Fallon by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

Danny

 

 

 

 

He kind of looked like a red-headed Santa.

A red-headed Santa.

With a braided beard.

It felt like the ground fell out from underneath me at the kid's words.

I felt like my guts spilled out at my feet.

A red-headed Santa with a braided beard.

Chewy.

That was fucking Chewy.

I wasn't even aware of telling my legs to take off, but before I knew it, I was across the lot and at the SUV as my mind spun in a million different disorienting directions.

Chewy had been in contact with Kevin who had tried to kill not only Fallon, but me. Kevin who was now a corpse buried in the woods. Kevin who had no history of violent crimes in the past. Kevin with his sick mom he wanted to take care of.

Chewy had been the one to hire him.

All of a sudden, it all started to make so much sense.

It was why the Henchmen had been ambushed, but my men who'd been sitting ducks, hadn't.

It was why I'd been shot at.

But why my men hadn't.

Chewy had been trying to take me out, so he could take over. And take out the competition while he was at it because he was a greedy bastard that way.

And when he'd failed to kill me a few times in a row, he'd done the next best thing, he'd kicked me out of my own club.

It wasn't over.

I knew it like I knew the bastard would lose control over the club in no time because he wasn't the sort of man who instilled loyalty. Because he was lazy and stupid.

He wasn't going to settle for me being simply out of the club.

He was going to make sure he put me in the ground.

And then the Henchmen as well.

"Babe, what the fuck?" Fallon asked, moving in beside me as Cary loaded the trunk with the bags.

"Just leave it here," I snapped. "We have to go. We have to get back to your clubhouse. I have to... I have to call my dad," I said, the realization coming to me in an instant.

I couldn't call him about Chewy kicking me out of the club. He would have sided against me about something like that.

But this?

Making power moves without permission? That wouldn't stand.

Trying to take out the daughter of the president of the mother chapter of the Vultures? I didn't think that would fly, either. At least not without permission.

"What's going on?" Fallon asked as Seth and Cary hopped in the SUV, seeming to sense the urgency, not wasting any time.

"That guy that kid described? Red-headed Santa with a braided beard? That's Chewy. That's my vice president. He's the one who's been trying to kill us."

"Wait... what? No, babe, you can't be sure about that."

"Do you know of any other red-headed Santa-type characters who braid their beards? Because I don't. And even if there was a one in a million chance that there was someone else like that in Navesink Bank, what chance would there be that he would be after the gun trade? It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Killing you would have probably been easier than getting you kicked out of your role," Fallon conceded.

"Until he had proof about you and me, it was the only way he was going to get me out of that position," I told him.

"And taking me out? My club?"

"A feather in his cap? He would get the whole gun trade in the area for himself. I mean, I know what we were making just from the small number of clients we'd taken from you," I said. "I can't imagine how much you all make holding onto the rest of your clients. He's a greedy fucker. He'd want that. And then he'd get to be a hero in my father's eyes because he'd be such a good earner. I mean, it was a surprisingly good plan for him. He's not the brightest bulb."

"He couldn't have been acting alone," Fallon told me.

It was a fact I'd been trying not to think about because it felt like a knife was jabbed in my stomach when I did.

But he was right. There was no way around that. Sure, he might have been able to pull off the shooting in the alley by himself. And, yeah, he'd contracted out for the 'accident' meant to kill Fallon.

That ambush of the Henchmen, though?

That wasn't something one man could pull off.

Which meant he had allies somewhere.

In my club.

Or in my father's club.

Somewhere.

"I know," I agreed.

"Alright, so if this is the case, what is your plan?" Fallon asked.

"I need to contact my father," I told him, stomach turning over for an entirely new reason.

No one could claim there was a lot of love between my old man and me. He'd never been the kind of father that Fallon had been lucky enough to grow up with. I'd practically been feral my entire childhood, left to fend for and raise myself. If some of the men like Grandpa and even some of the clubwhores hadn't stepped up a time or two, I probably wouldn't have made it to adulthood.

My entire life had been trying to prove my worth to my father while also enduring his relentless and soul-crushing criticism.

When I'd finally been granted what I'd worked so hard for, the victory had been two-fold. One, I got my club, cemented my future, proved to everyone that I was just as good as they were. Or better. But, two, I got to get away from my father.

I couldn't say I hated the man. There was still this bizarre, irrational connection to him that I didn't even begin to understand. But let's just say that some time and distance had done wonders for my mental health. I wasn't too keen on needing to contact him out of the blue after several months of silence. There was no choice, though. It had to be done.

A couple minutes later, we were all filing into the Henchmen clubhouse, and Fallon was giving his men a quick explanation before leading me into his room for some quiet.

He seemed to sense the anxiety that was coursing through me as I put my phone on the charger, realizing I'd let it die since showing up at his place the night before.

"Use mine," Fallon said, pressing it into my hands. "You're just going to make yourself sick with worry if you wait for yours," he reasoned.

That was true.

Grabbing his phone, I took a slow, deep breath, and dialed the club's number.

"Yo?" someone answered, half-distracted.

"Put him on," I demanded, knowing anyone there would recognize my voice.

"Alrighty then," he said, calling out for my father.

I could practically see him hauling himself out of his chair and making his way across the clubhouse.

He was sturdily built—neither heavy nor fit, somewhere in the middle—, tall, with mostly white hair that had once been blond like mine, and the same eyes I saw every time I looked in the mirror.

"Yeah? What?"

"Pops," I said, voice sounding tight in that one word.

"You really shouldn't be calling me," he said, voice low, angry.

So he'd heard.

Of course he had.

Chewy had probably barely waited for the door to slam behind me before he was calling up my father to wax poetic about how this was why women in power never worked, and why he'd said from the beginning that it was a bad idea that I become a president and yadda fucking yadda.

"You should really stop listening to one-sided stories," I shot back, heat slipping into my voice.

I could probably count on my hands the number of times a conversation with my father didn't turn into an argument, if not an outright screaming match.

"You disgraced this club. And me," he growled, voice raising as well.

But I wasn't a little girl anymore. A man with a raised voice didn't intimidate me like it used to.

"Funny you would think I am the one who disgraced the club, and not the man who attempted to murder me twice," I said, going in hot. "Or, you know, attempted to take out a rival MC without permission from you."

There was a long pause. A dramatic one, even. Soap-opera worthy.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about an eye-witness who saw Chewy talking to a man who was then contracted to kill the Henchmen president. And me," I added. "A contract killer that I put in a grave, mind you. I'm talking about the Henchmen being ambushed in North Carolina. You know what I find funny about that, Dad? The fact that Chewy would have been down your way not long before that."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm telling you that I wasn't the only person with a snake in my club. I'm telling you that some of the men you are looking at right now went behind your back to attempt to take out a rival MC without your permission."

"Why the fuck would they do that?"

"That's what you should be asking your men, isn't it? My best guess is Chewy would have offered them a cut of the income he'd get by taking out the Henchmen. Chewy had been with you for a long time. I'm sure he had buddies in your club that weren't pleased that he didn't get his own chapter. And he was just there to visit and rile them up for a couple weeks."

"Weeks?" my father asked, making my blood run cold. "No. No, Chewy was here for two days. He did his drop. He did a little partying and fucking his old favorite clubwhores. Then he was on the road back to you."

"Yeah, no. He didn't show up for a couple weeks."

"And you didn't question him?"

"He said he was with you," I snapped. "And since he and I have never been close—like I told you before you forced me to take him on as a VP—I didn't think anything of it."

"Don't drudge up that shit again," my father grumbled.

"'That shit' being the rampant sexism you allowed to be a part of my life? Oh, gee, how come I can't just get over that shit, huh?"

"Well, you went ahead and proved us all right, didn't you? Letting that Henchmen fuck you. Disgusting."

Beside me, Fallon stiffened, making me acutely aware that his volume must have been loud on his phone because he was hearing every word.

Before I could even realize his intention, his hand was yanking the phone away from my ear, holding it up to his own.

"You will speak to her with some fucking respect, or you don't need to speak to her at all. She's trying to help you, and all you can do is criticize her? No fucking wonder she couldn't wait to get away from you."

"Fallon..." I said, reaching upward. Touched, but knowing that they were both stubborn asses, and that this was only going to escalate.

"No, you will listen!" Fallon roared, shocking me enough to jerk back, eyes widening.

I mean, yeah, the guy had a temper. I'd known about it for a long time. I used to really enjoy provoking him into anger. But this was different. It was raw and primal. Authoritative.

Really, really fucking hot.

That was what it was.

Hot.

"With absolutely no fucking respect," Fallon continued, "your men, and therefore you, have fired shots at me and mine," he went on. "You want to start a war, you mother fucker, we're game. Pretty sure you wouldn't like the outcome of that, though. But if you want to shut your goddamn mouth, and listen to your daughter who was calling you with a warning, then we can come up with a plan together to put an end to this. Otherwise, it's your fucking funeral. Yeah, that's what I thought," Fallon said, holding the phone out toward me. "There," he said, giving me a ghost of a smile. "Your father wants to—much more civilly—talk to you," he added as I reached for the phone.

But instead of raising it to my ear, I hit the end button, and tossed it onto the nightstand.

"Babe..."

"He can wait," I declared, my hands sliding up the front of his thighs, watching as realization heated his eyes. "No one has ever stood up for me before," I admitted. "Ever," I emphasized. "Not once in my life," I told him as my fingers worked his button and zipper free, then started to pull his pants down his thighs, exposing his cock that was already getting hard. "And while I don't need someone to do it," I continued as my hand closed around his cock, "I really like that you just did it."

"Yeah?" he asked, voice rough. "How much did you like it?" he asked, smile a little devilish.

"A whole lot," I said, voice low, teasing.

"Yeah? Show me how much," he demanded, brushing some of my hair behind my ear.

And then I did, pulling him inside my mouth, I did just that.

Until, of course, he was grabbing me, and yanking me onto my feet, turning, then slamming me against the wall even as his hand slipped inside my panties, thrust inside my body, thrusting wildly. Impatient. Out of control.

My hands yanked down my pants and panties, nearly stumbling over them as I stepped out, needing to grab onto Fallon for support.

His hand left me, reaching to fetch a condom, then slip it on before grabbing my knee, yanking it up, spreading wide, and holding it against the wall as he moved in, as he slammed inside me.

"Fuck," he hissed, pressing his forehead to mine for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.

But I didn't want him together.

My arms went around his shoulders, lifting up, then wrapping my legs around him, giving me the leverage I needed to move against him.

He let me do that for a moment before taking over, fucking me hard and fast as his lips claimed mine, silenced my moans as he drove me up.

His hand moved up, grabbing my hair, yanking backward, the sting moving across my scalp as he fucked me harder, faster, driving me to that edge, then mercilessly forcing me over before I could even draw a breath, leaving me gasping for air as the waves moved through me over and over, a seemingly endless tide.

It wasn't until I could draw in a proper breath again that I realized he was still rock-hard inside of me, not done with me.

"I can't," I whimpered.

"You're going to," he assured me with a cocky grin as his hands sank into my bare ass as he turned, moving away from the room, making his way back toward the bed where he dropped me down and yanked up my legs, pressing my feet to his chest as he started fucking me again.

Both of his hands moved down, one going between my thighs to work my clit. The other pressed down low on my pelvic bone, making a deep, intense pressure build inside.

A surprised Oh escaped me, realizing he was somehow managing to engage my G-spot with the placement of his palm.

The smirk on his face told me he knew exactly what he was doing as he continued to fuck me.

Finger on my clit, cock inside me, hand engaging my G-spot, it wasn't long before he proved me wrong.

Not only could I, but it was somehow even more intense than the last one, a white-hot sort of pleasure that seemed like it moved out from the base of my spine before overtaking me entirely, leaving me nothing but a lifeless pile afterward.

"Told you," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh before moving away from me.

Even after he came back from dealing with the condom, I couldn't move.

I had no muscles, no bones, no way of moving myself.

A low, sexy chuckle moved through him as he reached down, grabbing me, and tossing me more toward the center of the bed, so he had room to climb on as well, pulling me to his side as my body finally seemed to unfreeze, leaving me racked with aftershocks, something I'd only ever heard about before, never experiencing it firsthand.

"You good?" he asked, and the cocky edge to his voice let me know how proud of himself he was. And, hell, I couldn't even blame the guy. He'd earned it.

"Shut up," I said, jabbing him with my elbow.

"I thought we weren't allowed to say that," he said, raising a brow at me when I looked up at him.

"No. I believe we said you aren't allowed to say it," I corrected, getting a chuckle out of him.

"Fair enough," he agreed, reaching up to sift his fingers through my hair. "We need to finish that phone call," he reminded me.

"Ugh, fine," I grumbled, pulling away.

"Where do you think you're going?" Fallon asked, dragging me back.

"I need to have panties on to finish this phone call," I declared. Did it make sense? Nope, not in the least. But that was just how it was.

Judging by the confused look on Fallon's face, he didn't get it either. But he let me go fetch my panties and pants.

"You're not even going to pretend you aren't staring at me?" I asked, shooting him small eyes.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head.

"Pig," I teased.

"Yep," he agreed, reaching for his phone as I crawled back up the bed to sit beside him.

"Danny?" my father answered, voice tight.

"Yeah, it's me. You ready to talk?" I asked.

"Yeah," he agreed, voice grim.

Grim.

Which made me think he'd done some talking with his men while Fallon and I had been... otherwise occupied.

"Did you find something out?" I asked.

"Seems like Chewy was spouting off about needing to take out the Henchmen, and about how you were unfit."

"And, of course, your men saw nothing wrong with that," I griped.

"I'm trying here, Danny. Don't make it more fucking difficult."

I had to bite my tongue to keep from reminding him that being decent to your own daughter shouldn't require actual trying.

"Why didn't your men say anything?"

"They thought he was smashed," he said.

"But?"

"But it seems like he had gone out with three of my men the night after he got here. Were gone all night."

"You're going to question them," I guessed.

"They're already in the shed," he told me.

The shed.

Those words made a shiver course through me.

That shed was site of some of my worst childhood memories.

In some of them, I was made to bend over a table so my father could whip me with his belt until I had welts, until they broke open, until I was bleeding.

In others, I was standing by watching him or some of his men question club members or suspected enemies. Let's just say, I didn't inherit the kind of strong stomach that made it possible to pry out people's teeth or snip off their fingers with gardening tools.

Fallon's hand grabbed my knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze, seeming to sense my dark mood that came with those memories.

"When you have answers," I prompted.

"I'll call. Is this the number?" he asked.

"You can call this if you want. Or my phone. It's just charging now."

"Alright. By tonight," he said, ending the call.

"You alright?" Fallon asked after as I stared ahead at the wall.

"The shed," I repeated. "Bad memories," I added.

"Rumor is, there used to be a shed here too back in the day," Fallon said. "It blew up."

"What?"

"Yeah. My now-aunt. She has a thing for explosives."

"That sounds like a woman worth knowing," I decided.

"There's a lot of those around here."

"That's going to be weird for me," I admitted, resting my head against his chest. "Aside from clubwhores, I was always the only girl around."

"No one in your father's club is married?"

"God, no. I mean... if you met them, you'd understand why no woman would want them."

"You were close with some of your club members," he reminded me, twisting that knife of betrayal once again.

"Yeah. I took the only decent ones," I said with a sad smile.

"What's the matter, babe?"

"Just thinking about them. The ones I was so sure about." Grandpa, Pops, Junior, Munch, and Dutch. "Like... what happened after they came back and learned I was out? Did they try to stand up to Chewy? Or did they believe it was the right decision?"

"I think it sounds like Chewy is a vindictive son of a bitch. So, they might have their feelings, but they probably don't feel safe enough to act on them. At least not yet."

That wasn't completely outside the realm of possibilities. I could absolutely see Chewy being a tyrant, demanding loyalty by whatever means he deemed necessary.

"For their sake, I hope they are keeping their mouths shut, and biding their time."

Biding their time until what?

Until I took the club back?

It wasn't until right that moment that I realized it would be a possibility.

If my father dealt with his men, and the Henchmen were willing to make a move on Chewy and any of his loyal followers, that still left a club without a president, didn't it?

I could have it back.

It was everything I always wanted.

Right?

Right.

Of course.

I'd worked my whole life for it.

But as Fallon curled me more tightly into his arms, there was this niggling little voice in the back of my head that wouldn't shut up.

If that was all you ever wanted, why did it never feel as good as a couple of stolen minutes alone with the man you used to call your rival?