BUTCHER: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 3) (3 page)

~ Lexi ~

Pinky’s.

I had
no idea
where Pinky’s was and had never heard of the place before, let alone been there. But I’m a smart girl, and I know how to do my research—although I am a little ashamed to admit how quickly I did it.

No sooner was Butcher out of sight than I grabbed my cell phone and typed “Pinky’s” into my search engine bar. In less than a second, a long list of hits came up, and I started reading through them, until I found all that I needed to know. I found Pinky’s address, some reviews of the place, and a few photos.

I was pleased with my results, so I shut down my browser. Then I went to my contacts list, looked up the cab company, and phoned in my order for a ride.

Yep. That’s how quickly I did my research. I looked up Pinky’s for tomorrow before I set up my way home for tonight.

Classic.

In any event, it took about twenty minutes for my cab to arrive, and I spent the whole while thinking about what had just happened with Butcher. The way he sped off and left me was mysterious and intriguing, but it was also kind of offensive and disturbing. It made me feel a little disregarded or tossed aside, as if even after the brief intimacy we’d shared, I still simply didn’t matter.

But at the same time, even though he left me, Butcher left me with plans. When he left me, he arranged to see me the next night—and that was saying something, wasn’t it?

Plus, I didn’t know
why
he left me anyway. It could have been for any variety of reasons, and even though he was aloof, he deserved the benefit of the doubt. Didn’t he?

Ah, so many questions! And once the cab got there, it didn’t make matters any better. The cab driver was quietly listening to the radio as he drove me home, and it was set to a classic rock channel. In the half hour or so it took to get from The Boneyard to my place, I heard two songs on the radio that Broken Brother had performed that evening, and I was hit with another set of questions.

Broken Brother had only played covers, and I wondered why. Why didn’t they play any of their original songs? Had they given up on that part of their act? Was the band starting to fall apart or lose interest in the scene?

By the time I got home, my head was spinning with both thoughts of the old songs Broken Brother had played and the new developments between Butcher and me. I went to bed somewhat of a mess, feeling torn and confounded. And when I woke in the morning, I didn’t feel much better, but nonetheless, I did my best to collect—and separate—my thoughts so that I could go about my day.

Perhaps some of my personal thoughts and emotions seeped over into my work, which was inevitable, I guess. But, really, I did
try
as hard as I could to make sure they didn’t, so that I could be loyal to myself
and
my profession at the same time.

For the most part, I think I succeeded, and I managed to put truly tiring thoughts of Butcher out of my head for most of the day. But when the end of my work day came around and I looked at the clock, my thoughts immediately returned to him, and it was as if I was still standing there behind The Boneyard, pining over him as he drive off. I was still smitten, and I’d merely kept myself distracted for a (short) while.

My commute home from work seemed like the longest commute ever, though it gave me some time to think about my wardrobe for the evening. From what I’d seen of Pinky’s on my phone’s browser, it was a biker dive bar, so anything would’ve passed. However, I wanted to look good for Butcher, and I needed to decide what “good” meant.

It was nearly seven when I finally got home and made it to my closet, and as I worked my way through the hangers and shelves, I got a little worried and resented the fact that I hadn’t done laundry in several days.

Eventually, however, I found a “little black dress” at the back of my closet. I hadn’t worn it in ages and had pretty much forgotten about it, but given its short length, low neckline, and flattering fit, I knew that it would do the trick.

I tossed the dress down on my bed and went off to the bathroom to freshen up, and, within an hour, I was ready to leave. I called the cab company around eight thirty to order a car and ended up sitting around for another hour before it came.

It was a Saturday night in L.A., and I’d been a commuter here for the past six years, since I first came out to California after graduating college. I should have known better and called the cab company earlier than I did. But, come on now, I wasn’t thinking straight!

Traffic was a bitch, and I didn’t get to Pinky’s until twelve minutes after ten (on the nose). I jumped out of the cab the moment I recognized the neon sign I’d seen online, and I held myself back from sprinting to the door. I knew that I wasn’t running
that
late, but Butcher was still a wild card, and I didn’t know if he’d jump the gun.

When I stepped into Pinky’s, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the muted light, and it took me a
few
moments to look around for Butcher. There were at least a dozen or so other guys who looked a lot like him in the place—bikers (or rockers, maybe) with nice bodies, nice faces, and nice hair, wearing denim, cotton, and leather with flashes of metal here and there.

I must have looked like I was on the prowl, as I stared down bad boy after bad boy. But whatever I looked like—and whoever I looked at—didn’t matter much to me. I was there to see
one
person, and I had to find him… But alas, even after eyeing the crowd a few more times, I did not.

~ Lexi ~

I felt a strong hand touch me gently at my waist and a warm body encircling mine.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Butcher whispered in my ear. His lips brushed against my neck and sent shivers down my spine.

“It’s okay,” I replied, unable to move—and unable to tell the truth.

But if you wanna know the truth, I’ll tell you… It was 10:48 p.m., and I’d been waiting in Pinky’s for over a half an hour before Butcher showed up. He’d told me to meet him “around ten,” but it was now closer to eleven than ten o’clock, and I was surprised I stayed as long as I did. I don’t usually hang out in bars, and I’m not big on waiting. So, needless to say, I was a little peeved by the time he finally arrived. But however peeved I was, it quickly faded.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Butcher said, sliding into the stool beside me and leaning forward to smile at me sexily. He looked so good that it was hard to be mad at him for something as silly as being late for a loose, last-minute date with a stranger.

“I’d offer to buy
you
drink,” he went on, looking down at the glass in front of me. “But I see that you’ve already taken care of that.”

I’d had my eyes glued on the door from the moment I sat down at the bar, watching for Butcher. But of course, he chose to show up at the exact moment I
wasn’t
looking. He came up behind me right after I finished ordering a drink—and that drink had just been delivered.

“You can get my next one,” I said with a sexy smile of my own. I’d inadvertently turned to face Butcher and slanted my legs toward him.

“I’ll get you as many as you like,” he replied, unabashedly eyeing every inch of my long legs. He looked away just long enough to order a beer, then returned his gaze to my legs.

“I hope you weren’t waiting here long,” he added, slowly moving his eyes up my body.

“Not really,” I responded. I guess that wasn’t entirely true either. But honestly, now that Butcher was here, his lateness didn’t matter anymore.

“And I hope none of these jokers here gave you a hard time,” he said, nodding his head towards his near-doppelgangers around us.

“Nope,” I laughed. “They were all perfect gentlemen.”

Actually, the guys in the bar hadn’t been “perfect gentlemen.” Indeed, they hadn’t been anything, at least not to me. Not a single one of them had tried to talk to me, hit on me, or otherwise approach me.

“Good,” Butcher grinned. “I come here all the time and am friends with most of these guys, so I’d hate to have to rough ‘em up for messin’ with my lady.”

My laughter turned into a giggle. “Your lady?” I asked. “Is that what I am?”

“You are tonight,” Butcher answered, raising his eyebrows, “if you wanna be.”

I decided not to answer with words, but with my face, and flashed Butcher a suggestive smile before taking a small sip from my glass.

Butcher followed my lead and took a sip as well, tossing back his bottle. We went on to talk for a few moments, mostly about superficial, casual things, and the chemistry between us grew stronger. There was something so exciting and intense about the way we spoke to each other. It was like a dance—coordinated and playful, packed with emotion, and as refreshing as it was exhausting.

About fifteen minutes into our “date,” Butcher trailed off from the conversation. His phone was buzzing and vibrating in his pocket, and he pulled it out and checked it, midsentence.

I responded to whatever comment he’d made, trying to ignore, or overlook, the attention he was paying to his phone. But Butcher didn’t register what I said and remained distracted and preoccupied. He had a distant look on his face and couldn’t look at mine.

Not even a minute later, Butcher’s phone started vibrating again, and he glanced down at it and sighed.

“I have to take this,” he said, as he scooted back his stool.

“Okay,” I replied, though it didn’t matter. He was already walking away as I said it.

I watched as Butcher made his way to a small hallway at the far end of the bar. He stood in front of the entrance for a moment, staring at his phone. Then he dialed, drew the phone to his ear, and turned. The sign above his head said “Restrooms,” and, as I read it, I suddenly (and sincerely) felt the urge to pee.

Draft beer goes right through me, I guess. But I couldn’t let it out just yet. If I went to the ladies’ room right then, Butcher would’ve thought I was following—or trying to corner—him. So, I crossed my legs and decided to wait until he came back.

Five minutes went by… then six. I wasn’t running a stopwatch or anything, but I did repeatedly look at the clock. Butcher still hadn’t come back. I still had to pee. And I was starting to get pissed.

I abandoned my earlier reasoning, chugged what was left of my draft, stood up, and headed to the restrooms. As soon I got to the small hallway, I saw Butcher standing there, talking on his phone. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, and he stopped talking when he saw me.

I mouthed the words “I have to pee” and nodded my head toward the ladies’ room.

Butcher nodded back at me but didn’t say or do anything else. He just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights, staring back at me like he was startled, maybe even scared, to see me when, where, or how he did.

I took care of business in the bathroom as quickly as I could—although I did linger around the door for a moment, before and after going, to see if I could hear anything from the hallway. The acoustics weren’t right, and the place was generally loud, so, unfortunately, I couldn’t.

When I got back out to the hallway, Butcher was still there, but he wasn’t on his phone anymore, and he no longer looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he said, stepping towards me. A rush of excitement swept over my body as I prepared for what came next.

Butcher reached out and took my hand into his, as he leaned down and kissed me. It was a firm, fierce kiss, and it left my head spinning.

“It’s alright,” I replied as soon as our lips separated. I was putty in his hands again. I was spellbound. I was
his
. I don’t know what power he had over me, but it was intoxicating. It made me forget who I was.

“You don’t have to leave now, do you?” I asked, being both sarcastic and selfishly concerned.

“I don’t
have
to leave,” Butcher said, tilting his face towards mine again. “But I wanna.”

I couldn’t resist staring at his lips as he spoke.

“I wanna leave here…with
you
,” he went on. “Now.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt short of breath. Butcher was so direct, so blunt. I wasn’t used to it, and it made me a little anxious. But nonetheless, I didn’t have to think at all before I replied.

“Okay,” I said, pressing my body into Butcher’s and bringing my mouth to his. “Wanna go back to my place?”

~ Butcher ~

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” I said into the phone. “I just need a few more hours.”

I was about to say more when I looked up and saw Lexi coming my way. She looked great in the little black dress she was wearing, but the sight of her made me nervous. I wasn’t sure if she was checking up on me or trying to use the bathroom, and I was worried that she’d been eavesdropping and overheard me.

“Hello? Butcher?” the woman on the other line asked. “Are you still there? What the fuck?”

Lexi gestured toward the women’s bathroom, indicating that she had to pee, and I watched as she walked in, then took a deep breath and returned to my phone call.

“I gotta go,” I whispered in a low voice, in case Lexi was listening. “I’ll see you before sunrise.”

I hung up my phone and put it back in my pocket.

I know it’s not polite to take a phone call when you’re out with someone or are otherwise doing something, but sometimes you have to. Some phone calls need to be taken, or made. And the one I’d just had was one of them—just like the one from the night before had been.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again…I have a lot going on in my life. And that means I have a lot of responsibilities, a lot of obligations—and a lot of reasons for important phone calls. Sure, I could explain all of this to Lexi, and maybe at some point I would. But I’d just met the girl, and for the time being, it was a lot easier
not
to explain and just go with the flow.

But still, I figured Lexi might be a little upset with me for ducking out on her like I did. So I decided to make things right in my own special way.

I’m used to having women swoon over me, you know. It comes with the territory. I’m a musician, a biker, and a pretty good-looking dude. Chicks like that shit—so chicks usually like me. And I could tell that Lexi definitely did. She acted like some star-struck teenager whenever she was around me. She was giggly and nervous around me, and she seemed to hang on my every action and word. She even forgave me, instantly, for showing up at Pinky’s more than forty-five minutes late.

Yeah, she liked me. She wanted me. So, why beat around the bush? I’d give her what she wanted—and get what I wanted, too.

Lexi walked out of the bathroom, and as soon as she did, I started towards her.

“Sorry,” I said. Before she could answer, I reached out and grabbed her hand and leaned down to kiss her. Her lips were soft, smooth, and wet, and the feel of them was making me hard.

“It’s alright,” she replied, forgiving me, instantly, again. Yeah, she liked me. She was swooning. She was
mine
.

Lexi and I exchanged a few more words, and I put it all out on the table. I told her that I wanted to leave the bar with her… And guess what? She invited me back to her place.

We left Pinky’s pretty quickly after that and didn’t say anything to each other until we were outside in the cool night air.

“Did you drive?” I asked, trying to figure out how we’d both get back to her place.

“No,” Lexi answered. “I don’t have a car. I took a cab.”

“Well then,” I said with a big smile, “guess you’ll have to ride with me on my bike.” There are few things in this world I love more than riding my bike with a lady. There’s something so intense—and insanely hot—about straddling a beast of a machine with a beauty latched onto your back.

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before,” Lexi said in a bashful tone.

“There’s a first time for everything,” I replied, holding out my hand.

She put her hand in mine, and I led her to my Harley, which was parked just a bit up the road.

“I’ll get on first,” I said, as she examined my bike curiously. “Then, you get on behind me. You can put your feet on these foot-pegs, and you’ll wanna wrap your arms around me and hold tight.”

I sat down on my hog and leaned forward for Lexi to get on. She fumbled around a bit and tried to act ladylike before eventually crawling on. I felt her shift behind me and re-adjust her legs, and then I felt her sweet arms beside me and her sweet hands on my chest.

“You comfortable?” I asked.

“I guess,” Lexi giggled.

“Alright,” I said. “Hold on.” I revved my engine and got into gear.

“One more thing,” I said, turning back to look at Lexi out of the corner of my eye. “Where are we going?”

“Oh,” Lexi responded with another giggle. She gave me her address and a quick set of directions, and a moment later, I pulled out onto the road. Lexi’s body trembled and shook a little—and she tightened her grasp on me—once my bike started to move, and it made both my heart and cock swell.

I knew that Lexi was scared to be riding on a motorcycle—most people are their first time. Because of that, I drove carefully and was considerate of her fears, but about halfway into the ride, I could tell that she was getting more comfortable with the experience, and I picked up some speed. Her body tensed a little, then relaxed again, and her grip on me went from desperate to slight. She was comfortable again, and I could sense that she was thoroughly enjoying the ride.

When we pulled up outside of Lexi’s apartment building, we sat idle for a moment after I parked my bike.

“How was it?” I asked, kicking down my kickstand.

“A little scary at first,” she answered. “But I loved it.” Her arms were still wrapped around me, and I didn’t want her to let go.

“Good,” I replied. I reached down and ran my hand over hers.

“Who gets off first?” she inquired.

“Huh?” I asked. Of course, my mind was in the gutter. When I heard “gets off” I thought of coming, though she was obviously talking about my bike.

“It’s easier if you do,” I said…which was true both of what she meant
and
of what I initially heard.

I felt Lexi wriggling around behind me, and I couldn’t help but smile. It’d been so long since I had someone so unfamiliar with motorcycles on or around my bike, and there was something cute about how fresh and unsure she was.

I stood up a little to give Lexi the extra room she needed to dismount and tried not to drool as I watched her smooth out her dress and regain her composure. She looked a bit tousled from the ride, and it looked good on her.

I jumped off of my bike and joined Lexi at her side, and together, we walked to her apartment. She lived on the first floor of a multi-unit building in a respectable neighborhood, and as we walked into the place, I swore I saw some people peeking out of their windows from behind their curtains. I’m sure they weren’t used to seeing—or hearing—a motorcycle in this area, at this hour.

Once we were inside Lexi’s apartment, I took a quick look around, to get the lay of the land, and then set my sights on Lexi. Just like I could tell she was scared to be on my bike earlier, I could tell she was a little scared at this particular moment—not that she was scared of
me
, but of the situation. She may have looked like a bombshell in her dress and may have had a body that could make grown men cry, but judging from her general demeanor and the classic girlie décor of her apartment, she probably wasn’t the kind of girl who did shit like this all that often.

“Don’t be nervous,” I said, walking into her living room, removing my jacket, and tossing it over the arm of the couch. “I won’t bite…unless you want me to.” It was the cheesiest line I could think of, and I said it to ease the tension.

“Just don’t draw blood,” Lexi said with a laugh. It was a good comeback, and it almost made me reevaluate my conclusions about how innocent she really was…almost.

“Want something to drink?” Lexi asked, walking towards the adjoining kitchen at the side of the room. She tossed her keys down onto the counter and went to the fridge.

“I don’t have any beer,” she went on. “But I’ve got some wine and a bunch of different nonalcoholic drinks, like orange juice, soda, and bottled water.”

“Wine’s fine,” I called out from my seat on the sofa. I looked around the apartment slower now and took in Lexi’s décor. Her living space was very clean and organized, and it was decorated with thought, attention to detail, and flair. It was obvious that Lexi took great pride in it, and, hell yeah, I was impressed.

“Here ya go,” Lexi said, walking back into the room. “It’s Merlot.” She handed me a large wine glass. It was as big as a tiny fishbowl, and only half-full of dark red wine.

“Thanks,” I said, taking it from her. I took a sip. It was bitter, dry, and thick, and I was glad there wasn’t much of it in my glass.

Lexi sat down beside me on the couch, crossed her long, sexy legs, and drank from her glass. She seemed to handle the wine better than I did and threw back a few mouthfuls to my one.

“So,” Lexi started, setting her glass down on the coffee table. She was going to ask me a question or say something, but as I looked down at those legs, the last thing I wanted to do was talk.

I leaned forward, set my glass down beside hers with one hand, and wrapped the other around her back.

“Come here,” I said, interrupting her and pulling her towards me.

Lexi didn’t say a word, and she didn’t resist. Her body melted to my touch and eased into me, and then our mouths met for one hell of a hot kiss. The wine tasted better on her lips than in the glass, and I sucked at them as if I needed them to get drunk.

Lexi moaned quietly, as I pressed my tongue against hers, and she moaned a little louder when my hand slid up under her skirt and caressed her thigh. I was already as hard as a rock, and her sounds made me throb.

I tugged at Lexi’s thigh, nudging her even closer to me. And, luckily, she picked up on my cue. She effortlessly swung her leg around, hoisted up her body, and climbed on my lap. I slouched down just enough to accommodate her, grabbed her ass with both hands, and ground her body against mine while burying my face in her luscious tits.

Lexi kept moaning and started running her hands through my hair. She was rocking back and forth on top of me, riding me as if I was her bike. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to have her. I needed to be inside her. I needed to make her come.

I lifted my leg up just a bit, squeezing her body even tighter against my aching dick. I moved my other leg, and then…CRASH!

My boot hit the coffee table and knocked over
both
glasses of red wine.

“Fuck!” I shouted when I looked past Lexi and saw the mess. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shit,” Lexi said, turning around to take it in as well. She hopped up off of me and ran to the kitchen.

“Damn it,” she hollered. “I’m out of paper towels.” I saw her rush past me in a blur, heading towards the bathroom. Then, I looked at the mess again. The wine was pooled on the table, and it was starting to run. A stream of it was approaching the end of the coffee table and was about to leak down onto her blue rug.

I needed to do something before the wine hit the floor so that it wouldn’t stain. Her apartment was so clean and organized, after all, and I didn’t want to leave a blemish on it.

I looked around for something—anything—to sop up the mess. But there was nothing to be found. Then, all of a sudden, I remembered that stupid newspaper article Hammer had showed me, and I recalled folding it and placing it in my jacket pocket.

I grabbed my jacket from beside me, reached into the pocket, pulled out the newspaper, and used it to soak up the wine. I was still wiping it around when Lexi came back out with a towel.

“Let me get that,” she said, stepping in front of me and crouching down to the ground. She pushed the drenched newspaper aside and started using the towel.

“You used the
L.A. Crier
to clean this up?” she asked with a snort-like laugh. I hadn’t even remembered the name of the paper and was surprised she even knew it at all.

“Yeah, it’s garbage anyway,” I replied. “There was some piece-of-shit article in it that mentioned last night’s show.”

“You thought the article was a piece of shit?” Lexi asked. The tone of her voice abruptly changed, and her face turned as red as the wine I’d just spilled.

“What? You read it?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

“Yeah, I
read
it,” Lexi fired back, looking away from me and cleaning the coffee table with more zeal, “after I
wrote
it.”