Fallon by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

Danny

 

 

 

 

If you'd told me that I'd spend my evening digging a grave for the body of some unaffiliated neighborhood guy with Fallon after getting dropped off in the woods by the local cartel leader instead of going to the movies and seeing the new shitty horror movie like I'd planned, I would have laughed in your face.

But there was no denying that was my reality as the sweat dripped down my back and between my breasts, mixing with the dirt I'd kicked up over myself with the shovel Andres kept in his trunk, creating this awful gritty texture across my chest and in my bra as I kept shoveling.

When I took breaks, Fallon stepped in, doing his best to make some more progress to speed up the process, but he was only halfway useful thanks to his bum shoulder and knee that, while he made no comment about them, were clearly killing him.

"How many graves have you dug?" Fallon asked, tone casual as I took the shovel back from him to get moving again. We were getting close. People underestimated how deep six feet was. And how much work it took to dig it. We were hours into it already. My back and shoulders and arms were screaming. But we had to get it done and get it done right, or the animals would dig the body up, and we'd be dealing with a whole different mess.

"I don't know. Six," I guessed. "Something like that. This isn't so bad, though," I said, looking up at him from the inside of the grave. "If you've ever needed to dig a grave in hard clay soil with a shitton of rocks, you'd understand," I added. "Those were a nightmare. I couldn't lift my arms for days."

"Why were you the only one digging?"

"There were multiple graves that needed digging," I told him, shrugging. And despite having enough hands around to do the heavy lifting, I'd always felt the need to prove I was just as capable as they were. Or maybe even more so. "Is this your first?"

"Grave? Yeah. This wasn't your first kill."

He said it matter-of-factly. It wasn't a question. But I answered anyway. "No."

"You were quick."

"I've had a lot of practice," I told him.

"You didn't even hesitate."

"You hesitate, you die. I've seen that happen more than I care to remember. I don't take chances. I'd rather hide a body than be a body getting hidden."

"Rough upbringing, huh?"

I knew my usual instinct was to bristle, to say something snarky. But he was being halfway tolerable. And I was just too tired to put on that persona right then.

"Yes," I admitted, hearing a hint of vulnerability slip into my voice.

"You came out on top, though," Fallon said, voice softer than usual.

"It cost a lot," I told him. "But yes. Does this look close?" I asked, throwing my arms up in the air, figuring that was roughly six feet, give or take.

"It's close."

"Alright. A little bit more," I grumbled.

"Let me do some more."

"I'm faster," I said. "I'm not being a bitch," I added, looking up at him. "And I get you're trying to be all noble and shit, but you can barely lift the shovel. It's easier if I do it. Besides, I shot the fucker," I reminded him, throwing myself back into the work at hand.

"Do you have any ideas?" Fallon asked. When I looked up at him to shrug, he sighed. "I can't show back up at the clubhouse with no fucking ideas to go on."

"Yeah," I agreed, swiping my forehead with my arm. Sweat and dirt made a muddy mixture on my skin. "I know," I added.

It was strange to have someone I had something like that in common with. With MCs, once you got the go-ahead for your chapter, you were kind of on your own. There was no one around of your similar rank, no one who understood the trials and tribulations that came with leadership.

The saying was true.

It was lonely at the top.

Even if you had good friends, had advisors you relied on, there were always some things you didn't share with them. Things you couldn't share with them. Because if you told them about your uncertainties, your insecurities, if you admitted you didn't always have all the answers, they would lose trust in you. And trust was key. You lost that, you lost your men.

"They expect you to know more about a situation even though you only have the same information they do," Fallon added. "I almost feel bad for idolizing my old man. He was just a guy doing his best to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders."

"I like your father," I admitted.

"Yeah? Funny way to show it. Kidnapping him and all."

"Ugh. We've been through this," I snapped, leaning against the packed dirt wall of the grave. "He was just meant to be held for a few days. He wasn't supposed to be hurt. Why do you have to fuck up a semi-polite conversation by drudging up the past? Because in case you weren't aware, there isn't jack-shit I can do to change that now."

"Force of habit," he admitted, not snapping at me like he usually would. "Why do you like my father?"

"He's a good president. He's firm when he needs to be, but isn't a dick about it. He doesn't overreact to everything. Kind of a roll with the punches sort of guy."

"That's true," I agreed.

"And it doesn't seem like anyone has to jump through hoops to get into the club, or get a leadership position of any sort."

"No. He's always been fair. What about you? You had to jump through hoops?"

"I had to walk through the pits of hell," I told him, turning my back on him to start digging, uncomfortable with him looking at me after that admission.

"Because you're a woman."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.

"Yes."

"The other chapter presidents didn't have it so hard?"

"Not remotely," I admitted.

"That explains a lot," he said.

"What? What does it explain?" I asked, tone a little sharper than I'd intended, but I was feeling more vulnerable than usual. Because I'd told him more than I told anyone.

"Why you hate me so much. You resent that I didn't have to walk through hell to get where I am. And why you throw around that attitude. You needed to be tough to get where you are, so you have to always be hard. At least on the outside," he concluded. "I think that's deep enough," he called a couple minutes later. "Toss the shovel out, and come over here. I will help you out," he offered.

I didn't have another choice. I could barely hurl the shovel out. I damn sure wasn't going to be able to pull myself out without collapsing the walls back into the grave.

Taking a deep breath, I moved down toward where Fallon's legs were dangling, and reached up my arm to grab his forearm. His strong hand sank into mine.

"Ready? Jump," he demanded, and I threw myself upward as well as I could, holding on hard enough to dig crescents into his arm as he dragged me up the rest of the way, needing to move backward for leverage since he couldn't use his other hand.

By the time I was up out of the grave, Fallon was flat on his back, and my body was yanked up over him.

On top of him.

I knew I needed to push up, to roll off, to get as far away from him as possible.

Did I do that, though?

No. No, of course not.

I just stayed right there, sprawled all over him.

He smelled like him. Leather and woods. But mixed in was the salty scent of sweat and the metallic twinge of blood.

And damn it, I was just fucked up in the head enough to only find those additions all the more intoxicating.

I had no business staying there, sniffing him. Especially when I was slick with sweat and covered in dirt. I probably smelled awful.

Fallon was still for a long moment before his hand landed on the back of my thigh. Then started moving upward, cupping my ass, slipping up my sweaty back, then my neck, grabbing my hair, and pulling backward until I had no choice but to push up and look down at him.

"We can't." The words were out of my lips before they crossed my mind.

"What's stopping us?" he asked, eyes hungry as my body felt.

"It's a terrible idea."

"Seems like you don't shy away from those," he said, lips teasing up in a far too sexy way.

He was right.

I didn't.

"Our clubs..."

"Are nowhere to be seen," he said, shaking his head. "And I'm sure as fuck not going to tell them."

It went without saying that I wouldn't either.

"I don't think—"

"Don't think," Fallon demanded, fingers massaging the back of my neck.

"You're hurt," I insisted, my argument getting weaker by the moment.

"Can think of one way to feel a fuck of a lot better," he said, that sexy smirk spreading. "Push up, babe," he demanded, voice a soft demand. I felt myself moving without even consciously telling my body to follow his orders.

One moment I was all over him, the next I was straddling his waist, looking down at him, watching as his breathing went as fast and labored as my own.

His good arm lifted, landing on my hip, sinking in.

"Take your shirt off," he commanded.

I was not a woman who took orders.

But my hands slid down and grabbed the hem of my shirt regardless, pulling it and my cut off.

The cool night air moved across my sticky skin, sending a shiver through my body that made Fallon take a slow, deep breath that he held for a second before releasing.

His smile this time was softer, sweeter, as his hand slid from my lip and up my stomach, teasing across the edge of my bra.

It was one of my cutest ones. Well, it had been. Before it got mixed with dirt and mud. But it was a soft baby yellow with white lace edging, and did a great job of jacking my tits up and making them almost spill over the top.

"This is soft," he said. And I could hear the unspoken words: For you.

I couldn't even be mad, though. It was soft for me.

His fingers slid upward, rubbing across the center of the cup, getting my nipple to harden under the material before slipping upward, and sliding into the cup, his palm grabbing me, making a shot of desire start at the contact and move straight down between my thighs.

Impatient, my arms went behind my back, working the clasps free, then removing the bra completely, sighing a bit as the air hit my bare skin. My nipples hardened into peaks. His fingers circled, rolled, pinched, twisted until my hips were writhing restlessly against him.

His cock hardened beneath me, filling me with the promise of fulfillment.

I ground against him for a long moment, driving myself slowly upward before reaching downward, grabbing the neck of Fallon's shirt with restless fingers and pulling until it ripped unevenly down the center.

"Not sure how I'm going to explain that," Fallon murmured with a smirk as I leaned forward to run my hands down the indents of muscles in his torso.

"Who cares?" I said, watching his muscles twitch under my fingertips as they traced the lines of his muscles downward until they met the line of his jeans.

My gaze slid up to his as I undid his button, then the zipper, enjoying the heat I saw there, the anticipation. I felt the twin flame of it sparking and spreading through my body.

My hand slipped into his pants, curling around his thick cock, and stroking him, watching as his breathing got faster and more ragged.

His frustrated hand went to my pants, making short work of the button and zipper, then yanking impatiently.

"Take these off," he demanded, voice rough, frustrated. The sound of his need made my sex clench hard as I released his cock, then pushed myself up to stand over him as I drew my pants and panties down.

His greedy graze slid from my breasts and down my belly to gaze hungrily between my thighs for a moment before reaching in his pocket for his wallet, fishing out a condom, and rolling it on as he snuck glances at me.

"Ride me," he demanded, reaching out to grab my calf, yanking until I followed his directions, lowering myself down to straddle him again.

Lifting my hips, I waited for him to grab his cock, stroking it between my lips, circling my clit until I was moaning and writhing above him. Only then did he slide his cock back down my cleft to press against the entrance to my body.

I wasted no time sinking down onto him, taking him inside, my walls tightening around him as he settled deep.

"Fuck," he hissed as I took him to the hilt, then paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Ride me," he demanded again, thrusting his hips upward into me. Deep. So deep that I felt a twinge of pain.

There was no hesitation then.

I rode him.

Fucked him.

Hard and fast.

His fingers moved over me, squeezing my ass, my breasts, tracing over my scars, then slipping between my thighs to tease my clit even as I leaned backward, bracing my hand on his knees, feeling his cock pressing against my G-spot as I rode him.

Harder, faster.

My whimpers and moans mixed with his groans and curses as I drove us both upward, then toward the edge.

"Come, Danny," he demanded, voice as rough as my nerves felt.

He started thrusting up into me as I circled my hips, as his finger worked my clit.

And then I was crashing down into an orgasm that made me cry out, a loud, almost pained sound that echoed through the woods.

My body trembled as he thrust up into me, finding his own release, my name a curse on his lips.

"Hey, babe?" he called what felt like a lifetime later, long enough for the sweat to mix with the chilly early fall air, making goosebumps prickle over my skin.

"What?"

"Can you let go of my knee now?" he asked, giving me a teasing smirk, but there was pain in his eyes.

Pain.

Right.

"Shit," I said, releasing his knees. "Sorry."

"I'll live," he told me, shrugging.

Taking a breath, I rose up off of him, fetching my panties and pants, getting back into them, then my bra, my tee. Before dropping down on my ass beside him. He'd tucked himself away, but hadn't moved yet.

"Christ," I said, reaching up to brush my hair to one shoulder. "If someone had told me that tonight would end with a bike accident, homicide, grave digging, and fucking the enemy twenty feet away from a corpse, I would have had a good laugh about it."

Fallon's head turned to look at me, a brow raised. "Am I really the enemy still, babe?" he asked. "Or is it just easier for you to think of me as that?"

That was a good question, wasn't it?

"You piss me off every time we speak," I reminded him. "And I do the same to you."

"Only because you spit that 'little president' shit at me."

"You can't put this all on me. You can't stand me."

"You push my buttons. Doesn't mean I can't stand you."

"You once called me a bitch."

"Well, you were acting like one," he said, smiling at me.

"Yeah, I probably was," I agreed, letting out a little laugh.

"Never heard you laugh before."

"It's rare."

"It shouldn't be."

"Says the man who is best friends with all his club members," I shot back.

"Oh, come on, you have to have friends in your club."

"I have Grandpa," I admitted. "But I have to keep everyone at arm's length."

"That's kinda sad, babe."

"That's life, babe," I shot back. "How's your knee? Did I do any damage?"

"Hurts like a mother, but I'll survive."

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, shaking my head at him.

"Babe, in my experience, when a woman is that close, it doesn't matter if you have rebar stabbing you through the chest, you shut your mouth, and let her come before you deal with it."

"Smart man," I said, shooting him a smile. A real one. So big that my cheeks actually ached.

"So, what do we do now?" Fallon asked. "After we finish with the body, I mean."

"Good question. We tell our clubs we had to handle it quickly because we heard the cops." I said. "And Andres was just conveniently there."

"My club isn't going to like owing him."

"Yeah, well, tough shit. Sometimes presidents make decisions their men don't like or understand. It's part of the gig. It's better they see you making that stance now, so they respect it."

"And what about this threat?"

"We need to be on it more. We'd started to think it was an isolated incident when nothing else happened. But you being run off the road is suspicious enough. But a guy coming back with a bullet in his shoulder when I showed up? It's too much to be a coincidence."

"At least now we have a name," he said. "My club isn't going to want to work this case with yours. No offense, just how it is."

"Mine won't either."

"Hey, Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"How about you and I make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?"

"We share information. If we come across anything worth knowing. We're stronger if we are at least somewhat united against someone trying to take over the gun trade."

"That's true," I agreed. "But you want to do it behind the backs of our clubs?"

"For the time being. Until we know more. Then we can unite to take down whatever threat this is."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed.

"We'll need to have a way to get in touch with each other," I said.

"I'm buying a house."

"You're... really? Why? You have the clubhouse."

"Want something of my own."

"Alright, well, we need to exchange numbers anyway," I said, finding my phone.

"What?" Fallon asked a moment later after rattling off his number.

"Nothing," I said, feeling the chuckle bubble up and burst out.

The sound made him reach out with his good hand, snatching my phone out of my hand, and looking down at the name I'd saved him under.

Gynecologist.

"Well, it's not incorrect. I've been all up in that pussy," he said, handing it back.

"Alright. I'm going to roll the body in," I said, tucking my phone away, then getting back to my feet. "Can you go find some brush and branches to put over it when I'm done filling it back in?"

"On it," Fallon agreed, getting to his feet slowly, letting out a couple curses of pain as he did so, but not letting it hold him back.

And, damn if it wasn't sexy when a man could get the job done even when he was in rough shape.

But I tried to keep my mind off of shit like that as I rolled the body in, then shoved the massive pile of dirt back over it.

"Alright," I declared what felt like a lifetime later. "That should do it. You ready to head back?" I asked, turning to look at him.

"Yeah," he said, falling into step with me.

Even when I tried to slow my pace for him, he was struggling to keep up.

"Shut up," I demanded when I wrapped an arm around his waist.

"I didn't say anything."

"But you were about to."

"Unlike some of us," he said, draping an arm across my shoulders, "I don't have too much pride to let someone help me," Fallon told me, leaning enough weight on me that I lowered down an inch as I kept us moving forward.

"Yeah yeah yeah, rub in your well-adjusted upbringing, you asshole," I grumbled, but my lips were curved up.

By the time we made it back into Navesink Bank, it was late into the night, but the Henchmen clubhouse was lit up and lined with bikes and cars.

"Shit," Fallon hissed in my ear.

"They must have found the bike," I told him.

"This is going to be a long night," Fallon grumbled as we pulled in through the gates after he stopped to talk to the guards there.

We were barely halfway into the lot when the door flew open, and Reign came rushing out.

"Here we go," Fallon said as I cut the engine.