Fallon by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seventeen

Danny

 

 

 

 

I would never admit it, but my stomach was flip-flopping as I walked down the street.

Fallon had dropped me at the coffee shop, so if Chewy had anyone looking, they wouldn't see me leaving the Henchmen clubhouse. Because the plan was to pretend that Fallon had dumped my ass once I became less valuable to him—i.e.: when I was no longer president, and he couldn't get information out of me.

I didn't wear the disguise of a dumped and defeated woman easily, but I kept reminding myself I would only have to come off as broken and weak for a few minutes. Just long enough to hopefully be able to see Dutch or Grandpa, to get some answers out of them if possible, before the Henchmen moved in.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I forced my gate to become a little slower, a bit less purposeful as the bar came into view. I made my shoulders slump. I relaxed my jaw and the muscles around my eyes.

I barely got around the side of the building before my arm was seized in a tight grip.

Looking over, I saw Junior, the spitting image of a young Pops, of a young Grandpa.

"Ow," I hissed, trying to yank away, which only made him hold me tighter, tight enough that I knew there would be bruises later.

They'd gotten Junior.

My heart sank at that realization even if a part of me knew how impressionable the young people could be, how convincing the mob could be as well.

"Play along," he hissed under his breath, making my heart skip. "Play along," he repeated, voice tense, eyes begging me to understand as he practically dragged me forward into the back lot where the rear entrance to the bar was. "Look what I found. The traitorous bitch," he announced loudly.

And even if I was pretty sure it was all for show, my stomach clenched hard at the words coming out of the mouth of a young man I believed in so fiercely, who I'd once trusted with my life, if it came down to it.

There was a small gathering of men out back, four in total, who eyed me up and down with the disgust plain on their faces.

As Junior pulled me inside the building, I mentally jotted down their names.

Junior's fingertips felt like they pressed into bone as he yanked me inside the bar, making me stumble on my feet and gasp, a sound that drew the attention of Chewy and the others gathered around.

"Well well well, what do we have here?"

"I said I was coming today to pick up some of my clothes," I said, lowering my gaze even if it killed me to do it.

There was a perk to a patriarchal society that could be used to a woman's advantage in some situations. Namely, that some men thought of women as smaller, stupider, and less capable. So if you played your cards just right, you could undermine them, you could get them to believe you.

And then you could strike.

And I was going to strike.

I hadn't expressly said it, but Chewy was mine.

I was going to make that sonofabitch pay for what he'd done to me.

"Told you she'd come crawling back," Chewy said. "Stupid whore, thinking she could have her cake and eat it too."

"I just want my clothes," I claimed, making my voice shake, even if it made bile rise up my throat.

"Fine. Whatever. Take her down," Chewy said to Junior. "But keep an eye on her. Don't want her stealing shit."

Stealing shit.

I couldn't possibly steal anything.

It was all fucking mine to begin with.

Including the goddamn building they were standing in.

But I said nothing as Junior started to drag me along through the bar, then down the stairs to the basement, waiting for a second to make sure no one else followed, then releasing my arm.

I just barely resisted the urge to rub at the aching spot he'd left behind as I kept walking.

"Sorry," he whispered.

He didn't follow me all the way down, though, and it wasn't until I got there that I understood why.

Because there were Dutch, Grandpa, Munch, and Pops.

"Oh," I said, the rush of relief nearly bringing me to my knees. That I was right about at least them. That not everyone thought the worst of me.

"We don't have much time," Dutch said, voice low.

"I know," I agreed, going to grab a bag, and stuffing clothes in it, needing everything to look legit. "What's going on? Has everyone turned on me?" I asked, turning to look at them, seeing the answer on their faces.

"Yeah, kid," Grandpa said, voice apologetic. "I wasn't sure at first, but the longer you've been gone, the uglier the way they've been talking about you."

"Fucking Tank was saying how everyone should have run a train on you before they kicked you out," Dutch added, always brutally honest, even when it hurt.

And it did. That hurt. That hurt more than I ever could have prepared myself for.

See, I could have accepted them being pissed about my relationship with Fallon. I even understood that to a certain degree—though being around Fallon's people, and seeing them blindly accept me and our situation on his word was really starting to make me see how much I'd been settling for crumbs from my men all my life. I could even see why they would consider me disloyal for what I'd done. I might even be able to excuse them wanting me gone.

But to be so vile as to say they should gang-rape me before they sent me on my way?

Yeah, that was painful enough to knock the air out of me.

I'd worked so hard for those men. To provide for them. To give them a good life. I'd suffered so much in the process.

And that was how they wanted to repay me.

"So you've all been playing along?" I asked.

"We'd put up a little resistance at first," Pops explained. "Just so they didn't think we were acting. Let them 'convince' us how shitty you were. And then we fell in line to keep appearances. We knew you'd be back."

"Did you know that Chewy was the one trying to take out the Henchmen?" I asked. "Guess he didn't get there yet," I said to their shocked faces. "You can imagine how my father felt about that," I added.

"What's the plan?"

"The first part was getting me in here to make sure I was right about you five. And see if there are any others. Are there?" I pressed. "Maybe they are acting too?"

"No," Dutch said, shaking his head, squashing any last bit of my hope. "Not one is loyal to you like they should be."

"Damnit," I hissed, zipping up my bag. "Okay."

"So, is the mother chapter on their way?" Pops asked.

"He's letting the Henchmen handle it," I told them, reaching down to pull the front of my t-shirt down, showing them the wire taped to my chest. "As soon as I give the—" I started, hearing footsteps coming closer.

Panic flooded my system as Junior's eyes widened.

"Bathroom," I whispered to the others who were almost certainly not supposed to be there. "It's okay," I told Junior as he moved all the way down to appear to be keeping an eye on me like he was supposed to.

The door opened, and there were footsteps on the stairs as I pretended to re-zip my bag.

"The fuck is taking so long down here?" Chewy asked, followed by two of the men I used to party with, eat meals with, go on rides with. Now they looked at me like I was a stranger. No, it was worse than that. They looked at me like I was gunk on their shoes, something they stepped in and didn't like the smell of.

"Women," Junior grumbled as Chewy looked around. Almost as if he sensed something was up.

"You know," Diesel said, moving forward, getting uncomfortably close. "I'm starting to think maybe Tank was right," he said, making my stomach turn over as his hand raised, grabbing my chin, and applying enough pressure to pull my lower lip down. "Thought about fucking this mouth a million times over the years," he said, getting a snicker from the others.

"You try and I'll bite it off," I said, voice tight. I had my safe word, but I wasn't going to use it unless absolutely necessary.

"Oh, big talk," Diesel sneered. "Did you forget, bitch, you're not in charge anymore. If I want to do this," he said, grabbing my tit, "I can. And you can't do shit about it."

"Except this," I said, bringing a knee up to his balls, then grabbing his neck, and swinging him around, knocking his head against my dresser before releasing him.

"Not smart," Chewy declared, clucking his tongue and shaking his head. "Now we have to teach you a lesson," he told me, reaching for his belt.

"Santa," I muttered, a word that made Chewy freeze for a second, brows knitting.

"What?"

"Santa. That's how we figured out it was you who hired a hitman to take out the Henchmen president. Someone saw you with that Kevin kid I put in the ground. He said you looked like a red-headed Santa with a braided beard. I never got a chance to tell you how fucking stupid that looks."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Chewy roared.

"A woman who has about a dozen men rushing into the clubhouse right now," I declared, shooting him a saccharine smile that made his face freeze for the barest of seconds before he was turning, before he was running.

"Do something," he demanded to Junior who waited just long enough for Chewy to burst upstairs to reach into his back pocket.

"Okay," he agreed, shrugging, cocking his gun, and shooting Diesel right in the head. Double tap. Gone. "Did something," he said, giving me a smirk as the others rushed out of the bathroom.

"No. I need you guys to stay down here unless you hear me call for you. The Henchmen don't know you by sight. And they have kill orders when I used the code word," I explained.

"You're not going out there either," Dutch said, moving to stand in front of me.

"I have to," I told him, grabbing him, and shoving him out of the way before rushing up the stairs and into the chaos as the shots started to ring out.

The Henchmen had silencers, but the Vultures didn't, making my stomach knot at the idea of the police getting word and being on their way.

"Tank," Fallon said, appearing out of nowhere. "Which one is Tank?"

"There," I said, pointing. "But I want him."

It was too late, though, because Fallon was closing the short distance to where Tank was crouched down by the side of the bar.

I hadn't really ever gotten to see Fallon in action before. And I found myself transfixed as I watched him pull a knife out of his pocket as he grabbed Tank's arm with the gun, slamming it back against the bar itself, then plunging the knife into his hand, pinning it to the bar as Tank screamed.

Only then did Fallon pull out his gun, press it to Tank's forehead, and pull the trigger.

That was my man, I realized with a surging sensation in my stomach, in my chest.

That was my man.

Taking out vigilante justice on a man who'd threatened to rape me.

I wanted to rush over to him and fuck him right in the middle of all the chaos around us.

The shots, the screams, the curses, the pleads for mercy.

But there was no mercy to be found.

The Henchmen were swift and trained and focused.

Cary shot one man out of the way as Dezi grabbed another by the back of his cut, slamming him so hard against the wall that he slumped down to the ground, unconscious.

"Oh, come on. Wake up, you pussy. I wanted to play," Dezi jeered, nudging his foot into the man's stomach until he got a groan, then consciousness, before sticking his gun in the man's mouth, and pulling the trigger.

"Fallon!" I yelled, pointing toward Chewy about to disappear into the kitchen. "Side door," I added.

I was too far away.

As it would turn out, so was Fallon.

But who wasn't?

Slash's man Crow.

He launched himself at the man nearly twice his weight, catching him off-guard enough to send him flying backward.

Crow went down with him.

Then pressed up.

And plunged a knife right into Chewy's windpipe.

I had no idea what else went on around me in the next moment. Because I couldn't look away from Crow as he yanked the knife back out, only to stab it into one of Chewy's eyes, then the other. All the while wearing an unsettling grin.

"He went to juvie for stabbing a bully in the eye with a pencil in the middle of class," Slash said, appearing at my side. "That's how we met," he added.

And then, seemingly just as quickly as it had started, it was all over.

There were no more cries, no more curses, no more gunshots.

Just the sound of labored breathing for a long second before Fallon called out.

"Any of us down?"

"Over here," Cary called, looking up from where he was holding a bloody rag to Dezi's side.

"Shit," I hissed, rushing forward, my heart clutching in my chest.

I barely knew the guy, but there was just something about him. I liked him. I couldn't stomach something happening to him.

"Take him," Fallon demanded, looking at Cary, his father, and Niro. "I will be at the hospital in just a bit, man," Fallon said, tone attempting to be reassuring, but it was tight. "Anyone you want me to call?"

"I mean, if you can track down that divorcée..." Dezi said with a smile. "On second thought, no. Then I couldn't chat up all the pretty nurses," he said before the men carried him away.

"That didn't look good," I said, voice small.

"He's tough. And we're close to the hospital." He was still in reassuring mode, even if I could hear the tension in his voice. "Anyone else hurt?" he asked, voice rising.

"Just grazes," Slash said, voice calm, collected, giving Fallon the reassurance that he needed. "What now?" he pressed, ready to jump into action.

"I'm going to call up my guys," I said, getting a nod from Fallon before yelling down the steps. "It's not pretty up here," I warned them. Bodies were littered all around, blood and brain matter splattered on the walls.

"Good," Dutch said, moving out first. "I wish I could revive them just to take one or two of them out myself."

"Yo, the cops aren't coming," Finn, Fallon's brother, said, coming in from the back lot. "Brooks said it was all quiet over there. Nothing on the scanners either."

That was one perk to setting up in the shady area of town, one used to gang violence in the past. They didn't call the cops. They minded their business.

It worked in our favor in situations like this.

"We can handle this," Dutch said, waving a hand around. "You need to be there for your man."

"Yeah, go," I said, reaching out to give Fallon's arm a squeeze. "You know I know how to handle getting rid of bodies," I added.

"I don't want to leave you here," he told me, turning away from my guys as he did so, keeping his voice low so they didn't hear.

"I promise I'm safe. Go be there for Dezi. By the time you're sure he's okay, we should have a lot of this done."

"I'm not comfortable with it," he insisted.

"Well, that's just too damn bad," I said, brow raising. "What's the worst that's gonna happen? I throw out my back trying to haul around Chewy's corpse?"

"We'll help," Slash offered. "Not because you need it," he added, nodding at me. "But because it's a lot of fucking work. I'll call Sway in too. Gotta help clean up our mess."

"That's fine," I agreed when Fallon shot me a questioning look. "Go. Check on Dezi. Text me when you know something."

"Okay," he agreed, turning to leave, then whipping back around, grabbing me at the back of my neck, and kissing me silly right there in front of everyone. Then turning and walking away, leaving me feeling all disoriented and fuzzy.

"This his doing?" Grandpa asked, waving toward Tank's body near the bar, his hand still pinned to the wood.

"Yeah."

"Good man, that one," Grandpa decided, giving me a nod.

"He is," I agreed.

"You're going to be at each other's throats a lot," Pops pitched in.

"I know," I agreed. "It's... it's nice to not always get away with being a bitch," I admitted.

"He lets you be softer," Munch declared. "You never had that before. It's good. Soft is good."

"Christ," I said, pressing a hand to my heart. "I think that is the most words I've heard you speak. Are you okay? Are you learning to communicate now that you don't have your face buried in someone's snatch all the time?"

"I'm going through withdrawal," Munch grumbled. "Chewy's tyrant ass was keeping the chicks away from me."

"Well, you are all free after we handle all this. No more looking over your shoulders," I said, taking a deep breath as I looked around. "Let's get to work," I added.

Then everyone hopped to.

Sway turned up with Brooks a while later, bringing tarps for the bodies and a shitton of cleaning supplies.

"Why'd we invest in a bar again instead of a crematorium?" Dutch grumbled a couple hours later, dragging yet another body wrapped in a bright blue tarp toward the back door to be loaded by Slash and his men into the back of someone's pick-up truck. "Could just burn up all the fucking bodies in situations like this."

"Seriously," I said, standing to wipe the sweat off my brow with my forearm, the tips of my fingers raw from the bleach I'd been scrubbing with for hours. "Why the hell has no one thought of that?" I asked. "Keep that in mind when you get your chapter," I said, looking over at Slash.

"Not a bad idea," Slash agreed. "Seems like we might be dealing with a lot of bodies to get shit started up," he added, casually picking a piece of brain matter off a tabletop, and putting it in one of the bags we'd collected of bits of flesh and bone.

"Alright," Munch said, coming back a while later with Sway, both covered in dirt and drenched in sweat, despite the cooler temperatures. "We're tapping another group in," he added, going straight to the bar to grab a beer.

"I'll take a turn," I offered. Fallon was still waiting for Dezi, who was in surgery. I had some hours to spare. "You and me?" I asked, looking over at Slash.

The rest of the night was a blur of grave-digging.

I dug until my arms gave out on me, having to let Slash finish the filling in of the three we'd dug.

We went back, and another team replaced us. Then it was a couple Henchmen, followed by Munch and Sway again. And before my arms felt anywhere near ready, it was time for Slash and me once more.

I was just barely keeping myself awake when we made it back to the bar around sunup, finding the SUV Fallon had used to take Dezi to the hospital parked in the lot.

I didn't expect the rush of relief to see it there. Or that I would get out of the car, and walk right into his arms.

But that was exactly what happened.

"You're dead on your feet, babe," he said, voice soft as his hand massaged up my spine.

"I have blisters on top of my blisters," I whined. Because I knew he wouldn't judge me for it.

"I bet."

"How's Dezi?"

"Asking the nurses for a sponge bath," Fallon said, managing an impossible feat—getting a laugh out of my exhausted body.

"Good. I'm glad," I told him, meaning it as I took a deep sniff of his neck.

"Shower," Fallon said. "Then we can get going. Get some sleep."

"We need to clean," I insisted.

"Did you have blinders on when you walked in?" he asked.

I sort of had. All I saw was him. Everything else fell away.

But at his words, I pulled back far enough to look around, noticing that the blood and brain matter was all gone. Bullets were cleaned up. Hell, it seemed like someone had even scrubbed the decades of grime off the windows.

Brooks.

That was why Fallon was going to tap his shoulder for a Sergeant at Arms position. He was a hard worker, a rule follower, someone who could whip the other guys into shape if it was necessary.

"Oh, wow. It looks a lot less disgusting," I declared, getting a small smile out of a very tired-looking Brooks.

"Shower. Bed," Fallon demanded, pushing me toward the back of the bar, so we could go down into the basement.

We stripped in silence then climbed in my minuscule shower.

"I'm too beat to fuck you," Fallon said, resting his cheek against the top of my head. "But once we get some sleep..."

"Yeah," I agreed, barely having enough energy to soap myself up properly and rinse off.

"Let me," Fallon said when I let out a whimper when I raised my arms to attempt to wash my hair.

And then this man, this surprising, interesting, frustrating, sexy, rough, yet gentle man washed my hair.

I'd had absolutely no interest in sex when we'd climbed in the shower. My body barely wanted to hold my weight anymore, let alone get another workout. But as Fallon's fingertips started lightly scrubbing at my scalp, yeah, I learned something new about life.

It was unexpectedly erotic to have a man play with your hair.

"Quit it," Fallon grumbled, lips touching my temple as a low groan moved through me.

"I can't. That feels good," I told him, angling my head to the side to give him better access.

"Danny..." he said, voice a warning. Even as I heard it, I felt his hardened cock pressing into my ass cheek.

"I might have a little bit of energy left," I admitted as Fallon's sudsy hands sank into my hips, turning me so that my front pressed to his, allowing the water to wash the shampoo out of my hair.

But I could barely focus on that, what with my breasts crushed to his chest, with his cock pressing into my belly.

His fingers glided down my back, sinking into my ass, massaging.

"What?" I asked when a sigh moved through him.

"Condom."

"Nightstand," I said, my hand moving down his chest, grabbing his cock, stroking it, making it impossible for him to get any idea in his head that didn't end with him inside of me.

At that, a sexy smirk pulled at his lips as he reached behind me, cutting off the water, then sinking his hands into my ass again, but this time, yanking me up by it, leaving me no choice but to wrap my legs around his hips, and my arms around his neck as he stepped out of the shower, stopping to dry his feet, then walking us through to the bed, dropping me down onto it with a bounce as he turned to the nightstand.

He slipped on a condom then reached for me, grabbing my knee, and rolling me onto my stomach. He urged me up onto my knees before grabbing my wrist, yanking it backward, and pinning it to my lower back as his other hand pressed the back of my neck into the mattress before he surged inside me.

"Quiet," he snapped as he fucked me, the hand at the back of my neck digging in, forcing my face into the mattress, silencing me as he drove me up toward that edge, then pushed me over.

When I cried out, loud, unfiltered, the mattress absorbed the sound, keeping our secrets.

"More," he growled, fucking me faster still, and I was thankful for my memory foam mattress and sturdy frame, or everyone upstairs would know what we were doing one floor below them..

I gave him one more.

But it wasn't enough.

Fallon's hands released me as he slowed down slightly.

It wasn't until he slowly withdrew from me, and I heard the nightstand drawer slide open again that I knew what was on his mind.

His cock slid out and up, pressing, but waiting.

"Yes," I whimpered, wiggling my ass against him as I heard the lube cap click open before the cold liquid was gliding over me and him.

Fallon reached downward, grabbing my shoulder, pulling me back until my chest hit his.

One of his hands slid between my thighs, his thumb circling my clit as two fingers pressed into my pussy as his cock pressed, pressed, pressed, then finally slid inside me. Slow, gentle, giving my body time to acclimate before he settled deep.

His face rested against my head as he let out a groan, barely holding it together.

"Move," I whimpered, hips rocking in a circle, needing the building pressure inside me to grow, to reach a peak, to release.

And just like that, he did.

Slow, careful at first, then building in speed, in intensity.

"Sh, baby, sh," he demanded as my sighs became moans.

"I can't," I whined, the pressure inside something like I'd never felt before. "I'm gonna..." I choked out a second before his hand slapped over my mouth, hard.

His finger swiped my clit.

His fingers fucked my pussy.

And his cock moved in my ass.

The orgasm slammed through me so hard that I swore the world went white as a white-hot surge of pleasure overtook me completely, pulled me down into its depths for so long I felt like I might never surface.

Until, finally, gasping for air, I did.

"Fuck, baby," Fallon said, breathless and shaky himself, his face pressed to the side of my head, his heartbeat slamming against my back.

Every inch of me felt weak and trembly.

But even more unsettling than that was the strange tugging sensation in my chest, something tight and borderline uncomfortable, something that begged to be felt and recognized.

"I'll never get enough of that," Fallon said, pressing a kiss to my temple as he slowly slid out of me, moved away from me.

And it was with that separation that I finally understood the feeling.

The very beginning tug of an emotion stronger than I'd ever felt before.

Something that felt a hell of a lot like that love shit people always went on and on about.

It was scary.

And confusing.

But as I turned to look at Fallon who shot me a sweet smile with a bit of something that looked like wonder in his eyes, I knew that there was no use trying to deny it or fight it.

"Where are you going?" Fallon asked, watching as I made my way back in the direction of the bathroom.

"Have you ever had lube dripping down your ass and thighs?" I asked, shooting him a smirk.

"Can't say I have."

"It's not pleasant," I explained.

"I'm not sorry," Fallon shot back, smile big.

"Me either," I agreed, smile matching his.

From there, we dried off and dressed.

"It's a look," I declared to Fallon who was wearing a pair of my least feminine pajama pants. They were more than a little tight. And I wasn't complaining. He'd lucked out in the hoodie department, because I liked to buy them big. "Ready?" I asked, making my way to the stairs.

"Yep," he agreed following me up.

That was supposed to be it.

We walked out of there.

We went to Fallon's place to crash. Maybe we'd wake up in a few hours and eat some frozen food and watch a movie before we passed back out again.

It was all supposed to be over.

That was until we got back into the bar.

And someone else was there.

Someone who most definitely wasn't supposed to be there.

"Who're you?" Fallon asked, taking a step forward like he was planning to move in front of me.

"Rider," I told him, the name like an exhale. "My brother."