It doesn’t take her long to retrieve it and rip it open. Keeping it in one hand, she sweeps all her hair over one shoulder and leans over, running her tongue along my shaft and back down to my balls. It’s fucking hard letting her keep control of the night, but I allow it. I’m interested in seeing where this goes. The last crazy chick I fucked was a wild time and as much as I want to forget everything about her, I’ll never be able to forget the sex.
Making sure to lock up after me, I leave a sleeping Annabel in bed and head down to the bar.
Trey is huddled in the corner at his laptop, and he waves me over. I grab a beer on my way and light a cigarette after I’ve sat down.
“I’ve done a deeper dig on the Mayor and I got the usual shit come back, but Annabel, she’s a different story.”
My gut twists, knowing crazy shit is going to come to light. “Go on, what’s wrong with her.”
“Her school record was full of complaints from teachers and other students. Of course nothing came of it once her father got involved. From her college record, it looks like daddy paid her way through. And there were four police complaints.”
“Such as?”
“Stalking. Harassment. Setting a guy’s car on fire. And a bar fight. From what I gather, she becomes infatuated quickly and deeply.”
“She’s a great fuck, though,” I add.
Rolling his eyes, Trey closes his laptop and stands. “You should be fine, it seems she has set her sights on Luca. As long as you keep her busy and away from him, we should survive.”
He slaps me on the shoulder as he leaves, and I tip my beer to my lips. It doesn’t matter how much she wants Luca, she will never have him. In the meantime, I’m more than happy to keep her distracted.
24
Trey
The sun begins to rise as I ride out of the club. Rain is forecast this afternoon, but my business will hopefully be dealt with by then. I ride to the one place that I loved visiting when I was growing up. My grandpa’s. My dad never had a good relationship with his father, or any type of relationship. He’d grit his teeth once a year on my birthday and allow him over to the house for a couple of hours, but nothing more than that. My mom stayed out of it because my dad told her to, and she never failed to do what he said before they divorced and hated each other with a passion. When Effie’s henchmen violently forced my father into selling the Rathbones his shop, his hatred for his father grew stronger because my grandpa would sometimes work for the Rathbones.
But Joe ‘Jagger’ Lannister was my favourite person growing up and still is to this day. He’s who I aspired to be and if my father had found that out, he would have cut off all contact and moved us far, far away from him.
He couldn’t be more different to my dad and every time I asked what happened between them, my dad would shut me down.
When I was fifteen years old my grandpa moved into a trailer. He told me he could live free down by the river in a secluded area, but I’ve since learned it was because he was evicted from his apartment and had no choice. I’ve offered to rent him somewhere, but he is stuck in his ways and now the trailer is home.
The water shimmers in the early morning sun and I don’t need to worry about my bike waking him, he’s sat out front of his trailer, a cup of coffee in hand and his usual cigarette on the go.
“You wanna a coffee, son?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”
I sit my ass in the chair to his side.
“So? To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit at the asscrack of dawn?”
“I need a favor.”
“Yeah? I’ve gotta say, I’m not up to doing much these days, this damn gout is killing me.”
“I just need a name. I need you to reach out and see who’s on the take but somewhat trustworthy in Bolton PD.”
He narrows his eyes and nods slowly. “I heard you’d joined an MC. I take it the club’s looking for a bent cop to get on the payroll?”
I nod. “I’ve finally found my place.”
“At what cost?”
I don’t answer. Not because I don’t have one but because I know what the possibilities are. I don’t need to hear them again.
He sips his coffee, sucks on his cigarette, and stares at me. He used to run the underground gambling huts back in the day, he knows all the wrong people in the right places. As much my parents kept him away from our house, they could never stop me from sneaking to his place. The stories he would tell me about the gamblers losing their money in less time than it takes to make a cheese sandwich is the reason I don’t place bets. I couldwin money, a lot if I was lucky, but the odds are not in my favor, and I’d rather accumulate my cash slowly and steadily than risk losing it all.
