Read Online Rage (A Thunder Gypsies MC Outlaw Biker Romance) by Christa Wick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christa Wick
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to have Callan thrusting into me.
“Come for me, baby.” He bit at my bottom lip, his finger and thumb pinching my clit between hard rubs.
As if his words alone could command my orgasm, I began jerking beneath him. He kept rubbing and pinching until I went limp. Then he brought his hand up to cup my face.
“I’m not trying to take you to fairyland, Avery.” He ran his thumb against my lower lip. The scent of my juices on his flesh coaxed a fresh burst of cream from my pussy. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
I blinked slowly then nodded. Right then, my mind was a million miles away from the bag with its dye and scissors. Callan had just wrung one hell of a climax from me and I wanted to return the favor.
I palmed his cock, my cheeks coloring as I asked, “What about you?”
Laughing, he shook his head at me and eased onto his knees. “One thing is for certain. You’ll always blush like a redhead, baby.”
“We’ll worry about me later.” He stood and retrieved the bag. “Right now, let’s get your hair short enough you can cover all of it with the helmet.”
Pouting because I didn’t have his cock in me, I sat up and wiggled out of my jacket then brought the length of my hair behind my back. Returning to sit behind me, Callan took the first few snips.
I felt the weight of almost a foot of hair fall away from my head, the loss momentarily making me dizzy.
“We’ll dye it at the hotel tonight.” He placed the hair he had just cut in my lap and kissed me on the cheek. “This way the clerk won’t see you come in as a redhead and leave as a brunette.”
“Okay,” I whispered and started fashioning the cut hair into a braid. “Are we still heading toward DC?”
“Yeah, I want to hit Allenwood,” he agreed, more severed hair falling around my shoulders as he continued working the scissors. “Then decide where we go from there.”
“Isn’t that where Lincoln is?” Lincoln had allegedly killed their brother Boone as part of a gun trafficking operation across state lines and I knew Allenwood had a federal maximum security prison.
“Yeah.” The answer came as little more than a grunt. “He didn’t kill Boone.”
“I know.”
The scissors stopped moving. I turned to look at Callan. He quirked one brow at me and I repeated what I had just said. “I know -- it’s enough for me that you believe. We can find the proof together.”
“Fuck if I haven’t tried.” He pushed the blades of the scissors into the ground then started to dust the loose hair from my shoulders with his hand. “I wouldn’t have been a Gypsy if it wasn’t for trying to find proof and keep Lincoln and dad safe in prison.”
He must have seen the question lurking in my gaze because I didn’t understand what he was saying. I only knew a little about their dad’s case. He had owned a custom bike shop and had founded the Gypsies for local motorcycle enthusiasts, including Big Red. When the Feds brought charges against him, they claimed the shop was fencing stolen bikes and shipping drugs inside legitimate orders. Big Red, as the shop’s assistant manager, had been indicted, too, but the charges didn’t stick -- not after a prosecution witness pinned it all on Dylan Tilley.
“It’s complicated,” he continued. “Lincoln and Boone were already Gypsies when dad was convicted. I know they suspected Big Red of using dad as a shield and they couldn’t dig around his business if they left the Gypsies. Plus, Red told them he knew people in prison who would make sure no one messed with dad if they stayed in the club and helped with certain club business.”
“And if they didn’t?” I asked.
“Red never threatened that his jailhouse friends would hurt my father,” Callan answered. “But the implication was there. And it wasn’t anything illegal that he wanted them to do. Even when dad was in charge, the Gypsies provided security details for truckers and a few events as a way to pay for the hangout. That’s
“Come for me, baby.” He bit at my bottom lip, his finger and thumb pinching my clit between hard rubs.
As if his words alone could command my orgasm, I began jerking beneath him. He kept rubbing and pinching until I went limp. Then he brought his hand up to cup my face.
“I’m not trying to take you to fairyland, Avery.” He ran his thumb against my lower lip. The scent of my juices on his flesh coaxed a fresh burst of cream from my pussy. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
I blinked slowly then nodded. Right then, my mind was a million miles away from the bag with its dye and scissors. Callan had just wrung one hell of a climax from me and I wanted to return the favor.
I palmed his cock, my cheeks coloring as I asked, “What about you?”
Laughing, he shook his head at me and eased onto his knees. “One thing is for certain. You’ll always blush like a redhead, baby.”
“We’ll worry about me later.” He stood and retrieved the bag. “Right now, let’s get your hair short enough you can cover all of it with the helmet.”
Pouting because I didn’t have his cock in me, I sat up and wiggled out of my jacket then brought the length of my hair behind my back. Returning to sit behind me, Callan took the first few snips.
I felt the weight of almost a foot of hair fall away from my head, the loss momentarily making me dizzy.
“We’ll dye it at the hotel tonight.” He placed the hair he had just cut in my lap and kissed me on the cheek. “This way the clerk won’t see you come in as a redhead and leave as a brunette.”
“Okay,” I whispered and started fashioning the cut hair into a braid. “Are we still heading toward DC?”
“Yeah, I want to hit Allenwood,” he agreed, more severed hair falling around my shoulders as he continued working the scissors. “Then decide where we go from there.”
“Isn’t that where Lincoln is?” Lincoln had allegedly killed their brother Boone as part of a gun trafficking operation across state lines and I knew Allenwood had a federal maximum security prison.
“Yeah.” The answer came as little more than a grunt. “He didn’t kill Boone.”
“I know.”
The scissors stopped moving. I turned to look at Callan. He quirked one brow at me and I repeated what I had just said. “I know -- it’s enough for me that you believe. We can find the proof together.”
“Fuck if I haven’t tried.” He pushed the blades of the scissors into the ground then started to dust the loose hair from my shoulders with his hand. “I wouldn’t have been a Gypsy if it wasn’t for trying to find proof and keep Lincoln and dad safe in prison.”
He must have seen the question lurking in my gaze because I didn’t understand what he was saying. I only knew a little about their dad’s case. He had owned a custom bike shop and had founded the Gypsies for local motorcycle enthusiasts, including Big Red. When the Feds brought charges against him, they claimed the shop was fencing stolen bikes and shipping drugs inside legitimate orders. Big Red, as the shop’s assistant manager, had been indicted, too, but the charges didn’t stick -- not after a prosecution witness pinned it all on Dylan Tilley.
“It’s complicated,” he continued. “Lincoln and Boone were already Gypsies when dad was convicted. I know they suspected Big Red of using dad as a shield and they couldn’t dig around his business if they left the Gypsies. Plus, Red told them he knew people in prison who would make sure no one messed with dad if they stayed in the club and helped with certain club business.”
“And if they didn’t?” I asked.
“Red never threatened that his jailhouse friends would hurt my father,” Callan answered. “But the implication was there. And it wasn’t anything illegal that he wanted them to do. Even when dad was in charge, the Gypsies provided security details for truckers and a few events as a way to pay for the hangout. That’s
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