When my phone started again, it was easy to ignore because my entire body was alive with sensation as the love of my life expertly fucked me with her mouth.
A fucking bomb could’ve gone off in that moment and I could not have cared less.
Except Indy cared. She ripped her mouth from my about-to-come cock and frowned at my ringing cell.
“I think you’d better answer that,” she said.
“And I think you’d better finish what you were doing, baby, unless you want to give your man a serious case of blue balls.”
When my phone stopped, she paused to look at it, then satisfied it wasn’t going to ring again, resumed what she was doing, which was making me crazy with her lips, tongue, and her warm mouth.
When my pleasure rose I raised my hips to meet the torture of her mouth and she sucked me in deep, taking me right to the hilt. Indy didn’t have a gag reflex, which meant she could take all ten inches without batting an eye, and damn, it felt good driving all of me into her mouth and into the back of her throat.
When my phone rang again, she tore her mouth off me in frustration and reached for it.
“No!” I breathed desperately. I was about to come. But Indy ignored me and handed me my cell. It was Bull.
“This better be fucking important,” I snapped into the phone.
“Get your ass over to Irish’s now,” came his abrupt reply.
“It’ll have to wait.”
“You get yourself over here now. Someone shot Irish in the head.”
CADE
Irish was dead. His brains splattered across the wall he was slumped up against.
“What the fuck happened?” I asked Buckman.
“Would it mean anything if I said you couldn’t be here?” he asked as he watched us walk into his crime scene.
The look I gave him told him no, it wouldn’t matter.
We wanted answers and we weren’t leaving.
He sighed. “Suicide. By the looks of it.”
Bull and I shared a look of doubt. Granted, Irish held a gun in his hand, but it could easily have been placed there after someone had shot him.
This didn’t make sense. Irish wasn’t suicidal.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” came a familiar female voice. Bull and I looked up in time to see Sheriff Pamela walk in. She was the Sheriff based over in Humphrey. She gave Buckman a stern look. “Why don’t you invite the whole goddamn town into the crime scene?”
“What are you doing here?” Buckman asked.
“You know the Watermelon Fields are considered No Man’s Land,” Pamela said.
She was right. Irish’s home was in a part of town just past the watermelon fields known as No Man’s Land. The area had been the subject of great dispute between the two towns of Destiny and Humphrey since the late 1800s. Because the towns were both located in different counties, it also meant No Man’s Land fell under the jurisdictions of both county’s sheriff’s departments. I’d heard stories of the sheriffs flipping a coin to see who would take on an investigation.
“We were here first, Pamela. We were first on scene, so—”
Sheriff Pamela didn’t give Buckman a chance to finish. Instead, she looked at us. “You boys know better than to creep around a crime scene. Now you skedaddle out of here.”
Two nights ago, she had been on her knees in front of Bull. Neither of them would admit to what was going on between them, and it was amusing to see them pretend to not know one another when they were in public. The affair was a smudge on both their reputations. At first, it had been a one-night stand. But that one-night stand had been going on for weeks. Bull simply smiled at her, one of those secretive smiles full of promises about what he was going to do to her later, before he led me outside.
It was ironic to see Bull pussy-whipped by the police.
“What the fucking hell happened?” I asked him.
“Freebird and Irish had a disagreement back at the clubhouse last night. They left separately, but neither of them showed up this afternoon.” He nodded to the prospect who was leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette and looking a little grey. “The prospect found him about half an hour ago. Freebird is still missing.”
“You think Freebird did this?”
“Things haven’t been good with them since Jacksonville.”
“I know. Freebird hasn’t been able to let it go . . . but to do this?” I glanced over at Irish’s slumped and bloodied body.
Had Freebird finally lost his head over what happened in Florida?
Bull knocked me on the shoulder. “Find Freebird. I want to know what the fuck went down after they left the clubhouse last night, and why he’s been fucking AWOL all day.”
I took one last look at Irish.
It was a question I wanted answered myself.
CADE
The fallout from Irish’s death, and the disappearance of Freebird, was massive. On the heels of Tex’s death, and Isaac’s murder only a few weeks earlier, the club was left reeling. We investigated. We probed. We made contact with some of the shadiest people we knew, but we came up empty-handed every single time. Either we were the unluckiest MC in the country, or someone had a vendetta against the Kings of Mayhem.