as all my focus centered below my waist.

She traced back down, hand squared up with my cock, and tested her discovery with a squeeze.

I panted out a breath, having to break away from her tongue to breathe. Innocent Grace was curious. How fucking lucky was I?

Just then, my phone rang.

I ignored it, whispering for Grace to do whatever she wanted to me. Please.

There was a faint knock at the door, which I ignored as well. Banging finally gave way with enough force that it couldn’t be ignored.

Grace’s hand stopped its tactical mapping of my dick, her concentration broken.

“FUCK!” I slammed my head back into the bed. We lay quietly, her little fingers tugging my shirt, letting me know how turned on she was. Our breathing was loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Tread! Answer your phone!”

The faint sound of Royal reverberated down the hallway and through the cracks of my door. I launched to my feet and reached down my pants. I tucked my cock up to my waistline, trapping it behind my belt. The tip exceeded the jeans as I noticed Graces gaze. I pulled my shirt over it and bent down to take her swollen red lips one more time before starting towards the maniac with a death wish at my door.

“What is it?!” I shouted, annoyed at the interruption.

“Let’s go. We have to get to the hospital.”

“The fuck?”

“Lonny had a goddamned stroke!” Royal jumped off my porch and ran for his bike. I followed, slinging onto my bike.  One of the guys must have brought it from the clubhouse.

I fired it up, and with a twist of my wrist, revved the engine. Seconds later, I was J-turning out of my driveway and hauling ass in the direction of the convoy of Harleys idling up the street.

Like heading into a roaring storm, I was alert, hands on the grips, and speeding like a bat out of hell.

Climbing off my bike at the hospital was the first time I felt the full effects of my blue balls.

I should have been concentrating on the brother in peril, but all my fucking cock wanted to center on was the conditions it was in an hour ago.

I cursed it for its complete inability to calm the fuck down as I walked through the doors, into the elevator, and up to the intensive care unit on the top floor. The waiting room just outside two security doors entertained my MC. They were all spun up, and when they noticed I was in the room, slowly all eyes were on me. Harvey approached.

“Well, kid. Regardless if the old timer makes it, it looks like you’re in the saddle now.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to me, and I stumbled into the closest chair.

I quickly came to the realization that I was being far too soft for my newly acquired station. I steeled myself outwardly as I churned inwards.

I was now the Road Manager.

I was now a voting member of Ronin MC.

I was no longer a junior member with no say.

I was in a seat of power.

I TRIED TO CATCH MY
breath after Tread left.

Alone in his house.

A house I didn’t even get a tour of.

I touched my lips, feeling their swollenness and smiled. Then I thought about Lonny and the smile faded.

I forced myself up from the bed, took off my boots, and walked around, taking in the details of Tread’s home.

“My old man,” I tested the words against the quiet, and they sounded as foreign as I thought they would.

The house was older. I had yet to see anything that would be considered new in this part of the state. The whole place was tiled, but where Tatum’s house was tiled with rugs in splashy colors, Tread’s house was bare. No kitchen mats, bath mats, or living room rug.

The furniture was soft, big, and just shy of threadbare. The TV, huge.

The refrigerator was surprisingly well stocked, with liquids, anyway. Mostly water and Gatorade, to treat the hangovers, I imagined, until he could get to the saloon. The freezer was stacked with meat in butcher paper. I closed the door with a snap.

When I opened the garage, I saw Tread’s truck and a weight bench, along with the washer and dryer.

There were no clothes in the washing machine, so I picked all of the jeans out of the pile on the floor and started a load. When I went back into the kitchen, the clock on the stove said it was midnight.

Too late for biker chick?

I took out my phone and text Kit.

Me: You up?

Kit: Are you alone?

Me: Yup

I grabbed a Gatorade then searched a hall closet for sheets. No way was I sleeping on that bed without changing them. Who knew what skank had been in there?

My phone rang.

“Hey, Grace.”

“Hey, Kit. I didn’t wake you, did I?” I put the phone to my shoulder as I finished making Tread’s king size bed.

“Nope. I just got back from a date. How’s it going there?”

I sank down on the bed in shock. “A wha—a date? Are you insane?”

Kit scoffed. “Oh stop, Grace. It’s about time I moved on.”

“Kit, Royal—”

“I don’t want to hear about Royal. Tell me why it’s so quiet over there.” She cut me off sharply.

I swallowed back the words she didn’t want to hear. “Lonny had a stroke. Tread went to the hospital with the guys.”

“Oh no! Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard yet. They just left not long ago.”

“Are you in your room? Are you alone? I don’t hear music.”

“I’m at Tread’s house.” Silence. I took a deep breath and waited.

“Tread’s house? What are you doing at Tread’s house?”

“Tread and I are . . . well, he asked me to be his old lady today. Ro—the guys don’t like me and we’ve had some tough weeks since you’ve been gone. He thought it would be better this way.”

“Tread’s known you for what? Two weeks? And you’re a fucking old lady?”

“It’s not permanent. The saloon isn’t safe and he sleeps better with me, so—”

Kit cut me off with a sharp laugh. No humor. “He fucking sleeps.” I heard the click of her throat as she swallowed hard. “I’m happy for you, Grace.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Kit. I don’t need you mad at me, too.”

“I’m not mad, Grace. I’m sad that you’re getting in deeper with a messed up boy in an archaic club run by my father. It’s all just sad. Didn’t you just run away from a relationship you didn’t choose? Jesus Christ.”

My shoulders straightened as I glared at the dresser across from me. “Hey! I ran away from an arranged marriage to someone three years younger than me. I want Tread. He kisses me and I feel something—”

“Yeah, that’s called hormones, Grace. Congratulations, you’re horny.”

I jumped off the bed to pace and gripped the phone tighter. “Shut up, Kit! You don’t know dick. Tread listens to me. He protects me. He laughs with me, and makes me feel pretty. He begged me to move in with him, so don’t turn what we have into your cheap grope in the kitchen. It’s more than that.” I panted, waiting to feel regret for my harsh comparison, but it didn’t come.

Kit took a long, audible breath. “You’re right. Since I’m not there, I don’t know what’s between you two. What I do know is that the MC is fucked up, and if you’re going to be living with someone, you need all the information you can get.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look up PTSD and TBI. That’ll put you on the right track.”

Click.

I sat and stared at my reflection in the mirror over the dresser for a long time. I waited for the panic of yelling at Kit to come. I waited for the uncertainty in my being there to surface. I waited for insecurity in my relationship with Tread to rise.

Nothing happened.

I stood and moved closer to the mirror. Taking off my borrowed leather jacket, I opened a drawer at random and found boxers, men’s tank tops, and undershirts. I brought one of the shirts to my nose and inhaled, involuntarily closing my eyes as the faint smell of Tread’s cologne brought my body alive.

Once I’d changed out of my fishnet stockings and into a shirt and boxers, I tested myself again for that feeling of instability that never came.

For once in my life, I was not adrift.