Wild Like the Wind (Chaos #5)(52)

She had a little, sporty, black Nissan Juke.

No way in fuck Keely shouldn’t have bought American.

But it had zip and it suited her.

“I’ll go with you,” she carried on then immediately put her middle three fingertips over his lips. “And before you say anything, there is no way in hell anyone having anything to do with Chaos is gonna see us escorting an old lady to a doctor’s appointment, and if they do, we have an excuse. You needed my car and my help. And for you, I can distract Jean from getting grouchy while you look after her even more. For Jean,” she shot him a sunny, smug smile, “she digs me. She’ll be glad I’m around. So it’s a win-win.”

There was nothing she said that was wrong.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged it down.

“What about work?” he asked.

“I’ll tell them I need a few hours of leave so I can take my granny to the doctor.”

“They gonna believe that?”

She gave a shrug.

That was part of the biker mama that never left her. She did what she did and if The Man gave her shit about it, especially if it was important, they could go fuck themselves.

She’d find a way to get time off.

“I’ll make the appointment and let you know,” he decided.

Another sunny smile, this one not smug. “Cool.”

He rested her hand on his shoulder but didn’t release her wrist. She shifted it, dipped a thumb into the dent in his collarbone and started to stroke.

“Why doesn’t she get around very much?” she asked.

“Because she’s old,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Could that be contributing to this? I know she uses a walker and she’s not all that fast, but maybe a few more trips down to your place a week. Some outings. Just liven things up a little bit, give her some exercise.”

“Babe, she’s near ninety with a ticker that isn’t doin’ her a lot of good and lungs that aren’t firing on all cylinders. This makes her weak and slow, so she’s not supposed to tax either.”

“Oh,” she muttered.

He grinned at her and asked, “We done talkin’ about Jean? ’Cause I need at least a whole half hour of talking about somethin’ else before I can fuck you again.”

Back came the sassy smirk. “She is so your proper biker grandma.”

“Shut it,” he warned.

“Shepherd ‘Hound’ Ironside, badass brother of the Chaos MC, adored by his Chaos family, feared by everyone else for the lunatic he absolutely is if you do his brotherhood wrong, owned by an old Jewish lady.”

He rolled her, hitched a leg, digging his junk into hers, and growled, “Babe, I said shut it.”

“You’re a lot of things, Hound, right now seriously hot, but also totally adorable,” she teased.

“Had your warning,” he muttered.

She opened her mouth to say something.

But he kissed her.

And when he had her like he liked her, he moved down and ate her.

He worked them up to it, but eventually he drove her into his bed fucking her face and then her cunt.

She passed out, leaking him all over his thigh, which she was straddling, face shoved into his neck, hair all over his chest, shoulder and arm.

Hound took a moment to feel her dead weight right there.

Then he passed out with her.



The next night, Keely did not make Jean walk down to his crib.

She made Hound haul the groceries she needed down to Jean’s.

And it was Hound sitting in the couch where he normally sat while Keely moved around Jean’s kitchen like she’d done it a million times, preparing their meal, doing this jabbering.

Keely could jabber and Jean could too, so as they got in their competition of who could jabber the most, Hound sat there with his eyes on reruns of Mike and Molly wondering if either woman knew he was there.

“So, Hound says your birthday is in April. And it’s a milestone. I’m totally making you a birthday cake. What’s your favorite?” Keely announced.

At that, Hound’s neck muscles grew tight but he still had to power through that to turn his head from the TV to look at her bustling in Jean’s kitchen.

She thought they’d still be together in April?

Christ, he fucking hoped so.

At the same time, for the torture to be over of waiting for it to end, he hoped that they would not.

“Oh, I don’t do much for my birthdays, dear. You have as many of them as I do, they’re not as special.”

Keely shot him a glare and he’d understand why when she asked Jean, “Shep doesn’t do up your birthdays?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jean told her, eyes to the TV. “He gets me a store-bought cake with my name on it and everything. And he brings me a huge feast from that kosher deli off Virginia. Matzah soup and chicken schnitzel for dinner. And he always brings flowers when he comes for lunch.”

Hound looked from Jean to Keely right in time to catch her mouthing silently, “You are so fucking adorable.”

He squinted his eyes at her.

She shot him an amused smile and got back to work.

“Okay, so do you want a store-bought cake this year too?” Keely asked.

“Do you bake as well as you cook?” Jean asked back.