Gin's Longing Page 13

  “That’s it, come on my cock, babe. Right fucking now!” he bellows into my ear, biting down onto my neck and sucking hard when he comes right along with me.

  We stay like that, with him hugging me from behind, holding us both upright. I’m not sure how much time passes, but I’m plunged back into reality at the clearing of someone’s throat. A cold chill runs down my spine at the noise, and Gin stiffens behind me. Pulling away from me, he rights my shorts, then I feel the cold air cover my back in his absence.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but—” the voice is cut off with a loud smack of skin on skin. I turn just in time to see Brock land on the ground, hands still secured, and Gin standing above him.

  “How the fuck did you get out?” Gin growls as he reaches down to grip the man’s already torn shirt to bring him to his feet.

  “You had me on a meat hook.” Brock spits out a mouth full of what I assume to be blood. “Just had to swing high enough to get off.” Gin goes to swing again, but Brock ducks. “Wait! Before you go slamming your meaty fist into my face again, just let me talk.” Brock tries to raise his hands as best he can, given his restraints.

  “You want to talk, asshole? How about you talk to the business end of my pistol?” A smile spreads across Brock’s face.

  “The one you left in the truck? Or maybe one of the weapons in the bag I found in the shed?” Gin’s fist goes up again.

  “Damn it, hold on!” Brock shouts again, reaching behind his back for something. The metal glints in the moonlight as Brock steps back enough to aim a gun at Gin. “Now, just fucking listen. You are always so halfcocked, calm the fuck down!”

  “If you’re pointing that thing at me, you better use it or it’s going up your ass, motherfucker.”

  “So much anger,” Brock mutters. “I’m not going to fucking shoot you. Nor do I want to. Here.” The gun is flipped around and offered to Gin, who takes it, then aims right at Brock’s foot. Without hesitation, he fires, the bang erupting through the somewhat quiet night.

  “Fuck! You assholeprickmotherfucker!” His words come out in a jumbled stream.

  “Gin! What did you do?” I run over to the man now on the ground, still cursing and clutching at his foot.

  “He’ll be fine. We got a first aid kit, and shit, I only grazed his big toe,” Gin dismisses.

  “I don’t have a fucking toe any more, you fucking dick.”

  “Don’t give a shit. You can hobble around the place for a few days until I decide whether I want to kill you or not.” With that, Gin turns and walks inside the cabin, shutting the door behind him, leaving me outside with Brock.

  “Crazy bastard,” he mumbles.

  “Let’s get you inside and find that kit,” I offer, trying to help him to his feet. It takes him a moment to find his bearings and a little longer to walk to the door.

  When I get him inside, there’s a blanket and a first aid kit sitting on the couch. I go about getting Brock’s foot clean, then try to stitch the flesh together, but with a gunshot wound like this, there’s really no use.

  “Should burn the stump shut,” Gin says from the small hallway. “That would make us about even, wouldn’t it?” His heavy footsteps stock to the fire tossing on another chunk of wood, then make their way to the kitchen to retrieve something he also places in the fire.

  “Cauterize it?” Brock questions, and Gin nods. “Fuck.”

  “Better go check on the kid, babe. Make sure she’s still asleep. You don’t want to see this shit anyway.” Gin lifts his chin toward the door Tanya is behind. I only nod in agreement and go check on my little girl, making sure to shut the door behind me.

  It isn’t too much longer until I hear the muffled cry of someone in agony. Hopefully it isn’t Gin smothering Brock with a pillow.

  Twenty-Six

  Gin

  “Wake the fuck up, asshole.” I give Brock’s good foot a swift kick, startling him awake. “Get your ass up, we got shit to do,” I say, walking into the kitchen to start frying some bacon.

  It’s early morning and the girls aren’t awake yet, but I’m sure with the smell of food coming from the kitchen, it won’t be long. I still haven’t decided what I want to do with Brock, but clearly leaving him hanging from a meat hook in the shed isn’t going to work. I don’t have shit for rope around here, but I do have a shovel. What we do with that hasn’t been decided yet. I need to get the go ahead from Rock to kill the guy anyway, and when I talked to him just two days ago, he still wasn’t on board. So, the fucker is alive for now, unless he pisses me off.

  “Need any help?” Grace’s sweet voice breaks into my thoughts and her hand grazes along the middle of my back as she comes into the small kitchen. What happened last night was my resolve cracking. As much as I would love to pretend I’m not a bad guy and play house with her, I know I still am. So, I go back to the asshole Gin I was yesterday, instead of the Gin who wants nothing more than to have his face buried between her legs at every waking moment.

  “I’m good. Go check on him.” I shrug her off and continue my task, cracking the eggs into the pan of bacon grease. She pauses for a moment, like she’s about to protest, but her hand drops from me and she walks back over to Brock.

  “How’s the little one doing?” he asks.

  “She’s fine. Still sleeping. Though, I’m not sure for how much longer. It’s strange that she can sleep in the car almost all day then sleep a full night in a bed after that.”

  “Yeah. My son did that whenever we went on a trip.” I shut out their small talk, trying to suppress the urge to go over to the couch and whack him over the head with the hot frying pan. I plate up everything, grabbing an egg and a couple pieces of bacon to slap on some toast for myself, and set the rest on the table.

  “It’s ready,” I say, breaking into their chatty conversation. When Brock gets off the couch, I stop him. “Not you, asshole. You’re coming outside with me.” He doesn’t say a word, only nods, but she does.

  “Gin, he can eat something, can’t he?” Her sympathetic tone toward him damn near makes me snap.

  “No,” I bark, storming out the door. It doesn’t take Brock long before I hear the door opening then closing behind him. In only a couple bites, I finish off my makeshift breakfast sandwich and light up a cigarette. “Let’s go. You’ve got some digging to do.” He follows me out to the shed to grab the shovel with his still bound hands and I let him put his boots on. No need for him getting dirt all up in his stump. I’d rather not deal with an infection.

  “So, you’re going to have me dig my own grave? Didn’t think this was how I would go out.”

  “Should’a thought about that before you went against your brothers. Against your club. Honestly, you being alive this long is only because you stopped more of those brothers from dying. That is the only fucking reason,” I say as he starts digging his hole. The ground here is hard, maybe even frosted just enough on the surface for him to work even harder at it.

  “Do I at least get my hands to dig myself a proper grave?” he asks, holding up his bound hands. Reaching into my back pocket, I flip out a knife and cut through the thick plastic restraints. Blood rings his wrists from where they’ve cut into his flesh, but he doesn’t complain, only gets back to the task.

  I have gone through the half-pack of cigs by the time the sun is directly above us. That, along with my empty stomach, is telling me it’s time for a break. Well, a break from having to watch this prick dig his dirt hole. He has only gotten down about two feet and is starting to piss me off because he’s slowing down. I don’t give a shit if his big toe got shot off, man could still dig a proper hole. “Let’s get inside. Your laziness is starting to piss me off,” I grumble before walking to the cabin.

  When I get to the door, I see him still a short distance away from the house, so I just go inside. When I step in, I see Grace at the table with Tanya having what looks like the tea party promised last night.

  Tanya has on the dress I picked up from the store along with
a tiara made from tinfoil. The place I stopped to grab clothes didn’t have much of a selection, and the dress, much like the clothes I bought Grace, are too big for the both of them.

  “Hi, Gin! Do you want some tea?” Tanya’s big smile greets me, holding up a small plastic cup for me to take. I reach out and take the cup from her, pretend to drink down the fake liquid inside, then hand it back.

  “Thanks, kid, that hit the spot.” Her little smile gets bigger and her cheeks heat as she ducks her head down. Her blonde locks fall forward, and she brings up her hand to push the strands behind her ear.

  “I made some sandwiches,” Grace says, gesturing to the two plates on the countertop. I give her a nod, then walk into the kitchen to grab one sandwich, then the other, leaving the plates sitting there. I know she wants to say more, but I don’t let her. I only nod in thanks and walk back out the door.

  By the time I get back out there, Brock has finally gotten up to the house and is all too eager to grab the offered sandwich. “Might be the only thing I let you have today, so savor it, prick,” I bite out, finishing the last of my sandwich. Walking away from him, I go check the truck for more cigarettes. I could have sworn I had one more pack left and put it in the glove box. When I get inside and shuffle around, trying in vain to find the elusive pack, I get even more pissed when I see I was wrong. I slam the compartment shut harder than needed and debate whether or not I should risk driving back into town. I know I shouldn’t. Especially for cigs. The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself by giving into my nicotine fix.

  I abandon the search and go outside to find Brock already out in his hole, digging. Guess the fucker is ready to die after all. Either that, or he’s trying to get into my good graces. Which isn’t going to happen.

  I find myself leaving him to his digging and go back inside to see Grace cleaning up plastic cups and plates from the tea set, Tanya nowhere in sight. Bad idea. I shouldn’t have come back inside, but it’s too late now. “Where’s the kid?” I ask her, making sure to keep distance between us.

  “I put her down for a nap. Her eyes tend to get a little heavy after lunchtime.” She turns to face me and leans her backside on the shabby table. “What’s going on, Gin?” I start to tell her it doesn’t concern her, but she stops me. “Don’t tell me club business either. I heard what Brock said about the bomb. Is everyone okay?”

  “Yeah. They’re fine. Found the bomb and disabled it. Now we just need to sit tight until we get the okay to leave,” I admit, and she nods.

  “I...um...I’m not on...if we keep...” she stammers, and her cheeks turn a rose-colored pink. I’m no expert on women, but I’m sure I know where she’s going with this.

  “It’s fine. You ain’t getting knocked up with a dirty biker’s baby.” Her eyes widen at my admission, and crudeness, no doubt. “Got a vasectomy a couple years back. You’re good. I’m clean too. In case that was another worry.”

  “No. I wasn’t worried about that. Maybe the other part a little, but not that.” I nod and try to leave, but she comes closer. She just has to come closer.

  I can smell the citrus in her hair as she takes her steps, until she is directly in front of me. I grabbed her some of the same shit she had back at the club, I couldn’t help myself. That fruity smell suits her, makes her even more mouthwatering. It’s just a slow torture really. All it’s doing is making my cock hard and my hands itch to travel the expanse of her creamy skin.

  “You aren’t a dirty biker,” she tells me, reaching up to caress the scarred side of my face. I find myself pressing closer to her palm. I never let anyone touch the mangled flesh, and I rarely let it show. Like now, with may bandana firmly in place over most of it. For some reason, I let her get away with it. Let her push up the bandana to run her fingers through my hair and over the bumpy skin. “Reek told me what happened. Well, some of it. I’m so sorry, Gin.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about, babe. Over now. Let’s move on, yeah?” My eyes travel down her face to the t-shirt covering her body. Her pink nipples press on the fabric like they are trying to reach me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them down. Before she can talk anymore, I reach down and lift her up so she can wrap her legs around my waist. “Hold on,” I instruct before making my way into my bedroom, where I shut the door quietly behind me and lay her down onto the bed.

  I spend the next hour between her legs until the little cock-blocker across the hall knocks on the door.

  Twenty-Seven

  Grace

  We have been at the safe house a little over a week now and every day is getting longer and longer, and more frustrating.

  If it isn’t my stir-crazy child, it’s Gin’s hot and cold demeanor toward me. Sometimes, it’s like he can’t get enough of me. Then, other times, it’s like he realizes he’s caring too much and backs off—way off.

  After Tanya knocked on the door and interrupted us, he seemed to shut down again. As if he was embarrassed about getting caught by a four-year-old. That was the only time we’ve been together during the day. At night, though, I find myself sneaking into his room and letting him have his way with me. I crave his roughness, which I find strange. For a long time, I couldn’t stand to have someone touch me, especially in a sexual manner. Roger was so patient and caring with me, until I slowly got used to the idea of sex. It wasn’t until after we were married for some time that we were actually intimate. Thinking of him makes me worry for him. What if the men who had him killed him? He’s the only father my daughter knows, and even with how things happened, I know deep down he would never hurt me in any way unless he wasn’t given a choice.

  Brock has been healing and is now allowed to eat more than a sandwich a day. He and Gin stay outside most of the day, and when they come back, it’s only for a quick lunch break before they leave again. I’m not sure what they are doing, but when I asked if I could take Tanya outside, Gin declined in his firm, no-bullshit voice—the one he seems to use a lot around me.

  Giggling from my daughter pulls me from my thoughts and the bed. I woke with Gin gone, as usual, and decided since I didn’t hear Tanya, she hadn’t woken up yet. It’s not like she could really get into anything. The place is fairly empty. Her giggle sounds out again as I quickly rifle through the clothes tossed on the floor and dress myself. When I step out of the room, I don’t expect to see Gin sitting at the table playing with her tea set. His back is facing me, but I can see he has a tea cup in his hand as he lifts it to his mouth. “You have to raise your pinky. Like this.” Tanya shows him, raising her pinky in the air while pretending to drink from her cup.

  “How about this?” Gin asks, mimicking her.

  “Perfect.” She smiles. “At my house, I have a table and dollies and we have tea parties all the time. Even with my daddy when he comes to visit.” I wince at the last part. My heart breaks for my daughter. She might not see Roger ever again.

  “What about a pony? Do you have a pony?” he asks, earning a giggle.

  “No!”

  “What? No pony? Every little girl should have a pony!” Gin exclaims with an exaggerated shocked expression.

  “And where would we keep that pony? Maybe in the garage?” I ask with a small chuckle as I pad to the kitchen.

  “Morning,” he says as I walk past.

  “Yep,” I respond, going to the fridge to grab some orange juice. “It sure is.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good,” he grits out, and rises from the table. “See you later, kid. Thanks for the tea.” He looks down at my daughter with a smile, then turns to walk out the door. I watch as his broad shoulders fill the space before the door is pulled shut behind him.

  I stand there for a minute more, until I finally get annoyed enough and set my glass down before heading for the door.

  “Stay inside, Tay. Mommy will be right back in.” I stomp out the door. The bright sun assaults my eyes and I have to take a second to let them adjust before I can go any farther. When they d
o, I see Gin standing over by the shed. When he catches sight of me, his face turns to a scowl. Immediately, he starts marching toward me, anger marring his features. He doesn’t get far because the noise of a vehicle in the distance catches his attention and mine. The rise of dust flying through the air trailing after the truck coming our way has me rooted to the spot.

  “Grace, get the fuck back inside!” Gin yells, and I go to do just that when arms come around me and start carrying me farther from Gin and the incoming truck. I’m not sure what alerts me more, the fact that someone has grabbed me from behind, or Gin’s face when the person does so. My arms and legs start kicking, hitting the man in the knee, making him hiss in pain.

  “Stay the fuck still, Grace. Damn it. I’m trying to help,” Brock says into my ear. That’s when I realize he’s bringing me back to the cabin to get me inside. Gin has his gun pulled out and is trying to decide between aiming at the truck now in front of the house and pointing it at Brock.

  The truck pulls to a stop and out step two men wearing leather cuts.

  “Christ, you assholes almost got yourselves shot!” Gin booms out, and Brock’s hold on me releases.

  “All good. It’s Riders,” he says into my ear before backing away completely. “Better get back inside, though. Gin looks pissed.” I look at Gin to see he is, in fact, scowling in my direction, but notice he’s looking at Brock and not me.

  “I think he’s looking at you.”

  “Probably. Guy looks like he wants to shoot my dick off. I better get back to digging my grave,” he says, catching me off guard.

  “Your grave?” He lets out a chuckle.

  “What did you think we were doing outside all this time, playing soccer?” He smiles, brushing some dirt from his tattered shirt. He looks like he has taken a bath in the dirt and I realize he’s probably telling the truth. “I have dug four of them. Each time I get one done, he has me fill it back up and start on another one. I’m just about done with the current hole. Now, with them showing up,” he nods toward the two men, “I might just be using the hole.” He walks off, telling me to go back inside one more time before he’s out of earshot.