Protect (40 page)

It got quiet—
really
quiet—all around
them. She lifted her head and surveyed their audience, and every
man, other than the ones now passed out or restrained on the floor,
was staring at them with great curiosity and no small amount of
amusement. She decided to ignore them. “Yeah, I need to eat and get
home,” she agreed, breaking into a yawn.

“Okay momma. Let’s get you two fed.”

She gasped, mouth falling open and eyes
getting big as his grin grew wider. “Fritter!” she snapped. “You
said you’d wait until I told my family!”

“That was just to tell Ma. This is to tell
the guys. This is different.”

“The fuck you say?” Knuckles snapped,
suddenly right next to them, uncomfortably close, actually. Fritter
shoved at the center of his chest.

“Get your ugly mug and bad breath away from
my baby mama.”

“Fuck,” she muttered, burying her face in the
side of his neck. He laughed, and she heard and felt someone slap
his shoulder.

“No fucking way!” That was Tank, and from the
force of that slap she’d bet it was the gentle giant of a man. “Are
you fucking serious?” He sounded delighted.

“Yeah. Little bit of an accident, but we’re
having a baby.”

There were whoops and hollers, and she had to
admit she had not expected bikers to take this as good news but
apparently they thought it was the shit. Mostly because even Jayce
declared “This is
incredible
you guys! A fucking baby?”

She hoped her parents took it as well as half
a motorcycle club.

One shitty thing about the Dirty Rats; they
were tough fuckers and couldn’t be tortured. Knuckles did his best
but they passed out from blood loss before he got so much as their
names, then when he revived them they would only spit and
swear.

Jayce just wanted confirmation that they were
after the jacked Thebaine, but Fritter wasn’t sure why they were
bothering asking. The Rats loved the cash they got from the drug
trade, and if anyone had any reason to be searching a property
belonging to a member of the Red Rebels it was because they knew a
major narcotic was somewhere on the premises.

When the van arrived at Ink Junkies the four
Rats were carted as quickly and privately as possible. Spaz had
been smart enough to bring Tims, Rusty, and Red to drive the Rats’
bikes back to the clubhouse as well. They parked them under tarps
until they could get a chance to strip them down. Then the four
patched Rats had been hauled into The Stall, woken up, and went to
work on.

After two hours of nothing but verbal abuse
Knuckles threw in the towel and put a bullet in each of the four
heads.

Fritter sighed, stopped his momentary break
from digging and sank his spade into the sand again. At least they
were done breaking the hard-packed surface of the desert.

Tims and Rusty were prospects, this was the
kind of grunt work they usually did. Red was the newest patch. He’d
only been in the club a year and prospected a year, but he was a
quiet dude that did everything asked of him without bitching. This
kind of task usually went to new members, too. Fritter was on
watch. He understood it and he was just glad he still had his
kutte, so he’d dig a few holes if it got him Jayce and the club’s
trust. Knuckles had offered to come along, but he was sitting on
the bed of the van, where the back doors stood open, smoking a
cigarette. Every now and then he’d crack his knuckles but mostly he
was quiet.

Knuckles didn’t kill like anyone Fritter
knew. He’d seen Jayce, Tank and Buck kill from blind rage. He’d
seen most of the group kill in self-defense. But only Knuckles
killed like it was duty. Fritter had never seen him lose it and go
crazy. He did the task, but he usually got quiet after and turned
in on himself once the blood had been scrubbed away.

They all just let him be when that
happened.

When the crater they dug hit about four and a
half feet deep Fritter tossed his shovel over the edge and climbed
out. Without a word Knuckles pinched the cigarette between his lips
and stood, turning to grab the first set of ankles from the van. He
and Fritter dragged the first Rat from the bed, not worrying about
the head bouncing on the ground because he was, after all, dead.
They pulled him to the side of the hole and kicked him over the
edge.

It was quick work to get the hole filled back
in. Then they were all climbing into their various cages to get
back to the clubhouse. No use some of them riding their noisy Hogs
if they were up to such illicit activity. Once the shovels were
back in the van, Fritter climbed into the passenger seat, with
Knuckles as his captain, and they made their way across the uneven
terrain to the rural route that would take them back to the highway
heading to Markham. It was still quiet until Knuckles made the turn
onto asphalt.

“So,” he began, surprising Fritter somewhat.
He’d thought the guy was stewing. “You planning on doing right by
Downey then?”

Fritter cleared his throat, watching the dim
shadows of night time road views slide by. “Umm, yeah. I guess I
am.”

“I know no one will tell you this, but I see
it.”

“See what?”

“You guys as a couple.” Now Knuckles was
smiling. “She’s so serious.
All
the time. I used think about
getting under than uniform, seeing if I could shake something
loose, you know? But I don’t think I’m her type. You are,
though.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not intense or serious. Ever. You’re
the opposite, and quite the opposite in the extreme. When it comes
to serious women she’s the other extreme. You need to balance each
other out.”

“Gertie and Buck aren’t opposites. Tank and
Rose are definitely not opposites.”

“Nope, but they’re also not one type of
personality to any level of extremity at all. They walk the line of
serious and fun-loving, they can go either way when one of them
swings out of whack. They just balance. But you’re one extreme.
Sharon’s another. She needs you to be her relief, and you need her
to be your rock.”

Fritter snorted. “That’s some sage advice,
Knuck.”

“I know. And I’m right. You’re more like
Jayce and Trinny.”

“Now I know you’re talking out your ass. Just
leave it be.”

Of course, he didn’t. “Trinny was the wild
child, right? Spirited, sassy, but fun-loving. Jayce is intense.
Like Sharon. He needs Trinny to lighten the mood so he doesn’t get
ulcers.”

Fritter rubbed his hands on his legs. This
was a chick discussion and it made him itchy. “Drop it, man.”

“Hey, I’m just letting you know. I get it,
and I’m happy for you.”

Fritter studied the man next to him for a
bit. He liked hanging out with Knuckles. The guy was fun and the
two of them had enjoyed the odd anonymous woman every now and then,
when pussy and time were running short. He liked to party with the
guy, even if he didn’t drink. Really, out of the entire club, he’d
say Knuckles was his only “buddy.” And if Knuckles wasn’t going to
miss his party pal because of this then Fritter had to take that
for the blessing that it must have been.

“Thanks man,” he said quietly, looking out
his window again. “I like her. And she’s lettin’ me get close to
her now. It’s not scary. I ... I love it.”

“She’ll understand us more than you expect,”
Knuckles said quietly. “She ain’t winning the election, I think we
all know that for sure now. But she’ll stick around because this is
home and she’ll fit right in because ... she
gets
it. More
than Rose and Gertie ever will.”

Fritter was nodding along, then it just fell
out of his mouth. “She’s pregnant, man. It was an accident. She’s
44 and I’m 34 and I knocked her up but my biggest worry is that
she’s going to get sick or hurt because she’s havin’ my baby.”

“Okay, one: she’s in good health. She takes
care of herself. She’ll be fine, and there’s no point worrying
about that. No one has control over it. Just help her, take care of
her. Two: kids fucking love you. And three: Sharon is already
totally a hot mom. Her tits are going to get bigger—”

“Hey!” he interjected, smacking Knuckles
upside the head. The fucker just kept grinning.

“I like this,” he kept on speaking like
Fritter hadn’t done anything. “Kids are awesome. Kids calm people
like us down. Give us perspective. Makes me give a shit, as a
matter of fact.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. If I’m pulling these jobs for
Sachetti I know it’s totally worth it. You and Sharon are making a
family as part of
our
family. It’s worth it.”

Emotion welled up in his throat and he fought
to swallow that shit. “Nah, that still doesn’t sit right with me. I
caused that. You wouldn’t have to do all that if I hadn’t—”

“It happened. Whatever. We’re not in the shit
from it. I just have to do
this
so we’re okay. We still get
to make the same bank, we’re still in their good books. If this is
what it takes that’s good.” Knuckles grinned wider. “Knowing that
your illicit fooling around actually led to something real, well
... that’s even better.”

“I can’t believe you’re such a ray of fucking
sunshine.”

“Don’t let that get out. I just like having
families around, man.”

They arrived back at the clubhouse without
much more said about it, and where normally walking into a room
with loud music, beer pouring freely, women everywhere with plenty
of skin showing would have him grinning and heading for the bar,
this time he made the rounds filling in Tank and Jayce about how
the disposal had gone, then he quietly slunk outside and headed to
his pickup, kutte folded over his shoulder now. He was taking the
truck because the next morning he and Sharon had a trip to make to
see his mother.

She was terrified to see her parents, he knew
that. While Knuckles had been “at work” on the Rats, Sharon had
been at her place resting. When he called to check in she admitted
she’d called her folks, then chickened out when her mom answered.
So she thought face-to-face was required so she couldn’t back out,
and she wanted him with her.

He was all in for that. Her worry over her
parents had him nervous as well. All respect to the man and woman
who had raised her, but if they made her feel bad about this he was
giving them a piece of his mind and getting his woman the fuck out
of there.

Then she’d suggested his mom should find out
soon since the club knew and Markham was only so big. She had
better find out from Fritter and Sharon, not some acquaintance at
the grocery store.

So that was tomorrow. Tonight he was spending
the entire night with her.

The ease of walking into her home with a
key—a key she’d given him—was something that made his chest expand.
The way her mutt of a dog ambled to him, having heard him on the
stoop supposedly, tail wagging, was like being hugged by her entire
world all at once.

After stooping to give Earp a little
affection he straightened and moved to the kitchen, where the
lights were all on. No one was in there so he shut them off and
turned to the living room. A lamp was on next to the sofa, and
Sharon was curled up on the end closest to it, a book open and
resting on her chest. Her legs and feet were covered by a throw
blanket, and she was fast asleep.

He smiled down on her, then gingerly plucked
the book from her light hold, placing it opened flat on the coffee
table. He headed to the bedroom, pulled her blankets back on what
was obviously
her side
of the bed, then returned to the
sofa. When he stooped to gather her up in his arms she woke, like
he expected, but she nestled into his chest, head on his shoulder,
not saying a word.

That felt good, too.

It was no strain to place her in bed and tuck
her in, then he turned off the lights in the living room and made
sure all doors and windows were closed up tight before returning to
her. He slid into bed next to her in his shorts, smiling as the
smell of Sharon and fresh laundry surrounded him.

“Fritter?”

“Yeah?”

There was shifting on the bed and then she
was close, arm sliding over his stomach. He lifted his arm out of
the way and she tucked herself under it, head on his chest, leg
hitching over his. Jesus, she was so warm from sleeping.

“You okay?” he asked, since she hadn’t
replied yet.

“I’m good. Glad you’re here.”

He grinned up at the ceiling in the dark. “Me
too, baby.”

She shivered at that, nuzzling closer, her
hand starting to move back and forth on his stomach. “Really glad
you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

Instead of answering, her hand moved lower,
thumb sliding under the waistband of his boxers. Then she spoke.
“Really glad.”

“Baby, aren’t you tired?”

“Mm hmm.”

“You need sleep.”

“I’ll sleep better.”

He was hard, painfully so, had been since he
crawled into this Sharon-scented refuge. Her moving against him,
her hips rubbing at his, breasts pushing into his side, hand
teasing him ...

He moved so fast she made a squeak of
surprise. She was pinned under him, his thigh parting her legs and
his knee riding up close enough to rub against her. With a soft
gasp she went pliant and it was her that slid her tongue into
his
mouth when he kissed her.

His hands were slow as they slid under the
huge T-shirt she had on, and he made a note to give her one of his
shirts to sleep in. He liked the idea of her wearing something of
his to bed. When he was pushing the shirt up she began squirming,
letting go of him and tugging at the neck of it as well. He made it
go away as fast as he could, then her chest met his, bare and warm,
and his erection kicked.

“Fritter,” she whimpered, her legs wrapping
around his and her hips moving to rub on his leg.