Fallon by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

Danny

 

 

 

I'd be damned if I let Fallon know that I'd been scared. Practically pee my pants scared.

I mean, I was getting to know the town. But it took a lot longer when you didn't grow up somewhere to learn all the intricate ins and outs. It left me at a distinct disadvantage during an emergency sort of situation. Which left me doing the unthinkable. Relying on Fallon to guide me.

Though, apparently, it was the clueless leading the clueless because he got us into not only one, but two, dead-ends. It was actually kind of impressive, to be honest.

But, yeah, I'd been freaked.

And because I learned a long time ago to cover any soft emotion with something harder, I did the only thing I knew how to do in that sort of situation.

I lashed out.

It was my default setting.

Distract, deflect, and deal with it later.

Unfortunately, Fallon wasn't one of my men. He didn't just have to take it, or try to make the situation better.

No, he could lash right back out.

And to be fair, the man had some points.

I hadn't been using my most rational brain right then.

When it came to survival instincts, my scales were more heavily tipped toward fight than flight. But when your attacker was invisible, just a shadow in the night, you had no choice but to default back to your only other option.

Flight.

It wasn't a rational move by any means to climb that fence. But it was the only way out that wasn't running directly into a spray of bullets.

And as much as I hated to admit it, when Fallon grabbed my waistband and yanked me off the fence, well, it had sent a shot of desire through my system. It wasn't that I liked being manhandled per se, but I tended to like aggressive men. The alpha in me responded to the alpha in them, I guess.

But then, oh, then he did the unexpected.

He used himself as a shield to protect me from the bullets.

Sure, he was rough and rude about it, but he'd done it.

I was nobody's delicate flower. I wasn't the kind of woman most men felt the need to protect with their very lives. Hell, my own men had my back, sure, but they didn't use themselves as a shield in sticky situations, either. Because no other MC president would expect that. And I'd always made it clear I wanted to be treated just like they'd treat a man in my same position.

So I'd never known what it was like to have a strong man protect you. Which meant the flood of warmth in my chest was completely unexpected, off-putting, and yet comforting. Strangely welcome, even.

And, damn him, he smelled good up close.

I'd crossed paths with the guy dozens of times since moving into town. We'd always managed to trade nasty remarks and toss around sarcasm and thinly veiled threats. But I'd never once been close enough to know what the man smelled like.

It was a mixture of leather and some sort of woodsy soap.

Simple and masculine.

Which was what I liked.

I could never get into guys who used more personal care products than I did, or smelled like a bottle of Axe body spray like we were teenagers again.

Did I take a couple of deep breaths to take in more of that scent? I'd never admit it aloud, not even under duress, but yes, yes I did.

You know, before I remembered myself, that is.

Then I went ahead and got us the hell out of Dodge. At least temporarily.

I didn't want to admit this either, but I was glad Fallon had his men heading out to check shit out. Not because my men weren't every bit as capable, but because I imagined mine were too drunk to do a halfway capable investigation. The older generation of Fallon's club were likely all home in bed, getting some sleep, and would be sharp and keen-eyed.

Especially because we didn't know who the shooter was shooting at.

Either one of us could have been the intended target.

Or both.

You couldn't rule that out, either.

But with his men on the way, we would get some answers. And we wouldn't be sitting ducks for much longer.

The relief of that mixed with the lingering adrenaline-laced fear still coursing through my body was what had me snapping at Fallon who, objectively, hadn't actually done anything wrong.

One minute, we were yelling at each other.

The next, his hand was grabbing the back of my neck roughly enough to hurt, and his lips were crashing down on mine. Just as roughly. Bruising, really.

The shock shot through my system, making my whole body jolt at the contact. But the shock was quickly chased away with something else entirely.

The knife's edge of desire—sharp, burning, piercing through me.

His teeth nipped my lower lip hard enough to drag a gasp out of me before his tongue moved inside to claim mine.

I kissed him back.

It wasn't my proudest moment, but there was no denying it, either.

I kissed him back. Just as hard. Just as eager. Just as heated.

"That," Fallon said, pulling back, looking down at me with heavy-lidded eyes. "That is how I'm going to stop you," he told me, smirking.

It was the cockiness that managed to break through the haze of desire clouding my better judgment.

"You should—" I started, arm raising, hand cocked. What can I say? I hadn't exactly been taught healthy coping mechanisms for my anger. Who would have taught me? The bikers who were constantly going at each other? Not likely.

But I barely got my arm halfway up before Fallon was grabbing it at the wrist, yanking it high while he shoved me backward into the wall, pinning my wrist above my head against the rough wall before his lips slammed down on mine again. Harder, hungrier, rekindling that desire throughout my system.

It was an oppressive weight on my lower stomach, a clawing, undeniable need between my thighs.

A rumble moved through his chest as a moan escaped me, betrayed me.

My free hand rose.

To push him away, surely.

But my fingers curled into his shoulder instead, holding on as his teeth nipped, as his tongue teased, as his chest pressed me more tightly against the wall.

"I should do that, right?" he asked as his lips pulled from mine. "And this," he went on, his hand sliding up my side, slipping under my tee. His fingertips whispered across the skin of my stomach, making a shudder course through me before his hand finally found its target, slipping under the cup of my bra, and squeezing my bare breast.

My nipple hardened immediately against his touch, making that cocky smile of his stretch a little wider.

I stood there in horrified arousal as his fingers rolled and pinched and drove me up higher and higher.

"That's one way to shut you up, huh?" he asked.

"You're a fucking asshole," I snapped, hand flattening on his shoulder, ready to push him away.

"Yeah," he agreed, smile devilish. "But you're the one who wants to fuck me."

"I don't—" I started to object.

But his hand left my breast, and in an instant was slipping inside the waistband of my pants, pressing against the wet material of my panties.

"Wanna try that again?" he asked as his thumb found my clit, and started to work it with firm pressure.

"I fucking hate you," I snapped even as I fantasized about his cock slamming inside me, taking away the clawing need between my thighs.

"Yeah, I hate you too, babe," he agreed, releasing my pinned wrist, allowing him to work my button and zipper free, then yanking down my pants and panties.

No.

No I was not going to do this.

Not with him.

Of all the fucking men on earth.

But then he was reaching for a condom.

And I was yanking at his pants.

Then he was slipping the condom on his cock that wanted me every bit as much as I wanted him, despite what a terrible idea it was.

Trapped by my shoes and pants, Fallon's hands grabbed my hips, turning me, and pressing me against the wall.

I should stop this.

I needed to stop this.

Those were the only words my rational mind could get through the haze of desire.

But then it was too late.

Because I arched outward toward him.

And he slammed inside me.

There was no stopping it then.

Even if I wanted to. And if I were being honest, I didn't want to.

It had been so long. I needed it so badly. And he was there. That was all it came down to. Proximity when a near-death situation had made all my senses get heightened.

It wasn't about him.

"Fuck," he hissed, staying still for a moment, giving me a chance to feel the fullness of him.

My walls tightened hard around him, holding on as a growling noise moved through him as his hand moved up, grabbing the hair at the base of my neck, and yanking me back by it, making the pain across my scalp mix with the pleasure between my thighs as he started to fuck me.

Hard.

Fast.

Exactly how I wanted it.

There was no use pretending I wasn't into it anymore. Not as my pussy clenched his cock, as my hips slammed back into him as he thrust into me, as my soft sighs became ragged, almost pained moans.

On a growl, Fallon's free hand slipped to the center of my back, pushing me forward and down as his other hand slipped from the roots to the ends of my hair, making the pain more acute as I leaned forward, nearly able to touch the floor if I reached out.

The new position had his cock pressing up against my top wall, engaging my G-spot that I was sure only one man I'd ever been with even knew existed, let alone how to fuck me in a way that would work it.

"Fuck," I hissed, hands curling around my legs as one of Fallon's hands sank into my hip, holding me in place.

"Work your clit," he demanded, voice tense, getting close to losing control. "Do it," he demanded again, giving my hair ends a twist that made a delicious pain/pleasure combination assault my system.

Releasing one of my legs, I pressed my hand between my thighs, working my clit like he demanded, feeling my walls getting tighter and tighter by the second as I got closer and closer to the edge.

"Good girl," he hissed.

I wanted to be appalled by his praise, but there was no denying the swirling of pleasure in my core at his words as he continued to fuck me. Harder. Faster. So rough that the backs of my thighs hurt from slamming into his. But the pain just helped drive me higher and higher up.

"Come," he demanded, releasing my hair to grab my other hip, using his hands to yank me harder back into him as he fucked me impossibly harder still. "Come," he demanded again, voice rough.

And there was no way to stop it as his cock worked my G-spot and my finger worked my clit.

The orgasm slammed through my system so hard that it stole the cry of my release, leaving me gasping for air instead, my whole body shuddering hard as the first waves crashed through me.

"Fuck, yeah," he hissed, feeling my walls gripping his cock.

My breath finally came back to me. I let out a long moan as he continued to fuck me through my orgasm before slamming deeper still, his body jerking as he came.

It was all of, oh, point-five seconds after the orgasm finally released me that I realized what the fuck we'd just done.

Oh, God.

Oh my fucking God.

I did not just let the goddamn Henchmen mini-president fuck me.

That did not just happen.

Only it did.

And he was still inside me.

On that thought, I pulled away, reaching down to grab my panties and pants, yanking them back into place. I was walking back toward the door before I was even finished fastening my pants.

"The fuck are you doing?" Fallon snapped as I made it to the door, retrieving my phone with one hand, and tucking my boob back into my cup with the other before reaching to undo the door lock.

"I'd rather be out there with the bullets," I said as he moved in behind me.

"Don't be stupid," he snapped, grabbing my wrist.

"Don't fucking touch me," I growled, yanking out of his grasp, then charging outside.

My hand reached for my gun as I rushed out of the small alley and into the bigger one, hearing voices. Some calm and collected, others raised.

It sounded like some of my men.

Which meant they were likely arguing with some of Fallon's guys.

"If someone took our president because of you—" Dutch was yelling at the tall, dark, and handsome older version of Fallon. His father, Reign.

"Nothing happened to me," I announced as I moved into the alleyway. "It takes more than a few pesky bullets to take me out. You know that."

"My son..." Reign said, voice strained.

"Don't worry. Your little president-in-training is fine too. He'll live to annoy all of humankind for another day."

"Did you see anyone?" Grandpa asked, looking like he wanted to reach out for me, but knowing he couldn't. Because the men were around. And because I wouldn't accept it. I couldn't. There was no room for that softness in our hard lives.

"It was dark. I couldn't even see where the shooter was positioned. They had a lot of ammo, though."

"You good?" Reign asked, looking past me.

I didn't look back. I couldn't. I wasn't sure the guilt wouldn't be right there on my face if I did.

It turned out I wouldn't need to. Because Fallon didn't wait for me to move aside to let him pass. Nope, he just went ahead and rammed right into my shoulder.

"Hey," Dutch hissed, settling down when I held up a hand to silence him.

It didn't escape me, though, that Reign shot his son a look that I could only describe as a mix of confused, disappointed, and annoyed.

Because the Henchmen were well known for not putting their hands on women.

"Hey, man. I missed all the fun!" one of his men said, moving forward through the crowd.

He was one of the newer members. Dezi, if I recalled correctly. A fun-loving shit-starter who seemed allergic to wearing a shirt underneath his cut for some reason.

"Yeah, it was a great time," Fallon said in a dry tone.

"And now the question is," Reign said, looking between Fallon and me, "were they here for Fallon, Danny, or the both of them?"

"How'd you two end up at the same place at the same time anyway?" Dutch asked, brows pinched.

"We were both leaving Chaz's," I explained.

"My bike crapped out," Fallon added. "I was debating if I should push it home or not when she came around the building."

"Walking back to my clubhouse," I added, wondering if it looked suspicious that Fallon and I refused to glance at each other.

"No one was on the street?" Reign asked as some of his men came back from walking around the street.

"Not that I remember," Fallon said.

"I mean, there were people outside of Chaz's. And there are always people around this neighborhood at all hours of the night. But if they were around, they were in the shadows."

"Oh, here comes Jersey's finest," one of Reign's other men said, jerking his chin toward the red and blue lights flashing up the sides of the buildings around the next corner.

"Here," I said, handing my gun off to Pops. "Get lost with that."

"Yeah, here," another of Reign and Fallon's men said, holding a hand out for Fallon's gun, then taking off back toward Chaz's as Pops headed off in the direction of our clubhouse.

They were both just out of sight when the cop cars finally pulled up.

"Beast," Reign greeted one of the officers as he slid out of his cruiser.

Officer Beaston was his actual name. But it seemed like everyone called him Beast. He looked like one, too. He was a brick wall of a man that the police department barely made a size large enough to clothe, judging by the way his biceps bulged against the material of his sleeves. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and towered over his partner as she climbed out of the cruiser to move forward with him.

"Reign. What's it been? Five whole minutes since you started shit in this town?" Beast asked, shooting Reign a look of resigned annoyance.

"We haven't started anything," Fallon said, drawing the cop's attention. "I was trying to figure out what was wrong with my bike when someone started shooting at us."

"Us?" Beast asked, looking toward the Henchmen.

"That'd be me," I said, raising a hand. "I was walking home from Chaz's."

"And let me guess," Beast said. "You two have never done anything to deserve it. You're saints and all that shit."

"I'm sure I've done many things to deserve it," I said, shrugging.

"I'm assuming your people have been all over my crime scene," Greys, Beast's partner—a short, slight, dark-skinned woman with golden-brown eyes—said, looking between us.

"They came when they heard we were in duress," I explained.

"Yeah, just to comfort you, I'm sure," Beast said, tone dry. "Alright, you two," he went on, pointing to Fallon and me. "I need to talk to you. How about you tell the rest of your crews to head out?"

"That's not happening," Reign said.

"Someone tried to kill them," Grandpa chimed in.

"Are we supposed to expect you all to protect Danny if the shooters come back?" Dutch piled on.

"This fucking town," Beast grumbled under his breath. "Fine. But back up, so we can work," he said. "Greys, tape," he demanded, waving around the general area where the shooting had taken place.

From there, Fallon and I were pulled apart to be questioned.

He went first, and my stomach was in knots at the idea of him telling them what had happened in that basement. But, no. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't want anyone else to know he was fucking the enemy either.

No.

Not fucking.

Fucked.

Once.

Singular.

It was never going to happen again.