Page 45 of T-Bone
Didn’t matter though, because he was determined to give me what I asked for, more of his glorious cock. He filled me up until I squealed my pleasure and my body went limp against the shower wall. He never slowed down, pounding into me hard and fast until his cock thickened and then exploded, filling me up deliciously. “Oh fuck, babe. Yes.” He pressed kisses to my shoulders and my neck, all over my skin until he exhausted himself. “Faith.”
The heavy weight of his body was satisfying and when it was gone, cold replaced his heat. Somehow, I managed to quickly shower—again—and rinse off before exiting the shower so T-Bone could do the same.
I left him in the bathroom and dressed quickly in this morning’s outfit because I had no other choice, and because I wouldn’t prance around in one of his t-shirts like this was more than what it was—two people scratching an itch. I left my shoes by the door and, hearing the shower still running upstairs, I decided to look around. I didn’t snoop, just looked at everything that was in plain sight.
I took a closer look at that art and the personal photos on his walls and shelves, all of it related to motorcycle culture. There were photos of him with other guys from the SteelDemons, a few with their kids and what looked like businessmen and woman from around Steel City. It told a different story than the one I assumed. T-Bone and his MC weren’tjustcriminals, they appeared to be stewards of the community as well.
But I didn’t want to think about that. It made everything too fucking confusing. It was easier if he stayed in the box chosen for him. That’s what I told myself as I moved from the living room to the hall, and then the kitchen where I found a bottle of water first.
And then a photo. More accurately, a corkboard filled with photos of T-Bone. Of his life before he was a Steel Demon. Photos of him with other young men, grease streaked faces, fresh tattoos and wide, almost innocent smiles. Photos on a beach somewhere, photos of what looked like him on his first motorcycle.
A smile touched my lips as I imagined the man he was before he’d become a biker, but the smile quickly faded with one image that made me doubt everything I thought I knew about, well everything. It was almost hidden beneath other photos, but I knew it wasn’t quite so sinister, it was simply that other photos had replaced it over the years.
Still, it was there.
It was a clue. A fact hidden from me.
On purpose or a lapse in memory.
I plucked the tack from the board to examine the photo more closely just to be sure my eyes were seeing what I thought they were. T-Bone was younger, and he wore a boyish smile that seemed almost excited, which was a shock in itself but it wasn’t the thing that shocked me most. No, it waswhostood beside him in the photo. Marcus.
The man who had isolated and abused my sister and my niece. The man who’d killed Chloe and was the reason the Ghost Riders were now after my last remaining family.
Anger hit me first. Then betrayal and anger again but this second round of anger was reserved strictly for me. I’d been naïve and worse than that, I’d been stupid. Falling for another man’s lies as if I hadn’t learned this lesson time and time again over the years. When his heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs, I snatched the photo from the counter and shoved it in my back pocket.
“Hey,” he smiled. “Hungry?”
I shook my head. “I’m good, actually. In fact, I think we should just head back to the clubhouse.” Where I could gather my things and finish this search on my own.
He let out a low grunt. “What is it now?”
Oh, that tone was enough to piss off a perfectly happy woman, but one who was ready to snap? That was just more tinder for the fire. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means there’s something on your mind, real or imagined, but you’re holding back. Just fuckin’ tell me.”
I hated that tone, but he was right. There was no point dancing around it, so I asked him outright. “Do you know Marcus personally?”
He frowned. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I’d know if I knew him. Why?”
I pulled the photo from my pocket and smacked it on the counter. “That’s why. You are a liar.”
“I’m not lying,” he started but I didn’t let him finish.
“Is this why you’ve been putting off going to Shiloh Valley, to give the Ghost Riders time to get there first?”
His expression darkened. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? Because right here in living color is a photo of you smiling with the man who killed my sister.” I smacked the photo for emphasis.
“I don’tknowhim,” he roared and grabbed the photo. “This photo is at least a decade old. We probably ran around the same biker events, same strip clubs, same places all the MCs hung out back in the day. But I don’tknowhim.”
I wanted to believe him, which was as sure a sign as any that I shouldn’t. That I couldn’t. “Right.” I snorted and shook my head. “This was a mistake.” I rushed past him and put my shoes on. Then I looked back at him, shook my head and walked out.
“Fightin’ with the mister?” Ginger’s voice sounded from her stoop. One perfectly lined brow arched in question.
