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  He passed the rest of the backyard barbecue party by sticking to the outer edges with Knuckles, as per usual. These family events tended to be when the women took the reins and called all the shots. The men moved tables and chairs around, manned the grill, and served beers. And kept quiet unless spoken to.

  The men who had paired up with women also stuck close to their old ladies, he noticed. There was definitely a division there. The club was changing; he could feel the difference, and for the first time it worried him.

  Not that they weren’t all bestest buddies anymore. Fuck that. He was happy his friends found good women that they could depend on. It made for better barbecues, that was for sure. Before Trinny came along they were more likely to order pizza or Chinese every night. But the club felt complete somehow. It was hard to describe. It was more like this life was a sustainable choice now that families were springing up all around them. Not just something they were doing until their circumstances forced them into something else.

  They chose this; they could make a life with it no matter what the circumstances.

  There was also a helluva lot more to lose. They’d gotten that first taste when Trinny was shot, taking Jayce’s second daughter and any chance of more kids. But now? Hell, he couldn’t imagine giving nearly the shit he did right then for the club without all the attachments of his brothers. These were his women too, in a way. His kids. He’d lay down his blood and, if it came to it, his life for them. They were all just extensions of the brotherhood.

  Heavy thoughts for a sun-faded backyard in early July, and no one had so much as suggested that Fritter was a deep thinker. It was more something he felt, watching Trinny laughing, sitting on a patio chair next to Gertie, similarly perched on another one. Libby was on her mother’s lap, head resting on her chest, fighting to keep her eyes open just a bit longer past bedtime.

  On the grass Tank, Jayce, Jayce Junior, and Mickey had an over-sized softball and were playing an odd, four-man version of catch. The adults had beers, Jayce Junior was the only one with a mitt. Buck and Tiny were in discussion, sitting on the edge of the low deck. Buck was in front of his woman, leaning back into her legs. Every now and then she’d reached out to touch his hair, or he’d take her foot in his hand and tickle the arch.

  Knuckles was on a lounger, making it earn its name, sucking on a root beer. Fritter was on a second lounger, angled to face the other one. He’d watched his beer intake since he’d have to head out soon. A guy shouldn’t drunk-drive to meet a cop. Just not a smart thing to do.

  “You’re very sedate, Fritter.”

  “It’s a warm day.”

  “How’s your mom?”

  Fritter shrugged. “The usual. She works way too fuckin’ hard.”

  “She still doesn’t know you paid off the house?”

  “She’ll know the next time a statement comes. She’s puttin’ more into her retirement than that mortgage, anyway. She’s too proud to just let me buy everything.”

  Knuckles laughed. “That’s a good thing, Fritter. Means she can take care of herself if you get locked up again.”

  That set his jaw. Going away that last time was what landed them in Markham. They’d been sharing bills since he was old enough to lie about his age and work. He went away for assault after a bar fight, ended up in Kings County Penitentiary. She’d gotten a decent job at the nearest laundry service she could: Markham Medical Center. The rest was history. “I know she can take care of herself. I just wish she didn’t have to work so hard to do it.”

  There was a nasty cough that had started about five years ago. It never got worse, but it wasn’t going away either. His mom had always worked in large industrial laundry centers, or at dry cleaners. Fritter had his own worries about the cough but she wouldn’t get it looked at. That was money, too. Better to just put your head down and work, that was Ma’s view.

  “She feeling any better?”

  Fritter shook his head, swallowing the last mouthful from his third beer of the evening. “Nah. That fuckin’ cough wakes us both up, then she feels bad about wakin’ me.”

  “Might get Doctor Webber to look at her.”

  Tracy Webber was a legitimate doctor at the hospital, knew his mom from there. She’d remarked to him about his mother’s cough, offered to examine her off the books. His mother wanted no favors.

  “You know Ma, too proud for handouts. I’ll get her there eventually, but in her mind it’s nothin’ really bad until the doctor tells you otherwise. Ignore it and there’s nothin’ wrong.”

  “Sounds like a mom.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  The sunset faded and when he checked his phone he found he was due at the motel in fifteen. He begged off, glad that no one really took note of him leaving early anymore. The baby was being put to bed and Trinny was trying to wrangle two sleepy but stubborn kids into her SUV. Jayce had convinced her to stay at his house this time. It looked like progress.

  His Dyna purred like a big cat all the way to their usual spot, but Downey’s car wasn’t in the lot. So he paid for what he considered “their” room, along with a fifth of Tennessee whisky, and headed up to the second interior level, surprised to beat her getting there.

  In the room he ignored the overhead, turning on one of the nightstand lights instead. In the bathroom he collected the glasses and poured out a couple doubles. His leather was folded and placed on the dresser, and he yanked off his T-shirt as well. Then he brought his Jack Daniels back to the bed and stretched out on top of the covers to wait.

  She was ten minutes late, which he found bizarre, but one look at her expression and he was on his feet, taking her arms in his hands to force her to look at him.

  “Jesus. What happened today?”

  Sharon looked taken by surprise, and she blinked a few times. “I had a real shitty day.”

  She was pale and drawn, with a haunted look to her eyes that he could relate to. She’d seen something terrible that day. He knew it wasn’t anything they had done, so maybe he could get her to talk. “What happened?”

  She shook her head and peeled his hands off of her. Grabbing the other glass she downed it on one try and hissed in her next breath. While she gathered her wits he poured another. “Sharon?”

  “I can’t tell you. You know that.”

  “Maybe I can help?”

  Her laugh wasn’t light at all. “No, you can’t. Because it’s in my head and it’s rattling around and I feel like I might be sick from it.” Her lip trembled and her eyes grew shiny.

  “Jesus. I’ve never seen you like this. You’re freakin’ me out.”

  She studied him, holding the refreshed glass to her chest. Her eyes looked still but he could tell the gears in her head were spinning. That was when he realized he had no business doing what he did with her; she was too fucking smart. He was totally unarmed and outclassed when it came to her.

  “You really want to know? Because I know it wasn’t anything to do with you guys but ... we don’t talk, Fritter.”

  “I know. But you also don’t usually come here lookin’ ready to move out to a cabin in the woods and go off grid, either.”

  That brought a trace of a smile.

  “Tell me, gorgeous. I’m getting’ the vibe you don’t really want me touchin’ you, either. We may as well talk.”

  Her eyes flicked over his face again, then she circled the bed, yanked the comforter to the foot of the bed and sat down. She kicked off her sandals, stretched her legs out in front of her, and waited while he sat on the opposite side and assumed the same pose. The bottle was on his side of the bed so he added another couple fingers to her glass and motioned for her to proceed.

  “I think I found another Mazari storage spot today. In the old Gypsy clubhouse in Hazeldale.”

  He froze before taking a pull of Jack. “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “More kids?”

  “Yeah. And ... fuck, this is going to make me sound terrible.”

  That was all she h
ad, he realized. “Just say it. Remember who you’re sittin’ with.”

  That made her laugh and his chest opened at the sound. Shit, had he ever heard her laugh before?

  “Okay. These kids ... I think they were the rejects.”

  “Rejects?”

  “The photos of kids we found in that trailer out by Terry’s? The little boy your guys brought in? They were cute. All of them. I mean, big eyes, rosy round cheeks. Shiny hair. Nice teeth. These kids today ...” she took another gulp of Jack, wincing in a way that was kind of cute. Not that he’d tell Sheriff Downey she was cute. “These kids had bugged eyes and overbites. They had been raped. All of them. Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t just being locked up. But it’s like these were for lower-paying customers or something. Or anyone who wanted their kicks without the hassle of body disposal.” She ran her free hand over her face. “Fuck. I thought I was going to be sick. It was this dirt-floor cellar with buckets for them to shit in and ...” Her voice wavered and that hand went to cover her eyes. “I can’t get their faces out of my head.”

  Shit, she was crying. He had to admit, he was over his head here again. He took the glass from her and put both on the nightstand as she slumped forward, one arm around her stomach. When he put an arm around her she crumpled sideways into his hold, her head resting on his shoulder. Her entire body shook as she wept, and he gathered her up-almost in a ball-and held her across his lap as she sobbed.

  Her hair was against his cheek, a little bit damp, and he had to breathe it in. She smelled good, fresh from the shower. This was what he could smell on most of her when they were together, soaked into her skin. He couldn’t stop his dick from growing hard, but he was pretty sure he had her settled in such a way she couldn’t tell. His hand ran up and down the side of her leg, because he had no idea how to make her feel better.

  “I’m sorry,” he eventually said when she’d stilled in his hold. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I hate that shit, I really do. We just had a baby shower for Buck and Gertie tonight. I ... I can’t imagine anyone wantin’ to hurt a kid. It doesn’t make me sick. It just makes me fuckin’ furious.”

  “We’re watching the building, obviously. It’s the scene of a crime now. And I don’t think they’ll come back anyway. But ... I really don’t want these guys in Markham. I don’t think I can maintain my professionalism if I know they’re anywhere near my town.”

  He digested that, then he had to grin. “Maintain your professionalism, hey?”

  She shook, from laughing this time. “Yeah.” Then she straightened up, clearing her throat and wiping her eyes. She stayed on his lap though, and the shift brought her ass in contact with his erection. With one arched eyebrow her smile vanished and she just looked at him.

  Fritter sighed. “I’m sorry. But you smell good and ...” She was getting up off the bed and he took that as a sign that he was definitely not getting laid. “You’re a hard-body, too, Sharon. You feel really good.”

  When he looked up she was pulling off her shirt, and he fell silent. She still had her bra on because she hadn’t gotten here first to “prepare.”

  Fritter decided to relish the sight of her authentically undressing.

  Both hands went to her back to unclasp that crisp bra and she slid it down her arms, then tossed it onto the dresser. She turned back, her breasts swaying, and he licked his lips. His erection became pained.

  Her fingers made quick work of the fly of her jeans and she shoved them down her hips and thighs until gravity took them to her ankles. As she stepped out of the legs the muscles in her legs popped into sight then went back to being pale, shapely and lovely.

  She leaned against the dresser in pale blue panties, looking at him with a completely blank expression. He kicked off his sneakers and had his pants undone and off so fast he was a little surprised to find himself naked. But she was there too and he got over it fast, approaching her and surprising her by dropping to his knees at her feet.

  “Fritter—”

  “Shh,” he whispered, hands running up the backs of her legs. Her skin was so smooth and warm. She’d definitely had a shower, and after telling him where she’d been he couldn’t blame her.

  “What are you doing?”

  He smiled up at her, pulling down her panties and helping her step out of them. “I’m gonna make you feel good, darlin’.”

  Her lips parted, and he pushed his hands between her taut thighs. The muscles under his hands trembled, but she let him position her.

  “You don’t have to.”

  He kissed one thigh, then the other. “I know I don’t have to. You’re always wet for me, Sharon.” Now he looked up at her again. “Makes me want to taste you even more.”

  He didn’t imagine it—she trembled again. He nuzzled into the short, trimmed, blond hair at the juncture between her legs. It smelled the same as her hair, just warmer. Closer. He dipped his head lower, his tongue sliding along the cleft of skin above her clit and for the first time ever she made a sound.

  It was a soft whimper. So sweet, unexpected from her. But fuck him if it didn’t make his erection kick. His tongue lavished attention on her clit, made brave and bold by that whimper. She gave him another, and as he cast his eyes upward along her body he was thrilled to see her head thrown back, her hands gripping the edge of the dresser so tightly her knuckles were white. Her hips rocked a bit, granting him room and taking it away in turns. He worked with the motion, eventually adding his fingers to the treatment. Plunging them inside he found her so warm, and so fucking wet he could barely stand it.

  “Fritter,” she gasped, and his dick liked that, too. His whole body really liked that.

  Her orgasm was still silent, but he felt it around his fingers. When he was sure she was through it he pulled his hand free and licked her from his skin. She was still watching him, face flushed, but before she could retreat into her head again he stood, steering her to the bed by her perfectly firm hips.

  “How you want me, Sharon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yeah you do. You just won’t say it.”

  Again with the blinking to clear her head. He didn’t want that. He took her chin in his hand and tried to kiss her but she evaded his mouth, as usual. “Fuck me from behind,” she whispered before he could lament that denied kiss.

  “Sure thing.” He whipped her around to face the other way, then pushed her to the mattress. She climbed up and he retrieved a condom, trying not to get distract by her ass as she braced her hands on the pillows and assumed the standard position.

  Kneeling behind her he let his hands slide over her backside, the backs of her legs, up her back and then back to that ass. He loved how hard she was under this silky skin. Such a contradiction. Instead of going up on his knees he pulled her back onto his cock, her legs pressing to the outside of his as he slid inside. She gave a soft sound of surprise.

  As she adjusted to holding him inside he let his hands explore her ribs, up to her breasts. He cupped them both, rolling her nipples roughing between his fingers and thumbs. That made her rock her hips and he had to close his eyes, pressing his forehead to her back.

  That’s when Fritter realized she’d never ridden him, used him to get off. Suddenly he wanted nothing more in the entire world.

  Sharon seemed to have the same thought. She rose up on her knees, dropped back down, and he groaned. A few more times and he was holding on with everything he had. But then he had to dig deeper. Her hands clutched the top edge of the cheap headboard, and with minimal in and out she ground herself down on him until he thought he’d lose his mind. His fingers bit into her hips but he didn’t try to stop or control her. He honestly just needed to hold on.

  Her climax was still silent but his head was buzzing with anything and everything boring that would prevent him from letting go with her.

  He could have, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to, but he wasn’t sure why. He had no idea why he had the need to put in marathon performances with Sharon. His casual
hook ups didn’t get this kind of effort.

  She slumped into his chest, still trembling and her back sweaty. With his upper body strength alone he turned them both so she was facing the foot of the bed, on her stomach. She tried to go up on hands and knees but he pinned her, still planted deep, breathing into her ear. “Like this. I want you like this.”

  She nodded and he snapped his hips back and forth, feeling how her back arched to allow him room. Her legs spread wider and he did his damndest to fill her completely.

  He ran one hand under her body to cup her chin, tilting her head towards the mirror on the dresser. She liked to watch him in the mirror, he knew that. It got him hard remembering every time he’d caught her watching their reflection. Now her eyes blazed as she watched, his body surging against her ass, the long, trim lines of her trapped under him.

  “Come for me again, baby.”

  She whimpered, and he made it his new goal to always make her whimper.

  “Come for me. I’ll watch with you.”

  A few more long strokes and she did, mouth open in a soundless shout, eyes eventually squeezing shut then fluttering open again as she caught her breath. He smiled at her reflection.

  “Perfect,” he whispered as the tremors left her. “One more and it’s my turn.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was the Jack Daniels, it had to be.

  If anyone asked that’s what she would tell them. Under a single sheet, body happily exhausted, Sharon was still at the motel. And still enjoying herself, even after the sex was done. At the moment she was laughing, to the point of tears, trying to keep breathing.

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “You are not. You’re so full of shit.”

  Fritter looked comically wounded. “You’re mockin’ the story of my first love.”

  “You’re telling me you lost your virginity to your cousin when you were fifteen. How is that a love story again?”

  His grin was unapologetic. “The first girl that lets you touch her tits is the love of your life. Believe me.”