Protected Pt. 06

WILLOW

I'd been staying with Colt the past week as he, and the rest of the BDMC, prepared to say their final goodbyes to their lost brothers. I didn't go with him as he helped the families with arrangements and tried to comfort his brothers' wives and children as much as he could. I'd have helped but I didn't want to force myself on the club if I wasn't welcome, nor did I want place him in an uncomfortable position.

When Colt was away helping the families of his fallen friends, what happened to his brothers' weighed heavily on my conscious. Intellectually I knew their deaths weren't my fault, but that was small comfort and did little to alleviate my guilt. Until today, when Colt wasn't with me, I had a shadow from the BDMC, and to a man, each still seemed concerned for me and my safety. I always assured them I was fine and made sure I gave full credit to them. Thankfully, there hadn't been even a hint of looming violence, and I began to relax, praying the danger had something to do with the sounding and drilling, and the violence was finally behind me.

A couple days after we returned to Rio Lago, Goose and Big Dick were elevated to Vice-President and Sergeant-at-Arms respectively. When he wasn't dealing with club business, Colt was scrambling to catch up on work. He allowed me to tag along as he performed repair calls on wells or wrote estimates for potential customers. I was itching to get back to Houston and the lab so I could start looking at the core samples the drill rig would be bringing up soon, but that wasn't as important as me paying my respects to the men who'd saved my life.

I heard the rumble of far-off Harley's and I turned in the direction of the sound with the others gathered. Colt left early this morning, and for the first time since Aunt Pam hired the BDMC to protect me, I was unguarded. He'd left me the keys to his truck, along with address of the cemetery, and I'd driven myself to the gravesite.

The rumble of the bikes grew louder.

Despite the pall hanging over us, I was enjoying Colt's company more than any man's I'd ever been with. We hadn't fucked again since our time in the shower... but we'd been making love every night. I hadn't realized how stark a difference there was between the two until these last few days. Our passion had only increased, but instead of taking pleasure from my lover, I was giving it, and Colt was multiplying and giving it back in return. After our soft cries were finished, and our breathless passion ended, we lay in a tangled heap, speaking little as we caressed each other before I fell asleep. Even better than the falling asleep after a night of bliss was waking up with him tucked into my back with his arms around me the next morning. I couldn't be sure, but the gentleness of his touch, and the way he sometimes looked at me, it seemed to me he felt the bond between us forming as well. I wasn't ready to admit I was falling in love with him, but I couldn't deny we seemed to share a connection, a connection I'd never had with anyone else.

The rumble of the Buitre del Demonio motorcycles grew louder and closer. Moments later, the BDMC appeared, nine brothers riding in front and nine behind the three gleaming black hearses. It'd been decided that all three brothers would be laid to rest at the same service, at Fish's gravesite, before Juice and Grace's coffins were transported to their own sites for internment.

The funeral for Fish, Grace, and Juice was the same as it was for Packard. After the remaining members of the BDMC escorted hearses to a stop, they divided into three teams of six before carrying their brothers in a line to Fish' gravesite.

I'd first heard Colt's eulogy last night when he practiced it. As he spoke over the caskets, like last night, I couldn't hold my tears and his voice became thick and jagged with emotion as he remembered his brothers and friends. After he'd struggled through his tribute, he removed three pins from his vest, one at a time, and carefully placed one on each of the caskets of his friends and brothers. His task finished, he crouched in front of each family. As he spoke softly to Lucia, Juice's wife, his face twisted with anguish, and I began to cry again as I felt his grief. He hugged the woman fiercely before moving to Grace's wife. As he crouched, his pain became too much for him bear, and he broke, sobbing softly as he pulled Maddy to him and held her tight.

Standing among the men's friends and family, I sobbed silently, wishing there was a way I could take away some of his pain. After a moment, he managed to collect himself and say what he had to. After hugging Maddy again, he rose and moved to Fish's mother and sister, his only two family members present. I'd thought Fish was married until last night when Colt told me he was divorced and his daughter lived with his ex-wife. His mother and sister had driven from Amarillo and would be his only family attending. Fish's father, though living, was in poor health and couldn't travel. He spoke briefly to both women, clearly struggling to keep his composure, before he hugged them each in turn and stepped away to stand beside the coffins.

I watched as each member of the BDMC repeated his ritual of placing of the pins and speaking to the families. Not all the men cried, but it was clear that all were struggling with their sorrow. My attention flicked between his brothers giving their condolences and Colt. He stood stiff, his face hard as he stared at nothing, clearly striving to keep his composure. He succeeded, but I failed, and I wept silently for the families... and for Colt.

As the service ended, I made my way to Colt's truck. I felt slightly sick. The club, and their families, were gathering at the BDMC clubhouse. While I wanted to be there for Colt, and to pay my respects to the families, I was still concerned that I wasn't welcome and my presence would be a disturbance.

I pulled into the parking lot in the middle of a group of cars as wives, girlfriends, and other family members convoyed to the clubhouse. I nearly wilted with relief when I saw Colt standing at the door, greeting each person as they arrived.

He saw me as I exited his truck, and I held back so that I was the last to approach. Another group of cars were pulling into the parking lot, but I had a moment alone with Colt before more family approached.

"Thank you for coming. You look nice."

I came prepared for the funerals and was wearing a black dress that fell slightly below my knees with a shallow scoop neck and sleeves that stopped just above my elbow, two-inch black pumps, and the string of pearls Aunt Pam gave me when I graduated high school.

"Thank you. I'm just sorry for the reason."

"Yeah, me too."

"How are you holding up?"

"Okay at the moment. Fish, Grace, and I go back a long way. We joined within a year of each other. They called us The Three Musketeers for a while."

I glanced behind me to see where the people who'd just arrived were. I still had a few moments. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You're doing it."

"What?"

"Being here. Seeing you reminds me they didn't die for nothing. It's not much, but it's all I have."

I pursed my lips as tears welled in my eyes. We hadn't made love this morning, but he'd spent a long time holding me. The other guests were approaching. "I should go." I pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

He held me tightly for a moment. "I'm glad you're okay," he murmured before letting me go.

Swallowing hard, I stepped out of his embrace and entered the clubhouse. The weight in the pit of my stomach grew heavier, and I paused just inside the door, debating if I should stay or go. I was still arguing with myself when the door opened, and the group that had been walking up entered with Colt on their heels. He took my hand, smiled softly at me, and slowly towed me deeper into the clubhouse.

"Lucia," he began as we coasted to a stop in front a beautiful Hispanic woman receiving condolences, "this is Willow Larke. Willow, Lucia Whatt. Lucia is Juice's wife."

"Widow," she corrected softly while holding my gaze. "Thank you for coming," the woman said, but her voice was cool and her eyes hard.

I could feel tears threatening. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

There was nothing else to say, so we stepped away. "I shouldn't be here," I whispered as I struggled to not cry.

"You've done nothing wrong," he murmured as he put his hand on my hip to pull me into his side. "Don't act like you have."

We held back a moment before he urged me closer to the two women. "Ms. Fisher, this is Willow Larke. Willow, this is Fish's mother and sister..." He paused. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."

"Callie. Callie Steen," the younger of the two women replied softly.

I could see the family resemblance. Fish's mother appeared to be in her mid- to late-seventies and was going soft with age, her once dark hair shot through with grey. Callie was probably in her early-fifties, also going grey, but thinner than her mother. I'd figured Fish to be in his early-forties, so he must have been the baby.

"You're the woman he tried to protect?" the older woman asked softly.

"Yes ma'am. Did protect," I murmured. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Ms. Fisher. I wouldn't be here except for your son. He died a hero."

"Please, call me Mary," the woman said as she nodded her head slowly. "Tom, he was always a good boy, never got into trouble, and always thought of others. I'm glad he... died, doing something important."

"He saved us all," Colt whispered.

Mary's face crinkled with her grief, and tears leaked from my eyes as Colt bent and pulled the woman into a long hug. He was whispering something to her I couldn't make out, causing her to nod. I looked to Callie as she watched, both of us sniffing and trying desperately not to cry.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Callie nodded but didn't say anything. Colt released Mary and turned his attention to Callie. "If there's ever anything we can do for you, if you need anything, you call me," he said, his voice thick. "Either of you."

Callie sniffed and wiped her eyes as she gasped. "We will. He talked about you a lot, about how good a friend you were."

Colt's face twisted as his eyes became shiny and his lips thinned as he fought for control. "He was my best friend. I'm going to miss him," he choked out after a long pause. "We all are. He was the best of us."

Mary sniffed as she nodded slowly. "I'm going to miss him too."

"I'm sorry," I repeated before Colt nudge me on.

"Ah... fuck," he growled as he sniffed and wiped furiously at his eyes. "This is so fucking hard."

"Yeah," I agreed.

As we approached Maddy, my knees became weak. She was staring at me, her hatred clear in her eyes. Of everyone there, Maddy was the person I was dreading meeting the most. Colt's face was hard, perhaps daring her to make a scene, we stopped in front of Grace's widow. He didn't introduce me.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss," I whispered.

"Thank you," she said, her voice soft but as cold and hard as frozen diamonds.

There was nothing else for me to say, so I nodded and allowed Colt to lead me away.

"I should go," I murmured when we were away from Maddy. "I'm not welcome here."

"You can if you want, but I'd like you here, for me."

I looked down. "I don't want to create a scene."

"Don't worry about her."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," he murmured as he softly touched my face. "It... helps me... you help me. You've helped me get through this."

His words warmed me and I tipped my cheek into his palm as I placed my hand over his. "Then I'll be right at your side."

-oOo-

I watched the GPS as Colt and I bounced along in the Larke Oil truck. We were on our way to the drill site so I could pick up the core samples to take back to Houston with me. I glanced at him as he stared, unblinking, out of the windshield.

"You okay?" I asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

He looked at me, a small smile forming on his lips. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"About your brothers?"

"Yeah... thinking about the good times." He reached over and took my hand. "And the gift they gave me."

I squeezed his hand. Yesterday were the funerals, and last night he'd taken me three times in quick succession. He seemed to crave my touch and we'd gone to bed early. After our first time, I'd snuggled in his arms as I tried to comfort him with my touch. After a long moment, as I was beginning to drift into sleep, he'd wanted me again.

Our second time had been the single most intense sexual experience of my life. As he began to peak, he'd reared up on his strong arms, his muscles taut, wailing loudly each time he thrust his manhood into me and held himself deep for a long moment, before slowly pulling back to again ram himself deep with another loud cry of pleasure. Watching him engage in battle with himself, fighting against his pain and grief while making love to me, had touched me deeply. He was like a mythical hero, and I was his weapon. His face twisted and eyes crushed closed, he'd fought his demons, baying his pleasure and effort to the room as he took me. When he'd cried out his final time and collapsed over me, I held him tight as he shivered and jerked, his hands flexing convulsively under my shoulders. His quiet gasps and occasionally bouts of twitching made me believe he'd silently wept into my neck as he held me. Even in his grief, he was thinking of me by supporting most of his weight so I wouldn't be uncomfortable. Sensing the pain he was carrying inside himself caused me to weep my own silent tears. He was so strong, taking the blame on his shoulders while resolutely refusing to lay fault at my feet for the death of his brothers, while also trying to help his brothers' families deal with their loss. There was little I could do but hold this amazing man for as long as he needed me to and try to lend him what strength I could.

Finally, after many long moments of us holding each other, he began taking me again, gasping and moaning as he plunged into me in a slow, pleasurable rhythm. I hadn't come with him the second time, but that in no way diminished the experience. He seemed to need me, to desperately need me, and I was thankful I could give myself to him. After many long moments, I whimpered softly as another orgasm swept through me, and some time after that, the night had ended with him moaning softly as he again spilled into me while holding me incredibly tight.

This morning, we'd made tender, passionate love again. Gone was the desperation of last night, the deep need he seemed to feel replaced by something else. Never had I felt closer to a man than I did to Colt. He hadn't turned to drink, drugs, or violence to deal with his grief. He hadn't pushed me away, but had drawn me close, and I loved how that made me feel.

I adjusted our path as the rig came into sight. Colt continued to hold my hand until I had to pull it back to place the truck into park. As we opened our doors, Enrique approached, his arm supported in a sling with a sticker of the Larke Oil logo, a stylized bird perched on an oil drop, stuck to it.

"How's your shoulder?" I asked when Enrique joined us at the truck. I'd parked far enough away, among the crew trailers out of caution, so that the truck wouldn't be in the way and we didn't have to shout over the noise of the drill rig.

"It hurts like a bitch if I try to raise my arm, but other than that, not too bad."

"Why aren't you in Houston?" Colt asked with a nod at the sling.

"Behind a desk for sixteen weeks? No thanks." He flapped his arm slightly. "It's kind of nice, actually. It gives me an excuse to not do any work, and these jokers are finally treating me with the respect I deserve." His grin spread. "I'll think I'll keep wearing it even after I'm healed up." He turned his attention to me. "What are you doing way out here... and are you sure it's safe?"

"I came to attend the funerals of Tom Fisher, Chuck Grace, and Rich Whatt." I ignored the rest of his question. I was being as careful as I could be, but I couldn't live the rest of my life in an underground bunker somewhere. Colt had approved the trip, and I trusted him to keep me safe.

"That's the three guys who died in that gun fight?"

"You heard about that?"

"Heard about it? You can't not hear about it. It's all anyone's talking about." Enrique glanced at Colt. "Did you really kill four cartel guys with machine guns, and drive through two roadblocks?"

"Two roadblocks, yes. I don't know if we killed anybody, though. They had us pretty well pinned down in the RV. There wasn't a lot we could do except run," Colt explained.

Enrique shook his head. "Still, you held off four guys with machine guns? Remind me not to piss you guys off."

Colt smiled, but it was a sad smile. I was pretty sure there's been only two automatic pistols, but I said nothing, not wanting to diminish in the least what these brave men had done.

"I was just the driver." He nodded at me. "While all that was going on, she was cool as a cucumber while patching up Goose and Big Dick. She probably saved Big Dick's life."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know. I've known her since she was this high," Enrique said while holding his hand out at knee level. "She used to come out in the field with her dad, and she wasn't scared of nothing. Speaking of which, why are you here?"

"You should have four or five core samples by now. I figured since I was here, I might as well take them back with me."

"I only have three ready to send. We're a little behind because we shut the rig down that day, then we broke a bit."

"Okay, I'll take the three."

Enrique nodded, then looked at Colt. "Can you load them, or do you want me to get a couple of the guys to do it?"

"How big and heavy?"

"Three feet by one foot, and about a hundred and twenty pounds."

He paused for a moment before speaking. "Yeah, I think I can manage it."

Enrique jerked his head toward the rig. "Bring the truck."

.

.

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COLT

The three plastic cases were lined up in the back of the pickup, each one sitting on its own rubber feet to keep them from sliding around and to protect the contents from vibration. Getting the cases to the truck hadn't been difficult because the site had a sled with big, air-filled, off-road tires for moving them around. Getting them into the back of the truck, however, had been a pain in the ass. They were too heavy and awkward to deadlift into the truck, so I had to put one end on the tailgate and then side it as far up as I could until the weight caused it to crash into the bed. Because the container wouldn't slid on its rubber feet, I then had to twist the box around, so it was sitting sideways on the tailgate, before climbing into the bed and crab walking it into position using the large rope handles on each end. I didn't bother tying them down because nothing short of a major accident would move those heavy bastards. After the first one, I regretted not accepting the offered help, but I was too prideful and stubborn to admit I couldn't do it alone.

I hopped out of the pickup and slammed the tailgate shut. "You're a hell of a lot stronger than you look if you muscle those things around," I said, panting slightly from my efforts.

"The boxes are delivered to the lab. There are actually four samples in each case, so I only have to handle about a quarter of the weight at a time."

"I assume you have a cart I can put them on when we get back to Houston?"

"Nope. You have to carry them all the way into the lab." I held her gaze, waiting for the punch line, before she grinned. "Okay, yeah, I think we can find something."