Beautiful Outlaw(4)

She huffs out a frustrated breath and pushes against my chest. I barely have time to roll off of her before she leans over and grabs the phone. She tosses it towards me then crawls out of bed and walks to the bathroom. “At least you got off.”

I smirk at her, wrapping my hand around my still hard dick. “Only once, darlin’. If I’m not mistaken, you screamed out my name three times.”

She smiles as she walks into the bathroom. “If you’re off the phone when I get out of the shower, I might have time to give you a blow job before I head to work.”

I watch the door shut behind her naked ass as I sit up and toss the condom into the trashcan next to the bed. I take a second to think about her lips wrapped around my cock, before picking up the phone. Sliding my finger across the screen, I lift it to my ear. “Make it quick.”

“Bowie, man, I need your help.”

The sound of the voice on the other end causes me to sit up straighter. It’s the voice of someone I rarely talk to, but think about all the fuckin’ time. “Lock, that you?”

He lets out a bark of laughter, before replying. “I haven’t been called that since I left the sandbox. I’m a civilian, or as close as I can get; it’s just Jeremy now.”

Fuck that, he’ll always be Lock to me. He is one of two men I call brother, even though they don’t wear a Savage Outlaw MC patch. Lock, Shooter, and I were in basic training together. Luckily, we were shipped out in the same unit. Then, we served in the Army together for nine years, fighting side by side more times than I can count. When we got out, I returned to the Outlaws. Shooter went home to his woman but ended up finding a club of his own, the Hellions. Lock joined the police force. We all live different lifestyles, but it didn’t end our friendship.

“What do you need, Lock?”

He’s quiet for a minute, before letting out a deep breath. “It’s Laura.”

“What the fuck?” I ask, as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grab my jeans from the floor. “What the hell happened to her?”

I’ve never met his sister, but I feel like I’ve known her for years. During endless hours melting under the desert sun, we would shoot the shit. I talked about the club, Shooter talked about his girl back home, and Lock told us all about his family. Laura, his little sister, was the main topic of conversation most of the time.

At first, I listened to him talk about her just to cut through the boredom. That all changed when he showed me a picture of her. She was a little over seventeen and hot as fuck. From that point on, I absorbed every word he had to say about her. To him, she was his little sister. To me, she was prime spank bank material for the lonely nights.

“Shit, man. Her husband, he’s a damn nutcase.”

That’s nothing new. The bastard married her when she was barely eighteen, and he was in his forties. Lock, Shooter, and I were still in Iraq at the time. I don’t know much about their marriage, other than Lock’s stories stopped soon after and I never saw another picture of her again. Pulling on my pants, I bend down and grab my boots. “What did he do?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Tugging a boot on, I respond. “Try me.”

“I don’t have time, Bowie. I will, but not right now.” He says, sounding like he’s about to break.

Grabbing a tee from the dresser, I pull it over my head then grab my cutt off the back of the closet door. “Just tell me what I can do to help.”

Most people, I would be telling to kiss my ass. I don’t get in other people’s shit; I have enough problems of my own with my fucked up father trying to run the Outlaws into the ground. But for Lock and his sister, I would do anything they need.

He’s quiet for a minute, long enough for me to pull out a Marlboro and place it between my lips. “Brother, you know I’m here for you, so tell me what you need me to do.”

“I want you to take care of my sister for me; I need you to get her somewhere safe. Hide her somewhere that crazy bastard can’t find her, until I can get this shit straightened out.” He finally answers, his voice filled with anguish.

“What the fuck, man? Is she hurt?” Just imagining some motherfucker putting his hands on her has me mad as hell. The feeling has nothing to do with my dreams of her; instead, it’s all about the pain it’s causing my brother.

“No, Bowie. Not the way you’re thinking, at least.”

Growing up with a bastard for a father, I have a pretty good idea of what he means. Cash never laid a hand on any of his women, but the fact that he had more than one in his bed at a time caused a hell of a lot of pain. “I’ll take care of her.”