as long as I’d lived here, the Hell’s Rebels’ MC had been smuggling guns and cigarettes across state lines. Each time, there was the risk that an MC brother wouldn’t come home or, if he did, it might be in a body bag.
Now Keys was a prospect, he’d been accepted just before we’d graduated high school, so he got to go along for the ride.
Of course, he loved it.
It was an excuse to be on the back of his bike for hours on end. But me? I was always scared they’d never come back.
Two of the men I loved most—aside from my daddies—were going on tonight’s run. The thought of being here, without them, was enough to make me want to puke, but they believed I’d been doing well recently, and I didn’t want to disappoint them. Didn’t want them to worry about me. If they did, maybe they’d stop concentrating, and that could get them killed.
I didn’t know what went down on a run, aside from way too much gas being used to carry illegal goods across the States—carbon footprints didn’t matter to the MC—but I knew they were in danger until they came back to me.
That was what I had to focus on—their return.
Releasing a breath, I began sketching Keys. Both boys were the sons of lifers—brothers who’d be in it for life. Until death.
Lawrence, AKA Saint, was the son of Wheels, the MC’s Road Captain. He was in charge of all the runs, both the organizing and the security. Wheels was training Saint to take his place one day, a prospect that pretty much petrified me.
Keys was Rodeo’s boy—the Sergeant-at-Arms was currently serving his fourth year of a seven-year-stretch, but was due for parole in the next two months. Jamie was beyond stoked, and I couldn’t blame him—I missed Rodeo almost as much as Keys did.
I’d been raised with both men, had seen them morph from zit-faced teenagers to handsome guys, and still, somehow, they saw me as a girl.
That I wanted them both was a given. I was my mother’s daughter, after all, and had been raised in the kind of relationship I wanted to have for my own, that I needed to have to feel safe, but both guys were stubbornly refusing to see things my way.
They weren’t the only ones.
Ink was just as bad.
He was the club’s Secretary and he managed the tattoo parlor the MC owned.
I’d loved all three since before I even knew what love was. To me, these three epitomized everything that was brave and loyal.
Was it any wonder I fantasized about having more with them? Personally, I considered it a very normal response to being around three such fine specimens of manhood. If they didn’t get me hot and bothered, I’d truly consider myself beyond hope—that was how delicious they were.
Keys broke into my thoughts when he clucked his tongue. “You said you weren’t sketching me.”
When I saw he’d leaned up onto his elbow and was staring at my pad, I grabbed it and hauled it into my chest. “No peeking,” I grumbled. “You know the rules.”
“Yeah, and you do too. You’re not supposed to sneak sketch.”
My lips curved at his reprimand, a reminder of the last time I’d drawn him, and I reached for the tumbler of water I’d brought out with me. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“You didn’t have to draw it!” he retorted, cutting Saint a furtive glance before glowering at me when he saw Saint was smirking up at the sky, his eyes closed as he listened to us bicker.
“It was there! What was I supposed to do?”
“Fuck’s sake, Saint, back me up on this or next it will be your cock on that pad.”
I snickered. “It’s your fault,” I repeated. “You shouldn’t have had a boner.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You shouldn’t have been looking.”
Both men lived in their jeans and cuts, but there was a lake on the clubhouse property, one that we often went to once the weather grew warm. Last week, he’d changed into a pair of loose-fitting surf shorts, and I’d just happened to see the tip peeping over the waistband.
How the hell was I supposed to not draw that?
Especially when it was leaking pre-cum onto divoted abs that I wanted to lick.
I’d fantasized about that, too, that night.
But he’d undoubtedly been watching one of the sweetbutts. Hell, in my one piece, I was nothing in comparison to some of the clubwhores—and no, that wasn’t me being mean even though, sometimes,