Crash by Jeanne St. James
Chapter Three
Crash hadno problem finding a beer.
Since he had to ride back to the motel instead of only walk out to a camper or tent in the field, he had stuck with that instead of switching to whiskey. He also nursed his beers all night in hopes he’d find someone, other than Liz, to fill his bed back at the motel.
So far, no luck.
Mostly because he was having a problem scraping the blonde out of his noggin.
The fact that the older biker was possessive of someone he shouldn’t be made it more of a challenge for Crash.
The fucker needed to put up or fuck off.
How Ozzy acted was the same as telling a woman “you can’t have me to yourself but no one else can have you, either.” And that shit was just fucking wrong.
He finished his beer and figured he’d throw in the towel for the night. Tomorrow was a new day and maybe someone else would catch his interest.
Someone available.
Someone not fresh out of diapers, either.
He was heading across the fire-lit courtyard when he spotted something.
Someone.
A blonde. Though, this blonde had purple streaks running through her hair. So it wasn’t Liz, but her name also started with L.
Lily.
She was sitting on the top of a picnic table in a dark corner of the pavilion with a guy—one not wearing any colors—standing between her legs and leaning into her.
He paused, stared and wondered if he should check out what the fuck was going on. He glanced around to see if he could spot Dawg or Emma but he couldn’t find them anywhere.
He guessed they’d already hit their sleeping bags for well-needed adult private time since they probably didn’t get much at home between their girls and grand-baby Asia.
However, that left their second oldest daughter on the loose.
Crash knew they forced Lily to come along this weekend so their daughter wouldn’t invite a guy over and give them another grand-baby before they were ready. But from what Crash was seeing, bringing her along might have actually upped that risk. Between the three clubs, too many horny, single guys walked among them.
Including Crash.
Even so, she was far from an innocent girl any longer. With her looks, her brains and her attitude, that meant trouble with a capital T.
“Fuck,” he whispered. Lily wasn’t his responsibility. She was Dawg’s and she was also legally an “adult.” He should mind his own fucking business.
He sighed. He wasn’t going to mind his own fucking business.
He changed direction and headed toward the pavilion, ignoring the other couples getting it on using the picnic tables and pavilion posts as props during their sloppy, drunken sexcapades.
He did a quick scan to make sure they weren’t anyone they shouldn’t be, realized he had no fucking clue who they were, and continued on to his destination.
He stood behind the guy, who was tall as fuck, as the two of them made out.
Crash grimaced as Lily grabbed the guy’s ass and groaned. Fuck him. It was difficult not to see her as a little girl anymore.
He waited a few seconds to see if they’d realize he was standing there and when they were too busy with their tongues and hands, he finally tapped the guy on the shoulder.
No response.
He tapped harder this time. “Yo.”
The guy jerked and pulled away from Dawg’s girl. He glanced over his shoulder at Crash but didn’t say a fucking word. He also didn’t look worried. When he damn well should.
“Oh shit,” Lily whispered when she spotted him. “What are you doing, Crash?”
“What are you doin’?”
“I was forced to come along and was told to have fun. So, I’m doing what I was told.”
“Looks like it. But doubt this is what your parents meant by havin’ fun.”
“Why? Dad’s banging mom right now in their tent.”
Crash’s eyebrows rose. “And you know that how?”
“Because I heard it when I passed by. Believe me, I know what it sounds like since I’ve heard it enough. They’re always screwing. The only difference is here there’s no headboard to bang against the wall.”
Was she being fucking serious? He could never be sure with her. “You tell ‘em you hear them?”
She nodded.
“And?”
“They told me that’s how Lee-lee was made.”
Crash snorted. “No shit.”
Lily shrugged. “No shit.”
“Then that’s a good reason why you shouldn’t be doin’ the same. Doubt you’re ready for your own Lee-lee.”
“You’d think at your age, you’d know the ways to have sex without having kids,” was her smart-ass slap-back.
“Yeah, but I ain’t a barely nineteen-year-old girl whose father will fuckin’ kill her if she’s caught bangin’ some strange this weekend.”
“He’s not strange.”
Crash cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, so you know him?”
“I do now.”
He turned toward the guy and after seeing his face, Crash realized he wasn’t much older than Lily, if at all. “How long you known each other?” he asked him.
The kid shot a quick glance at Lily before answering. “About an hour.”
Crash sighed. “You old enough to drink?”
“Not yet,” he answered.
“She ain’t, either. That means if I find out you got her drunk and stuck your dick in her, shit ain’t gonna end well for you.”
“My father’s the Fury’s enforcer.”
“An’ I don’t give a fuck if he’s God. I said what I said. Got me?”
“Crash!” Lily yelled, getting pissed with him meddling.
He didn’t give a fuck. He couldn’t walk away in good conscience and not give that warning. He didn’t want to see Lily’s future destroyed by making a mistake with some horny teenager she didn’t even know. Her older sister had been an unplanned pregnancy. A child Dawg didn’t even know existed until Caitlyn was around thirteen. He was cut out of her life from the day she was born until he fought for visitation when she was fourteen. Dawg might’ve never known he had a daughter if someone hadn’t slipped and told him.
“Why do you guys have to ruin everything?”
“‘Cause we can,” Crash told her. “Do what you gotta do to have fun. Just make sure your clothes stay on while you’re doin’ it.”
That was the best he could do and hoped they heeded his warning.
He turned to the man-child. “Keep your dick in your pants. And if you can’t, go find someone else.”
“Crash!”
“I’m done here,” he muttered and continued on to the line-up of sleds to find his.
As he walked away, he debated whether to head back to his motel room or stick around a while and watch to make sure Lily and her new friend didn’t disappear together.
Lily ain’t your responsibility,he reminded himself. Maybe he’d shoot Dawg a text to give him the heads up. But he didn’t really want to worry the man or fuck up his alone time with his wife.
He sighed, scrubbed a hand over his short hair and then drug it down his cheek. Fuck yeah, stubble was already growing. It would fill in by the time he straddled his sled and headed back to Shadow Valley on Monday. Then nobody would be poking at his chin dimple and he’d no longer want to break the fingers of anyone doing it.
He slowly walked down the line of bikes, having difficulty finding his own in the dark. It wasn’t like he could pull out a key fob from his damn pocket and hit the button to flash the lights and beep the horn like on a cage.
Though, that would be pretty helpful in a situation like this.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he swung his head toward it to see if he knew whoever it was.
He did.
Even though the person moved through the dark, he recognized her. Because even in the short amount of time he’d talked to her, she’d been seared into his brain.
He left the line of bikes behind and took long strides in her direction. He had no idea where she was headed but he was about to cut off her path and find out.
If he was lucky, maybe he wouldn’t be spending the rest of the night in his bed alone.
She jumped, released a little squeak and slapped a hand over her mouth when he appeared before her out of the dark.
She visibly relaxed when she recognized him. “You’re still here.”
For fuck’s sake, her husky voice alone could give him a goddamn woody like he was eighteen again. Back then, if the wind blew a certain direction, he’d get hard. Now at forty-four, not so much.
At least his equipment was still working like it should. Thank fuck.
“Just about to leave. You got a place to land?”
“I live in the area, remember?”
Yeah, that was dumb of him. But then, all the beer-infused blood in his head had landed in his dick. “Meant somewhere to land where you wouldn’t be by yourself.”
She swung a hand in the air. “Around here, you’re never by yourself.” She was purposely misinterpreting his words.
“Where’s your cage?”
“I… caught a ride.”
“Need a ride home?”
“I have one already.”
Even in the dark, he could read it in her face. He didn’t have to ask but he did it anyway. “With him?”
She nodded.
“You love him?”
Her mouth opened, hung there for a long second, then she said, “I have to go.”
Crash grabbed her wrist and didn’t let her escape. “He won’t put his name on your back, but you sure act like it’s there.”
“He’s waiting for me,” she whispered, glancing behind him.
“He don’t own you,” Crash said. “He said that himself. Means the club as a whole owns you.”
“Nobody owns me,” Liz said more firmly and sounding a bit insulted. “I’m just out on loan.”
“What does that fuckin’ mean?”
“It means that the moment I’m done with all of this, I’m done. No one else will decide that.”
“Bein’ a sweet butt.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Yes.”
It was the first time she actually admitted to what she was.
“Are you the kind that thinks it’ll lead to becomin’ an ol’ lady?”
“Not one of my goals.”
“Why’s that?”
“I have my reasons.”
She was frustrating the fuck out of him. “Our three clubs agreed to share their sweet butts. None were off limits. That means as long as you’re willin’ it won’t cause a problem.”
“It might cause a problem.”
“‘Cause you’re unwillin’? Or ‘cause he’ll cause the problem? You said earlier that he ain’t the only one whose bed you land in.”
“No.”
“But he acts like you belong to him.”
“Yes.”
“He share you?”
Again, a long hesitation, but she finally nodded.
That answer surprised him since this Ozzy acted so damn possessive. “You mind that?”
She glanced behind Crash again.
“Didn’t hear your answer.”
“I know the deal,” she said softly.
“Why’d you accept that deal?”
“Again, I had my reasons.”
“An’ you ain’t gonna share those reasons.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Yeah, but you could get to know me. Just tell me you’re willin’ and we can go wherever you wanna go. My room, your place, wherever.” He was willing to go anywhere she was.
At this point, he didn’t even care if they fucked or not. He had this strong and strange urge to get to know her first.
Christ, that was proof he was getting old. In the past, he never needed to get to know a female before fucking her as long as the woman was willing and she caught his eye. He sometimes didn’t even bother to learn her name. She wouldn’t be sticking around long enough for it to be used.
The roar of straight pipes ripped through the air as a sled rolled in their direction.
Crash didn’t even bother to turn around. He already knew who it was by the look on Liz’s face.
“You got a choice,” Crash reminded her. “I got a spot on the back of my sled. Your ass would fit perfectly there.”
A smile finally broke out on her face. “You’re determined, aren’t you? I’m just a sweet butt.”
That was bullshit. “The fuck you are. I’ve been around sweet butts for the past twenty-six years. That’s a helluva lot longer than you’ve been one. Trust me when I say you ain’t just a sweet butt. You joked about playin’ a bartender on TV, thinkin’ it’s the same when it comes to you wearin’ that cut. You’re playin’ a role for some reason and I’m curious to know why.”
The sled pulled up beside them. “Let’s go,” Ozzy growled over the exhaust.
Crash ignored him. “Again, he’s actin’ like he owns you.”
Her gaze sliced back and forth from Ozzy on his sled to Crash blocking her path.
Ozzy twisted the throttle to rev the engine several times and shouted over it. “Let’s go, Lizzy!”
“Gotta go,” she said, her smile gone again and her mouth now tight.
“Yeah, Liz. You go, then. See you around.” He sucked on his teeth as he watched Liz use Ozzy’s shoulder to climb behind him on the sled.
Crash remained where he stood as he watched them ride down the long dirt and stone lane and disappear into the night.
He lost that fucking hand. But he wasn’t giving up the game yet because he was determined not to fold. Fuck no. He was determined now more than ever to win and claim the pile of chips at the center of the table.
That prize just happened to be a blonde named Elizabeth.
Who also happened to be property of another club.
* * *
Crash’sfuzzy brain became aware of an annoying squeak from both a mattress and a female.
Neither belonged to him.
He groaned and realized his tongue was fuzzy, too. After watching Liz ride away on the back of Ozzy’s sled last night, he’d went inside The Barn and helped himself to a bottle of Jack and brought it back to The Grove Inn to indulge.
Sometime before Rig returned, he must have fallen asleep. Or passed out. With the way his head throbbed, his guess was the second one.
But Rig did eventually return and he didn’t return alone.
Crash rolled over to face Rig’s bed and forced open one eyelid.
A naked Callie, with her head thrown back and releasing chipmunk noises, was riding Rig’s face while gripping the headboard. So much for them using her fucking tent.
“Christ,” he muttered. Maybe he should’ve pitched a fucking tent himself, instead. And not the one currently in his boxer briefs.
He scrubbed his face with both hands, then forced open his other eyelid to watch Callie in action.
“You still breathin’, brother?” came out sounding like a croak. He cleared the rough from his throat.
Rig lifted one hand from clutching the girl’s ass and gave him a thumbs up.
“All right, don’t suffocate. ‘Cause I ain’t givin’ you mouth to mouth after that.” He rolled out of bed, snagged his jeans from where he dropped them last night and yanked them up his bare legs. He found his T-shirt thrown over a chair and tugged that over his head. He then padded barefoot past the rocking and rolling bed to hit the shitter to brush the fuzz off his teeth.
He didn’t wait long enough for his morning wood to go back down so he could piss. Instead, he came back out and saw the action had progressed to the point that Crash needed to go elsewhere for his erection to go away.
Especially since Callie was still facing the headboard while gripping it, but Rig was now on his knees and railing her from behind. Unfortunately, she now squealed like the chipmunk was being stabbed every time he rammed it home.
At least someone was getting some. With a shake of his head, he spotted his boots and socks. He sat on the edge of his bed while he put those on, watching the action on the next bed with some interest.
Rig’s technique scored a solid seven, while Callie’s… She’d be lucky to score a five teetering on a six. Maybe.
He was glad he turned Callie down. She was too young, too thin, too high-pitched, too… not his type.
He already had a damn headache, she just would’ve added to it.
Getting to his feet, he grabbed his pack of Marlboros and his lighter off the nightstand between the two beds, checked his back pocket to make sure he had the keycard for the room, shrugged on his cut and headed outside. He winced when the sunlight hit his bloodshot eyes.
Tucking a cigarette between his lips, he lit it, sucked the badly-needed smoke deep into his lungs and waited for the nicotine to hit his sluggish blood. He paced the front parking lot until his hard-on subsided enough that he could finally empty his screaming bladder.
He wandered over to the edge of the parking lot, faced the bushes, whipped out his semi and let things freely flow.
With his eyes closed and his head hanging forward as he puffed hands-free on his cigarette, he groaned with relief when his tank was finally empty. He shook the last drops off his dick and tucked it away before turning and heading around to the back of the motel since he had some time to kill before Rig was done busting a nut.
The Grove Inn was an older motel that had been renovated not too long ago. Like the typical old motor lodges and inns, it consisted of a single line of rooms only one story high. The office was situated in the middle where it divided the stretch of rooms in half and was the only part of the building two stories high. He guessed the second story was the manager’s apartment since a lot of old motels had those.
The DAMC should’ve gotten into the motel business. There were plenty of older motels in the Shadow Valley area that could be refurbished and turned into a cash cow. He might have to suggest that to Ace, their club’s treasurer.
When he strolled around back, he took another long drag on his cigarette, wondering where he could find himself a big, greasy breakfast in this town to settle his stomach.
The rear paved area was narrow and empty since the rooms didn’t have direct access to the back. Well, empty for the most part. He was surprised to find a sweet Harley parked behind the building next to two other cages. His eyes followed the sexy lines of the newer Iron 883 Sportster.
Yeah, that was definitely a sweet bike even though it wasn’t customized. Maybe he could talk the owner into bringing it down and letting Jag do his magic. He’d make sure to leave a card at the front desk for the sled’s owner. Drumming up some business this weekend would put some scratch in both Crash and Jag’s pockets, along with the club’s.
A noise, not of the chipmunk variety, had him lifting his gaze to where a deck protruded off the back of the building, proving he wasn’t wrong. The second floor definitely consisted of an apartment.
As he lifted his cigarette to his lips again, his hand froze partway there when he realized the deck wasn’t empty.
Fuck no, it wasn’t empty at all.
A whole bunch of long blonde hair covered the woman’s face as she was bent over the deck railing, facing the back tree line. One of her tits was pulled out of her top and was being squeezed by the man causing her to make the noise that caught his attention. From where he stood, he couldn’t see her from the waist down because of some deck furniture blocking his view.
He didn’t need to see her to figure out she was naked from the waist down.
He didn’t need to see her face to know who she was.
He knew who she was as soon as he recognized who was pumping in and out of her from behind.
Without skipping a beat, Ozzy’s eyes slid to Crash and he jerked his chin up in an asshole greeting. Then he shot Crash a cocky grin and slapped the woman’s ass hard enough Crash could both hear and feel the sting from where he stood.
He gritted his teeth.
Ain’t his business.
She was Fury property.
Ozzy had every right to be giving her dick and Crash had no right to say shit.
Still didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He had plenty of fucking shit to say.
You’d be wastin’ your fuckin’ breath, fool.
Crash didn’t bother to avert his eyes or even give them their privacy. Instead, he decided to be as much of a dick as Ozzy. He leaned back against the building, cocked a knee and planted his boot on the siding. Once comfy, he continued to casually smoke his cigarette while watching them.
Before now, he had no fucking clue that one, or both of them, managed the motel. But that would be the obvious explanation of why they’d be out on the deck doing their thing.
They probably hadn’t expected anyone to wander around back since nothing was back there except for the show he was currently watching. But fuck that asshole if Crash would run away from their display or show how fucking much it bothered him.
So, instead, he settled in. If he finished his cigarette before they finished, then he’d light a joint next. But he wasn’t moving a goddamn muscle until they were done.
Because fuck that motherfucker.
Ozzy grabbed a handful of Liz’s hair and, using it as a handle, pulled her around until she was facing where Crash had parked his ass. Then he yanked her head up so Crash could see her face.
Her eyes widened slightly and, even from where he stood, he could see her cheeks darken. But she didn’t stop Ozzy—though, she stopped being vocal—as he continued to pound her even harder now than when Crash first spotted them.
The other man was making a point.
But then, so was Crash.
The Fury member leaned over Liz’s back and said something into her ear before reaching around and pulling her shirt up until both tits were exposed. He grabbed one again, squeezed it tight and slammed into her even harder.
Her body jerked back and forth with the force of each thrust. Each slap of skin when Ozzy’s hips hit her ass, filled the air. Her free tit swung in rhythm as he twisted the nipple on the one he held onto tightly.
A few minutes later, Ozzy grimaced, his body jerked and he drove deep one more time before stilling.
Crash had held Liz’s gaze the whole time the man inside her was finishing. If she could see how hard he was, he didn’t give a fuck.
But, fuck him, he wanted to be the man on that deck.
He wanted to be the man who just came inside of her.
He wanted to be the man who brushed the hair off her neck and pressed his lips to the smooth skin there.
When the other biker disengaged, Crash flicked the cigarette butt away and headed closer to the deck.
He caught Liz’s gaze again. He had to assume her cheeks were now flushed from exertion and not embarrassment since not once had he ever witnessed a sweet butt be embarrassed. If they were uncomfortable about having sex while being watched or having sex with more than one club member at a time, or even putting on a show with other sweet butts, then they were not cut out to be a club girl.
Women like that didn’t last long.
They had to have thick skin and a bullet-proof self-esteem. Especially dealing with asshole bikers who could be crude, rude and rough. Even disrespectful.
So, yeah, it couldn’t be embarrassment. Otherwise, she hadn’t been a sweet butt for very long and should rethink her choice.
He stopped just beneath the deck, where Ozzy still held her pinned over the railing, and looked up into her face. “You even come? Or did that selfish prick leave you in the dust?”
Liz’s face suddenly disappeared and Ozzy’s replaced it as he leaned over the railing with his eyes hard and his jaw even harder. “Fuck you, asshole. She soaked my dick. Wanna come up here and see? You that desperate for her that you wanna come up here and lick my cum out of her cunt? That what you want?”
What he wanted to do was go up there and pound that motherfucker into the ground. Then toss him off the deck.
He could not get in a fucking fight with a BFMC member. They were allies. Getting into a brawl would create problems between both clubs. Z and Diesel would kill him for causing that problem. He needed to keep his fucking cool.
For fuck’s sake, he was far from the hot-headed teen who got into scraps wherever and whenever over a female.
For the past couple of decades, he’d been living his life loose and easy. There were plenty of available women in the world, he did not have to steal one from another man.
Or club.
Sweet butt or not.
That was just fucking stupid.
But even at his age, sometimes it was hard not to do dumb things.
Crash cocked an eyebrow. “You claimin’ her today at your table?”
Ozzy’s nostrils flared.
“If not, you snooze, you lose, motherfucker.”
“She ain’t yours to have,” Ozzy growled.
Crash spun on his boot heel and strode back toward the corner of the motel, throwing over his shoulder, “She ain’t yours, either.”
And he was going to prove it.
Game on.
