Wild Like the Wind (Page 25)

It was then Hound knew he wasn’t in too deep.

He was totally fucked.

And for some reason he wasn’t sure about but it pleased him the same as it made him uneasy, he knew she was glad about that.

“I hear you,” she said.

“You sure?” he asked.

She brushed her mouth against his. “I’m sure, Hound.”

“We done for tonight?” he asked, because he never thought he’d think it, but he needed a break.

“Fuck no. Cold chicken is awesome chicken.”

Her chicken couldn’t be bad unless it was coated in a layer of shit.

“And we haven’t eaten the brookies,” she finished.

“You’re gettin’ that shit,” he replied, unwinding his fist from her hair. “I’m recuperating.”

She gave him a sassy smile that was almost as much as a turn on as the other one.

“I can do that,” she said, beginning to slide him out.

His arm around her waist grew tight.

“And bring me a beer.”

“Beer and brookies?”

“Beer goes with everything.”

“Only in Hound’s world.”

He let his eyeballs dart side to side before he said, “Where you think you are, woman?”

That got him a beam.

Yep.

Totally.

Fucked.

She slid off.

Then she cleaned up.

Then she brought cold chicken, brookies and beer.

They ate it in his bed.

And before she left, they fucked again.

It was magnificent.

And he wasn’t just talking about the brookies.

The next afternoon, Hound lay on his back in his bed at the Compound where he’d connected to the Wi-Fi and downloaded a song to his phone.

He already had “Jeremy.”

Earphones in his ears, he listened to it four times, wondering how Keely, who got so much so soon and lost it so ugly, could go to school every day and deal with that kind of shit.

He then listened to “Use Me” four times.

And he had proof that Jean had not lost any of her mental faculties.

Even so, not knowing Keely, she hadn’t hit it right.

But listening to the words, he still took her point.

He was a man drowning and he knew that shit.

He also knew he didn’t care.

Jean worried.

His brothers would be seriously pissed at him. They shared women, but no old ladies, not ever.

Though back in the day, Chew had fucked one of Crank’s ex’s, that “ex” being legally untied after being legally tied, and Crank had lost his mind even though she was no longer his to claim.

The circumstances weren’t the same, but Chew had felt the displeasure of the rest of the brothers and Hound knew it bit deep. So deep Hound sometimes wondered if no one taking Chew’s back on that was one of the reasons he’d renounced the Club.

But this wasn’t that.

This was Keely.

And for his brothers, it would only be about Black.

He had shit to do with Club business, the mess they were in with Bounty, and there was Benito Valenzuela, who had been fucking with them for years and was not exactly behind the kidnap of Millie but he’d sent men out to freak her shit, they just took it too far (and got dead because of it, apparently Valenzuela wasn’t hip on his soldiers fucking up) but he was still responsible.

But Hound had spent months trying to get a lock on Valenzuela, who had disappeared (though his operation was still running smoothly, so they knew he wasn’t gone), or trying to find a way in to find him and use his unique way to stop him, or put the screws to one of his higher ups to unravel his organization from the inside out.

He just kept coming up empty.

He should be concentrating on that. All the old ladies had constant vigilance from brothers because the men were so tweaked about what happened to Millie, High and Tack most of all. High for obvious reasons. Tack because Cherry had been taken by an enemy years ago and nearly died of the stab wounds he’d inflicted. Tack didn’t mind making it clear those flashbacks were unwelcome and he wanted this business they’d been fucking around with for years done so they could all rest easy.

Hound needed to focus on something other than drowning in Keely.

On that thought, his phone went with a text.

It was from Keely.

Eight. I’m bringing Irish stew. The American kind without lamb but with big hunks of beef. Don’t tell the Irish and don’t have dinner because it sticks to your ribs. See ya later, cowboy.

Over stew he should tell her he was in too deep and it was time for him to deliver checks and look after her boys as they did their time as recruits and then beyond.

He knew he should do that just as he knew he wouldn’t.

And as the days went by with Keely in his bed during the nights, he had less and less in him to give a fuck.

They love you down deep to their souls and I’m grateful to you down deep to mine and it’s about time I said it.

Yup.

As the days went by, he had less and less in him to give a fuck.

“No, serious,” Hound told Keely through her shouts of laughter.

“S-s-stop,” she said, putting her spoon in her bowl of stew and waving a hand at him.

They were on his shit couch like only Keely would sit to eat a bowl of stew and dumplings.

That was, Hound was in it normal, feet up on the scratched and chipped coffee table.

She was in it sideways, legs over his lap, ass to his hip, twisted a little so she was lightly leaning into him.

In other words, as close as they could get while eating stew.

“Bev didn’t tell me that,” she said when she finished laughing. “Only Hop would kidnap his woman in order to make her marry him.”

“She was pregnant with Nash. He wanted his ring on her finger when she pushed him out. After that shit went down with her fiancé getting her drilled with a few holes, she wasn’t hip on a big wedding, but she had it twisted in her head she wanted no wedding. Hop found a way around that and they got married in jeans in Vegas by a fake Liberace.”

She cracked up again at his last and he found himself relieved that him mentioning Hop’s wife, Lanie, got drilled with holes did not make her troubled at all.

She finished laughing, scooped up more of her kickass stew, but before she shoved it in her mouth, she said, “I hear she’s gorgeous. Lanie, that is.”

“She is. But I prefer Apache pussy.”

Her gaze shot to his, it got soft, his dick started to get hard, and she chewed, swallowed, leaned in and touched her mouth to his.

She barely pulled back before she purred, “I know you do, baby.”

He shook his head. She pulled away and he went after more stew.

“I hear Tabby had a boy,” she said quietly.

“Landon Kane,” he told her. “Named after Shy’s brother and obviously, Tack. He’s cute as shit. They call him Playboy because that kid is two months old and he’s already a total flirt. In other words, got a lot of his daddy in him.”

“Her old man, uh, Shy, is a flirt?” she asked.

“Was,” he answered. “Not anymore.”

She grinned, happy for Tabby having that.

“Too bad I never got the chance to see Tack flirt,” she remarked. “I can say straight up, when Bev told me he scraped Naomi off, we went out, bought a bottle of champagne and toasted that shit.”

Hound grinned at her but said, “Tack doesn’t flirt. He gets a bitch drunk, gives her so many orgasms she doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground, then he puts her in her car and she’s lost sight of him before she turns the ignition. Even did that to Cherry. But she proved she had staying power.”