Page 33 of Ignite

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Wolf stareddown at the small form curled against him. Her bed wasn’t very big, and they barely fit on its frame. Jazz’s blue hair lay across his bicep and he fingered a lock of it as she slept securely in his arms. Her light snoring proved to him how much he’d worn her out, and he smiled in satisfaction. He’d held himself back as long as he could, but when she bowed up under him and he felt her pussy spasm around his cock, he let go and had the most gratifying experience he ever remembered. No guile, no subterfuge, no strings, just pure unencumbered pleasure. Something that was rare in his world. He was sure she would be sore tomorrow, and he made a mental note to be extra gentle with her.

For the longest time, he’d found her awkwardness around him cute. He’d known she had a crush on him and was both flattered and amused. Then he’d discovered her side hobby with the scammer thing. He was impressed with her smarts and her willingness to help people. Her work ethic and care for the people around her despite having a seriously unsupportive family was remarkable. There were depths to her character he had yet to plumb, and he looked forward to seeing what was next. It also helped that she was a sci-fi nut.

He glanced over at the bookcase in the bedroom. Classic hardcovers mixed in with well-loved paperbacks. Philip K. Dick, Douglas Adams, Hugh Howey, some authors he recognized, and some he didn’t. Wolf smiled as he thought about the coming months. It would be interesting for sure. He could see them reading and discussing their favorite books together, watching movies with popcorn, then going at it like rabbits until neither of them could move. It was a nice picture, one that never appealed to him before, but he found he liked it.

He liked it a lot.

Yeah, the others in the club would probably make fun of him, but he really didn’t care. Jazz fit him in more ways than he ever thought a woman could, and for the first time, he saw a future that included someone else.

Jazz stirred and frowned. “Need to put more chalk on the grill.”

Wolf pressed his lips together to keep from laughing and waking her. So, she was a sleep-talker too? Excellent.

“What are you cooking, baby?” he whispered.

“Parachutes.” She rolled over and snorted.

With a grin, he snuggled her close.

Yeah, this lone wolf wanted to be domesticated.

17

The entire club waited silently.The leadership had become so lax that church meetings were rare, but enough members were incensed after the drive-by shooting that they demanded this gathering. The Knights didn’t have a formal table or gavel, and there were no Robert’s Rules to follow. Still, most of the grumbles were held back as everyone looked to Scrap for leadership.

Wolf had his doubts that he would do much. The older man was tired and ready to let someone else make the hard decisions. The problem was, no one in the club was willing to step into that role. Maybe Quillon could fill the void, but did he want to? Scrap’s old lady left years ago, and he had no other family as far as anyone knew. Was Quillon’s wife, Tracie, ready to be the first queen of the MC?

Wolf shifted his stance—he preferred standing, as the meeting area was next to the main stage—and frowned at the lackluster attitude of the group. Baghouse was enraged and cursing a blue streak under his breath. Melter was picking at a dry cuticle and seemingly unaffected by the shooting. Camshaft, Quillon, and Wolf appeared to be the most concerned.

Scrap finally spoke as he tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne. “I’d say those jagoffs are nothin’ to worry about. They’re just stupid shits playin’ in the streets n’at. Nothin’ to worry about.”

Wolf couldn’t believe his ears. Neither could many of the other members. Camshaft and Crossman glanced at each other in disbelief, and Quillon made a chuffing noise as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“What the fuck?” Baghouse started, his eyes going wide. “Are you stupid or somethin’?”

Melter scoffed. “Show some fuckin’ respect!”

“I’ll show some goddamn respect when we get off our fuckin’ asses and take care of business!”

Melter jumped to his feet. “You want me to take care of business here, asswipe?”

“Enough!” Scrap roared, temporarily halting the infighting. “We don’t have the manpower or the money for a fuckin’ street war. When was the last time we had a prospect? Huh? The last one was Crossman, and that’s been what? Five years?”

Wolf folded his arms. Scrap had a good point. They didn’t have the numbers or the financial backers of the Slaggers. But did that mean they had to give up their territory? Sell the strip joint? Dissolve the club completely?

When he joined the Iron City Knights years ago, they had a reputation as being a tough but fair group. You didn’t fuck with them and they wouldn’t fuck with you, but if you did, watch out. That had gone by the wayside, and all Wolf saw now was a group of old men coasting on past glories and ready to retire.

“Point of order.” Quillon’s low voice cut through the cacophony.

Scrap waved at him to continue, and the members quieted to hear what the man had to say.

“I’m gonna disagree with you, Scrap. No disrespect, but flying bullets are not toys to put away at the end of playtime. Yeah, we think they fired in the air, prolly to scare us. Either that or they really suck at aiming since no one got hurt. This time.” He looked the club president in the eye and didn’t waver. “There is going to be a next time, and someonewillget hurt. It’s inevitable. Could be a patron. Could be a dancer. Could be one of us, but it’s coming unless we stop it now.”

Scrap sighed. At one time, the man had been tougher than the steel he made. Now he just looked tired and worn out. “How the fuck are we supposed to do that?”

“We have allies.”

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