Coletrane
Authors: Rie Warren
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Coletrane
Copyright © 2015 by Rie Warren
Excerpt from Steele: Into Your Heart copyright
© 2015 by Rie Warren
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations.
Warren, Rie.
Coletrane / Rie Warren – 1
st
ed
1.Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 2. Alpha Male—Fiction. 3. Bikers—Fiction. 4. Erotica—Fiction. 5. MC Romance—Fiction. 6. Thriller—Fiction. I. Title
ASIN:
B011ADPC2
6
Cover Design
By Tera Shanley
Editing
By Gilly Wright
http://www.gillywright.com
RETRIBUTION MC. TUNES BLASTING. Drinks pouring. Denim- and leather-clad honeys dancing. Folks laughing. Pool balls knocking, and the dartboards a’rockin’.
This was the fucking life.
The grand opening party for Bo and Kinkaid’s double business venture had relocated from HardCorps Gym/Hardcore Strippers to the MC, and the usual suspects crowded the room from corner to corner.
We had cops, a few reformed ex-cons, ex-military, accountants, business owners, people from every walk of life. I stood behind the shiny steel bar watching all the well-wishers party hard in honor of Kinkaid and Bo.
Man, I couldn’t be prouder or happier for Kinkaid if he was my real brother. After what had happened with his grampa, and almost losing Sadie—more than once—he deserved some good fortune.
As for Bo, well, he’d had the
scary
almost sucked out of him by Veronica. Now he laughed instead of scowled, threw grins instead of his knives, and often thanked Hunter for setting him up with Doctor Veronica Hartley instead of threatening to kill his old friend for making him get his head shipshape.
Yeah, Bo was another man who warranted success and joy.
Hunter—ex-Black Ops and now police force all the way—had been my mentor in his usual give-no-fucks/take-no-prisoners style. The man, who’d been a mystery when he first joined Retribution, thought I could have a career in Blue. I wasn’t so sure about that. I had a habit of attracting bullets and bad luck.
I’d almost gotten shot during that whole Miami Muerte MC raid last December, but Boomer knocked me out of the way just in time. The latest slug had bit me in the shoulder when we’d brought the pain down on Iron Nails MC in order to get Bo’s lady back. That motherfucking bullet had wrecked one of my tats—and I was just a little bit OCD about that shit. Hunter had done his best, stitching me up with no anesthetic beyond a few shots of hooch in a Jacksonville hotel room, his old partner Walker playing nurse in the most sarcastic way possible.
Since throwing my helmet in the ring with Retribution MC my life has been anything but boring. Not that it had ever been a snooze-fest, one way or the other.
This club had been through just about everything: murders, invasions, deaths, betrayal, abductions . . .
strippers
. . . weddings. That was only in the past year and a half. I patched through last November. Previously I’d been known as Probie
Original Recipe
. Now I had my colors and my roadname:
College.
Kinkaid had been Probie Version 2.0, but he’d made it into the brotherhood in March as
Ryder
. Just his last name, nothing more than that, in honor of his grandfather. The two of us still shared the shit work until a new grunt showed up, but we’d gained respect.
“What are you grinnin’ at, butt boy?” Just then Tail—number one pussy hound—called over to me.
Respect?
Shiiiit
.
“You keep talkin’ about my ass that way, I’ll start thinkin’ you wanna lick it,” I shot back.
“Oh hell no. I don’t munch butt.” He shuddered.
“Not on dudes anyway.” Brodie Steele knocked an elbow into Tail’s ribs.
“Well,
yeah
.” Tail rolled his eyes as he twirled his personalized pool cue like a fucking majorette’s baton.
Several other men within earshot, which was pretty much the entire bar, blushed.
Yeah. I hadn’t met a man yet who minded eating
tail
, me included, except I didn’t blush about it.
I slung the dirty bar cloth in Tail’s face. “Ass
wipe
. Why don’t you make yourself useful for a change.”
“I am.” Laughing, he slapped the damp cloth down in front of me. “I’m the eye-candy, didn’t you know?” He ground his pelvis against the bar, raising his arms.
Instantaneously, four women surrounded him, goddamn purring for his attention.
Pussy hound
.
As the usual jokers went in search of someone else to fuck with, I started rinsing glasses. They piled up at the end of the bar next to the massive knife sharpening stone that had more than a few nicks in it. My hardware jangled at my wrists and neck. I’d taken off my leather cut as soon as I’d entered the keep. It was end of July. Mount Pleasant, South Carolina. Hotter than
Hade’s
asshole, come to think of it.
Cold air gusted in through the vents, but it wasn’t enough to cut through the haze of all the happy, hot bodies taking up residence in the bar, possibly for the entire night. I considered getting rid of my ribbed tank top, too, but thought better of it. This wasn’t Kinkaid’s old playhouse palace—The Gentleman’s Quarters—where dudes got their clothes off so women could get their rocks off.
Although that wasn’t to say public nudity didn’t happen on occasion in the middle of the Retribution barroom.
I rinsed another glass, quietly chuckling when I overheard badass Bo mentioning to Hunter the ball and chain with Veronica was anything but bad.
I know my way around a ball and chain.
Specifically a ball gag, and other kinds of chains.
Half an hour later, Kinkaid and I tossed liquor bottles back and forth, juggling that shit, pouring out drinks one-handed behind our backs in front of a growing crowd who yelled their lungs out and whistled through their teeth. I didn’t have to worry about Kinkaid
stripping off and getting on top of the bar any time soon. He’d made a vow to his lady Sadie, and the lap dances were reserved for her eyes only.
“Cole! Here’s the girl I wanted you to meet.”
I looked around, pouring two neat fingers of whiskey without even watching the alcohol glug out.
Sadie approached. Pretty Sadie. She’d make any man’s pulse roar with the long sandy hair, hardcore ink, the Suzuki dirt bike . . . and all that attitude, but my eyes were instantly glued to
the girl
.
Girl?
Fuck that. She was a full-blown woman.
No way was she a member of our sister charter, the First Ladies of Redemption.
Hell, the way she carried herself, she could’ve been born into one of the famous First Families. But her look was pure Marilyn Monroe.
Platinum blonde. Polished. Pin-up hot. Pale seafoam green eyes. Classically beautiful, with rockin’ curves and screen starlet red lipstick.
Instant attraction. Instant run in the other direction. And I knew all about running.
Before I could book it, Kinkaid whispered, “Welcome to your worst nightmare,” and Sadie was practically on top of me with Little Miss Posh in tow.
Hunter watched with a smirk.
Bo with too much interest for my liking.
Kinkaid with a shake of his head in Sadie’s direction.
Dickheads.
Under their scrutiny, I felt the uncommon heat of a motherfucking blush on my cheeks.
“Coletrane Sawyer, this is Sinclair Chatham.” Sadie dragged me forward.
My boots probably left skid marks on the floor.
“Sinclair, meet Cole.”
“Coletrane. A pleasure,” the remarkably hot woman purred.
My rough hand met her manicured one, and a sizzle of heat spread low down my spine, hitting me in the balls.
She screamed
money
. I had like two extra bucks in my bank account after I paid my bills.
I glared at Kinkaid.
Wingman?
More like the hangman.
Drawing my hand away, I scanned Sinclair again.
Sinclair
. Must’ve been some kind of fancy family name. Got the
Sin
part down right, though. High tits. Perfect wavy hair. The indent of her waist made my mouth water. Luscious. Lovely.
Way out of my league.
Sadie disappeared as fast as her feet could carry her. All the dudes glanced over, pretending they were just scanning the joint and not avidly watching the scene unfold before them.
Kinkaid hopped off to
get another case of beer, braw
.
“I’ve never been in a motorcycle club before.” Sin’s voice rolled out like a well-oiled engine.
She made all my pistons fire just like that, but I wasn’t a wet-behind-the-ears dipshit willing to be taken for a ride. I preferred to be in the driver’s seat when it came to women.
“No shit? Wouldn’t have guessed.” I half-smiled at the babe in high heels and the silky skin-tight dress with the expensive perfume almost making me drug-out in nirvana from the teasing scent alone.
“Are you going to get me a drink?” she asked.
“Yeah, Probie! Get the woman a drink already,” Hunter heckled, so entertained.
I flipped him off, heading around the bar. “What’s your pleasure, Sinclair?”
“Cosmopolitan.”
Of course. She had
Sex and the City
written all over her
.
In the next instant, she pushed up on the bar and . . .
cleavage
. And more perfume like a hashish haze and just as potent.
Then her husky laugh coiled around me. “Kidding. I can drink like a big girl too.” Those big soft green eyes widened as she sucked on the pad of her fingertip, giving me ideas about schoolgirl porn. “Whiskey.
Raw.
”
No shit? I poured from Hunter’s special bottle, handed her the glass with a goddamn cocktail napkin, too.
“Neat? No ice? You sure?” I asked.
“Like I said”—she slipped her carnal lips to the rim of the glass and swilled the amber liquid down—“I like it raw.”
“That’s good.” Drawn to her, I swiped my fingertip across her bottom lip. “Me too.”
The tip of her tongue snuck out, touching my finger.
I pulled back as soon as her wet lick stung my flesh.
Smiling, Sin cradled her drink between her hands. “Are you up for a pool game?”
“Can do.” At least then I’d have something to do with my eyes other than stare at her like I’d never seen a woman before.
Maybe the princess wasn’t as petted and privileged as I’d thought. Or maybe I just wanted to see where this would go.
Probably not a wise move, but I wasn’t always the good guy.
As we waited for one of the pool tables to open up, Sinclair danced to the music, hitting every note with her swiveling hips.
I rubbed a hand over my mouth, watching her. The woman was so hot she looked like she didn’t even need a partner to get off.
The track ended and she sauntered over to me. “I like your chains.” She brushed the thick rings on my neck, then around my wrists.
My skin sizzled wherever she touched, causing chaos with my suddenly rough respiration.
“Yeah. Well, they’re not Van Cleef or whatever.”
“Oh, I know.” As her head tilted, the light from one of the bright beer signs caught the big diamonds in her ears. “I have enough of that stuff to know the difference.”
Big surprise there.
This woman did not fit in here.
“You’re up, Cole.” Tail knocked me on the shoulder with his pool stick. “Go easy on the new cherry. Wouldn’t want her to break a fingernail.”
Sin grabbed a cue off the rack and expertly rubbed the chalk over the end.
Her eyebrow arched in Tail’s direction, her million dollar voice carried over. “I’m standing right here,
sweetheart
, if you have something you want to say to me.”
Tail looked like he’d actually swallowed a pool ball for a moment before he guffawed.
He gave me a smack on the back and a low warning. “Good luck with that, man.”
What
did
surprise me about Sin was she knew her way around the table, and she was adept at pocketing balls. On second thought, I shouldn’t have been shocked by that shit at all since she’d practically handed Tail his nuts on a platter.
I found her increasingly attractive. And it wasn’t just her looks, which were total silver screen sexy.
She kept the chatter to a minimum. I approved. She wasn’t tarted up—she didn’t need to be. She was effortlessly provocative.
Sin wasn’t showy. She got the job done. And even though she didn’t unnecessarily swish her hips or tilt her ass when she bent over the table, more than a handful of men groaned loudly every goddamn time it was her turn. Even more of them swore under their breath.
She was honey to all the horny men, and they lapped that shit up. She was exotic in these rough-and-tumble surrounds, a foreign luxury.
As I played against her, I didn’t go easy, as Tail had advised. The woman wanted a game, she’d get one, just not the kind I usually liked to play. Even so, she was on the verge of beating me. I blamed it on my unhealed shoulder, which I strained to make perfectly angled shots, not the fact I was just as distracted by her professional performance as much as the dudes standing around practically drooling.
