I chuckled, letting her go, and swatting her on the ass.
“You good?” Maverick asked, his signature smirk back on his face.
“Yeah, brother.”
The sound of another car pulling in, the engine loud and obnoxious in the serene carpark, had me turning my head. Frankie squealed when she saw who pulled in.
I knew those plates anywhere.
“Bye, Ro!” I heard Frankie call out, before she jumped in the car. “Call me later, bitch!”
As the car spun around to leave, I caught sight of the driver and froze. Fuck. His cocky grin had my eyes shooting to my left where I saw Chaos’ jaw tighten.
“What the fuck?”
“Don’t,” I said, firmly. “He’s done nothing wrong. Frankie chose this.”
“She doesn’t know who he fucking is,” Chaos said. “Prez.”
“You made your choice, brother. Let her make hers.”
He nodded, but I could see how he ground his teeth, looking out over the road the car had disappeared down.
Maverick turned to me. “I’ll keep him from doing something stupid.”
I nodded, watching as they rode out of the carpark, leaving me with Trey who was talking with Rowan, animatedly, and Rowan shaking her head. He eventually shook his head and got in his car, before she moved over to me.
“What’s going on?”
“He’s upset with Frankie’s choices. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“She’s hooking up with Mannix Charman.”
“Who’s that?”
I smiled, loving how innocent she was in this world of mine. It could either be a great thing or a really bad thing.
“Come on, I wanna show you a place. Then I’ll tell you all about the Forsaken Crew.”
“Sounds…illuminating,” she smirked, taking the helmet I held out for her. She jumped on behind me, wrapping her arms tight. Her hand was making its way down to my crotch just as I started the bike. Goddamn minx.
“Hold on tight, baby.”
Her excited squeal as I tore out of the carpark and down the road had the blood rushing to my cock immediately. It was true what they said.
You’re only as old as the woman you’re fucking.
Coz right now, I could go ten rounds with her, and still be hard as stone.
Rowan
Reaper rode through the wilderness behind the clubhouse–aptly named The Devil’s Wilderness– until we came to a stop at a hidden lookout. It was stunning, peaceful, secluded. I handed him my helmet and climbed off the bike. He followed as I headed to the lookout, a wooden railing about waist height was in an arc type formation, overlooking a beautiful waterfall. I walked past a picnic table and bench seating, and toward the railing. The sound of rushing water falling and then crashing had a beauty within itself. It was calming to my already shot nerves. Especially when I had my very own MC Prez stalking behind me like I was his last meal on death row.
A plaque on the side of the railing read:
In memory of Henry Creed, viciously loyal, fierce, and forged in violence.
Creed…as in Creed’s Crossing?
