Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1) (7 page)

But she didn’t guess that Muse had, either. Not officially. It had been only a couple of hours before dawn when they’d started, and getting light when they’d exhausted themselves. They’d only slept for a few hours.

So…now what?

Now, he was probably hoping she was still asleep, so he could get dressed and get lost without some awkward scene. Is that what she wanted, too—for him to get lost, no awkwardness?
Would
that not be awkward? Or would it just feel gross and sad?

The bathroom door opened, and Sid had to make a choice.

When he came in, she smiled. “Hey.”

His eyebrows went up, but he didn’t look disappointed. “Hey. I wake you?” Her room was not large; three strides, and he was at the side of her bed. He sat down.

“I guess. It’s fine. It’s probably late.”

“Eleven-thirty.”

She rose up onto her elbows. “Fuck!”

“You late for work?”

“No. The office is closed today—furloughs. It’s just…half the day is gone.” She looked out the window…and that made her remember looking out in the early morning and seeing Tucker’s father—Demon—out there. Waiting for her. To do her harm? She didn’t even know.

But that was why Muse was here now. She was on the fence about whether that was a good thing or a stupid thing. Her brain still said stupid. But he’d been lovely. Not a gentleman, exactly, but respectful. And fantastic in bed. Stop-the-presses good.

She turned back to him. He was staring at her chest. As she watched, his hand came over and pulled the sheet down, exposing her breasts. His eyes flared, his pupils expanding. Then, with one finger, he traced a line from her throat, just under her chin, and down, over her collarbone, down her chest, to her nipple. She could almost feel the nerves under his touch stretch up to meet him. He circled his fingertip over that tender flesh and then, as she gasped, feeling the skin gather and grow tight, he leaned over and took her into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this.” The words came out of her mouth in a rush of breath as he grabbed her thigh and tugged her down to lie flat beneath him. She shifted and brought her legs up to frame his hips. His cock was hot and like steel, pressing between her legs. It didn’t scare her anymore. She wanted it. God, she wanted it.

And then he groaned and pulled back.

“You are a ripe piece of sweet fruit, but we gotta stop. I’m out of condoms. You exhausted my supply.” His hand covered the breast his mouth had just left. “I don’t guess you have any?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.” Boy, was she. At the moment, she was wishing like crazy that she’d stayed on the Pill after Mark. Though pregnancy was probably not the only concern she should be having. He was a biker, after all. They weren’t exactly known for their rectitude—or discernment.

He dropped his head to her chest. “Okay. Okay.” When he rolled away, lying on his back at her side, she literally bit her tongue to hold back the whine that wanted out. The massive tent he was making of her sheet provided ample evidence that she wasn’t alone in her frustration.

He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. He didn’t seem awkward at all. There was no horrible dance happening, one or the other of them trying to figure out how to behave, how to extricate themselves or how to figure out what the other was thinking. He’d just come back into the room, started talking, and gotten back into bed, as if he assumed that she was of the same mind he was.

That was weird. Wonderfully so. She’d never met somebody so comfortable with himself—really comfortable, not that faux ‘don’t-give-a-fuck’ attitude some guys had that was really extreme self-consciousness disguised.

Even though she hadn’t thought she’d known her own mind, his easy demeanor made her understand. She was comfortable. However this interlude ended, she felt sure it would be pleasant and easy, with no hard feelings. And that was liberating as hell.

Feeling exhilarated and free, Sid rolled to her side and put her hand on his magnificent chest. She brushed down, savoring the way her palm rose and fell over the sculpted contours of his muscles. As her hand moved lightly over his belly and under the sheet, his skin quivered, and he hissed in a deep, slow breath.

She wrapped her hand around him and slid her palm up and down his thick length.

“Yeah, hon. Okay.” His voice was rough. Sid looked up and saw that he’d closed his eyes, and his jaw was so tense the muscles at the corners were twitching. That was so hot. She shifted down on the bed until her head was in line with his hips.

She wasn’t really a fan of giving head, and she’d never gone down on anybody who wasn’t an actual boyfriend. It was a lot more intimate, in Sid’s opinion, than intercourse. And probably not the most safety-conscious choice she could make right now. Moreover, Muse’s size was such that she knew there was no way she’d be able to deep-throat him—and he would hurt her if he did that thing that guys did where her mouth suddenly became just a convenient hole they could fuck. She really hated that.

But his breath was loud and uneven already, and he’d arched his neck up in mere anticipation of her mouth on him. And she felt good. He’d already fucked her clear through a hangover, and now he’d dispensed with the post-coital awfulness without even trying. She wanted his cock in her mouth. She wanted to make him feel good, too.

She licked his tip, and his hips came up off the bed. She sucked him into her mouth, just a few inches, and his hands went into her hair and grabbed hold.

That scared her, and she pulled away. “Easy.”

He opened his eyes and smiled down at her. “I won’t hurt you.”

She trusted him. Dumb, but true. So she wrapped her hands around him and took as much of him as she could into her mouth, sucking and licking, squeezing, rubbing, bobbing until his every exhale was a pained groan and all the muscles in his belly had knotted into perfect, brilliant definition. His hands were fists tangled in her hair, but he didn’t try to move her, and he held his hips still.

She knew he was close; his entire body was as hard as his cock. With a sharp, surprising yank, he pulled her head off of him. “I need more, hon. Fuck!”

Not understanding what that meant, she loosened her grip on him, prepared to…what? Pull away? What more did he need? But his hands went around hers, around him, and he gripped them hard, squeezing her hands tightly around his cock. And then his hips moved—fast, hard, and quick—and he shouted and came all over their hands and his belly.

Panting, he dropped back to the pillows. Sid kissed his chest and climbed over him and off the bed. She went into the bathroom and washed her hands, then grabbed a clean hand towel from her linen closet and brought it back for him. He took it with thanks and wiped himself up.

While she sat and watched him stroke his belly with her towel, a touch of awkward uncertainty seeped in on the edges of her good mood. She wanted to ask him a question, but she didn’t want to sound needy or whatever. But that was the dance they’d been avoiding.

So, fine, then. She’d just ask. “What’s next?”

He stopped wiping, folded the towel neatly, and dropped it to the floor before he responded. “What d’you mean?”

Forcing herself to avoid the stupid coding of saying-but-not-saying, she said, “Well, we skipped the part where you sneak out, or I try to get you to leave without being a bitch. I don’t know what happens when that doesn’t happen.”

For a couple of seconds, he simply studied her. Then, he asked, “Do you want me to leave?” He wasn’t defensive at all. Just curious.

“No. I mean…I have, I had…plans. Sort of. I don’t know. My father wants to see me. I thought I’d go home today. But…”

Smiling, he put his hand on her knee. “Easy, hon. I need to check on my dog, and get to work at some point. So how about this. Your shower’s pretty nice. How about we get cleaned up, and I get you off in your shower. Then you have your day, and I have mine.” He cocked his head a little, like a thought occurred to him. “Hey—you need a ride somewhere?”

“What? Why? I live here.” Oh—her car! Was at Harry and Carole’s, still! “Oh—yeah. I left my car where I was last night. But how do you know that?”

“Powers of deduction. No car here.”

“Oh. Yeah. That would be great. If it’s not out of your way.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Where is it?”

“My boss’s house. Mountainview Estates.”

He grinned. “My President lives in there.” His hand slid up her thigh. “Ready for that shower?”

Yes. Yes, she really was.

~oOo~

“That’s your car?” Muse bent his head and scowled through the windshield of the van.

Sid was used to people reacting to what she drove. A 1973 VW Thing. Cotton-candy pink with a white top. She loved that car like it was a living being. “Yep. That’s me.”

He was still scowling. “You go out in the field in that?”

“No. I use a state-owned car for work.” There were a few protections like that in place, intended to keep caseworkers’ personal property and information from the people they worked with—people who were often angry with them. Obviously, as last night had demonstrated, it was an imperfect system. She didn’t know how Demon had found her—or Muse, for that matter. “How did you find me last night?”

He turned from his stunned consideration of her awesome and unique vehicle. “I didn’t find you. I found Demon.”

“How’d
he
find me, then?”

He frowned, considering her question. “I don’t know, hon. I’ll ask him.”

Which maybe presupposed that she’d be talking to Muse again, if he intended to tell her the answer. Feeling that awkwardness creeping back in, she did what she’d done before, asked the same question. “What’s next?”

He smiled, his blue eyes lively and bright, and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

She did, knowing—hoping—what he was going to do. Taking it, he tapped around on her screen and then handed it back to her. He’d typed a phone number and the name ‘Muse.’ “That’s my personal. I’d like to see you again sometime. Call me if you want to get together. Can’t say I’ll be able to drop everything, but we can make a plan. If you want.” He leaned over the console between their seats, getting up close. “Do you want, Sid?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” He kissed her. Damn, he was good at that.

CHAPTER FIVE

Demon was sitting at the bar, with his head lying on his arms, when Muse came into the clubhouse a couple of hours after he’d dropped Sid off.

Just the asshole he wanted to see.

But, feeling guilty about leaving Cliff alone so long, he’d brought the dog with him this afternoon, and Cliff loved Demon. As soon as the dog saw that sad sack, he went from strolling contently at Muse’s side to tearing across the Hall, doing a little doggie dance around Demon’s barstool. Demon lifted his head and found a smile for the dog.

“Hey, buddy!” He patted his legs, and Cliff jumped up, his forelegs across Demon’s lap. They hugged and kissed and whatever, both of them behaving like long lost friends, until Muse stepped up to the bar.

“Down, Cliff.” The dog jumped down, then looked at Muse as if asking if he’d done something wrong. Muse put his hand down, and Cliff put his head under it.

“Hey, Muse. Getcha somethin’?” Ember, the club girl working the bar, smiled at him.

“Cuervo—silver.” She nodded and set him up. Ember was probably mid-forties, a couple of years older than Muse. Too old to be called a ‘girl.’ Not that ‘sweetbutt’ was any more respectful. But the Horde didn’t call their women ‘sweetbutts.’ They were just club girls. That had been a little bit of an adjustment. Their former club had called them ‘P.O.T.s’—Pussy on Tap.

“We need to talk, Deme. That shit last night was fucked up.”

Demon looked chastened. As quick to anger and violent as he was, he understood it as a severe limitation, one that had caused him and his brothers a lot of trouble over the years. So he was hardly ever defensive about taking his licks when it came time to make it right.

“I know. Muse, I’m freakin’ the fuck out. But I wasn’t gonna hurt her, I swear. I just needed to talk to her someplace where all those bitches weren’t watching me. Judging. I think I can make her see. I don’t know why, but I think I can. I think she’ll see, if I can explain it right. I can’t stop thinking about what to say to her.”

Muse thought he might be right—to the extent that a new-out-of-the-box caseworker had the pull to change this, he thought Sid could be made to see what others had not and give Demon the chance he deserved. Even though Demon scared her, Muse had seen compassion and will and a strong sense of what was right in her. He thought she could be an ally in this fight.

He’d hoped to make her an ally when he’d followed her into her house, but he hadn’t planned on using sex to make it happen. No, that had been just for him. She’d just been so hot, yelling at him, cussing like a sailor—or, more apt, a biker. Staying right in his face while she fought for her perspective.

Oh, and hadn’t she been a hot little piece, though. Half of Muse’s brain was still playing last night over like a movie. Those long, long legs and arms, that slim, golden body. Those eyes that had shown him how completely into it, into him, she’d been. And that tight, wet, little pink pussy.

She’d given him head without him asking. She’d been a little awkward about it, and he’d gotten the sense it wasn’t something she did often. But her amateur form, and even the occasional glance of her teeth off his sensitive skin, hadn’t diminished the hotness, or effectiveness, of that moment. A highlight.

Muse’s cock stirred, and he returned his attention to the half of his brain trying to work out the problem of Demon and Tucker.

Sid was right, Muse thought. Demon knew it, too. She’d had to take Tucker out of Dakota’s hands. Dakota was going to get that baby sick or dead, because she didn’t care about him as much as she did her next high.

The next thing would be to figure out a way to get him into his father’s hands. And for that, Demon needed to get himself under control.

“How’d you find her?”

Demon pushed his empty glass across the bar, and Ember poured him another Jack. “Thanks, darlin’. Get lost now.” Ember nodded and walked away.

Muse stared at that glass. It was rare for Demon to hit the liquor. He understood the limits of his control, so he tended to stay away from things that shortened those limits. He usually stuck to beer and rarely let himself go all the way to drunk.

After he took a big swallow, he turned back to Muse. “Peaches helped me. He’s tappin’ that chick that works at the U-Ship-It. I had the social worker’s card with her name on it. Told him to put his chick on it. What’s-her-name uses that place, so her address is on file.”

Muse stared. For several seconds, he just stared, trying to sort the near-catastrophes and the definite idiocies out into a row from least to worst. Demon didn’t look at him; he kept his eyes on his glass.

Lakota, another patch who worked as a Hollywood TA, came into the Hall. Cliff got up from the floor at Muse’s feet and loped over to greet another friend.  Muse turned and nodded a hello to his brother, then grabbed Demon by the kutte and pulled him back to his little office.

He pushed him onto the cheap plastic chair Muse kept in here for an extra seat. The room had been a storage closet in the building’s previous life. It was small and windowless, but it gave Muse a place to deal with the paperwork for managing the club’s entertainment support business.

“Muse, I know—”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. You’re telling me that you had a
brand-new
Prospect
get you protected information about the caseworker in charge of your kid? And he got that information from
some chick he’s porking
? Do you know how many ways you could have exposed us—and maybe still are?”

“Peaches won’t say anything. He’s new, but he’s all in. And the chick is the one who broke the law. She’s not gonna say anything.”

“She’s not an old lady. She’s not even his girlfriend. She’s just some chick who’s putting out for him. And he’s almost a full year from even coming up for vote consideration. Bringing outsiders into our business, Deme. That’s bad news. Do you even know the chick’s name?”

Demon shrugged. “Something with a ‘B,’ maybe.” He sat up straighter. “Why’s it such a big fuckin’ deal? Law doesn’t look twice at us these days.”

That was true. They never left the grey area anymore. Almost everything they did was strictly on the up-and-up. Still, though, letting near-strangers into club business was bad practice, and Demon was too loose. Usually, despite his flagrancies otherwise, Demon kept club business locked down tight. What was going on with Tucker was really fucking him up. What he’d done last night, if Muse hadn’t pulled him off, could have blown up in his face—and in the club’s, too.

Muse was going to talk to Hoosier and Bart. He thought it would be a good idea to tell the Prospects that they had to clear with an officer any special orders Demon gave them.

“I need to talk to her. Muse, I
got
to.”

He sighed. “Okay. Let me see what I can do about that. In the meantime, we talk to Hoosier, see if he and Bibi will get registered or whatever the fuck they call it so Tucker can go to them.” He leaned forward, got face to face with his friend. “And, Deme, you steer clear of Dakota. Do you understand me? Hurting her is only going to fuck you up more. You keep far away from her.”

“Okay. Can’t find her anyway. Fucking used-up skank must be hiding from me.”

Muse thought that was probably one of the few smart moves that bitch had ever made. With any luck, she’d stay hidden until Tucker was where he belonged and Demon was back on something like an even keel. He stood. “Let’s go back out. We got the Keep in a couple hours.”

Demon stood, too, and Muse followed him out of his office. They’d just made it into the Hall when Demon stopped suddenly and turned around, his face starting to get pink. “Hold up. What makes you think you can get the social worker to do anything?”

“I talked to her last night.” Muse saw the danger coming. He kept his voice low.

“You
talked
to her? What did you say? Why the fuck would she trust you?” His head dropped an inch or two, like a bull about to charge. “You didn’t fucking
talk
to her, did you?”

They had the full attention of the men and women—and dog—in the Hall, which had filled while they were back in Muse’s office. Several of their brothers had stood up, knowing Demon and what he could do.

“Easy, brother. I did talk to her.”

“But that’s not all, is it? You fucked the bitch who stole my kid! You son of a bitch. Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me I’m wrong!” Spittle flew from his raging mouth. Muse set his muscles. He wouldn’t lie—lying to a brother was bad news. But he would fight if he had to.

But before Muse could answer, Demon roared, “TELL ME I’M WRONG!” and punctuated the last word with a right hook into Muse’s face. Even though he’d been ready for a blow, it knocked him backward over a table, and he landed on the floor.

And then a large black missile was airborne and headed straight for Demon. Barking and growling furiously, Cliff jumped and sent his body into Demon, knocking him backward as well. The dog stood over him, snarling, his teeth bared and aimed at Demon’s throat. But he didn’t attack. Demon was a friend, so Cliff was giving him a pointed warning.

“Off, Cliff.” Muse stood, rubbing his face, trying to decide whether his cheekbone was broken. At his command, Cliff calmed and stepped off. But he stayed on his feet, eyeing Demon, growling at every move. “Here, bud.”

With a last, suspicious glare at Demon, Cliff came over, tailing wagging, and licked Muse’s hand.

Lakota looked from Muse to Demon to Cliff. Then he laughed. “That dog is badass.”

His amused comment broke the tension, and the rest of the men laughed. Muse smiled and ruffled Cliff’s ears. Demon, back on his feet, still glared.

When the room was quiet, he grumbled, “You are, aren’t you? Banging her?”

“If I am, don’t you think it helps you if she’s a friend of the club?”

Demon blinked, working that through. “That why you did it?”

No. He’d done it because she was hot and he’d wanted her. He maybe still wanted her. Not maybe, definitely. But it was true that keeping her close could be helpful—and possibly give Demon access to information he might not otherwise get. “It helps you.”

“Long as you don’t piss her off.”

“Then I won’t piss her off.” He crossed the space between them and held out his hand. “Can we get a drink now?”

Demon scowled at Muse’s offered hand, then took it and let himself be pulled into an embrace.

~oOo~

The Night Horde SoCal sat around their table in the Keep. They met every Friday afternoon, in the tradition of the original Horde charter in Missouri—and of every club Muse knew about. Friday was church—or, in the Horde’s way, the Keep.

The SoCal charter currently had thirteen patches and three Prospects. Not a huge club, but larger than the mother charter, especially with two members of that charter in prison, including the legendary Isaac Lunden, former President. No longer, though, did the Horde play on fields that could get them sent away. They had a wide array of legitimate businesses. Especially SoCal. They had the bike shop, regarded as the best in California and the whole west coast; a security and protection business; and their various entertainment industry support work—from equipment rental to technical advising and stunt work. That last was what Muse managed. He hated it. But he was good at it, and he did what the club asked of him.

None of it made the kind of bank that basic outlaw work had made. Not even the bike shop, despite its reputation and celebrity clientele. Muse, already chafing at the routines of a ‘normal’ life after long years as a Nomad outlaw, now struggling just to keep his bills paid and his sister taken care of, and still steaming after the humiliation of just being called for missing his club dues for the second month in a row, was giving the argument now going on between his President and VP every bit of his attention.