Mettle: A Spartan Riders Novel - Chapter #2 - Free To Read

Chapter 1

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Chapter 1

Tucker had the utmost respect for women. His mother was one, after all. He loved everything about them—their soft curves, their gentle touch, their delicate features, and most of all, their backs. More specifically, he loved when they were on them. Legs open, wet, and ready for invasion.

As a man, Tucker had never had a problem getting a woman to spread for him. As a patched member of the Spartan Riders and Sargent at Arms at that, he had even less of a problem. Females were practically dropping from the sky like some kind of biblical plague to get between his sheets, but that didn’t mean they stayed there long.

That didn’t mean they didn’t try, though.

Take “Bambi” for example. She was a sweet girl, possessed all the attributes he liked about a woman. Young, beautiful, sexy…and dumb as a box of rocks.

Used to be that he didn’t mind that sort of thing. The fewer the brains, the quicker he got to fuck them. But Bambi had overstayed her welcome. His fault, totally. Blake, the Spartan’s president, had warned him that fresh meat tended to stick, and being that Bambi was a brand new bunny, and he’d been the first to break her in, she was sticking to him like crazy glue.

He probably shouldn’t have spent so much time alone with her.

Probably shouldn’t have been so nice either.

Probably shouldn’t have taken her out for ice cream after laying down the pipe so hard.

Hell, that private trip for two up on the open road probably hadn’t done him any favors either.

Now that he thought about it, he probably shouldn’t have put her on the back of his bike at all. It tended to give mixed signals.

Especially since the bitch seat was technically reserved for ol’ ladies.

And an ol’ lady he did not want.

Like, ever.

There was nothing wrong with having a woman to come home to every night, to cook and clean and raise up the kids, but Tucker “Country” Abrams didn’t want any of that.

He liked his freedom, and he liked his pussy like he liked his ice cream: sweet, creamy, and in all thirty-one flavors. Being tied to one person for the rest of his life wasn’t exactly exciting, and Tucker lived for excitement. It was the main reason he signed up for the military when he turned eighteen. He’d made a career out of the service, working his way up the ranks until he reached Special Operations Forces where he was given the lead, and his full potential was realized.

Then his father had his first stroke, and he answered a new call. Taking care of him hadn’t been easy, especially after the second stroke. Sickness like that stripped away any shred of dignity a person had left. His final days were spentin a way that Tucker prayed never happened to him. He’d put a bullet in his head if it came down to it before he’d let that happen.

With SOF behind him and not interested in becoming an officer or firefighter or any other type of city service professional, he hadn’t known what to do with himself. So, he’d drifted for a time, doing miscellaneous jobs to earn a few bucks to keep the lights on. It was a meaningless existence. Then he ran into the Spartans, asked the right questions, and he found himself on a new path.

The best part about being in the club was he got to do the two things he loved best: fuck and play. Being the Sargent meant he still got to put his tactical training to use—kept the mind sharp. And now, with the club looking towarda possible war in its near future, that meant he was razor sharp.

“I’m bored.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over lacing his boots, Tucker grunted. “Then go find something to do.”

“There’s nothing to do around here, except…”

He felt the little nubs of Bambi’s fingertips walk up his back, her ragged nails catching on the fabric. “I’m headin’out in five. I’m sure one of the girls can find somethin’ for you to stay occupied while I’m gone.”

“But all they do is clean. Besides,” she said as she drew up onto her knees, her arms tying around his shoulders, “I’d rather be here with you.”

Her meaning was clear. “I just spent the whole morning with you. Now I got shit to do.” He was being a dick, he knew that, especially since he was the only one between the two of them who knew she’d worn out her welcome. Again, totally his fault. He’d fostered the false connection because she was a sweet piece of easy tail and he’d been too busy running recon for Quick, the Spartan’s president, to put in the time and effort for a fresh piece.

“You’re so grumpy lately,” Bambi complained. Using his back as leverage, she shoved away and rolled onto her feet on the opposite side of the bed.

Fuck. She was pissed, and when bunnies got pissed, shit got busted. Combing his fingers through his hair, Tucker blew out a long, drawn out breath and prepared to issue a lackluster apology that would result in a—hopefully—clean break. The last thing he wanted or needed was drama. He tried hard to keep that shit out of his life.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tucker saw that she was pulling on one of his t-shirts. His favorite “I Am A Worst Case Scenario” t-shirt to be exact. It was a nod at his SF skills, highlighting his sarcastic and completely witty sense of humor. Fuck if he was going to let her walk out with it.

“Excuse, darlin’, but I’m gonna have ta ask ya’ to hand over the shirt.”

Pausing with it halfway down her trim thighs, her hair mussed and her pussy on full display, Tucker couldn’t deny that she was hot. His dick twitched his appreciation. “Are you kidding me?”

He’d let her wear his shit before, but that was when he thought it was cute and knew he was coming back for more. Only a fool let a woman near his prized possessions moments before a breakup. That’s how shit ended up in a pile on the front lawn covered in gasoline. “It’s my favorite.” He made a face. She made a face back.

With an impatient huff, Bambi ripped the shirt over her head and threw it in his face. He captured it, withholding an appreciative smile as he watched her tits bounce back into place.

After that, Bambi dressed quickly, spouting off at the mouth with each article of clothing she put on, but Tucker tuned her out. He didn’t need to listen to her nonsense when it had no bearing on his future.

Shrugging his shoulder holster on, followed by his cut, followed by his jacket, Tucker motioned toward the door for her to go first. Every one of her steps were packed full of attitude, the kind that women threw at men they considered theirs as a means of punishment. But what Bambi didn’t realize was that he wasn’t her man, and he wasn’t playing her games. He was a free bird, and no amount of silent treatment was going to get under his skin. In fact, if she didn’t say another word, he’d be just fine.

He waited until they were outside his room and the door was locked before letting her down easy. “Thanks for the lay, babe. This is where we part ways.”

Her mouth opened, and she looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Did you…just break up with me?”

He flashed her a placating smile and bussed her cheek. “That’d require us to have been datin’.”

She jerked her head back in offense, and he could practically see the thoughts churning behind those glittering brown eyes. “I thought that’s what we were doing. The picnic, dinner, riding together.” Her voice wobbled a bit, and Tucker cursed inwardly.

She was a crier.

Tucker fancied himself a gentleman, and it wasn’t as if he was completely heartless. Taking pity on her, he softened his voice and reached up to brush a hand over her apple cheek, but before he could get that far, she slapped him away.

“Fuck you, Country!” Her eyes grew misty, and she shoved both hands against his chest, barely moving him. “You bastard. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for your lines!”

What lines? All he’d told her was that she had a nice ass that he’d like to tap and then took her by the wrist and led her to his room. If that was a line, then he was seriously on-point.

“Well, no more! I hope you enjoyed yourself, because that”—she jabbed a finger at the closed door behind him—“was the last time you’ll ever touch any of this.” She ran her hands down her body, then whirled around, her long, sex-tangled hair smacking him across the face.

“Take care,” he called out, a small smile creasing his cheeks.

Marching away, her hand shot up, her middle finger taking center stage over her right shoulder. Tucker just shook his head. That had been easier than he expected. Being in a club packed full of enough testosterone to fill the Grand Canyon, Tucker had seen his fair share of falling-outs among the brothers and their women. They’d replaced doors, windows, beds, and a ton of general furniture sprinkled around the common area. As far as he was concerned, he’d gotten off easy.

But, hey, at least he’d gotten off. Four times, if he recalled correctly.

Striding up to the bar, he took a seat on one of the ratty leather stools and made eye contact with Ginger behind the bar. “Hey, hot stuff, how’s it goin’?”

Somewhere in her mid-thirties, Ginger was a stunning redhead with a smile for everyone. She’d been raised in the life and had a special place in her heart—and between her legs—for every man in the club. If ever there was a caretaker among them, it was Ginger. She was the person the men came to with their personal shit, spilling their heart out along with their cum, and she was always good for patching them up quick and sending them on their way. She never got possessive, never slung around attitude, and never tried to tie anyone down.

Not even Quick. Blake was her first and only love. Not even her ex-husband, Hawke, held that honor. He was just a placeholder, and they all knew it. But now that Blake was wifed up with Gabby, his kid’s hot ass teacher, any hope she had of landing him was long and truly gone.

Every time Tucker rolled up on her, he saw the sadness in her eyes, but he never commented on it. It wasn’t his place.

“Hey, stranger.” Ginger flashed him that soft, alluring smile that made all the men’s hearts twist just a little. His own double-tapped his ribcage as she stepped up. “What’s your poison?”

“Just a couple bottles of water for the road.”

“Comin’ right up.”

While Tucker waited, he leaned into the counter, watching her ass sway as she took the couple of steps over to the mini fridge and bent down. Like he said, she made all their hearts do a little jig. She was a beautiful woman. A man would have to be dead below the belt not to be affected by her.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end an instant before the oversized body slid onto the stool next to his. The smell of leather tingled in his nose along with the unique spice of Repo’s cologne. Even though his muscles flinched, ready to fight or run at a moment’s notice, Tucker maintained an air of serenity. Confidence, in any situation, could mean the difference between getting your ass beat and…well, not. The latter of which was a possibility, since everyone also knew that Repo, the Spartan’s VP, had a definite thing for Ginger.

Both of the men eyed Ginger’s ample backside. From the corner of his eye, Tucker watched Repo run two calloused fingers over his white beard. It made him cringe inside. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t have a healthy fear of the man. Any day of the week, the asshole was an intimidating fucker, but the snow-white hair and full-on beard, coupled with those piercing, otherworldly blue eyes gave him the heebie-jeebies.

“Like what you see?”

The gruff question was spoken without inflection, giving Tucker no indication of what his current mood was. Seeing as there was no right answer to be given, he said, “What’s not to like?”

Ginger turned back then and lined up two bottles of water in front of Tucker and a beer already cracked open and ready in front of Repo.

Repo lifted one ashy brow at her and she trilled a laugh. “Honey, you should know by now that any time you enter a room, I feel it.”

His grin was wide and alarming. Tucker had literally never seen the man smile. Goose bumps erupted down his arms.

Using the same sandpaper voice, Repo told her, “You know how to stroke a man’s ego.”

“And you know how to stroke a…” She glanced over at Tucker and winked, leaving her sentence hanging.

“Uh, yeah, that’s my cue, folks. Enjoy your…” he waved a bottle between them “whatever this is.”

A hand clamped down on his forearm, stopping him. Repo leaned in, slanted Ginger a meaningful look. She took the hint, turning away and busying herself with something under the bar. To Tucker Repo said, “As long as it’s only your eyes, you get to keep your balls, feel me?”

Tucker swallowed, then pasted on a bright, easy smile. “Yeah, I feel ya, boss.”

“Good, spread the word. Red’s on lock from here on.”

He didn’t figure Ginger knew that, which was probably why Repo had made sure to send her away first. If she had heard him issuing threats, warning the men off her, the whole clubhouse would feel her wrath. The woman knew her place, sure, but she wasn’t a pushover. If there was something she didn’t agree with going on that directly concerned her, they were going to hear about it.

Tucker simply nodded again, turned, and walked out. Repo would find all that out soon enough. As far as Tucker was concerned, though, he had nothing to do with any of it.

Free bird.

With that thought in mind, he climbed onto his bike and hit the open road.

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