Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(142)
“Just making sure,” she mumbled.
“Keekee?” he called.
“Right here, cowboy.”
“Lose the shirt.”
She smiled.
Then she took off his tee, her hair flying, and tossed it aside, leaving her sitting naked on her knees in their bed in their house a five-minute ride from Chaos.
Yeah.
They were winners.
Hound had that thought.
Then he joined his old lady in their bed.
Hound wore the black bib shirt under his cut.
Keely wore a nude lace halter dress with thin straps at the sides of her neck and a crossover skirt that hiked high at the cross, showed a lot of leg and would give her plenty of room to open wide in order to straddle his ass on his bike. She wore this with a pair of high-heeled sandals that made her long legs seem like they went on forever. They also made him make the decision the minute he saw them that she’d eventually lose the dress, but she wouldn’t take those shoes off all night.
She looked her usual gorgeous, and then some.
In other words, Hound approved.
On a variety of levels.
Dutch and Jagger walked their mother from their dad’s room at the Compound to give her away.
Bev was her maid of honor.
Dutch and Jagger played double duty, since they both stood as Hound’s best men.
Big Petey got ordained and sat on his ass on the bar between the bride and groom with a half a glass of beer sitting by his hip while he said enough words that they could commit to each other verbally in front of their family, then say “I do” and finally make out hot and heavy, so into each other, not hearing the cheers and the catcalls, until they heard Jagger shout, “For fuck’s sake!”
After that, Chaos rolled out as one, hit Evergreen for a drink, then came back into town and finished the party at the Compound, which was good, because by then the hog was done roasting.
They were both too drunk to ride so they spent their wedding night in Hound’s room at the Compound where they fucked tough all night.
That was when Keely gave Hound her wedding present.
And sure as fuck, Hound approved of that too.
Keely Ironside’s wedding present to her old man was a tattoo.
When most brides would be getting their hair done, Keely was lying face down in an artist’s chair having scripted words inked in around her waist starting at the side and scrolling along the small of her back right where her man draped his arm to hold her close while they were sleeping.
It read,
Shepherd Dutch Jagger
Simple.
Perfect.
Forever.
Harietta
Harietta Turnbull set the binoculars down and moved from the window in the apartment over the shop across from Ride. An apartment that had a clear view down the open area of parking spots and driving space into the forecourt of the garage. You could even see some of the building in the back at the side from there.
You could definitely see the front of it.
And what she’d seen right then before turning away was a bunch of bikers and their bitches outside that building throwing back brews, or shots, or swigging direct from bottles, laughing, talking, making out, groping, music blaring so loud, she could hear it all the way where she was.
She left the apartment they’d rented years ago for her to do just what she’d been doing, got in her car that she always parked in the alley out back so they’d never see her (not that they’d known who she was, but they probably knew now), drove a block down so she could pull out where they’d never clock her and then drove home.
He was there.
Him and his fucking tarantulas.
“That one they call Hound married some Indian bitch,” she announced coming to a stop across from him where he sat, practically decaying in that armchair. “They’re partying at their clubhouse.”
“Compound,” he corrected her.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“Keely?” he asked.
“What?” she asked back.
“Indian or Native American?”
“Does it matter?” she mumbled.
“Yeah it matters,” he returned impatiently. “She Native American?”
“Yeah,” Harietta snapped.
“Fuck, he moved in on Black, motherfucker.” She watched him grouse. “Made such a big deal his brother got dead, they took out Crank and he was all in, and there he is claimin’ his dead brother’s property. Knew he was gaggin’ after Black’s woman. In the end, didn’t have the balls to do the right thing and leave her be.”
Seeing as he ranted a lot about shit like this, Harietta decided she had a date with a vodka bottle, the only good companion she had in that house.
“What else?” he demanded when she started to the kitchen.
She stopped. “What else what?”
“What else did you see?”
What she saw right then was some stupid-ass fuck who was living in the past who would not let shit go.
God, how she wished to have that day back when those bikers showed at Cammy’s school to teach kids about safety.
Safety.
What a fucking joke.
Angrily, she told him what she saw.
“I saw a bunch of people havin’ a great fuckin’ time and livin’ their lives and gettin’ married and goin’ on a ride, when two fuckin’ weeks ago my baby girl was laid out on their goddamned picnic table.”