Page 7 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

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Ash

Priest gets upand leaves the kitchen after Gage and River once it’s pretty clear we’re not going to get anywhere else on this front tonight. I grab a swig of whiskey from the bottle Knox got out, then take another one for good measure, lingering at the table once everyone else has gotten up.

The booze burns going down, lighting a fire in my gut, and I shudder a little bit, but I don’t hate it.

Knox is still hanging around, and when I glance over at him, he gives me a look.

I just stare back, not sure what the fuck he wants from me.

The expression on his face is almostknowing, which is weird because usually he doesn’t know shit and likes it that way. Well, that’s not fair. He’s not stupid. He knows a lot. He just doesn’t get involved in all the emotional shit that weighs the rest of us down. But right now, he looks like he’s more tuned into that stuff than normal.

He doesn’t even say anything, just levels that fucking look at me and then heads out, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

It’s weirdly quiet with everyone gone, and I sit at the table, staring down at the whorls in the wooden surface. There are all kinds of chips and nicks in it, from knives and guns and plates and shit slamming into it over the years we’ve lived here. None of us have ever bothered to replace it or try to be more careful. It’s just a table. And I like that all the marks on it make the house feel lived in.

River’s fucking dog is asleep under the table, wheezing softly with his little doggy snores, and the sound irritates me a little bit, even though I didn’t really like the quiet either.

Honestly, I don’t knowwhatI want tonight.

Whatever it might be, I know it’s not to sit in the damn kitchen by myself, so I get up and head upstairs. I have to pass by River’s room to get mine, but this time her door is closed.

Good.

I go to my own room and crack a window, lighting a cigarette before taking a long drag. The smoke burns the same way the booze did, and I lean into the feeling of it, blowing smoke out the window.

I feel antsy, like there’s nervous energy crawling under my skin. I bounce my leg while I lean against the wall and smoke, but I still feel restless, like I need to be doing more.

There’s always a deck of cards somewhere in my room, usually several. I grab the nearest one off the dresser and fuck with the cards for a bit, flipping them over and over between my fingers, shuffling, and cutting the deck with one hand. I do little tricks for no one in particular and then make a disgusted noise when I pull a queen.

Shit.

I’m just so fucking agitated. This whole night turned into a goddamn disaster. It was one thing after another, starting with the mess of fucking River in that bathroom and ending with Ivan St. James’s body laid out on a golden pedestal.

And now River is here again, just down the goddamn hall, probably in bed, naked or in something skimpy. Making herself right at home.

Hours ago, I would have been thrilled to have her here again. Hours ago, I was thinking about how the house felt weird without her in it. Now it just feels too small. Like there’s nowhere I can go to escape her.

Usually, when I need to calm down and chill out, I call a girl over for sex. Focusing my energy on getting a hot woman off and making sure we both have a good time usually has the effect I want it to, but now that thought just feels wrong.

I have a list of women in my phone that I could call, and they’d be here in fifteen minutes flat, but I can’t even imagine doing it. It doesn’t seem like it would be satisfying.

But I need to dosomethingto get rid of this shitty as hell tension. I toss the cards back onto the dresser and sit down on my bed, letting my eyes close as I drag in a deep breath through my nose. I’ve had so many women in this bed. Soft and pretty, hair spread over my pillows. Some of them were quiet, biting full lips while I gave them what we both wanted. Some were loud, practically screaming my name and clawing at my back while we fucked.

Holding those thoughts in my head, I shove my pants down enough to get my dick out. It twitches against my palm, responding to my touch easily.

Knox has joked before that it only takes someone thinking about my dick to get me hard, and he’s not exactly wrong. I only have to stroke a few times before it’s half hard, and I close my eyes, focusing on some of the women I’ve been with, letting the memories blur into a sort of slide show of nice tits, hot asses, and thick thighs.

I let out a slow breath, stroking myself a little faster, leaning into the heat that starts to curl through me.

And then, like a blast of cold water, an image of River pops into my head. From just like an hour ago, standing in the room I can only think of as hers now, half naked as she changed out of her dress.

All those tattoos on her body, the little scars that she wears like battle wounds, her thighs, her tits. That mouth that’s always going off about something.

“Fuck.” I snarl around the cigarette in my mouth and then blow out an angry plume of smoke. I don’t want to think about her now.

But it’s like that first taste is enough to open the goddamn flood gates. Without my permission, my mind flashes back to earlier tonight, in that bathroom at the gala. The way she pushed me down onto the chair and straddled me. How hot and tight her pussy was. Fuck, I’ve wanted to be inside her for weeks, but I was holding myself back. I didn’t want her to be just another notch on my goddamn bedpost, so I refused to let myself have her. But when she threw herself at me like that, all wild and fierce and willing, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

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