Chapter Four

Wolf

After walking through the kitchen, I take a seat on my back porch, just watching the sun set and enjoying a beer, I think back on how the day went exactly as I had it planned. I had enough time to finish the custom paint job on a 1977 Confederate Edition Harley Davidson for a customer at the shop and I can honestly say I'm looking forward to showing the end product to him tomorrow.

Sparrow's old lady, Luna, stopped by the shop for lunch with their four-year-old son Gage and some kick-ass pulled pork sandwiches for Sparrow and me. Gage is a carbon cut out of his daddy and follows him everywhere, trying to do everything he does. Some days I sit and watch Gage and I wonder if my little Rose would have looked more like Amber or myself.

Those are the hard days, days where I have to convince myself that life is worth living and remind myself to put one foot in front of the other. My club helps me through those days even though most don't even know it. I carry an immense gratefulness that I'll never be able to fully verbalize.

Deep in thought about bikes and kids and life in general, it takes a moment for me to realize my cell is ringing in the house. After lifting myself out of the deck chair, I make my way inside.

"What's up?" I answer without hesitation, seeing on the caller ID that the President of my club is calling.

"Wolf, how about a beer, brother?" Pope replies in that smooth Irish accent that seems to make the ladies lose their underwear and their inhibitions.

Laughing, I answer his question with another question. "Dusk?"

"Yeah, brother, where else would we be headed then?"

"Complete crew?"

"Absolutely, everyone could use one after this fucker of a couple of weeks," he replies solemnly.

"Great, I'll meet you all there in about an hour?"

"Good on you brother."

And that ends the call. Pope enjoys going to Dusk occasionally, but that would be purely to see Storm, although he denies it every chance he gets. Old man needs to own up to that shit and lock that woman down. Anyone with eyes can see how bad they got it for each other, and whether it's just chemistry or something more, no one knows. What I do know is that he always says he'll never lay a finger on her. Something about having his chance and blowing it. Whatever the fuck that means.

Heading into the house, I return the steak to the fridge. It will keep until tomorrow and tonight is for drinking. After making my way up the stairs of my three-bedroom house, I head directly to the shower. Standing under the spray, I lather up my hair, and after rinsing, I let the water cascade down my back and bring forth the memory I want.

The memory of my past life and love get me to where I want to be in mere moments. My cock is rock hard as I take it in hand. With a firm grip, I move from root to tip and back down again, using a rhythm I've grown accustomed to. A ripple runs across my abs as they contract from the pleasure. My thighs tense as I hold back for as long as I can. Squeezing harder and moving my hand faster, the pleasure soon overwhelms me. Sooner than I like, I feel the familiar tingling sensation move down the column of my spine and into my tightly drawn-up balls before exploding.

Watching my cum slip down the drain from yet another self-help job, I wish I could get laid. God knows I've tried, again and again, but I just can't seem to make my dick work for anyone other than her. My cock won't get hard for any other woman except Amber and quite frankly, after five years, I'm starting to get pissed off. I really want to stop jerking off by myself, in the shower, to the same goddamned memory over and over.

Once I get out of the shower, I dry off, get dressed, and head over to Dusk. The drive over clears my head. Being on a motorcycle always does that for me. The open road and the fresh air always do wonders to improve my shitty mood. Parking in front of Dusk in the spot I always use, I can see the guys are already there and seem to be waiting on me. Moving closer to my brothers, we enter the club together.

The room is smoky and there's a smell I can't describe. It's neither sex nor desperation but rather a mixture of the two. Large black leather booths take up both sides of the room with a large stage in the center. In the back is a full-length mahogany bar tended by two men. There are some waitresses in heels and various stages of undress moving between the tables, and four bouncers mill around.

Someone on the far side of the bar makes a squealing sound and already I'm irritated at being here. The women all want a piece of one of us and no matter how many times Sparrow and I decline, there's always one dumb cunt who thinks she has the golden pussy that will get us to cave tonight. We have many single members in our club and even some married members that don't mind having a piece on the side. I just want to be left alone and I can't seem to get the message across to them.

I watch as Storm saunters from the front of the club to meet us, and she greets Pope with their customary cheek kiss. It bothers me more than it should, but I can see the looks they give each other and although I've lost my happiness and am destined to never find another, I want my brothers to find theirs.

We move over to a corner booth so everyone can sit and have their backs covered and I can watch the door. Force of habit, I guess, but we always get a corner booth facing the door no matter where we are. We order a round of beers and watch the girls dance and just shoot the shit. No club business, no politics, just guys being guys.

Shortly after arriving, Cherry sidles up to our table in a wave of perfume strong enough to burn my nostrils and make my eyes tear up. She leans in against my arm and presses her firm, plastic breasts against me. Glaring up at her, I wait for her to back up and give me some goddamned space.

"Hi Wolf," she says in what I think is supposed to be a seductive purr.

I don't reply, just nod and look over her shoulder, watching Viking talk to a girl I've never seen at Dusk before. Not that I find it surprising since I haven't been here in more than a month and Maurice always keeps the new talent flowing. As Viking makes his way to us, a flash of blue catches my eye. I try to follow it through the room but lose sight. Apparently, I've also lost all ability to follow a conversation as Cherry was yapping away. When I don't answer her, she huffs and stomps away.

The guys are all laughing, and I join in. I continue scanning the room for the flash of blue from earlier. As soon as I am able to fix my sights on it, I track the woman with my eyes. The blue streaks in her hair are what caught my attention. Trying to brush off my fascination with this woman, I return to my beer and the conversation between my brothers. The problem is my damn attention keeps going back to her. Knowing that Viking has a claim on her—I mean, anyone with eyes could see how she smiled at him earlier—I try to look away. Clearly, there's something going on between them. Curiosity wins out and I stare at her, not caring who sees me.

The woman attached to the streak of blue is beautiful. She's about five-two in the heels she's currently rocking, with black skinny jeans hugging a well-rounded ass. Her hair looks to be blonde but not the kind that comes out of a bottle and even from where I'm sitting, I can see she has nice perky breasts. Not too large but not so small.

After downing my beer, I make my way to the bar as I track her doing the same. I hear one of the guys behind me say something but I don't care and don't turn around for clarification. There's an overwhelming, irrational need burning in me to see her up close. Feeling someone follow me, I glance over my shoulder to see Sparrow with a frown on his face. Ignoring him, I continue on my way to the bar.

She has one foot lifted to the footrest beneath the bar and it makes those jeans even fucking tighter. Moving closer, I stand beside her but at least a foot away. As I order another beer from the bartender, I turn to examine her and find her eyes already on me. Starting my way from the bottom, I allow my gaze to leisurely caress its way up her form. From her painted toenails, to her flat stomach and full lips, I take my time enjoying the view. During my perusal of her, her body has turned fully toward me. Clearly, she wants me to be able to see her completely.

The second time I scan her body, I take in all the parts I missed the first time. Her peep-toe heels are blood red and I swear her ass is so plump and juicy all I can think of is taking a bite out of it. She has a toned, flat stomach and a name or a word is tattooed on her right wrist. The urge to grab her wrist and inspect the tattoo almost overwhelms me.

My gaze moves up further and I don't know how I missed it the first time, but this girl isn't wearing a bra. No bra in a titty bar and her goddamned nipples are hard as rocks. I'm half-surprised they don't poke a hole through the damn fitted t-shirt Maurice got her to wear.

Instantly, I have this insane, jealous urge to pick her up and carry her away. Lock her in my room at the clubhouse so no other man can see that firm ass or those pebbled nipples. With that thought comes a startling realization.

I'm hard.

For the first time in five years, I have a hard-on for something other than a fucking memory, and I feel like a bastard. How can I just push Amber aside for this woman I have never met? Jesus, I truly am a fuckup. Shaking my head to clear away the worst of the lust, I turn to Sparrow.

"Gotta get out of here, brother. These bitches are grating on my nerves."

He glances over my shoulder at something and smiles. He nods to me and moves back to the table where the guys are seated. Walking across the club floor, I weave between tables and half-naked women until I reach the door and leave. I don't look back. There's no purpose to turning and seeing. I can't have her, and that's final.

****

Four hours later, I'm lying alone in bed, awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep is impossible. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see are red stilettos and blue-streaked hair. Feeling like a bastard, I decide to take matters into my own hands.

After slipping my boxers down my hips and over an already semi-painful erection, I wrap my hand around the length. Pre-cum beads at the tip with the memory of the woman from Dusk. Closing my eyes, I conjure her in my mind but not as I saw her in the club.

She's spread on my bed, wearing nothing but the red stilettos. Her milky skin on display for me. Her nipples are dusky pink and hard under my view. Opening her legs, I can see her perfect cunt, dripping wet for me.

The hand on my cock starts moving fast, my breathing getting rough simply from the thought of her.

Her hand moves over her breast, tweaking a nipple before caressing down her stomach to land between her thighs. A single finger moves between her wet folds as hooded eyes stare back at me. A moan escapes from her as she pushed that finger inside her cunt…

Cum splatters on my abs as I explode. Nothing more than the mere idea of this woman has me coming like a fucking fourteen-year-old boy. I know nothing of her, not her name or what her voice sounds like, but she still has the capacity to drive me fucking crazy. After moving from my bed to the bathroom, I clean myself up and return to my bed for another round of self-loathing.

The problem is I wanted to move on from Amber, wanted to be able to get my dick wet—and not in the shower—and now, now I feel like a punk for doing just that. Not to mention that I have a brother with a prior claim on her. Viking just might rip me apart if he knew I was thinking about his new piece of ass.

A ping from my cell phone alerts me to a text message. Instead of leaving it for tomorrow like I usually would, I grab it and open the message.

The picture Sparrow sent me has me out of bed and moving to get dressed. Knowing this is a colossal mistake and nothing good can come from it, I hop on my bike and head over to the clubhouse.

At my clubhouse, in my favorite chair, sits a woman wearing red stilettos with blue streaks in her hair, drinking my favorite fucking bourbon.