Page 63 of Tracking Luxe

“I’m not moping, you’re moping.” - Grinder.

Stepping down from the treadmill, legs rigid from fatigue, Grinder had nothing good going on inside his head other than burning out his frustration, snarling like a mad man to himself, muttering curses like he was a priest exorcising a demon. His uncle was big on religion and would probably thump him in the temple for that, whatever, he was still in a bad mood and he couldn’t shake it. No amount of booze and weed last night had gotten him to relax and then three of the groupies who hung around had sidled up to him in the kitchen with the fake lashes and seductive tits… The less said about that the better.

“You get locked up for that, bro.” Snake announced his presence straddling the weight bench, his tattooed fingers braced out in front of him. He wasn’t dressed for working out so he’d come solely to needle Grinder or gossip. Blinking out of the Luxe part of his brain, he knew he had a case of infatuation going on and didn’t do a thing to stop it other than whine to himself like a fucking harping bitch.

“Yeah, so Preacher likes to tell me. You bastards will all end up in the next padded cell so I won’t be lonely.”

Snake laughed, but Grinder noticed a strain around his eyes, the humor didn’t reach all the way to the top floor today. “You good, bro?”

“Yeah.” He nodded rubbing his face. As much as Snake was known for being the class clown, he was also the caretaker, he made sure everyone in the club was mentally sane, that ship had sailed for Hawk and Law, but still, the sentiment was always appreciated from the brothers, he always seemed to sense when a brother was going through some shit and was there for them. “You’re coming to the cookout tonight, right? Pretty-boy’s picking up the new strain of green to try.”

“Yeah? The Irish grow some good shit. I’ll be there. I got nothing else to do.” Not as though Luxe showed any indication she wanted to see him again, she’d hit and quit his bed so fast he had whiplash.

“Looked like you had your hands full last night,” he smirked, reminding Grinder of the groupies trying to coax him into a foursome, or was that an orgy when it was more than three? Women, when they traveled in packs, were ferocious man-eating bitches, Grinder was lucky to get out of there with his beard intact. Truth was, none of them even stirred a lick of arousal in him, they were good looking women, probably tasted like sweet heaven If he got his mouth on their tits, and he knew some of them were adventurous in the bedroom, real dirty shit, they were the most loyal groupies who were around most days, and more so when there was a party hoping to rope in an outlaw of their very own, why they didn’t go for a banker or a factory worker he didn’t know, those fuckers were more likely not to cheat on dear ole Cherry, but the MC reputation spoke to chicks.

“Yeah, not my scene, bro.” He left it at that. The chicks didn’t have hurt feelings, they’d soon moved on to get their fun elsewhere, Grinder had spent the rest of the night smoking out by the sheds like a damn loser.

“Seriously, G. What’s the matter with you these days, you’re not yourself. Is it a drink problem? Caught an STD? You in debt to that donut place?”

Huffing a snort. Jackass. He cast his gaze over. “I got woman problems and don’t you even fucking laugh or I’ll knock you out.” He hissed with fair warning, finger pointing.

To be fair Snake tried really hard, what with the way he pressed his lips together and gulped a few times making his massive chest heave from exertion and his shoulders shake with a silent laugh. Grinder scowled and picked up the weights again. “Oh, fuck you.”

Snake just began cackling.

“I’m sorry, man, but I’m kinda liking all you jolly-fuck-monkeys falling like trees, it leaves more groupies for yours truly. I might make a harem. Should I have a brand name? welcome packs?”

Grinder laughed.Have at ‘em, he wanted to say, none of the chicks who hung around the club on the regular were doing it for him, it was like he was staring at lamp posts with hips.

The curl of weights burned his biceps, air exerted out of his body in hard groaned huffs, veins lifted under his skin, but he kept on going, went on lifting, sweat pouring down his chest and back, keeping his mind on the task rather than wondering if Luxe was all cozy in Fort Springs with Steele instead of crawling her ass intohisbed and staying there.

Hell, he was gonna drive himself Hawk crazy if he continued that path. He dropped the weight, grabbed towel to do a dry down. The lust coiling inside him wasn’t lazy, it lay dormant while he worked, while he rode out of town to grab some info on a new prospective client who wanted to use the bunkers. Rider always got the lowdown on the guy first before any deal was struck, so while that was going on he was able to kick back on any feelings he had, but the indulgent need forever simmered in his background.

One night with her was not enough.

Two days, and he’d needed to jerk off this morning so hard it was as though he’d been in space for ten years without a climax. She’d been gone from his bed only two days and the come shot out from the tip of his cock like a bullet from a gun and though the edge had been taken off, the pressure was left behind, he needed Luxe to feel that bone deep satisfaction.

He didn’t have to be a bleeding record.

He could track her down.

Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time, he was an old hat at stalking his woman now.

“Come, on, mopey bastard, Rider called church.” Snake clapped him on the shoulder. After a fast shower that didn’t include any handjob action he strode up the basement stairs and along the far hallway leading down to the last door on the end he walked into the sacred church only his patched brothers could step over the door to. If a prospect dare push his fat head through that door he was likely to get a couple dozen knuckle sandwiches and his prospect vest ripped off him.

Rider ran a tight ship and everyone followed the rules. Respect the rules or don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Finding everyone already in their respective seats he took his next to Preacher. With his hair still in wet tufts, he stuffed his beanie hat in his pocket, folded his hands on the table and waited to see what the change of schedule meeting was all about.

“You going to this party tonight, or the Mrs won’t let you out to play?” one half of his mouth quirked turning gray eyes on his buddy. The asshole didn’t even have the decency to fake being pissed off. Preacher was happier than a pig in fresh horse shit. Married life looked good on him, really fucking good, there was a time there he’d been worried his buddy would take a road he couldn’t come back from.

The love of a good woman, how fucking ironic when it was a woman leading him around by the balls in hopes of catching a glimpse of her to soothe his ego.

“We’re both coming, but can’t stay, don’t wanna leave the kid too long with my folks, it’s Rube’s only night off.”

“And you don’t wanna waste it by being around a buncha morons when you can be home under your old lady.” He finished for him.

Preacher wiggled his big brows.

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