As a pack, they arrive back at their club’s headquarters. From the street, their home looks like nothing more than an old biker bar. And in a way, it is. But within the walls of the Dante’s Nine club house, a thriving club has lived and breathed for decades. Of course, the “thriving” part hasn’t been applicable, of late. A deal gone south with a neighboring MC has bankrupted Dante’s Nine to the point of oblivion. The fighter’s last ditch gambit is all that’s keeping up hopes, these days. And he has to see it through. There’s no other option.
“Our returning champion!” crows the man behind the bar, as the fighter strides into the space, “Looks like you’ve survived another match, eh?”
“Keep your fuckin voice down,” commands the silver-haired leader, “We’ve got a couple of regulars in here who don’t need to know club business, all right?”
Indeed, there are a few patrons inside the bar that aren’t strictly within the Dante’s Nine fold. A trio of women hang back around the pool table, sporting tattoos of the club’s logo, each one hoping for one of the members to make them an old lady someday. Some local regulars and fellow bikers populate the bar. And of course, the queen of the establishment presides over her taps and bottles, working beside the bartender.
She tucks a thick brown curl behind her ear and catches the fighter staring at her. He averts his gaze, not in the mood to start anything tonight. They have history, he and the hourglass-figured beauty. But he can’t think of casual sex tonight. And that is a first. He snatches a bottle of beer from the bartender’s hand and heads out into the night for a moment alone. His brothers watch him depart, murmuring and shaking their heads. They know that these fights are taking a toll on him, but they could never guess what the price of this next match will be.
The fighter steps out into the gravel parking lot, a firmament of stars blazing overhead. Down in the desert, Las Vegas rises like a neon oasis. He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a deep swig. He feels the mantle of fate settle onto him. He has a death day, now. And the countdown has already begun. The only question that remains is how to spend the last of his days? With four short months remaining, what’s left to do?
What’s the one thing I’ve never done, always regretted not doing? He asks himself, knocking back his beer. I’ve served my country, seen six continents, started multiple businesses, slept with as many women as I pleased, made a fortune, found a family...what’s left?
The answer takes its time, occurring to him. But the second it does, he knows exactly how this last season of his life will be spent.
“I’m going to fall in love,” he says to no one in particular, letting his words be swept away by the hot desert air. It’s a promise he makes to himself. And the fighter is not one to go back on his word.
CHAPTER TWO
A satisfied smile plays across my lips as I stare up at the bedroom ceiling. My date for the evening kisses deeply along the length of my neck, determined to please me. I can’t say I mind the initiative. The man of the hour, Stephen, runs his fingers over my long torso, cupping my firm breasts in his eager, grateful hands. This is certainly one of the perks of being one of only two women in my graduate program at UC Berkeley—all of the men on hand are willing to go above and beyond the call of duty in the bedroom. And my friend Stephen here is no exception to that convenient rule.
“I just want to make you feel good,” he murmurs, slipping my cotton tee up over my head. He drinks in the sight of me sitting before him in my bra, blonde hair falling over my slender shoulders. “You’re so gorgeous, Kassie—”
“Go on then,” I urge him, keeping my blue eyes steadily on his, “Show me.”
A low groan rises up out of his throat as I lay back against my sea of cushy pillows. My little one-bedroom apartment isn’t very fancy, but I’ve done my best to make it feel like home. Or at least, what I imagine home feels like. Stephen’s lips move down along my collarbone, kissing every part of me they can find. I shove my hands through my long, dirty blonde hair, reminding myself to relax and enjoy the moment. It’s just a little fun, Kassie, I coach myself, he may as well be battery-operated.
I run my fingers through Stephen’s close-cropped hair as he unclasps my bra, fumbling only for the slightest second. He looks like any other guy here at Berkeley. They’ve all got the same screen-weary eyes, the standard-issue academic wardrobe, the tame hair cut and clean-shaven chins. Sure, some veer more toward the hipster side of the spectrum, but my guy here is all prep school jock turned Silicon Valley hopeful. Stephen’s better built than most of our classmates—with evidence that he actually spends a little time at the gym. He’ll do just fine for my current purposes, anyway. It’s not like I’m looking for love tonight, or ever. Just a little stress-relieving orgasm will do the trick.
He pops open the button of my skinny jeans, sliding them down along my toned thighs. For my own part, I can’t get enough running, hiking, yoga—any kind of activity that I can lose myself in. I don’t like to be alone with my thoughts, if I can help it. And if I happen to keep in pretty great shape as a result, then all the better.
Stephen brings his full lips to the skin just above my knee as I lay before him in my navy blue hipster panties. My uncovered breasts rise and fall with every breath as his eyes rake along the length of my body. He looks for the world like a man who’s just won the lottery. I raise my hips to him ever-so-slightly, inviting him to go on. Stephen takes my cue, lifting his own button-down over his head and letting it fall to the floor. I know that he’s my age, but he seems so young as he eases my panties down over the rise of my ass. At least youth usually means enthusiasm, I think to myself as he lowers his lips to kiss up along my thigh.
“That’s it,” I coo, closing my eyes contentedly.
“This is what you want?” he asks, running the tip of his tongue across my tender skin.
“You know it is,” I say, letting my knees fall open. I run my hands over his broad, crew team shoulders. He’ll do just fine, this one.
He runs his hands along my thighs, working up slowly, deliberately. His kisses trail across the valley that stretches between my hip bones. A low, steady throbbing kicks up in my core, that oh-too-familiar pressure. I need a little release tonight, and I need it bad. I reach for Stephen’s hands and lock my gaze to his as I guide them to that place between my legs that’s jonesing for a little attention.