Unbeautifully (Undeniable, #2)(43)
“Excuse you?” she demanded, digging her nails into his back. “Me? Drive you crazy?”
Ripper grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and yanked it up to her neck, baring her upper body. “Are we fighting or f*cking?” he growled, roughly fondling one firm, perfect breast. Quivering, covered in gooseflesh, her nipple peaked, begging him to suck it inside his mouth.
Her blue eyes positively burned holy hell fire and his cock swelled at the sight of them. Danny was going to drive him crazy, but f*ck him, if she wasn’t going to be worth every crazy moment of it.
“We’re f*cking,” she hissed.
“Damn straight,” he muttered and slammed up inside all that eager sweetness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Where the f*ck is Ripper?” Deuce demanded, glancing around his office at all his boys. He pinned Mick with a glare. “I told you to have everybody here when I got in.”
Arms folded across his chest, his VP shrugged. “Called him six f*ckin’ times, Prez. He wasn’t even tryin’ to pick that shit up.”
“He got outta here pretty quick after lockdown,” Hawk said from across the room. “Probably shot outta town and is shacked up in some no-tell motel, stackin’ pancakes as we speak.”
Deuce shook his head. “If he can’t drag his sorry ass outta bed when I call a meeting, I ain’t repeatin’ jack shit for him. One of you *s will have to tell ’im.”
“This about Big Jay?” Tap asked.
He nodded. “Hit went down last night. Demons took him out clean, half his crew too. The rest scattered, some were caught, are bein’ interrogated as we speak, and some got away. Way it goes.”
“What about his bitch of a sister?” Cox growled, his hand automatically going to the piece he kept under his cut.
Deuce eyed him; Cox and Ripper had always been tight, only a year apart and had been brought into the club around the same time, no family, no friends. They’d grown real close real fast and Mama Vi had specifically threatened Ripper.
He shook his head. “No one knows. But she hasn’t surfaced as of yet and Preacher doesn’t think she’s gonna, not without backup. She wasn’t the brains of the operation, just the muscle, and by muscle I mean a big bag of crazy willin’ to do whatever’s necessary. Ain’t too much she can do without the big man tellin’ her which way is up, but still keep your eyes out for her or anyone else outta LA who might be nursin’ a revenge hangover.”
“That’s it, right, Prez?” Jase asked, his eyes on the door, obviously itching to see Dorothy after a week on the road.
“Respect your prez much, asshat?” Hawk muttered. Jase’s narrowed gaze shot to Hawk and the guy met him stare for stare.
“Brother, what the f*ck is your problem?” Jase asked, jerking his chin up.
“I ain’t your brother,” Hawk shot back.
The occupants of the room went eerily still. It was a low blow for any Horseman to say that to another, even worse because these were two of his lifers, patched in and loyal to the f*cking bone. Whatever was going on between them wasn’t going to fly, and needed to be reeled in right the f*ck now.
Cursing under his breath, Deuce pushed his chair away from his desk and got to his feet.
“Explain yourself,” he directed at Hawk. “Now.”
Just as Hawk’s mouth opened, Dirty was suddenly beside him, shoving the guy toward the door.
“Hawk’s been pukin’ his guts up the whole time you f*ckers were gone,” Dirty said over his shoulder, smacking Hawk’s head forward when the guy kept trying to glare at Jase. “Had a fever and shit. I’ve been sitting by his side, holding his hair up and rubbin’ his tummy and shit, and he still ain’t feelin’ so hot.”
The door slammed behind them and Jase turned to him. “What the f*ck?” he shouted. “Prez, you gonna let that shit stand?”
Feeling more like an elementary school principal than an MC president, Deuce turned to his VP. “Somethin’ go down around here that I need to know about?”
Mick gave him a blasé shrug. “Fuck if I know what these f*ckers are doin’ with themselves. I got kids and shit, can’t be babysittin’ grown-ass men all the time.”
“Get out,” he said irritably, gesturing to his office doors. “All of you, get the f*ck out.”
One by one his boys left until only Blue remained.
Deuce eyed the old man. “Somethin’ you need?”
“Worried ’bout you, boy,” Blue said quietly.
He gaped at him. Who the f*ck called a fifty-year-old man a boy? But then again, nobody knew Blue’s true age. Never had any of the brothers known Blue without a full head of long white hair and an equally white beard. The man’s eyes were a milky cataract-infested mess, his teeth long ago rotted out, and his skin nothing but a mass of mottled wrinkles. Yet, he was healthy as a horse and could throw back a bottle like he was twenty-five when in all likelihood he was a hundred and sixty.
“You’re hurtin’,” Blue continued. “And ain’t no one blamin’ you for that. You and Eva sure done been through some shit. But, Deuce, this shit ain’t your fault, it ain’t Eva’s fault, it ain’t no one’s fault ’cept for Frankie and he’s long gone.”