Page 63

Tequila. A lot of it.

38

Kid

The clubhouse was quiet—far more silent than any he’d ever been in. Considering no one really lived there yet, and they were still amassing their numbers, this was expected.

His back hurt. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried to rid it of the ache, except his fingers and hands were sore from all the tattooing he’d done. He’d slept like shit the night before. Truly, he was in no shape to be hanging out at the Knucklehead, trying to recruit men.

He welcomed the peace of an empty clubhouse. It wouldn’t be this way for long, so he would enjoy it while it lasted.

Filling his mouth with tartness of his lemon drop cocktail, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the faux leather couch. Typically, this type of vodka cocktail was served in a martini glass, but Kid had mixed the vodka, triple sec, and fresh lemon juice in the largest vessel he could find. A pint of this should get him properly wrecked.

He didn’t want to feel or think. The words that had passed his lips had hurt Carrie—the last thing he ever wanted to do. He’d fucked up.

The alcohol burned his throat as he swallowed it, but it didn’t wipe the memory of the look on her face from his mind. If he had run over her brand-new puppy repeatedly, she wouldn’t have been that upset. Why did he have to be such a goddamn asshole? He had no business questioning her.

Her sex life was none of his business. She was a free woman, free to fuck whomever she pleased.

The thought had him clenching his teeth. Unfortunately, his brain painted a picture of her glorious naked body entangled with an unidentified man, her face twisted into the throes of passion that Kid had witnessed several times over the last few weeks.

“Motherfucker,” he hissed as he threw his fist into the cushion beside him.

Another mouthful of lemon drop might clear the memory. He gulped two swallows of his drink and shivered slightly from the potent flavor. He’d been rather heavy-handed with the vodka when he’d made it.

“What did that couch ever do to you?” Vanessa asked.

Jerking his head to the left, Kid spotted the brassy blond woman standing a few feet from him in the lounge area of the main room of the clubhouse with her hands on her hips and her gaze locked on him.

“We just got that thing from Habitat for Humanity three days ago. You think you could go easy on it? I’d like it to last until at least our first party.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he sat forward and sipped at the pint glass in his hand.

Her heels clacked on the recently refinished hardwood floors as she closed the distance between them.

Resting his forearms on his spread thighs, he stared straight ahead at nothing.

The couch sank a bit as Vanessa took a seat beside him. She ran her hand along his shoulder blades back and forth as though rubbing out the tension but not quite massaging him. He found no comfort in the gesture. Instead, he sought relief from the memory of what he’d done to Carrie in another hearty swallow of booze.

“Bad day?” she asked.

Sitting up straighter, he glanced away and snorted. His gaze found an old poster from the sixties of Brigitte Bardot sitting on a Harley-Davidson framed and bolted to the wall. With her big bleached-blond hair and thigh-high leather fuck-me boots, she was the epitome of patch pussy. Kind of like the woman beside him.

“I know what will make it better,” Vanessa purred as she shifted.

He turned to face her as she dropped to her knees. Shuffling, she positioned herself between his thighs and reached for his belt.

Kid brought his pint glass to his lips.

Nimble fingers undid the hook, the button of his jeans, and slid his zipper down before he could finish the last of his cocktail.

When she tugged at his jeans, he lifted his ass.

If Carrie was fucking around, why should he abstain? If getting some strange was good for the goose, then the gander could get a blow job from the house mouse. That was her job, after all. Who was he to reject her advances?

Besides, she’d sucked him off a few times before. She wasn’t half-bad. Then again, having someone put his dick in her mouth was kind of like pizza. Even the worst was still pretty good.

He parted his legs wider, giving her more space as he settled in to receive her attention.