Page 57 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

“Police continue to investigate the massacre that took the lives of more than fifty men, which includes the club’s president, a Mr. John George, who went by the name Slayer, and several high-ranking men in the club’s hierarchy.”

We got Slayer and several of his lieutenants. That’s news we need right now. They have to be scrambling. Slip Knot, the Death Bringers’ VP, is a mean, nasty piece of work, but I don’t know that he’s smart enough to bring cohesion to their club to plan a retaliation. We figure they know who made the attack, but none of the survivors are talking—not to the cops, that’s for damn sure. There’s a code in the outlaw biker world. Turning snitch will get you dead faster than just about anything. But they’re also not talking to other clubs or underworld types. We’ve had ears to the ground since the attack. It doesn’t hurt that we left no evidence at the scene aside from discharged shell casings. Even if the police suspect Horde involvement, we have the Lords on our side, ready to give whatever alibi necessary. No—they aren’t above lying to the police. They’ve done it before, but hopefully, we will never have to do it again.

“Police have been following leads but have been tight-lipped on any information they might have found. They do say that they believe this to be an isolated incident. The public shouldn’t fear going about their lives.”

The anchorwoman, a blonde with a helmet cut, and that’s the best thing she has going for her, asks, “Now, Tyler, do the police have any idea why this attack took place, to begin with?”

“Sorry, Leslie, the police aren’t giving away much. Whether they don’t know or are keeping any information from the public while they follow leads, they haven’t stated either way.”

“Well, thank you, Tyler,” she says once the camera cuts back to her. “We’ll keep you updated on any developments as this story continues to unfold. Now, let’s go to David with sports.”

I block out the news again. What was the point of that report in the first place? Fuck, I want to talk to Gee. I miss hearing the sound of her voice. That damn husky laugh of hers goes right to my dick every damn time. Seeing as I need a distraction, I pull my phone from my pocket and press her contact. It rings a couple of times.

“Rough?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Fucking boring. I miss you.”

She sighs and I can hear her smile through it. “Miss you, too.”

“My dick wants that sweet pussy of yours in a bad, bad way.”

“You’re the one who sent me home. I could be riding you so hard right now your eyes would be rolling back in your head as you prepare to shoot your load inside me. Picture it: One of your hands on my nipple while the other rubs my clit. My head drops back; I clamp down around you and cry your name as one of the greatest orgasms of my life hits.”

“You trying to kill me here?”

“Killing you isn’t part of the plan, no. But I’m more than willing to meet you in bed, naked with my legs spread wide, waiting for you to fill me.”

“Gee, if I’d known phone sex was in the cards, I’d be in the room right now for privacy.”

“Oh, this isn’t phone sex, babe. This is just me reminding you what you’re missing. You want phone sex, we can make that a thing.”

“Tonight. FaceTime. Wanna watch you fuck yourself with that big-ass dildo you own.”

“Rough,” she whispers. Damn, I think she wants that. But there’s hesitation in her voice. “We have a clubhouse full of women and children. I don’t want anyone hearing me get myself off.”

“Gee, I need to see that pussy.”

“I left it at home.”

“Your pussy?” I ask, chuckling.

“No, you idiot. The dildo. I left it at home. We had to pack fast. It wasn’t exactly a priority.”

“Fine. Touch yourself. Rub that clit for me. Pull those long, rosy nipples while I watch. Make yourself cum. You know you want that—to cum. You need it. Bet that sweet pussy is getting juicy from just hearing my voice.”

Oh, I’m not wrong. I hear it in her voice. She needs me in a bad, bad way. I picture how her body vibrates with the need to get off and squeeze my eyes shut because I’m making myself hard.

“I’ll do it for you, but I’m asking you not to make me. I just…” she trails off. Shit. I hate it, but she has a point. It’s unfair of me to ask that of her.

“Okay, baby, we’ll forgo phone fucking for now. Getting off here,” I tell her.

She sucks in a breath. “Not till you get home,” she teases.

“Love you, babe,” I say, laughing.

“Love you, too, Rough.”

I let her go and now I’m more miserable than before I called her. I miss my home and my bed. I miss dinners around the table talking about our day. I fucking miss the domesticity of life with Gee.

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