The dealer pulled breath in through his nose, stared at Hop before his eyes shifted to the side and he took in Dog then he came back to Hop. What he saw on their faces must have convinced him because he nodded.
“Again, one warning. Next time, you don’t walk away,” Hop stated.
The dealer nodded again.
Hop jerked his hand up to the dealer’s jaw, yanked him away from the wall then slammed his head into it. The dealer cried out before Hop let go and stepped back.
The dealer crumpled to his knees, one hand to his throat, the other one to the back of his head. He tipped his head back, looked at Hop and Dog, got to his feet, and took off.
Hop and his brother watched until the dealer was out of sight.
Then Hop asked, “You callin’ this into Tack or you want me to do it?”
“I got it,” Dog grunted, pulling out his phone.
“Brother,” Hop called and Dog looked from his phone to Hop. “We patrol every night. Used to be, few and far between, we find this shit. This is the second night this week.”
“Escalating,” Dog agreed.
Hop turned his head to look down the sidewalk where the dealer had taken off.
Benito Valenzuela had been a minor player years ago but one Tack had heard about and intuitively kept his eye on.
Tack’s intuition, as usual, was right.
When things shifted in the underworld of Denver—big players like Darius Tucker opting out of the drug trade, Marcus Sloan downsizing operations, the Russian Mob losing its leader and reorganizing, amongst other things—Valenzuela saw his opportunity and didn’t waste time. He quickly amassed territory however he needed to do it, negotiating for it or going to war for it.
But Benito didn’t bother approaching Chaos for a piece of their island.
For over a decade it was known the five square miles around the auto supply store and custom car and bike shop the Chaos MC owned and ran was clean of drugs and whores. The brothers fought for it to be that way and went out every night to keep it that way.
Benito knew better than to ask.
So he was going to take.
Everyone who tried before Benito, and they were very few, left with a Chaos warning.
But the battle to free Chaos, inside and out, of all that shit had been fought so long ago, new players like Valenzuela didn’t know or didn’t remember how brutal it was. He didn’t know how far Chaos would go to keep their patch clean.
Hop remembered how brutal it was. That memory was burned in his brain and inked into his skin, the last just like every Chaos brother.
They didn’t need this shit.
Dog started talking and Hop turned his eyes to him.
They didn’t need Benito’s shit but they were ankle deep in it.
And it was rising.
Hop turned his eyes back to the night, listened to Dog reporting in, and he did this thinking… fuck.
After patrol, he wanted to go to Lanie’s, take off his clothes, lay his body down in her soft sheets, curl her warmth into his and fall asleep smelling her perfume.
He couldn’t do that, for a variety of reasons.
Instead, he did what he had to do. When Dog finished his call with Tack, they moved to their bikes, threw their legs over and resumed patrol.
And when they were done, Hopper went home and laid his body down in his empty bed.
Chapter Two
We’ve Got Tonight
I was on an upward glide when I heard Hop’s voice, low and growly, order, “Enough, lady, come here.”
I didn’t go there. I kept working his cock, lips, tongue, suction and hand, bobbing and stroking, giving it my all.
His hands, both cupping my head, moved, his fingers sifting into my hair, and he repeated on a half groan, half grunt, “Lanie, enough. Come here.”
I ignored him and kept going. Pushing it. Wanting to give it to him. Wanting to drive him wild.
It worked. I knew this when his hips drove up, his hands in my hair pressing down, filling my mouth with his cock. I moaned against it even as he groaned, “Fuck.”
I pulled out all the stops and gave him more.
“Goddamn it,” he snarled, his hands moving from my hair to under my arms and I lost purchase on his cock because Hop hauled me up his body and rolled both of us so I was on my back, he was on top of me and he kept snarling but this time in my face even as he thrust inside, plunging deep, filling me, making me whole, “Come here.”
I was there, he was there and, incidentally, I was coming.
My eyes closed and my head shot back, pressing into the pillows but only for an instant because his hand drove into my hair, fisting hard.
“Look at me,” he growled, thrusting deep, so deep I knew tomorrow I was going to ache. Ache in a good way. Ache like I’d ached every day for thirteen days. An ache I savored. An ache, when it started to fade, I craved having back.