Marcus (Savage Kings MC – South Carolina Book Series 9)

Teagan sprawled out naked in my bed is a nice view first thing in the morning. And while I really want to fuck her, I’m trying to keep my hands off of her until her ass heals up a little more.

So, if I can’t touch her, then I’m going to find out more about her.

“How did you find out where I lived?” I ask her curiously. “I know you didn’t follow me home.”

“No, I didn’t follow you.”

“Well?” I demand, watching as she fluffs up two pillows to prop her head on.

“Well, after I left the clubhouse, I went around the block and came back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“I put my watch in your saddlebag.”

“Why would you…” I start before it hits me. “You can track the damn watch?”

“That’s right,” she says with a smile. “Using the app on my phone, I kept track from my hotel room while you and the other poor suckers got drenched by the rain. Then, once you left and stopped, I came over.”

“Pretty slick,” I admit.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teases me with a grin.

“My tongue knows exactly how slick you are,” I remind her. And I love the way her face flushes from the reminder.

“Yeah, but that’s the only part of you that knows.”

“Yet,” I remark, because it’s only a matter of time before I’m pounding my cock into that sweet pussy of hers.

“Yet,” she agrees.

If she knew how long it’s been since I fucked a woman, would she take pity on me and spread her legs? Probably, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to admit to her just how fucked up I am.

“How long have you been a member?” Teagan asks.

“A member of the Savage Kings?”

“No, a member of asshole’s anonymous.”

“Almost five years.”

“So, after…”

“After?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Why did you decide to join?”

“Because I was an angry asshole. I needed a direction for it to be aimed before I ended up in prison for murder,” I answer truthfully. When a man goes without sex for a few days, he gets cranky. After a few years, I became downright homicidal.

“You were pretty mean to the potential prospects the other day. I thought it was a tough-guy act.”

“It’s not an act,” I assure her.

“You’ve killed men.”

“Yes.”

“So, I should be scared of you?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“It’s hard to be scared of a man who knocked me out with his tongue and tucked me into a bed with Egyptian cotton sheets.”

“Would you stop talking about my fucking sheets? Yes, they’re soft. Why is that so important to you?”

“Because they’re such a contrast to you and your…hardness.” She rubs her palm over the comforter and says, “And it’s ironic since you like softness on your skin but enjoy inflecting pain on my flesh.”

“Take it or leave it, little girl.”

“All right, all right, we don’t have to talk about it,” she laughs. “Get undressed and get back in bed.”

It sounds an awful lot like an order, but I’m interested in seeing where this goes, so I do as she says. Once I’ve stripped down to my boxer briefs, I climb back into bed. Teagan slowly rolls toward me, propping herself up on her side, being careful of her tender bottom, and then drags a finger across the black lettering on my chest.

“Carpe Diem, huh?” she smiles. “And a dragon on this arm,” she teases as she drags a nail across my shoulder, over the ink. “A reaper over here on this arm,” she continues as she pushes me back slightly, looking at the arm I’m lying on. “Now, let me see the King’s ink on your back.”

“Sure,” I agree as I roll over so she can get a better look. I’ve admired her backside endlessly so far; turnabout is only fair play. I feel her fingertips trail down my back as she traces the outlines of my bearded skull king, her touch lingering on my spine.

“God, this would look good on me,” she says in a warm exhale, her lips almost touching my back.

“I would look good on you,” I rumble as I roll back to face her. I place my hand on the tattoos of roses and clock faces running down her arm, tracing out her lines as her nipples stiffen and our faces linger only inches from one another.

Her face flushes, but instead of closing the distance and kissing me, she shifts around in the bed until she’s flat on her belly again. “Your tats don’t have that fresh shine on them,” she notes. “You had them for a long time?”

“The back piece was done back when I patched into the club. The others are older,” I confirm.

“Okay…” she drawls when she sees I’m not going to comment further. “So, what do you do for fun when you’re not being a Savage King, huh? I mean, your place is spotless, so apparently domestic chores are a high priority for you…”

“What does that mean?” I snort. “You’re reading too much into it. Just because I don’t like a mess doesn’t mean I’m ‘domesticated.’”

“I didn’t mean to imply you were ‘domesticated.’ I know you’re no puppy.” I swear I see her eyes sparkling as she banters with me. “Not an animal lover? You don’t seem like a cat guy. I bet you would have a big dog if given the choice.”

“No pets,” I reply. “I’m gone a lot, and I’ve got a lot of stuff in my shop I wouldn’t want an animal messing with.”

“Your shop? You have some sort of shop here?”

“Yeah, my workshop out in the garage. Why? You want to see it?” I haven’t told her about my side-hustle or my hobbies. I’m not ashamed of them, though, and who knows, she might even like it.

“Yes, absolutely!” she says as she bounces on the bed, capturing my attention as she suddenly springs to her hands and knees, the swaying of her breasts and the rising of her ass making me completely lose my train of thought.

“Sometimes when I was spending time with my dad, he would take me to some of his friends’ houses,” Teagan explains as she stands up and stretches. “He, um, knew some bikers, and they would always have the coolest stuff in their garages or workshops. I guess it’s no surprise that guys who like to work on motorcycles would be good with their hands. What do you do in your workshop, modify bikes?”

I’m still staring at this pale angel stretching her arms over her head in the morning sunlight. I feel a flash of shame and guilt as she turns to the side, and I can see how her beautiful pale skin is marred by angry red lines on her ass cheeks. I reluctantly gather myself and clamber to my feet to get dressed again. There’s no disappointment, just the old familiar shame and regret bubbling up in my guts. “Come on,” I order her, unable to control how gruff my voice sounds.

“Okay?” she replies at my tone. “Should I put clothes on or go outside like this?”

I walk over to my closet to pull a t-shirt off a hanger and toss it to her. Teagan slips it on over her head and then follows me out through the kitchen.

“You don’t have any dead bodies hiding in freezers, do you?” she jokes as I flip a large breaker on the wall just inside the door. The overhead lights flicker to life, along with my stereo and a couple of old arcade game machines tucked away in the corner. The center of the shop is wide open, ready for me to pull in my motorcycle if the weather turns. I lead Teagan to the far wall, and then wave a hand over the long worktable mounted there.

“Marcus…are these…diamonds?” she asks as she peers at a tacklebox lying open on the table. Under the bright lights that flicker on as I flip switches on the table, the gemstones in the tackle box sparkle as she taps at the transparent lid with a finger.

“Ah, some are,” I confirm. “There are a few rubies, sapphires, tiger’s eye, turquoise, some other precious and semi-precious stones. I actually meant to put those back in the safe, but I left in a hurry last time I was out here working.” I point to a wall safe that has been sunk into the concrete of the rear wall. “Check this out,” I motion to her as I go over and place my hand on the safe. It whirs and clicks as it registers my handprint, and then I swing the door open. Pulling out several small metal bars, I clink them together, then pass them to Teagan. “Feel the weight of these.”

Her eyes widen as she takes the half dozen bars, which practically overflow her small hands. “They’re heavy!” she says, before studying them in the light, looking at the small lettering and numbers engraved on each bar. “These are…platinum, gold, silver. Marcus, what is all this? Do you, like, invest in precious metals or something?”

“I guess you could call them investments,” I shrug. “I call them inventory,” I clarify, after thinking it over for a moment. “I smelted the bars in my furnace to get the metals as pure as I could. I get them different ways, cheap finds at pawn shops, shit like that.” I take the bars back from her and then the tackle box filled with my gemstones, placing them both back into the safe. Then, I pull out a handful of silverware, spreading them out in my hand like a deck of cards before presenting them to her.

“Pick your favorite,” I grin down at her.

“My favorite…spoon?” she asks in confusion, as she stares at the fan of cutlery I’m holding out to her.

“Yeah. Sometimes I go to estate sales looking for fine silverware. Check out the filigree on these old spoons. See the work that went into these handles?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s…that’s something,” she says, her tone clearly humoring me. “So, you go to estate sales to buy deceased people’s silverware, and then…what, you melt it into bars to resale?”

“Oh, shit. I guess I didn’t make it very clear with all this, did I?” I ask as I reach back into the safe. I fish around in the back before pulling out a ring that I slide onto my pinky finger. “I got an apprenticeship at a jeweler years ago, and I make custom rings, necklaces, bracelets. You name it, I can probably put it together. Sometimes I melt the metal into bars, sure, but this old silverware is for something much cooler.” I pull the ring off my pinky after showing her my hand, then hand it over to her.

“Oh God, look, it’s too big for even my thumb!” She laughs as she puts it on her thumb, then flips her hand over and catches the ring as it falls. “This thing is huge!” She studies it under the light, turning the silver band over and over. “This is a spoon handle!” she realizes as she hands it back over to me.

“It is. Couple of the guys at the club had me make spoon rings for them. They’re pretty easy, you just cut the correct length off the filigreed part of the handle, then find a suitable ‘finger-sized’ metal rod, heat up the silver, and bang it out into a ring. Good way to let off some steam, while making something people will actually buy.”

“You sell these?” she remarks, her eyes widening in understanding.

“Well, the spoon rings I just make for friends. I have one I made years ago when I was first starting out, from an old silver fork my grandpa swore he swiped from a dead Nazi back in the War.”

“You used a Nazi relic to make a spoon ring? I bet that would have been worth something, to a certain type of person.”

“Oh, if it had the symbols on it, like the swastika or the bird, I wouldn’t have fucked with it. I wouldn’t make a piece of jewelry with that racist garbage on it. Nah, this fork was unadorned, but it was pure silver. The war story could be complete bullshit. My grandad was known to spin some tall tales. Still, I keep that one close to me and wear it myself. It makes me feel close to the old man, you know?”

“I understand that, more than you probably know,” she agrees. “Having something sentimental like that, something that reminds you of an important person in your life…I’m glad to know you’re that kind of person, Marcus.”

“Eh? What kind? Crafty, handsy?” I pry.

“No, I meant sentimental. It’s a good thing,” she clarifies.

“Oh,” I blurt, then fall silent when I can’t think of how to reply. I throw the practice ring back into the safe, then seal it back up. “Anyhow, I just wanted to show you what I do, so you don’t think I just torment prospects all day or fuck off at the clubhouse.”

“I admit, I was curious about what sort of things you get into,” she smiles at me. Her arms are crossed over her breasts, and I realize she must be freezing out here, still standing around in nothing but a t-shirt.

“Come on, let’s go back inside. I can turn on the heat out here, but I usually don’t. The furnace keeps it hot when I’m working.”

“Thanks,” she says as she rubs her lower arms, then dashes back inside and to my bedroom.

By the time I follow her back into my room, she’s already snuggled back down under the blankets. It looks as though she has no plans to put more clothes or go anywhere. And strangely, I don’t feel any real rush to get rid of her right now. She’s beautiful, fun, and interested in me…

“Shit!” I bark out the word as my perception of the situation suddenly shifts, and I have to remind myself that this little vixen is playing me. If she thinks teasing my dick and warming up my bed are going to make me change my mind about her prospecting, well, she’s going to have a rude awakening. But maybe she wants me and to prospect to? I mean, after what happened last night… “Shit!” I blurt out again.

“Did you forget something?” Teagan asks as she pops up to stare at me. “Or did something bite you? What are you ‘shitting’ about?”

“Ah, I just remembered I need to go to the store today. I’m low on most everything, and if you’re going to hang around…”

“That’s a great idea! Get some strawberries and some eggs, please. I love eggs for breakfast,” she replies.

I’m typing the list of demands into my phone before I stop abruptly, stare at her, then turn on my heel to leave.

“Actually, I’ve got to be somewhere. You can eat what’s in the fridge. See ya later,” I tell her on my way out.

“Wait! When will you be back?” I hear her call as I head out the door. I don’t reply or even acknowledge that I heard her. She doesn’t need to know where I’m going, or when I’m going to be back, because she’s not my woman.

“Manipulative cock tease,” I grumble out loud as I throw a leg over my bike.

Now that I’m out of her ‘danger zone,’ which appears to be anywhere within her line-of-sight, I can think a bit more clearly.

This chick is going to be trouble, and I’m not sure I want to avoid it.