by Ann Jensen
Doc leaned over her, putting stitches in a few of the longer cuts. She had refused any painkillers stronger than aspirin and Sharp had wanted to step in to override her choice. But before he could he noticed the pills Doc gave her weren’t aspirin as he’d claimed, but some of their strongest Oxy. After a few minutes, little Phoebe slept through the process.
“You didn’t kill him?” Hawk’s face showed the same cold rage Sharp felt. Dark Sons weren’t known as boy scouts. Hell, no one who lived the outlaw lifestyle cared one bit about laws made by the government. But some things you just didn’t do. Some things were evil.
“Had I known. I would have.”
Hawk closed his ice blue eyes as if thinking and shook his head. “I wish I could free you up, but I need you on that ride tomorrow. That little nutcase arms dealer won’t sell to anyone else.”
His President’s words were right, but that didn’t mean he was happy. The guy they were meeting was a paranoid freak, but he had some of the best custom refitted weapons around. “I understand.”
“Tell Kickstand and Puck they share guard duty until you get back. I’ll get Dozer’s Old Lady to check on her as well.” Hawk took another look at Phoebe’s mangled body and growled. “If that fucker shows up here, I want him to be vulture bait.”
Sharp considered the plan. Dozer’s Old Lady, Val, was a nurse, so it was a good call, and the guys he had picked were solid prospects who had been with them for over a year. Hawk often appeared heartless but by using Club resources to protect Phoebe he gave a firm declaration of his intent to back Sharp’s play.
“Will do.”
“Your instincts are always solid. Don’t let worrying about this girl trip you up.”
Sharp chuckled. “No worries. I’m on target.”
Chapter 4
There’s no place like home… but I’d rather be in Vegas.
Like every other day of her life, Phoebe woke in pain. Something was different this time. It took her a minute to figure out what it was. Instead of a cold floor, she was prone on a comfortable surface. Stretching aching muscles, she realized she wasn’t cuffed and chained. She was also wearing a soft, black cotton shirt. Memories from the day before rushed back to her. Had she really gotten away? Sitting up a little too fast the skin on her back was tight and spasmed with pinpricks of pain.
“Careful, darlin’, or you’ll pull the stitches.” Her head whipped in the direction of the voice and she wanted to sob in relief. Sitting in a chair in the corner of the tiny room was her savior. What was his name? The man called Doc had said it last night; she searched back through her memory.
“Thank you for saving me... Mark?”
“Sharp.” He was a giant of a man, but his amazing smile and warm eyes comforted Phoebe. He pointed to a patch on his leather vest.
She blushed. “You go to all the trouble of getting it embroidered on your vest and I still get it wrong.”
He chuckled. “It’s called a cut, darlin’. Not a vest.”
It looked like a vest to her but if he wanted to call it a cut then who was she to argue? “Oh, um, well it’s a cool name.” What did you say to the man who saved your life?
“It’s not my real name. I got it when I was a sniper in the SEALs. I won every sharpshooter award they had, so my buddies called me Sharp. The name stuck.”
“What’s your real name?”
His eyes crinkled as he studied her, before answering, “Sean Oliver, but I’m not that boy anymore.”
She liked the idea of being able to become a new person with the simple act of changing a name. She shifted on the bed, turning to put her back to the wall so she could look right at him. She pulled her knees up to her chest, ignoring the pain and letting it roll through her. As usual, she enjoyed the endorphin rush, instead of avoiding it. Glad now for the ability to absorb and enjoy pain, something she had learned as a kid in a particularly bad foster home.
She had always felt abnormal being the child nobody wanted. When she had started seeking out pain to find a bit of pleasure it had put the cherry on top of the ‘no-one-wants-me’ sundae. Not all of her foster parents had been bad. Some had even tried to get her professional help. At age fourteen she had been forced to talk to a state psychiatrist. He diagnosed her with sexual masochistic disorder. The man definitely liked using fancy words to describe a survival mechanism. One that had barely been enough to protect her from her latest nightmare.
Mitchel had loved finding new and horrible ways to torture her far beyond her ability to enjoy. He would spend hours with his knife cutting away bits of her skin. When that didn’t work, he would use a whip or his fists until he discovered her weakness. Waterboarding had cut right through her ability to disassociate, tapping into a primal survival instinct that left her vulnerable to even the mildest forms of torture. Only when she cried, hoarse from screaming, would he find his satisfaction in her bloody body. Phoebe’s stomach churned as she closed her eyes, trying to push him from her thoughts.
“What is today’s date?” She needed to know how much time had been stolen from her.
“April second.” Sharp’s voice was deep. She let it seep inside her like a warm wave.
She held her breath as she did the math she had avoided before. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes. “Six months? Was it really only six months?” An odd thought struck her, and she giggled. “I’ll be twenty-one in four weeks.” That age had seemed important to her before but with how she felt inside the number didn’t really matter. She noticed his gaze had gone hot staring at her legs. Phoebe took in her position and realized the single piece of clothing she had on was an over large t-shirt that was rucked up and just covered her upper half. The way she sat put her pussy on full display between her ankles.
The old her would have stayed put. Enjoyed the effect she had on him. But even though she was grateful and wanted to find some way to pay her savior back Phoebe wasn’t quite ready to play the vixen. She pulled up the sheet that was right by her hand and laid it lightly across her legs. Sharp’s broad shoulders, muscles and dark good looks alone had her heart racing, but she wasn’t completely sure if it was because of attraction or fear. Phoebe should never want anything to do with men ever again, and yet here she was, hours after escaping Hell, almost wishing for this rough man’s touch.
Could she be what people called ‘normal’? The rest of the bikers had made her nervous and not even slightly aroused. Even the gentle, gruff Doc had made her skin crawl when he touched her, but for some reason, Sharp made her feel safe. Emotions rarely made sense, at least not hers, so she decided to not look too closely at her feelings yet.
Sharp’s eyes snapped up to her face as he took in her statement. “You were with that asshole for six months? Why did you stay with him?”
Phoebe dropped her head back against the wall and studied the ceiling. Could Sharp think she would willingly stay in an abusive situation? The idea hurt. It shouldn’t; they didn’t know each other, but again emotions did not equal logic. The embarrassing truth wasn’t much better. One stupid choice had led to months of hell.
“I wanted to party to forget how much life sucked, so I said yes to a drink from a guy I had just met. I woke up chained in Mitchel’s basement.”
“For six months?”
She really didn’t feel like reviewing the activities that had made up the last few months of her life, but she owed him something. “Not solely in his basement but, until yesterday, I had never been in public or even allowed outside unguarded.”
“You were alone with that psycho for six months?” Sharp’s harsh voice caused her to look back at him, and she couldn’t understand the intense emotions reflected in his eyes.
“I wish we had been alone.” Phoebe’s throat closed up, and she couldn’t make herself talk about it anymore. Fear and terrible memories were pushing at the barriers she kept up around her sanity. Faces of the women who had died in or passed through the training center or were still trapped in slavery threatened to overwhelm her. Ph
oebe pushed her back against the wall and let the spike of pain roll through her, and she moaned as it turned into a pleasant burn, sparking a flame of desire that for once she might be able to satisfy.
Chapter 5
Being a gentleman sucks… If you’re lucky.
Sharp did his best not to stare at Phoebe’s pussy, but her bare, pink, lush lips were like a siren call. The sheet she had pulled up around her had slipped back down as they talked, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t on purpose. This tiny woman had been through more than he could imagine and didn’t need him rubbing up against her like a puppy. Trying not to think of how wonderful she would feel wrapped around his cock, Sharp tried to remember what they had been saying. She hadn’t answered his last question.
He tore his eyes away from the inadvertent peep show and realized she was pressed up against the wall and groaning with pain. Fuck. He shouldn’t have questioned her when she was in so much pain. Letting her know she was safe was the priority, not dragging her through the muck of her past. He moved over to the bed and gathered her up into his lap. Phoebe needed to know he was leaving soon, but that she was safe and welcome. He had barely slept last night so he could make all the arrangements while she slept off the painkillers.
Sharp looked down at her with the intent of saying all of that, but when he caught sight of her deep emerald eyes and sleep-mussed hair, all that came out was, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
When she smiled and leaned in, their mouths were drawn together like two magnets. Sharp tried to keep the kiss gentle, but the sounds she made had him devouring her like his favorite dessert. She was like a drug and he lost himself in her, forgetting all his good intentions, his dick pounding against his zipper as she ground into him.
Phoebe slipped down through his arms like a little eel, breaking their kiss. “Phoebe... What are you... Oh fuck.”
The girl was a fucking magician. Somehow, she had undone his pants, freed his cock and swallowed it down in fewer seconds than it took him to realize what she was doing. He groaned as her tongue massaged the underside, then swirled up over the tip.
“Baby, you don’t have to do this, but damn, it feels amazing.”
Sharp was far from a small man. Hell, he had women who couldn’t take all of him in their pussy without whining about pain, and this little minx swallowed him down like it was nothing. She looked so innocent, but her mouth proved it was the furthest thing from the truth. When her throat swallowed around his dick, he almost came apart. “You do that again, baby, and I’m going to come straight down your throat.”
She pulled back a little, her moan vibrating up his cock, then she was back with her nose against his body, with one hand stroking his balls through his jeans and her tight as fuck throat milking the tip of his dick over and over. The orgasm hit him like a fucking train, and he shouted his pleasure into the room.
Phoebe licked her way up Sharp’s dick like it was her favorite lollipop, the salty taste pleasant on her tongue. Powerful emotions surged through her body and tightened her nipples in arousal. This wasn’t healthy but having the choice made her able to forget the past and live in the now. She didn’t want to be a victim, she wanted to be the one in control. She had made this overwhelming man lose control. Before she had been taken she had been the aggressor, and it was amazing. As she licked the slit, trying to get the last drop out of his slowly softening cock, her body trembled as Sharp’s growl flowed down her skin.
Suddenly she was airborne, terror causing her pulse to race. Phoebe’s back slammed into the bed, causing tears of pain to leak out of her eyes. Then he was on top of her, pinning her down. Panicking she tried to break free, but he was too strong.
“My turn.”
She tried to squirm away but he locked onto her legs, all rational thought fleeing before the pleasure of her endorphins and his touch. Sharp’s tongue found her clit like it was meant to be there. She had never, in her many experiences, had a man go down on her for more than a few seconds. The directed assault of his mouth was amazing. This wild man didn’t just lick her clit, he devoured her pussy like it was his mission.
The pain of her body mingled with the sweet ecstasy of his mouth and her pending orgasm threatening to crush her.
“You’re so fucking wet. You taste like sweet clover honey.”
His fingers drove into her and brushed against that sweet spot deep inside and everything inside her exploded as she came, screaming his name. Every muscle hurt as it contracted, pushing the orgasm higher. He pumped his fingers harder, rubbing relentlessly against her walls.
“That was so fucking beautiful. I want to see it again but look at me this time.”
She bit her lip as she opened her eyes and his dark gaze locked with hers. They were midnight pools of black with a hint of shimmering moonlight peeking through the treetops. He held her gaze as he lowered his mouth, sucking her clit with fast, sharp movements. Unbelievably, she was already hanging right on the edge, her body so close, but not falling over. She whined in frustration, wanting to lose herself in him, in this moment.
On his next suck, he pulled her clit hard into his mouth. Phoebe held her breath in anticipation. He bit down the slightest bit, and her body exploded. She lost his gaze, no longer able to control her muscles. Tremors took over her body and she floated in the sweet bliss of the best orgasm she had ever experienced.
A loud knock on the door pierced her haze. “Ten minutes, Sharp. Finished checking on your girl or do you need help?”
Sharp’s head hit the bed. He shouted a muffled, “Fuck off.”
Someone laughed on the other side of the door, followed by footsteps as the person walked away. Sharp scooted up the bed until they were eye to eye. He used a hand to brush the hair off her face. “You’ve got some kind of spell over me, darlin’.” He looked down at his undone belt and pants. “How do you do that so quick?”
Phoebe blushed, wiggling her hands. “Nimble fingers are important if you want to eat when you live on the street.” Pickpocketing had been her main source of income most months.
Sharp shook his head. “You know I came up here to check on you and let you know you were safe.”
She should be scared, and when her brain finally fully engaged, she probably would be, but something about Sharp made all the other shit in her past just melt away. “I didn’t mean to distract you.” She hated how weak her voice sounded. She sounded like a victim, instead of a lifelong survivor.
“Darlin’, you can distract me that way anytime, I fucking loved it. But it does mean I’m out of time.”
Phoebe pulled in on herself, knowing she wasn’t going to like what he said next. “Okay.”
“I have to go. I’m going to be gone for a few days. Kickstand and Puck are going to watch over you while I’m gone. They’re prospects but still solid men. Dozer’s Old Lady is a nurse. She’s going to check in on you, too. Let her know if you need anything.”
Prospects? The majority of what he’d said made little sense. “Where are you going?”
“Club business. Don’t worry about anything. You’re safe here.”
Phoebe wasn’t sure she believed that. Sharp might be willing to protect her because he wanted her, but what about the other guys? She shivered a bit. As a child, she had learned that nothing in life was free, even if the cost was hidden. She couldn’t stop him from leaving so like always she would survive and hope the price was something she could afford to pay.
“Fuck, I don’t want to leave.” Sharp gave her a gentle kiss that was cut short by the sound of several motorcycles roaring to life. “I gotta go, darlin’. Be safe.”
Sharp stood up, tucking his dick back into his jeans and left without another word. Dazed, Phoebe looked around the room, really taking it in. A full-sized bed, a single old wooden chair, and a nightstand were all that she could see. She checked the nightstand. It contained a few boxes of condoms and some lube with several dust bunnies.
This small room was her life for now. What were the rules she
would be expected to follow? There was another door to the room, so she checked it out. A small private bathroom with a shower stall, sink, and toilet was a pleasant surprise. She took advantage of the facilities and tried finger combing her hair into some semblance of normal.
The woman in the mirror was a stranger. Her green eyes and blonde hair were passingly familiar yet almost felt wrong. The training center didn’t have mirrors, so it had been months since she had looked at herself. She had always been small compared to others, but now she looked gaunt, her cheekbones too sharp and every one of her ribs visible under the colorful bruising. Phoebe hated the physical evidence of the starvation and torture she had been through and wanted to cover it all up. Try to forget.
Sharp hadn’t left her any clothes but the over-large tee shirt. The baggy shirt did hang like a dress but left her vulnerable and she didn’t want to risk bumping into any of his Brothers while looking for more clothes or food. She made a few faces at the girl in the mirror, trying to accept that this was her. A muscle in her back twitched, shooting pain across her nerves. She lifted up the back of her shirt and got a glimpse of the roadmap of her life.
Mitchel had always saved the worst of his tortures for her back, preferring to keep one side of her pretty. The whole image was surreal, like she was gazing at an intricate piece of modern art in mottled colors, instead of the evidence of her torture.
A loud voice from behind startled her out of her thoughts. “Jesus Christ on a cracker! Mother Mary and all her tiny little babies! Get me my shotgun ‘cause I am going to turn whatever man made you look like that into swamp chum!”
Chapter 6