Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(31)

And that made him mark cleaning his pad as part of Chill and Dutch’s recruit duties, and Jag would get in on that shit when he was prospect, but maybe even before if he came and begged money off Hound again.

He pulled off his tee and stared at himself in the mirror.

He had a mess of dirty blond hair that fell in his eyes, so sometimes he jacked it back with a band at the back of his head, and hit his shoulders.

He shaved maybe every two weeks, not having the time or inclination to maintain a mustache or goatee or the patience with it itching at first to grow a beard (that itch heralding a shave), so the dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw and down his throat was thick, but not long.

His eyes were blue. Just blue, nothing interesting about the color or shape.

His brow was heavy. He had lines in his face that maybe made him look older than he was. But seeing as he wasn’t in his twenties anymore, and even when he was he didn’t care, it didn’t matter.

He worked on his body, he was tall, so he could see a chick thinking he was fit.

And his tats were fucking awesome.

He got his share of pussy, and he didn’t have to work hard for it but he always thought that was because biker groupies were easy.

Hop was in a rock band before he joined the brotherhood and he told stories of pussy on the road, but Hound could see how Hop got in there repeatedly even if he couldn’t sing and play guitar. The man was just good-looking.

Tack too.

Rush (Tack’s son, who got the best of his dad and the only good she had to give of the bitch of his mom, her light-blue eyes), Shy, Joker and Snapper could all be in magazines. Biker magazines, but those boys had looks.

He could see women not thinking High was hard to look at either.

Dog, who was now in Grand Junction with Brick, Arlo, Bat and Tug setting up their new store there, was the same. And Brick had that teddy bear thing going on that not only made women fall at his feet, it made them think they could treat him like shit and he’d eat it (and he did, until he was done doing that).

Pete was an old guy, not past it but he’d rode hard, lived hard, played hard, fought hard and that was not lost on anyone who looked at him.

Boz, Roscoe, Tug, Bat, Arlo and Speck, they all had biker cool but they had to rely on that. Though Hound didn’t think they thought on it too much. They just caroused and hit the snatch that opened for them, which for Chaos was always abundant.

He’d never thought on it either. But if someone made him do it, seeing as this was the first time ever he’d taken himself in in a mirror when he wasn’t doing it to examine a wound or shave, he would have thought that was it. He was a biker. He was Chaos. He knew how to use his dick. So snatch opened.

Definitely he’d heard he was hot, handsome, good-looking, but he thought that was just bullshit to make him hit something, that something being the pussy of a biker groupie.

Keely calling him “so fucking hot” made him stare hard.

He didn’t see it.

Then again, he had no interest in dick, except his own, and these days he didn’t have to jack it himself, far from it. Any time away from Keely was recuperation time, so he wouldn’t.

And it didn’t matter.

She did see it.

That mattered.

Definitely too much, seeing as he was standing in his bathroom looking at his damned self in the mirror.

He stopped doing that, flipped the light switch and tugged off his boots, socks and jeans.

Then he hit the hay to get five hours of sleep before he had to go see to Jean.





Brookies

Hound lay on the covers in bed next to Jean, his back up her headboard, legs stretched out, stocking feet crossed at the ankles, watching her TV with her under the covers, slouched into him, her head on his shoulder.

Keely would be there in half an hour.

But he would be with Jean if she wanted him for that half an hour.

“I know she’s coming to see you.”

Hound looked from the TV to the top of Jean’s wispy, white-haired head.

“Darlin’,” he murmured.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, twisted her neck and looked up at him.

“You know, sweetheart, after I lost Haim, I couldn’t find it in me to look anywhere else. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t think in the back of my head, ‘maybe tomorrow,’ or ‘maybe next week,’ or ‘I’ll just give it to the end of the year and then I’ll open my heart again.’ Well, days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and months turned into years, and now I’m here with you. I’m lucky because you’re all I need, and that’s because you’re the kind of man whose heart is generous so I have all I need. And I’m glad I’ll have you in the end. But I still spend a lot of time looking back wondering what if and feeling regret.”

“I hate that for you, Jean bug,” he replied, and he did.

He hated worse her saying the words, “in the end.”

And if Keely ever did that, looked back and asked what if, he’d hate that for her too.

“You lost your heart to this woman years ago, does she know that?” Jean asked.

“I don’t know if she knows how deep it goes, but I know she knows I’m hers.”

“Take backsies.”

His brows drew together. “Say again.”

“You’re hers, take yourself back. Take backsies.”