Page 10 of Bristol

“We’re gonna get your life straightened out. One step at a time.”

Bristol cries for the next hour and a half, curled up in my arms until she finally passes out, half in my lap and half on the arm of the loveseat. The blue shirt she’s wearing is bunched up in the back from her moving around so much. I reach over and pull it down to cover her skin because it’s a little cold in here. I don’t want to move her. She’s finally resting and not crying anymore. I angle myself sideways, slowly and softly so as not to wake her until I’m able to get comfortable to doze off.

The soft sound of her breathing lulls me to sleep. When I wake up, she’s in the same position she was in when I fell asleep, curled into my chest. My arms are wrapped around her so tightly, you’d have thought she was a prized possession that someone was trying to take from me. I loosen my grip on her and glance around the room. The sun should be coming up shortly and the smallest amount of light is beginning to creep in through the curtains. Bristol stirs in my arms and her eyes bolt open. Her body goes taut and the confused and terrified look on her face is there for only a second before she gets her wits about her. When the realization that she’s safe dawns on her, she relaxes. Her legs stretch out and her knee brushes my morning wood. I hold my breath awkwardly, but she doesn’t look concerned. Instead, she looks away, closing her eyes while a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.

I chuckle softly and angle my hips backward some to keep from knocking on her leg. Don’t need him tapping her and asking for directions. Her eyes open slowly, gazing up at me through dark blue pools and I’m mesmerized. In a trance. Like she’s a siren and I’m following her down through the depths of the ocean, helpless yet willing all the while. I lean my head closer to hers but the sound of boots creeping through the house rips me from my trance.

I sit up and run a hand over my face before I ease down the hallway to the bathroom. I’m a fucking idiot. The last thing this girl needs is me trying to get in her pants, yet here I fucking am. I splash cold water over my face and grab a spare toothbrush out from under the sink to kill the morning breath that plagues me. My dick has finally stopped pulsing and I feel like an asshole for just bolting. That probably fucked her up even more. I really am a fucking idiot.

I splash my face with water again before I walk out. I hear her soft voice drifting down the hall and I hope whoever is talking to her is doing so with respect. I’m already on edge and usually I wouldn’t mind one of my brothers doing what the fuck ever he wants but something about this girl makes me want to protect her at all costs. In the kitchen, Mo is stirring some sugar into a cup of coffee and Bristol is sipping from a black and green sugar skull mug with Tattered Saint Supporter written on it.

I wonder when the last time she drank coffee was. I’m so intrigued by her. There are so many questions I want to ask her, but I don’t want to sound rude or make her feel like she’s a zoo animal beneath a microscope. I realize I’m standing there like a creep, looking on from the hallway so I enter the kitchen. Mo greets me with a smile.

“Good morning brother.”

“Good morning. I was just telling Bristol here that tonight’s bike night at Blue and Que’s. Invited her to tag along.”

Bristol peers up at me over the rim of her coffee mug, those deep blue irises dancing with wonder. What is she thinking?

“Yeah, definitely. It’s always a great turnout and you won’t have to worry about anyone getting too close to you with us around.” I shoot her a smile, and something sparkles in her eyes. Is that amusement?

“I’m all in. Who am I going to ride with?”

“You can ride with anybody you’re comfortable with.” Mo’s statement is true and accurate, but I don’t like it. I want her to ride with me.

“You’re more than welcome to ride with me,” I say, trying not to sound pathetic.

“Okay, yeah. Thank you.”

“It’ll be my pleasure. Gotta give these assholes something to talk about, eh?”

She grins and nods, swallowing a gulp of coffee. My eyes linger on her throat as she swallows, on her full lips. Mo slaps a hand on my shoulder, breaking through the cloud of ways I want to fuck Bristol that was forming in my head.

“Be careful with her. She’s precious cargo.”

I chuckle. Don’t I know it. “You got it.”

I want to stick around and hang out, but I need to put some distance between her and I. I grab my cut off and say my goodbyes before heading out the door. My apartment is only a few miles down the street from the clubhouse. I’m walking through the front door of my place in fifteen minutes flat. I shut the door and click the dead bolt locked behind me. I drop my keys in the bowl on the small table by the front door and kick my boots off. My body is tired, sleeping on the couch didn’t do anything for me but wake me up wanting to sink my dick inside the beautiful, fucked up mess of a girl that was sleeping next to me.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and toss it on the end table next to my bed as I peel my shirt off. A few more hours of sleep won’t hurt. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I crawl underneath the comforter and am out cold before my eyes close all the way. I sleep so hard that I don’t dream, only disappear into the blackness of sleep. I wish I did dream, dreams of Bristol. Of her long brown hair falling over her shoulders and dangling above me while she sits on my cock. As consciousness beckons me, I daydream of what filling her will feel like.

I’m like a teenager in fucking puberty all over again. I want to beat my dick until it’s raw, maybe that would help get the constant thought of fucking her out of my head. Or at least put it at bay. At this point, I’ve got two options. I can either call Lilah or beat off. Sighing, I grab the bottle of warming lube from the drawer of the nightstand and squirt it on the head of my cock. I rub it in, letting the warmth take me to a place of pure bliss. I know no one but Bristol will satiate my desires, so there’s no sense in trying. I fist my cock furiously until images of Bristol moaning my name as she comes beneath me send me towering over the edge and coming all over my hand.

I huff in frustration at how fucking ridiculous this is and get out of the bed. I don’t have a clue what time it is but fuck it. I need a shower and afterward I’ll head back to the clubhouse. I shower quickly and throw on a navy-blue Tattered Saints t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. I grab my baseball cap on the way out and hit the highway. The club house is full when I show up. Twelve bikes out front and a few cars parked along the gravel driveway on the side of the house, blocking the entrance to the stairs. Probably some of the ol’ladies’ vehicles.

I hang my helmet on my mirror and head inside. The kitchen is full of women chattering about some jewelry show at the Coliseum while fixing some finger foods. I say hello to everyone. Lacey is Niles’ girlfriend, she’s in her early twenties and has slowly started to understand the way the club works. She was completely against it a few months ago but the more time she spends with us, the more she relaxes. I guess since she sees that we aren’t hiring strippers for the club parties and shoving naked women down her boyfriend’s throat, she’s a little more okay with us.

Next in the kitchen is Loretta, Joey’s wife. She’s a heavy-set red head in her late fifties with one hell of a right hook. She’s been around this shit for the last twenty years, if not more and she doesn’t take any shit from anybody. I’ve seen her swing on Joey before. I didn’t say she was the smartest, but she most definitely ain’t the weakest. I’d want her on my side of a bar brawl. Bitch can hit.

Kendra is my favorite of them all. She’s Reaper’s ol’lady. She’s the most respected around here. That woman is a saint. She’s in her early thirties, but she’s wise beyond her years. She’s the one all the ol’ladies end up going to for advice. She’s good at helping the new ones out when they’re feeling overwhelmed and uncomfortable about some of the things that their men have to do as prospects. Some of them don’t take too kindly to their boyfriends or husbands having to walk around carrying condoms, but it’s part of prospecting. If a member asks you for something, within reason, then it should be in your cutoff and you should be able to hand it to him on the spot. If not, why the fuck do we have you around?

I don’t see Bristol among the ol’ladies in the kitchen and that strikes me as odd. I would’ve thought she’d want some human interaction with women more so than men. On second thought, after the fiasco with Princess yesterday, I don’t blame her. I walk into the bar through the swinging door that connects it to the kitchen.

A Hank Williams tune plays in the foreground and is mostly tuned out by the laughs being shared amongst my brothers. Reaper, Slim, Mo, and Mikey are sitting at the table playing a round of cards. Those four could play cards every damn day. Reaper must have gotten back in town today because that’s the only reason he would’ve missed church yesterday. He’s loaded. Spent his early twenties making all the money he could and by thirty he had a couple million in the bank and opted to retire. He has his own company doing work in the oil refineries in Louisiana, but he has managers in place running them for him. He spends most of his time here with the club, but one week out of the month he makes a trip to another charter’s clubhouse to spend the week with our brothers there.

“Three kings, boys!” Reaper cheers, throwing his cards down on the table with a smug grin on his face.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Mikey slams his cards down and gets up from the table.

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