Page 4 of Cowgirl Bikers MC: The Complete Series

“Get those grave twigs off my sister’s throat or I’ll make sure they are buried six feet under along with the rest of you when I’m done pumping your body full of lead,” a voice snaps from behind me at the same time I feel something jab into my back.

I’ve never cared for death threats and have been held at gunpoint more than a few times.

Ignoring everything except the woman in front of me, I finish my sentence, “I won’t have you play down what we shared when I was balls deep inside your greedy pussy. Now, I might be here to find the one who wiped out this MC, and help you get revenge while we’re at it, but end of the line? You and I are going to happen. And I don’t give a fuck if you’re a Prez and decide all the shots. I’ve followed a Prez’s orders a huge damn part of my life but rest assured, when it’s just us? I’m the one calling the shots. Now get your sister to back off because I’d rather shoot off my own hand than to ever touch you the wrong way.”

Her eyes go over my shoulder and I don’t know what or who the fuck she’s looking at but the barrel of a gun pressing into my back is suddenly gone.

“Fine. You want to talk? We’ll talk. But fair warning, if you come baring empty promises and try to wave your cock to catch some attention, you’re going to find yourself face-first in the dirt with your bullshit shoved back up your ass, get me?”

The corner of my mouth twitches when I tell her in more than one meaning, “Yeah, I get you.”

“See the clubhouse? The cabin right next to it is mine. You can leave your bike where it is or park it in front of my place for all I care.” She rips herself from my grip and heads for her place without looking back to see if I follow.

And I am fucking following but I’m getting my bike first; because I am going to stay. She would for sure as fuck want me to when she finds out what I have to say. I didn’t wait a handful of days, twiddling my thumbs before I tracked her down. I spent those days laying plans and gathering as much information as I could.

I straddle my bike and fire it up to ride the short distance to her cabin and park out front. Reaching into my saddle bags I take out the things I need and swing my backpack with everything I own over my shoulder and take the steps leading up to her home.

She’s left the front door open so I stroll inside and close it behind me. Glancing around the place I appreciate the warmth radiating from her interior. The large couch looks handmade with the rough wooden planes but the deep red comfy looking pillows it’s overflowing with are inviting and scream relaxation.

There are no pictures or paintings decorating the walls but instead there are items like a rusty colander, a bridle, a saddle, and an old looking leather jacket. Clearly these are personal items with a story behind them.

“Are you done ogling my living room? If so, join me at the kitchen table.” Her voice lacks the snap from earlier and I watch how she removes her leather cut to hang it on a hook on the wall, wincing as she does.

I’m biting my tongue because I’m about to demand her to tell me what the fuck happened, but the way she steered clear of that particular discussion earlier, I’m sure she would close up again. But when I notice the blood seeping through her shirt on her side, I’m done holding back the need to take care of her.

“Where do you keep your first aid kit?”

Her gaze slides to her side and she winces. “It’s still on the kitchen table where I left it this morning.”

Releasing a few curses underneath my breath, I wave her forward and place my backpack on the couch before I follow her into the kitchen. I put the bag with documents I had tucked underneath my arm onto a chair and head for the sink to wash my hands. I’m rummaging through the first aid kit when she unbuttons her blouse and shrugs out of it before letting it fall to the floor.

“Sit,” I clip and she lets herself drop onto a chair.

Putting on the latex gloves, I check out the wound first. Six stitches and by the looks of it she ripped two. Cleaning the wound, I get things ready and don’t even ask or discuss shit when I put in two new stitches. When I’ve covered it up and put the gloves into the trash, I cross my arms in front of my chest and give her a hard stare.

She offers me a small smile and strolls to the refrigerator, takes out a beer and twists off the cap before handing it to me. She grabs one for herself and takes a long pull, letting herself drop onto the chair and placing the bottle on the table as her eyes find mine.

“Jorie, the woman batting her eyes at you a moment ago, has a brother. Their father was thrown out of the club before everything happened. He hates my guts for continuing this MC. The fucker probably thought he could grab my dad’s leather cut and found a new MC himself. Anyway, when I got back home the night I met you, he was leaving the premises. And first off, his sister might be a part of this MC, but that fucker isn’t allowed to be here. So, I told him as much and he had the nerve to insult my father. I threw a punch; he pulled a knife. He managed to get a few jabs in before I kicked out his knee and left him crying in the dirt. Now, can we discuss what you came here to do? How you think you’re going to find out who killed my father and the rest of his brothers? Because I’ve been looking into it for months and there’s absolutely nothing to go on. Cops say they’re handling it–”

I shake my head and cut her off. “Cops closed the case shortly after it happened.”

Her eyes bulge. “What did you just say?”

“There’s a note which basically comes down to the fact this was self-inflicted. The one who set off the bomb and fired the gun died in the crossfire as well.”

“Bullshit,” she hisses in anger and flashes up, only to let her hand hover over her side.

“Sit your ass down and calm yourself. You’re never going to heal if you keep ripping those stitches back open.” I give her a smirk. “Glaring at me makes your eyes flare with feistiness, the kind that makes my cock twitch so all it’s doing is spiking the need to feel you under me instead of putting me off,Syn.”

“The name isHudsyn,” she snaps. “Not Syn, not Hud,Hudsyn. Or Prez, but I won’t give you that honor.”

I lean into her personal space and almost make our noses touch.

I’m sure my breath caresses her lips when I tell her, “Pretty sure you weren’t complaining when I whispered it into your ear while you were–”

“Stop bringing up our fucking,” she orders me breathlessly.

Fuck. Her voice oozes sex and I know she’s thinking about the raw and hard sex we had while she orders me not to bring it up. And maybe that is my intention; to remind her enough she gives in and demands another round. I keep staring at her when I brush my lips against hers ever so slowly, only for half a second and pull back.

---