There's No Tomorrow

Prologue

Oh yes, please like that. Don’t stop, baby. Give it to me.

I wished these bitches would learn to shut up while I’m fucking them. All I wanted was to get my fuckin’ rocks off. It helps clear my head so I can work. There were times I wished I was into kinky shit, so I would have an excuse to put a fuckin’ ball gag in their mouths. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of a hard fuck, of pulling hair and smackin’ ass, but whips and chains just ain’t my thing. I only need my cock to make the pounding I give worthwhile. All the other shit was unnecessary. But it didn’t escape me the need for props with these women.

"Shut the fuck up or I’m going to stop and you’re out of here."

Squealing replaced words and I couldn’t take any more, I needed to be done. I moved my hips faster—making sure I hit the one spot I’d never had a problem finding—forcing her to take every bit of my nine-inch weapon of pussy destruction. Wincing, I felt Ashley’s—Candy, Charlotte, Desiree, Brittany, shit, who the fuck cared what her name was—god-damned nails cutting into my ass cheeks, knowing they would leave a mark. This bitch was just like all the others, wanting to make it so I don’t forget them. Shit, I’ve slept with so many easy, and not so easy women, I’m thinking of having them sign a log so I know who not to fuck again.

I could feel myself getting ready to cum—it sure as shit wasn’t going to be an epic one, but it would do the job for the moment. It was always good to have your partner walk away—if doing so bowlegged qualified, and I sure as fuck thought it did—with a smile on her face. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, after all. It was how I got my handle.

I made the mistake of looking down at the woman’s face—eyes rolled in the back of her head, mascara making her look like a raccoon, lipstick smeared all over her face from the blowjob she’d given me—and instantly wished I hadn’t. I get it, really. Cumming hard can make the hottest bitch look like she took a bat to the face. And this one was no different. One, then two more strokes and I was done. Pulling out of her pussy, I finished off by jacking and shooting all over her stomach. I wasn’t squeamish, but the sight of her rubbing it all over her skin like lotion made me grimace.

I didn’t even give her—yeah, still can’t remember her name—a chance to pull me down to her. I don’t kiss them. Ever. I’d only kissed one girl in my entire life and I was in love with her. Just the thought of Julianne’s memory popping up turned me cold. Her death was just another person I’d cared for who had left me. I stepped away from the now satiated female and pulled my pants up, fastening the button then zipping as I turned and walked to the window. I stood there pointedly ignoring her. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her writhe on the bed as if to invite me to sample her body again.

Get out.

Harsh, I know, but if I don’t they latch on like leeches.

But, Magic—

Out.

It was amazing how fast they moved when they were pissed off. Climbing out of the bed—we’re at a motel, ‘cause I never take them to my home—she stomped to her pile of clothes and quickly got dressed. She didn’t put her stilettos on—was probably afraid she’d fall on her ass in her haste to leave my presence.

The door slammed shut and I finally turned to face the surroundings. The room smelled like sweat, cheap perfume and sex—lots of sex. Walking to the saddlebag I brought up from my ride, I grabbed the mouthwash and poured a generous amount into my mouth, swishing. After spitting the liquid in the sink, I put it back in my bag, grabbed my shirt and the saddlebag then left the room.

I’m Dallas Campisi, but my club members call me Magic. Yeah, I know it’s cliché about how I can magically make clothes disappear. See, they all have old ladies—wives, girlfriends or whatever you want to call them—so they live vicariously through my sex life. And yeah, I get lots of tail. Haven’t met a woman yet who wasn’t tempted by what I could do to them. Deep down, I’m kind of jealous of my brothers, though. To have that one person sticking by you no matter what? It was something I had to admit I’d been wanting for a while now. But I’m okay with the name.

Chapter 1

Sydney Marie Cooper! I need you in front of me in ten seconds. We needed to leave fifteen minutes ago for Mrs. Beaston’s house.

Hello, my name is Deirdre Cooper.

Awwight, Mama. I gotta get Mr. Toodles.

And that is my beautiful, precocious four-year-old daughter.

I had never been late to work. Ever. When my mom was alive she used to joke with me, saying I had OCD from the time of conception. Since I was born a week before my mom’s due date, I tended to believe her. Well, that and the fact I absolutely hated being late. On time for me was at least fifteen to twenty minutes early for the average person. The only time I had ever been late was when I found out I was late, if you know what I mean. Nine months later I was handed my little girl.

It was just my luck, the only time I had forgotten antibiotics tend to make birth control pills inefficient, I get pregnant. And the father of my little girl? A man I thought I had known well, but who skipped out on me when he found out we had a baby on the way. Class act kind of guy, huh? So, there I was, five months along and Jason McCormick was denying his impending fatherhood. I had enough presence of mind to have him sign legal documents stating he wanted no further contact with me and my child, that he was not claiming the child in any way—my mom’s neighbor was a family lawyer and had suggested it to protect my full custody of Sydney later down the road. Two days later, I found out he had begun training classes to be a long-haul truck driver.

I had been living in a small studio apartment over my landlady’s garage in Arlington, Texas. In exchange for the apartment, I helped Mrs. Orville with pretty much anything she needed. Light housekeeping, errands, mowing her lawn. I even cooked simple meals for her. She was a nice old lady and her family felt more comfortable having someone there to make sure she was okay. My mom would come to visit me whenever her flight attendant schedule allowed. When mom died in a plane crash, Mrs. Orville stepped in and took care of me. And when Sydney was born, my landlady became a surrogate grandmother for my little girl.

Then Mrs. Orville died. I had gone to check on her to bring her to the park where she liked to watch the joggers. She was constantly telling me it was the only way to get her kicks by eyeballing the men running past. When she didn’t answer, I went to her room to see if she was still sleeping. Quietly stepping into the room, I instinctively knew she was gone. I was devastated to have lost a woman who meant so much to me and my mom within a year of each other. If it weren’t for Sydney, I would have completely broken down.

What surprised me most about Mrs. Orville’s death was her will. I’d had no idea she had come from old money, and her surviving family had more money than they could spend in three lifetimes. And they were so down to earth and well, nice. I guess I expected them to be snooty or something. Oh yeah Mrs. Orville’s house wasn’t some huge mansion. Yes, it was nice, but it didn’t give the impression she was worth more money than I knew what to do with.

When I was called by the family lawyer to attend the reading of the will, my first thought was she left me the pair of earrings she allowed me to borrow periodically and had fallen in love with. With Sydney in tow, I dressed in my nicest dress and sat awkwardly with the family as the lawyer read the provisions of the will. I was shocked to learn the house, land, car and some stocks were left to me. Then to further stun me, Sydney was the recipient of Mrs. Orville’s bank account which would be held in trust until she turned eighteen. In the span of about a half hour I had become extremely wealthy and my daughter would have enough money to support herself even if she chose not to work. I would be sure to teach my girl the value of money and how it shouldn’t stop a person from being a productive member of society.

Though I was twenty-four at the time, I became the owner of a beautiful three-bedroom ranch style home sitting on six acres of land. Unfortunately, with the home and land came the financial responsibilities of upkeep, insurance and taxes. I was thrust into the grownup world with no other skill set but a knack with computers, excellent phone presence and dependability. Luckily for me, the owner of a local tree trimming company—who are contracted with businesses such as electric companies to make sure tree limbs on power lines don’t disrupt the general population’s service—saw something in me and gave me a chance.

I was hired on as his personal secretary, and for the first time since Sydney’s birth, I saw myself with a career I thought could be long lasting. My boss was supportive of my single parent situation and even put me in touch with Mrs. Beaston. It had been an adjustment period to get used to trusting someone with Sydney, but Mrs. Beaston just happened to be a NY Times Best Selling author of romance books and was a good friend of my boss. She was a treasure in our life I hoped to never lose. In the meantime, Jason had come back and tried to assume his role in my daughter’s life, but I shut him down real quick when I reminded him he denied responsibility for creating her and signed his rights away. He had tried to take me to court, but my boss had the attorney he kept on retainer step in and expertly handled the case. His representation secured my custody of my daughter and soundly confirmed for Jason his parental rights were non-existent.

"Sydney? Come on, baby!"

I didn’t like to raise my voice to Sydney. Mrs. Beaston had stressed shouting could potentially do more harm than good. Not to mention shouting was unladylike. The woman was a stickler for proper behavior. However, there was a meeting with executives from a huge corporation, and I needed to get to the office. The meeting was to determine if RTS could convince the client we could do the work they required. And that meeting could potentially translate into huge revenue for RTS. I had prepared most of the materials the night before; all that was left to do was get the conference room ready. Plus, I was expected to assist during the meeting, but if my little girl didn’t hurry up, I wasn’t going to make it on time.

I’s comin’, Mama.

I didn’t need Sydney to announce her trek down the hall. It never ceased to amaze me how someone so tiny could make so much noise. Seeing the little body—yes, I was a bit biased, but in my eyes she was perfect—skip down the hallway with her stuffed Bassett Hound tucked under her arm, had me smiling despite my self-imposed time constraints. She had dressed herself in a bright, sunny yellow dress with her white sneakers. Her gap-toothed smile—she had lost her very first tooth three days prior and it was one of her front teeth—always had me smiling back. No matter how good or bad my days were, my baby girl had me wrapped around her little finger and brightened my day. I loved her so much.

Well, don’t you look very pretty. I smiled down at her proudly.

S’ank you, Mama.

Turning, I grabbed the bag with Sydney’s daily supplies and we headed out to my car—the 2013 Subaru Tribeca Mrs. Orville had left me. A deep black and luxurious interior, I was happy with my decision to keep the car instead of selling it. Sydney’s safety was the most important thing to me, and this car was at the top of the list that year. It was a plus Sydney thought the car was super cool.

The quick drive to the babysitter was the same as always with Sydney singing along to the Kidz Bop CD playing. She was out of tune, but knew every word to the songs. It didn’t take long to drop her off and head to work. Thank goodness for my OCD, though. I arrived at the office with a half hour to spare. I quickly did what was needed doing. When Mr. Ramsey’s nephew came in, I was reading through some paperwork.

A year in to my working for RTS, Kieran Ramsey, the owner of the company, was diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer and he died within six months. It saddened me to lose another person I cared about so much. When William Ramsey took over the company, I was optimistic—at first. It didn’t last long, though. He proved to be a bit of a handsy employer, though he claimed the subtle touches were innocent. He’d never done more than a hand in the small of my back or lightly touching my hand on occasion. No, it was more the glances that screamed what he’d very much like to do to me.

William’s attention was disconcerting. In fact, I wasn’t used to grabbing the attention of most men. I have what most would call a fuller figure. Though not considered obese, I had always considered myself curvy. Since high school, I had attracted some attention, but most of it was unwanted. It was as if I was perceived as easier because of my size. In fact, one boy told me I should be thrilled for his interest, since fat girls like me weren’t considered ‘hot’ like the cheerleaders or athletes with slimmer bodies. My mom had told me to never settle for anything. I deserved happiness not someone’s crumbs. When Jason and I started dating, I was a virgin. I had a lot of fun with him, and though I wasn’t in love with him, I cared for him very much, thinking we had good potential for a lasting relationship. Boy, was I ever wrong.

Anyhow, William gave me the creeps, however, there were reasons I stayed with RTS. I truly loved my job and was damn good at it. I needed the money to pay bills—refusing to touch even a dime of Sydney’s trust fund—and I was very well paid. I wasn’t sure I could find another job with the medical coverage offered, or the pay I needed, since I had no college education. And lastly, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from the company that had done so much for me. I was sure I was a passing fancy for William and he’d eventually give up.

Though I hadn’t been facing the door when William arrived, I knew exactly when he came in. He insisted on wearing a certain cologne—I was tasked with replacing the expensive, yet noxious brand every other month. I swear he takes a bath in it. So yeah, even though I couldn’t see him, I could smell him. I had to refrain from gagging on the stench, and shivering, because the fact he was standing there without saying a word was creepy and stalkerish.

I gave up on reading the documents in front of me, but kept up with my charade in the hopes he would just walk by and go to his office. Five minutes turned into ten. Why was he still standing there? Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and decided to feign surprise. Turning in my chair, I forced a shout and put my hand to my chest—big mistake.

"Oh my gosh, William, you scared me to death! I shot him an awkward smile. Good morning, sir. Can I get you some coffee?"

I did say it was a mistake to put my hand on my chest. Yes, the jerk was staring at my boobs. Not that there was anything to see, but I felt like his eyes were stripping away my blouse—which was buttoned clear to the top. I didn’t have to look down to know he was more than likely sporting an erection. I learned early on that to acknowledge his reaction to me was to encourage him and that was something I obviously didn’t wish to do.

Deirdre, you look very nice today. He licked his lips and scanned me from my toes back up to my eyes. "Are we all set for the meeting? There can be no mishaps, we need this contract."

Oh yes, we’re all set. I’ve got the conference room all ready with everything you asked for. The documents and presentation are good to go. I believe Stan is going to be delivering the pitch, right? At his nod, I smiled. Great! He’s the best.

Okay, I need that coffee you offered. I had a rough night last night and need to recover. Damn, never thought I’d say this, but getting laid so much is taking a lot out of me.

See what I mean?

William? We talked about this, remember? I kept my voice neutral, not wanting to put him in a bad mood before the presentation.

Huh? Oh, I meant nothing by it. That was my exhaustion speaking, not my common sense. He gave me a bland look and turned to go into his office.

As soon as the executives arrived, everything got underway, making me forget all about William’s creepiness. I had to admit, personal issues aside, he knew the business inside and out. When questions were directed to William, he answered without hesitation and with obvious knowledge of what he was speaking about. The visitors were impressed with everything, and after some minor details with the contract were hammered out, hands soon were shaking to seal the deal. They had done it! A multi-million-dollar deal was agreed upon.

Once the meeting was over, and our new clients had left, Stan and I were told to come into William’s office. When we got there, we were greeted by Judy, the receptionist as she was pouring champagne into flutes and handing them to us. Though only eleven in the morning, I had no qualms with taking a sip, while simultaneously hoping William would remember his promise to me.

"Great job, you two! I never doubted this contract was ours, not for an instant. They would’ve been absolute fools to sign on with anyone else."

This side of William I didn’t mind. He looked like a little boy who won his first Little League baseball game. Handshakes, hugs and a few back pats followed William’s words. I held my breath waiting for the moment of truth. Stealing a glance at Stan, I could tell he was reacting just as I was.

Okay, now to the promise I made you two when this whole thing started. William paused and looked at us. Stan, you’ll be receiving a five-thousand-dollar bonus and company car. Your choice, as agreed. The only stipulation is that it must be brand new and come from the dealership of my choice. No worries, you won’t be disappointed, I promise.

Thank you so much, William. It is greatly appreciated. Stan beamed at our employer.

It’s my pleasure, really. Uncle Kieran would have done nothing less. Turning to me, William’s gaze turned lustful for a moment then it went blank. Deirdre. My dear, without your hard work and research, this whole situation wouldn’t have run quite as smoothly.

I merely did my job, William, but it’s great to be appreciated. I smiled at him.

"Oh, believe me, you do not go unnoticed." Ugh, creep alert. So, I’ve got both of your bonuses being processed as we speak—five-thousand for you also, Deirdre. But since you insist a company car isn’t necessary, I had to figure out another way to reward you.

Yeah, I knew what was going through his filthy, little, one-tracked mind.

That isn’t necessary, William. The bonus is more than adequate.

Nonsense. I’ve made arrangements for you and your daughter to be given the VIP treatment at any resort of your choosing. Airfare and accommodations, with two-thousand dollars to be waiting for you to further your fun, paid for by the company. You can take your vacation whenever you like.

Oh my gosh, William! That is wonderful! Sydney is going to love this surprise. Thank you so much.

Sitting on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest, he grinned at me. This was a side of my boss I had never seen. Through his actions, he in no way resembled his uncle, but right at that moment he channeled Kieran’s generous, giving personality.

Well, that’s not all you two will get, he addressed both of us. I decided to go the extra mile and personally reward you. This last surprise is from me, not the company. Again, he paused to let his news sink in. I’ve decided you two will be allowed to choose a piece of furniture to have custom built by this guy I know of who creates the most incredible hand-crafted wood furniture. If you like, it can be a desk to be delivered here to work, or it could be something for your home. Here is his website, so you can look at his work and decide. Again, it’s your choice. Anything you wish. All you need to do is contact him, give him my name and tell him what you’d like to have made.

Speechless, I had no clue how to react. The bonus alone would go a long way to helping me out. The paid-for vacation was something I’d probably never be able to afford on my own, and the gift of a piece of furniture was so over the top awesome. Without even checking out the website, I knew what I wanted made. Ironically, it was something Sydney had dreamed of having for at least a year. And I knew she would be surprised to finally get it.

Stan and I couldn’t say thank you enough to William, and I couldn’t help but wonder if by accepting, was I selling my soul a little? But then the mom in me kicked in. I would do whatever was within my power to do—as long as it wasn’t illegal or morally questionable—to make my little girl happy. She was my world and she deserved the best.

Chapter 2

I walked out the side door of my rented house to the workshop I had set up in the detached garage, coffee cup in hand. The layout wasn’t what it should be, but I was making it work. My ultimate goal was to find a house on a decent piece of land, with an outlying shop or enough room to build one, to buy in order to have the perfect shop. For now, though, I was making the best of what I had to work with.

Hesitating, I took a sip of coffee as I looked out over the land and took in the beauty of living in an area where there were neighbors, without giving off the feel of being in a fish bowl. Though my address was Dallas, Texas, I was actually closer to a small town called Seagoville. I was about thirty to forty-five minutes away from any major activity, and yet, had the feeling of living in the country. It was definitely different from when I lived near Chicago. Even that city’s suburbs had a city feel to them.

I had been back in the Dallas area for almost two years. I had left for Chicago shortly after my dad died, even though the club prez, Vito, had told me leaving wasn’t necessary. Honestly? At that time, I couldn’t stand to be here any longer. I had contracted with a good real estate agent who took care of the house my folks had owned—having removed anything of sentimental value before I took off. My buddy Joe Civello had been trying to get me to come back for a while and I finally broke down and agreed. After taking the time to find the house I moved into and getting my wood working back up and running, I got approved to begin my probation period necessary for me to patch into the club Riding Dead.

So, what is Riding Dead? It’s a motorcycle club. Not gang, ‘cause it’s not involved with illegal activities. It’s totally