“Do it.” The quicker the shadow siege began, the quicker he could wash his hands of this business and get back to plotting to murder his boss.
As he watched, Jose commanded the men to gather several armfuls of brambles that were lying around, the desert having been unkind to the area’s vegetation. When the brambles were piled beside a stack of sun-dried pallets, and a trail of gunpowder was laid between the pallets and the gas tank of the bullet-riddled school bus—the residual fumes leftover from when the bus was in use was still somewhat flammable—Jose lit a match and set it all ablaze.
While the gun range burned, Alfanzo grinned.
“Total loss. The chief was surprised it hadn’t spread to the offices because he said the assholes who set it didn’t even try to hide the fact that they set it.” Slim’s words came across the line, his voice raspy as though he’d fought the raging inferno himself.
Shock and rage flooded Odin, disbelief the match that set him off.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Odin bellowed, slamming his fist down on his desk. He’d spent the last four nights in the clubhouse handling MC biz. When the brothers weren’t working they day-to-day jobs at MC businesses, they were handling the more delicate parts of Savage Raiders business—keeping each other in line. Since Slick’s beat down and demotion, he’d been slowly making his way back into his brother’s and prez’s graces, but he’d been speaking less and disappearing more often. As long as he was handling his assignments, Odin didn’t give a shit what the little misogynist did. In the meantime, though, two other brothers had crossed the lines with two women from the bordello and they needed to be taught an important lesson.
The club was his legacy, and he’d be damned if the men with his club name on his back treated women like punching bags. Fuck ‘em, love ‘em hard, give ‘em a ride on his cock or his bike, but never raise a hand to her.
Even the club bitches were owed the security of knowing they’d be fucked hard but left—more or less—unhurt. Unless they liked that shit. Even then, though, it was their choice. The women who’d been hurt at the bordello weren’t the ones that usually favored the rooms set aside for the BDSM practicing clientele.
So, he’d had a lot of shit to deal with, and for the last several nights, he knew he needed to spend some time among his brothers, reminding them that just because he’d found his woman, didn’t mean he’d gone soft. He drank, he laughed, he shot the shit, he passed on words of goddamn wisdom. But those nights weren’t as good as they used to be, not without his goddess. And she was playing harder to get than he’d anticipated.
Not that he was complaining.
Slim coughed before continuing, “Scottie…someone’s got to call her. I can—”
Shit. Skathi! She’d hear about this shit, too. And she’d be devastated. After the shit with her ex at Steele, Lock ‘n’ Load had become like a refuge for her. She was there from open til close everyday—like the hardworking, ass-kicking Valkyrie she was.
“No, I’ll call Skathi,” he told Slim. “She needs to hear about it from someone who can give it to her gentle like.” Which meant he was headed to her place to tell her to her face so he could take her in his arms when the need arose.
Then he’d fuck her like he’d been needing to for hours. Even though he’d been spending nights at the club, he’d still spend his evenings with Skathi, taking care of her, feeding her, loving on her, then fucking her nasty until she fell asleep and he slipped out to deal with MC shit.
Hells, he’d take any advantage he could to finally get his woman in his bed. Or hers. He just needed between those juicy thighs to the paradise he’d been desperate to taste again since he’d had her last evening. His cock was hard just remembering the sounds she’s made as he pounded his fingers and then his dick into her hot, sopping wet, grasping pussy. And when she came…the expression of utter carnal bliss on her face…. He’d jacked off to that image three times since then. His dick was raw, but he wasn’t complaining.
Snatching his keys from his desk, Odin slammed the door behind him and hurried out of the clubhouse and to the garage. On his bike, it took less than ten minutes to get to Skathi’s condo, where a single light shone through the living room window.
Good, she was home, not that she went much of anywhere when she wasn’t at work or with her best friend Tessa—whom he hadn’t had the pleasure to meet yet.
He pressed her doorbell and waiting, his heart jumping in his chest. Gods, he just needed to see her, to smell her citrus and sage scent. He’d been too long without his goddess.
This shit needs to end. She needs to be with me at the clubhouse.Permanently. She was his woman, she belonged with him. But getting her in line was like herding cats…with anti-torture training. Aside from seducing her, there was little he could do or say to make her do what she didn’t want to do. Much to his displeasure.
Ah, well. Seduction it is.He’d get her so addicted to his dick, she’d do anything to have it, even move into his apartment at the clubhouse and wear his property kutte on her back.
The sound of a lock disengaging pulled him from his thoughts. He straightened and waited for the door to open. Once it did, he stopped breathing.
Then the fury lit him up inside. His woman was standing in her doorway wearing nothing but a tank top and panties, her long lets on full display, her gorgeous tits outlined like a carnal silhouette by the tight cotton material of her top.
“Odin? What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the clubhouse at this hour. Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something is fucking wrong,” he growled, stepping up and pushing the door open wide enough to force his way inside. Pressing her backward until he cleared the doorway, he kicked the door shut with such force, the windows rattled.
“Why the fuck are you answering the door in your fucking panties?”
The smile that had lit up her face at seeing him quickly turned into a scowl, her arms crossing over her bra-less chest.
Fuck. Not only had he pissed of his woman, she was covering up his favorite view.
“Hvor vover du? Jeg vil rive dine baller af og give dig dem. Test mig ikke!”
He couldn’t help it, he grinned. Gods he loved it when she got so worked up she started speaking in Danish. Usually, though, he was fucking her mindless. He didn’t like the angry Danish as much as he liked the ecstasy Danish.
“You know I love it when you scream my name in Danish, baby, but threatening my balls is going’ a little too far. You love my balls right where they are,” he drawled, stepping up into her, his chest pushing her back until the wall stopped them. She was angry, but not angry enough to deny him entry into her home. Her body, however, might take some doing after his outburst.
