Blood & Bones: Rev (Blood Fury MC Book 8)

Soon Rev’s teeth would be ground down to the damn roots. He’d end up a toothless motherfucking fool. Only one hour into a three-hour planned run and he almost couldn’t take another fucking minute. He was about to lose his fucking mind and expose shit that they needed to keep a tight lid on. For his sake. For Reilly’s sake and for Saylor’s sake.

But seeing Reilly wrapped around Dodge’s back…

Seeing her thighs gripping his…

Seeing her pussy smashed against the bar manager’s ass, who was probably loving every fucking minute of it…

Seeing her tits pressed into a Fury brother’s cut…

“Fuck!” he shouted, hoping the deep, loud roar of their sleds covered up his outburst.

Easy’s head twisted toward him and he gave him a questioning look.

Rev ignored the man who was paired with him in formation, and kept his eyes on the sled directly in front of him. Maybe he should switch positions with Whip, who was riding toward the front. Then he could ignore Reilly’s arms wrapped tightly around a man who wasn’t him.

Sure he fucking could.

But then he couldn’t make sure Dodge didn’t do anything inappropriate with Reilly. Like squeeze her knee or trail his fingers up her thigh, or…

Touch her in any way.

He swallowed down his next, “Fuck!” and screamed it in his head instead.

His sled wobbled and he quickly straightened it out. If he crashed due to his inability to pay attention to anything other than Dodge and Reilly, he’d most likely take out anyone in formation behind him.

It would end up a dangerous game of dominos.

All because of his spiraling, out-of-control thoughts.

Since his parents had considered him a sinner, they had made him repeat the seven deadly sins over and over until he could recite them from memory.

Now, as he repeated each one out loud, the wind whipped it away. “Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride.”

They’d insisted that by him committing any of those seven deadly sins, it would spur him to commit even more. Committing one sin would lead to another and another until his soul was condemned to eternal damnation.

Until he was forever lost and could no longer be saved.

For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t committing only one right now, but all of them.

The sin of lust was his burning desire to touch, taste and fuck her. He committed the sin of gluttony because he couldn’t get enough of her. And he was greedy as fuck. He didn’t want to share her. He wanted to keep her for himself and not let anyone else touch her.

After every time they’d had sex at the motel, once they both came, he had committed the sin of sloth by never being in a rush to move. He wanted to stay right where he was forever. Inside her and connected to her.

Wrath… Fuck. Right now, he was really hating Dodge, even though the Fury brother had no clue what was going on.

He was envious of Dodge because she rode on his sled instead of Rev’s. Envy led into his sin of pride. Reilly shouldn’t want to be on anyone’s sled but his. It shouldn’t have been a goddamn question. Her ass should be planted solidly behind him and her arms wrapped around his waist, instead.

According to his parents wisdom, he was facing eternal damnation because of the woman in front of him who tempted him. And because he realized what he felt for her was much more than simple temptation.

Worse, she had blown off his words as if they’d meant nothing. But then, at the time, he hadn’t taken them seriously, either.

When they first were spoken, he thought it was a mistake. A crossing of wires in his overloaded brain. But, yesterday, after going their separate ways, he realized he hadn’t misspoken. The whiskey had forced the truth to the surface.

It all really hit home last night when sleeping alone in his bunkhouse rack had fucking sucked. In the past, he’d always preferred to sleep alone. Before Reilly, the only night he hadn’t was the night he fell asleep in Sarah’s bed.

But last night, being a typical Saturday night, The Barn had been hopping with his brothers partying. Sweet butts and female hang-arounds did their rounds, making it known they were available. With, of course, his brothers taking advantage of that availability like normal, whether out in The Barn where everyone could watch, back in the bunkhouse or even out in the courtyard against a wall or bent over a picnic table under the pavilion.

For the few minutes he’d been sitting at the bar nursing a whiskey, he had to make excuse after excuse of why he couldn’t double-team Angel with Easy or why he didn’t want Brandy to unzip his jeans and drop to her knees right there on the spot.

Or why he wasn’t in the mood for Billie to do what she normally did to his nipples that drove him batshit crazy to the point he’d blow his load almost instantly and he wasn’t even embarrassed about how fast he came. The woman had some damn good skills and was super-efficient.

It got to the point last night where he finally went to his room, locked the door, plugged his earbuds into his listening holes and ignored the rest of the fucking world around him.

As he sprawled across his bed, drowning out everything else by blasting his favorite Spotify playlist, he went over every fucking moment of their trip. From the second he saw Reilly in the shed waiting for him, to the second he drove away from The Grove Inn yesterday afternoon.

While the run was more annoying than relaxing today, he also wasn’t looking forward to this evening back at the farm when he’d have to once again sidestep the sweet butts as much as possible. With the available brothers dwindling in number, the club girls tended to hone in on the few who weren’t claimed. They reminded him of buzzards circling fresh roadkill.

They’d been complaining a lot lately about the available members being slim-pickings. But until the prospects were patched in, the sweet butts couldn’t touch them and, in turn, the recruits couldn’t approach them for any reason other than to simply hang out. If the prospects were doing anything more than that, they would find themselves outside looking in. That was after their prospect cut was stripped from them and their ass was kicked due to breaking the rules.

So, yeah, the sweet butts were limited to the Fury members without an ol’ lady. That meant they were down to only six: Rev, Easy, Dutch, Dodge, Ozzy and Whip.

And right now, Rev wasn’t in the mood to do anything with any of them. Even if he was, he wasn’t sure he’d want to do it in front of Reilly. If she saw him doing a sweet butt, would she get bent and take off to find some random dick out there and revenge-bang him?

Jesus fuck.

He ground a hand back and forth over his mouth, trying to stifle another loud curse.

This fucking run couldn’t be over soon enough. If he wouldn’t be ridden until his ass was chapped, he’d peel off and go get lost somewhere with booze and a bong. Then when he woke up from his damn stupor, it would be time to go to work and everything would be back to the way it was before…

He barked out a painful laugh and Easy frowned at him.

“You okay, brother?” E shouted over the wind and the roar of their exhaust.

No, he wasn’t fucking okay.

Unless something changed, he was starting to wonder if he’d ever be okay again.

Especially since shortly after they got back to the farm and while getting ready to party for the evening, he spotted Trip and Deacon taking Reilly into the barn and up to the executive meeting room upstairs.

Rev’s asshole had never been so tightly puckered in his life than at that sight.

Reilly’s heart thumped so loudly in her ears, she could hardly hear what Trip was saying as he and Deacon escorted her into The Barn and upstairs to where the club officers had their meetings.

She’d only been up there a couple of times. It was rare any women went upstairs and into their “sacred” room that held the heavy scent of testosterone in the air. Unless, of course, they needed to grab something from the storage area that was tucked between the meeting room and the two apartments on the backside of the bunkhouse.

The heavy, rectangular table that sat in the middle of the space had the BFMC logo carved into the top. Whoever had hand carved it had skills. The table was worn and parts of the wood were nicked and stained since the table was as old as the club. And not the current Blood Fury old, but the Originals old since it had belonged to them. She wouldn’t be surprised if the guys had lifted their legs to mark it like the dogs they could be. The chair at the end, where Trip currently sat as president, was the same chair his father Buck, the former president, had used.

Deacon, who Reilly also considered her ol’ man-in-law, yanked out an empty chair along the side and jerked his chin toward it. “Sit down.”

“What’s this about?” Her pulse was now throbbing at her temples so hard, they could probably see it.

Trip, wearing his ever-present black ball cap pulled low, tipped his head toward the chair. “Sit. Got somethin’ important to discuss with you.”

Should she drop to her knees right where she stood and beg for leniency for Rev? Blame everything on herself? Tell them she forced him?

Throw herself at their mercy?

Offer to take his place for the blanket party?

He didn’t deserve whatever they would do to him. It was all her fault. She never should’ve insisted on going along.

She—

“Sit down, Reilly,” Trip ordered more firmly.

Shit.

“It’s not what you think,” she began weakly as she moved to where Deacon stood behind the pulled-out chair. As she sat, the club’s treasurer rounded the table and settled in the chair to Trip’s right, directly across the wide table from her.

She was afraid to look her sister’s ol’ man in the eye. If she did, she just might start confessing everything in hopes to spare Rev.

“What ain’t?” Trip asked with a small shake of his head.

“What you think. It isn’t what you think.”

“What the fuck you talkin’ about, Lee?” Deacon asked, his brow now wrinkled.

“Why you brought me up here. Whatever you think is wrong. It’s not what you think.” Holy shit. She was babbling like a damn fool.

Late one night, she had stumbled across a documentary on police interrogation and she needed to take a page out of that book. She should just sit down, shut up and let them do all the talking. Then she should either say nothing or simply flat out deny everything.

That sounded like a plan.

If that didn’t work, she’d go back to her original plan of throwing herself at their mercy and begging for Rev to be spared.

“What fuckin’ drugs have you done?” Trip asked, frowning. “You’re actin’ crazy.”

Deacon snorted. “When has she ever been normal?”

Like he should talk. “None. I… Wait. Why did you bring me up here?”

“Fuck that. Now I wanna know why you got all paranoid,” Trip said, pinning his dark eyes on her. “What the fuck d’you need to tell us?”

“Nothing. I… I… I just thought I was in trouble for something.” She grimaced and nervously tugged her hair over her scar.

Deacon noticed the movement she did out of habit, especially when she was anxious, and scowled. “What the fuck would you be in trouble for? What’d you do?”

She sat back, drew a blank mask over her face and cheerily chirped, “Nothing.”

Both Deacon and Trip cocked their right eyebrows, reminding her of synchronized swimmers.

Shit.

“If you got somethin’ to share, share it,” Trip ordered. “If you’re hidin’ shit that might hurt the club and I find out, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not. I swear.”

Trip sat back in his high-backed chair and gripped the armrests tightly. “Better not be lyin’.”

“Is one of the prospects fuckin’ with you? That Scar? Is he tryin’ shit?” Deacon asked, leaning forward, holding her gaze.

Huh? “No. He doesn’t even talk to me.”

“Good,” Trip grunted. “Stay clear of him ’til we got a better handle on him.” The club president sharply clapped his hands together once. “All right. Don’t wanna be up here all night. Wanna go get fucked up and then go get fucked. So, let’s get this shit over with.” He held his hand up. “On a side note, you know you can go to Deke about anythin’, right? He’s responsible for you.”

What? This was news to her. “He is?” Her gaze swung back and forth between the two men. “Since when?”

“Since the second he claimed your sister as his ol’ lady. And once you decided to stay, become part of the club and he made you one of the untouchables.”

“About that—”

“No.” Trip shook his head. “We got other shit to talk about. We ain’t dealin’ with that tonight.”

“I don’t want to be on that list.”

“That’s not negotiable ’til your sister says otherwise,” Deacon said.

“Which will be never,” she muttered.

Deacon shrugged, crossed his arms over his chest and sat back. “Work it out with her. I ain’t fightin’ that fight.”

Trip chuckled. “Yeah, ‘cause he don’t want to be outside lookin’ in. And by lookin’ in, I don’t mean her fuckin’ windows.”

“Ain’t gonna lie. That’s fuckin’ true. Ain’t givin’ up pussy for you to get dick,” Deacon said.

Reilly rolled her eyes. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“You want dick, just get it elsewhere,” Deacon said with another shrug.

“Annnnnd thanks for that advice on how to get laid. But if we really want to get down to it, I don’t need permission from anyone.” She shrugged just like Deacon had and added a raised chin in a clear challenge as she stared back at him.

“Right,” Trip said, his head swiveling back and forth between her and the club treasurer. “But just not with any of our brothers. Or prospects. Get it elsewhere so you ain’t causin’ problems.”

“So… no one cares if I fuck some hobo living by the railroad tracks, but you only care if it’s someone I’ve known for the past year because they wear a Fury cut.”

“Yep,” Trip agreed. “Now, we’re done talkin’ about your sex life and where you need to find dick and we’re gonna talk about the reason we brought you the fuck up here. Don’t got all fuckin’ night. I’m thirsty, hungry and horny.”

It was her turn to sit back in her chair and cross her arms over her chest with impatience. “Then spill whatever you’re going to say.”

Trip’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared under his ball cap. “Damn, woman. Don’t make me change my fuckin’ mind about handin’ you this opportunity.”

She dropped her crossed arms. “What opportunity?”

“You ready to listen?” Trip asked smartly.

Reilly pinned her mouth shut and opened her ears. The word opportunity made her think this wasn’t going to be an interrogation but about something else entirely. That whatever they brought her upstairs for was possibly good and not bad.

“Guess that’s a yes.” Deacon grinned.

“You ain’t stupid…” Trip started.

What kind of conversation starter was that?

She opened her mouth and Trip lifted a hand to stop her. “You talkin’ or listenin’?”

Reilly flapped her hand at him to continue.

“Like I was sayin’, you ain’t stupid and you got business smarts. We ain’t usin’ you to your full potential with you workin’ for Dutch. Also like that you don’t take no shit, so you’d have no problem runnin’ a crew made up of possible dickheads.”

“Coulda omitted the word ‘possible,’” Deacon informed him.

“A crew?” she asked, more confused than ever.

Trip lifted one eyebrow and she shut up.

He continued. “You got a business degree you’re wastin’…”

“Have you been talking to Reese?” she accused him with a frown.

“Woman,” Trip breathed impatiently. The club president had a trigger temper and she could see he was edging toward it.

“Sheesh. All right. Go on.”

Trip pulled his cap off his head, raked fingers through his hair, slapped the hat back on and blew out a noisy breath. He glanced at Deacon, shook his head and then looked back at her. “Pushin’ my buttons, Lee,” he warned.

“It’s a bad habit.”

“Tryin’ to help you out here.”

“Help me or you?”

Trip’s mouth got tight. “Both. You wanna hear it? Or you want me to cut this shit short and find someone else who don’t backtalk?”

She stared at the club’s president sitting at the end of the table. In the chair of power.

He could’ve told her to fuck off when she was in danger from Billy Warren, he didn’t. He allowed her to come out to the farm and stay in Deacon’s apartment until that asshole was gone. He permitted her to stay even after that and become part of the club when she had no blood ties to any of the members and couldn’t become an official member herself. He also helped convince Dutch to give her a damn job because she was bored as hell waiting for that abusive asshole to be caught.

Trip had done a lot for her. So had the rest of the club. More importantly, her sister was deeply in love with the Viking of a man who sat across the table from her. That alone was priceless to her.

Her older sister finally found someone who not only truly loved her back, but would be dedicated, loyal and protective. Traits Reese had hoped for with her first husband, but never got. Instead, she was hurt and ended up building an even higher barrier around herself. An almost impenetrable wall Deacon struggled to scale. But he was smart about it and didn’t push her. He let her begin to deconstruct her wall on her own to the point where he could finally manage to climb over it and into Reese’s heart.

Reese had finally found her happy. Their relationship might not be conventional, but it was real. Because of that, Reilly loved Deacon for everything he did for and gave to Reese. Also, for his endless patience when dealing with her very stubborn older sister.

The club was her and Reese’s family now. They didn’t have to be. They could have shut Reilly out and told her to take her problems with the abusive asshole elsewhere.

They didn’t.

Once again, her eyes began to sting with tears.

What the hell was wrong with her? First, Rev’s declaration of love almost made her cry, now this. And she still didn’t even know what “this” was yet.

She sniffled and nodded.

“You ain’t cryin’ are you?” Deacon asked, his eyes wide and his words a bit panicked.

“I’m not crying!” she exclaimed. “I never cry!”

“All women cry,” Trip muttered under his breath.

“No, we don’t,” she insisted, rubbing the sting away.

“You and your sister are tough as fuckin’ nails,” Deacon said more softly. “I get it. You had to be to survive your childhood. You also had to be to survive that motherfuckin’ asshole Warren. Ain’t a thing if you gotta cry.”

“Can we just get on with this opportunity?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“‘Kay,” Trip started. “Here it is… When we got that trailer for Cage, Dutch spent a fuckload of scratch to temporarily rent it. That got me thinkin’ a similar business would be a good investment for the club. As treasurer, Deacon’s been doin’ the footwork to see what scratch we’d need to invest to get one started. We got the room out here on the farm to set one up and I wanna start doin’ that. It’s a huge investment, but it’s got a lotta potential for profit, ‘specially when the insurance companies are footin’ the bill durin’ natural disasters, house fires, or whatever reason someone would need emergency housin’ for.”

“Like surprise babies,” Deacon chimed in.

“Yeah,” Trip agreed. “Like someone stickin’ their dick where they shouldn’t and then wonderin’ why a surprise that cries pops out months later.”

Reilly planted a hand on her belly in panic for a second, then remembered they’d taken precautions. Not only with condoms but she was also on birth control. Unless Rev’s sperm were mini-Transformers or her eggs were like the Kool-Aid man crashing through a brick wall, neither were getting through those secure roadblocks.

Deacon’s eyes narrowed. “Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Slam your hand on your gut like that,” he answered with a curious tilt of his mohawk-braided head.

“I’m hungry and my stomach’s growling,” she lied and slid her hand down to her lap where they could no longer see it.

“Can we get back to business here?” Trip asked sharply. “She ain’t the only one starvin’.”

“Carry on,” Reilly told him.

“Okay, thanks for your permission.” Trip sighed. “Any-fuckin-way, want you to manage it.”

What? Did she hear that correctly? “Manage what?”

“The fuckin’ emergency housin’ business and the crew who are gonna help you,” he just about shouted like she was hard of hearing.

Holy shit! “Who will be the crew?”

“Castle and Bones for now. They’re gonna get their commercial driver’s licenses and then I’m gonna get them some trainin’ on how to haul and set up the trailers. You’re gonna need that trainin’, too, so you know what the fuck’s goin’ on and you can ride their asses if they fuck up.”

Holy shit! “Am I going to get my own office?” She was trying not to bounce in her seat with excitement.

This was an awesome opportunity, especially if she was allowed to run it herself. She could put her business skills to use. Marketing, advertising…

Trip answered, “Not yet.”

Shit.

“Talked to Dutch already. You’re gonna work outta his office since the business will be slow to start and it’ll be a while before it starts bringin’ in scratch. If you can build it to the point it takes off, gets busy and starts bringin’ in enough scratch, we’ll get you set up somewhere else so you’d only have to concentrate on that. Look at it as motivation to grow that business. Club’s gonna buy two mobile homes to start. In six months, if we find it’s worth it, we’ll buy two more and so on.” He leaned forward and held her gaze. “Also, after a point, you’ll earn a percentage of the profits. In the meantime, Dutch will be payin’ you your salary and the club will be throwin’ you some extra scratch for runnin’ things ’til the business is self-sufficient.”

Holy shit! They were stepping in again in an effort to make her life even better. To give her the purpose she had lost along the way after graduating college and then after almost taking an unexpected, permanent nap.

“Just think, you might be able to afford somethin’ better than that shithole apartment you got now,” Deacon said. “In fact, your sister and I prefer you get a modular and put it near the other three so you’re close.”

The other three were where Judge, Cage and Rook lived all in a neat row.

“They ain’t the only ones,” Trip added. “You know how I feel about you livin’ in town even though it’s close to Dutch’s place and his garage.”

The only reason Deacon and Reese hadn’t moved into a modular themselves was Reese refused to give up her beautiful mountain home to move onto the farm and into a small modular. Reilly didn’t blame her not wanting to sell her dream home, but it was a point of contention between her and Trip, since the club president preferred everyone to live on the farm.

The only acceptable compromise they could come up with in Deacon and Reese’s case was for the couple to continue to divide their time between the farm and nearby Mansfield. Deacon kept the bunkhouse apartment, so the couple could spend weekends on the farm, and weeknights at her house, so she’d be near her law practice. Deacon didn’t mind the twenty-minute drive during the week to spend the night with his ol’ lady.

Reilly’s gaze swung between the two men. “Does Reese know about this?”

“Yeah. She’s in full agreement with the plan since you’ll be puttin’ your degree to better use and eventually makin’ a shitload more money if you make that business a success. She’s already workin’ on the paperwork to establish the business name, get the licenses, and all of that shit, plus draftin’ the contracts you’ll use for the rentals. Red’s gonna do the books for you, too, so you won’t have to worry ‘bout that.”

Holy shit!

“So, you onboard?” Trip asked.

“Hell yes!” she yelled, jumping to her feet. She barely managed to stop herself from dancing across the room. “I freaking love this idea!”

Should she hug them? She wanted to squeeze them both!

“And if the prospects give you any shit you can’t deal with, you know to come to us,” Deacon reminded her.

“I can handle a couple of prospects,” she told them with confidence.

“Figured that,” Trip said with a grin. “If anyone can snag them by the balls and keep ‘em in line, it’s you.”

“I can snag them but I just can’t suck them, right?” she teased the Fury president.

Trip dropped his head to stare at the table and shook it. When he finally lifted it, he said, “Make a deal with you. You convince Reese to take you off the list, we’ll take you off the list. But don’t want you causin’ any fuckin’ drama in the club ‘cause one of ‘em is bonin’ you one night and bonin’ someone else the next. The second you cause that drama, you’re back on that list,” Trip warned her. “You got me?”

She smiled. “I got you.”

“But ’til Reese gives the okay, you’re still stuck on it,” Deacon reminded her. “Don’t get a brother fucked up ‘cause you want to take a spin on his dick.”

She rolled her lips under and nodded.

“Good fuckin’ luck with your sister,” Trip said.

Unfortunately, she would need it.

But even so, this conversation had given her a lot of hope and a much brighter future.