Nitro held out the coat. “Are you gonna say something, Mouse?”
She wanted to.
Mouse wanted to throw her arms around his neck and beg him to stay. She wanted to feel his breath on her neck, to taste him, to drag her nails down his beautiful, muscular back. She wanted to cry out when he filled her with his wonderfully thick cock. And she wanted him to hold her as she fell asleep.
She shook her head, took the coat and helmet, then turned and walked back to the house.
11
Nitro loved to ride—it was the reason he was a freak—and he loved to ride in a pack.
The run from Bristol to Felixstowe was literally from one side of the country to the other, but would, with a following wind, take less than four hours. A nice easy run, culminating in a classic bike rally on the seafront of the east coast town, a few beers, and maybe a local girl to take back to the B&B for the night. Perfect.
Of course, it wasn't all fun and games. While he and his brothers were partying it up at the seaside, three of their number would be driving an anonymous, white van a few miles up the coast to meet a crabbing boat in some crappy little town in Norfolk.
The Freaks were smugglers—always had been. If something had to get from one place to another, the Freaks would do it. Back in the States, they relied on nomads to move goods from A to B. It didn't matter whether it was drugs, car parts, guns or people. They'd get them to where they needed to be.
If he was honest, he'd always been in awe of nomads. They answered to no one, and were truly outlaw—scary fuckers, too; anyone who said otherwise was a liar. They never rode tricked out, showy bikes, and there was no decal to advertise their loyalties. Few wore club ink anywhere visible and, unless they were in a clubhouse or on a PR run, rarely wore their cuts. Yet they were pure Freak. Nothing else mattered.
If the nomads were the transportation, the chapters were the distribution hubs and retail outlets. From them, goods would be sold to smaller clubs, or gang bangers, or whoever the fuck the customers were. Unlike a lot of clubs, the Freaks tried, as much as possible, to avoid third parties. No matter how much money was waved their way, they avoided working for others—they'd seen what happened to other clubs who'd jumped into bed with bigger players. The Freaks were pretty big enough, and they’d gotten that way by playing smart, and by not letting quick profits distract them from the bigger picture.
No such network existed in the UK, but the Bristol, Glasgow and Leeds chapters had managed to corner a healthy share of the party drug market without the need of nomads. After the rally, they would meet the van on some wasteland just north of London. And then his brothers, in groups of twos and threes, would head off to various towns and cities with enough Dutch acid to keep the country tripping for months.
He and Carter would be heading down to Brighton. It wasn't lost on Nitro that he was always paired up with the VP or SAA. They were still wary about him, and he didn't blame them. He might have been seconded from the mother chapter, but he'd left behind an angry woman who was threatening to bring him and his brothers down. No one really took her seriously—she didn't know shit—but it was hoped that, by him moving out of her reach, she'd go away quietly. And if she didn't, he had an airtight alibi for when the nomads did the other thing they were used for. Nitro had been relieved when it looked like it wouldn't come to that. He had no love for his ex, but he didn't wish her harm. He wasn't a killer, and he didn't want anyone killed because of him. He was one of the good guys.
Too bad Mouse didn't see it that way.
Angrily, he pushed the thought from his head. He hadn't seen her for seven days, and he was getting sick of thinking about her. They'd had their fun and, once it had stopped, he'd walked away, so why did she keep creeping into his brain?
Fuck her. If the club girls couldn't help, maybe a sweet fresh face would do the trick. Nitro grinned and scanned the crowd as they pulled up on the seafront. Yep, plenty of young eager bodies who were just dying to jump the rider of the prettiest bike in town.
~oOo~
Mouse closed her eyes as the ancient jeep bounced along the track. She really should've come back sooner, but every day she'd put it off, and find a new excuse why Maggie shouldn't bring her back. She loved Hope Farm, and Maggie was the mother she'd never had, but after Nitro had left, Mouse had felt... lonely. She'd filled her days well enough—there were always a hundred and one jobs that needed doing—and at least on the farm there were enough people around to stop her from getting maudlin.
It was only when she was alone in her bed that she'd allowed herself to regret letting him ride out of her life.
But now it was time to go back to Dartmoor. She'd promised Digger she'd stick around, and although she had a horrible feeling that he'd give her shit for giving up on Nitro, she did miss him.
“Shit!” Maggie slammed on the brakes. “They've fucking trashed the place.” With Mouse close on her heels, she ran to the lone figure sitting on the steps of her horsebox. “Shit, Digger.”
He raised his head and opened one swollen eye. “Looks worse than it is, girls. Don't start making a fuss.”
Maggie crouched down in front of him. “I doubt that, Digs. Mouse, there's a first aid kit in the jeep.”
“I'm okay.” Digger slowly got to his feet and staggered a little. “Your van's knackered, though.” He gingerly touched his temple and winced. “I'm sorry, Mouse, I couldn't stop 'em.”
“Fuck.” Mouse looked around. All the buses and vans had had their windows and headlights smashed, and the contents were strewn in the mud. The only vehicles missing were the Land-Rover and a Transit van. “When did this happen? And where is everyone?”
“Yesterday. As soon as the fuckers who did this showed up, everyone piled into the Transit and the Landy, and took off across the fields.” Digger swayed and sat down again. “I was kipping in the van—I'd been dumpster diving all fucking night—an they took off without me. I... I tried to save your stuff, Mouse.... Mouse?”
Mouse ignored him and walked slowly to the black shape laying in a muddy puddle. “Shit, Nancy.” She knelt down and touched the dog's stiffened fur. She wasn't her dog—in fact she wasn't sure who she belonged to—but Sid and Nancy had been as much a part of the group as those who walked on two legs. Mouse sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as a movement under one of the buses caught her attention. She held out her hand. “C'mon Sid, s'okay mate, you're safe now.” Her heart broke as the whippet crawled towards her on his belly. “I'm not going to hurt you, Sid. You know me, c'mon, baby boy, don't let those arseholes destroy your trust.”
He wagged the tip of his tail and sniffed her hand, then whimpered and crawled into her lap. Mouse kissed the top of his head. “Good boy.” She gathered him up in her arms and stood up. “Let's get Digs patched up, and go home.”
No one spoke as they drove back to Bath. Digger, apart from insisting he didn't need to go to hospital, had been in too much pain, and seemed to be struggling to stay awake. Maggie had lost the battle with her old friend, but had taken a mattress from one of the buses, laid it in the back of the jeep, and insisted he lie down. He hadn't argued—which proved to Mouse that he was more badly hurt than he was admitting—but had refused to let Maggie look at him.
Mouse sat in the back with Digger and Sid, who howled every time she relinquished her hold on him. The few meagre possessions she'd managed to salvage sat in a pile on the passenger seat, apart from the torn and sodden copy of Black Beauty which was still clutched tightly in her hand.
She couldn't bring herself to look at her friend. Even with the gash on his forehead bandaged, and the blood washed from his face, he was almost unrecognisable, and the look of defeat in his eyes was more than she could stand.
Mouse didn't cry. Crying was weak, and she hated feeling weak. But no matter how hard she tried to hold onto the anger, her eyes wouldn't stop watering. Sid whimpered and she pulled him closer to her chest as the jeep trundled along the road. Mouse took a deep breath and glanc
ed out of the window. “Can you pull over? There's someone I need to see.”
~oOo~
Nitro was beginning to think he was having some weird existential crisis.
His plan on arriving a Felixstowe had been to get drunk and get laid, and initially things had seemed to be going to plan. He and his brothers had booked into the B&B, then hit the nearest pub, and Nitro had immediately homed in on the barmaid. She wasn't particularly special, but had a good rack and a tight ass. Unfortunately, her accent reminded him of his mom, and his dick wasn't having any of that.
His next target had been okay from across the room, but her perfume had been too strong, and she'd had those stupid ass eyelashes that made her eyes look like they had dead spiders glued to them, so he'd made his excuses and played pool with his brothers for a while. As the evening wore on, other women had caught his eye—or he'd caught theirs—but each time, there'd been something about them that turned him off.
By midnight, he'd been in bed with just his right hand for company, and the memory of Mouse writhing underneath him.
The run down to Brighton had been strictly business, so he'd not even thought about getting laid. Drug runs always made him edgy, even after the hand-over. He'd known he wouldn't relax until they were back in Bristol, and the cash was locked away in the safe. Usually he'd reward himself with a fuck, but he'd had a shift at the scrap yard and, honestly, he really hadn't been feeling it.
With a twelve-hour shift behind him, and twenty-four hours since he’d last slept, Nitro felt twitchy and irritable. It had been over week since he'd been laid, and he was beginning to think that maybe he was coming down with something. He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. He didn't really want to sleep now—it'd screw up his body clock—but he was struggling to keep his eyes open, and without a gallon of Red Bull, and several lines of coke, Nitro didn't have a choice but to give in to his body.
He was in that weird half asleep point, when thoughts turn into not-quite dreams, floating into unconscious, lulled by the sound of rain on the windowpane and the hum of traffic, when the doorbell buzzed. “Shit.” Nitro rolled over; whoever it was could fuck off.
It buzzed again.
And again.
Nitro pushed open the window. “What?”
A small figure stepped back and looked up. She was soaked, and in her arms, wrapped in her coat, was a small black dog. Nitro leaned back and grabbed his keys from the bedside table then dropped them onto the pavement below. “Come on up.”
“Jesus, Mouse.” Nitro was still pulling his jeans on as she walked in and stood in the bedroom doorway. “You're gonna catch pneumonia.” He threw a tee shirt in her direction. “Get out of those wet things and put this on.” Mouse just pulled the dog closer. “Put that fucking dog down.” He reached out then snatched his hand back as the dog snarled and snapped at his fingers. “Jesus!”
“Don't yell. The poor guy's traumatised enough.” Carefully, Mouse put the dog on the floor. As soon as its paws hit the carpet, it bolted and hid under a chair. She looked down and hugged herself. “They came.”
“Shit.” He pulled her into his arms. “Is everyone okay?”
“No.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “Digger took a beating, and poor little Sid watched his sister get kicked to death.”
“You're okay, though?” She was cold, wet and muddy, but he hadn't seen any blood or bruises.
“I... I wasn't there. I should've been there, Nitro. I said I'd stay, but I'd wanted to stay with Maggie... If I'd...”
“If you'd have been there, you'd've taken a beating too.”
She pushed herself away from him and shook her head. “The others ran. Digger was asleep and they left him and the dogs behind.” She took a deep breath. “It wouldn't have happened if I'd been there.”
Nitro shrugged, he was about to brush the comment aside; Mouse bore no responsibility for what had happened, but she wasn't seeing it that way, and she was going to beat herself up over this. “What is done is done, Mouse.” He tugged at her tee shirt. “Take it off, you're shivering. Maybe if you'd been there, Digger wouldn't've got abandoned by those cowardly assholes, an' that dog wouldn't be shitting itself in the corner. Or maybe you'd've gotten left behind as well.” He tried to ignore her erect nipples as she pulled the tee shirt over her head—Mouse's tits were less than a handful, and she had no need of a bra. “Where's Digger now?”
“With Maggie. I got her to drop me off on the way back to Bath.”
“Why?”
She looked up and stared into his eyes. “I have no idea.”
Nitro did. And fuck, did it feel good. Mouse had come to him. Her world had crumbled, and he'd been her first thought. Of course it was important not to grin, think sad thoughts, fuckwit, or to say anything stupid—Mouse could throw up her defences at any time—and he wasn't sure that kissing her right now was appropriate, so he touched her cheek. “Go have a shower. I'll make some tea.”
~oOo~
Nitro had left a sweatshirt on the bed. Mouse dried herself and pulled it on before joining him in the living room. She wasn't sure what had led her to his door, just that she'd been overwhelmed with the need to feel his arms around her.
He was sitting on the hideous sofa with a mug in his hand. Sid was still cowering under the chair, but he'd stopped whimpering and was eyeing the sausages that Nitro had left in the middle of the room. Mouse bent to pick them up the plate and move it closer; the poor little guy was probably hungry, and it seemed cruel to leave them out of reach.
“Leave them there. If he wants them, he'll have to come out.” Nitro patted the cushion next to him. “Come and drink your tea.”
She did as she was told. “He's really scared, Nitro.”
“I know, but he don't need to be scared of me, an' hiding away ain't gonna help him none. He just needs some space to wrap his head around what happened. He'll be okay.” He ran a finger along her jaw. “Is that why you're here, Mouse? You need some space to get your shit together?”
She shrugged. “I don't know... maybe.” Nitro had obviously been naked when she'd arrived, and all he'd done was pull on a pair of jeans. Mouse couldn't resist touching his chest. “I... I think I just needed a hug.”
“I can do that.” He put the mug on the coffee table, and pulled her into his arms. He kissed the top of her head. “I missed you, punk.”
She'd missed him too. Mouse's hand meandered south toward that tantalising scruff of hair that was peeping out of his unbuttoned fly. He was cocky, mostly full of shit, and inhabited a murky world of secrets and criminality. But when she was with him, Mouse felt safe and protected.
Nitro lifted her chin with his forefinger and kissed her. Mouse heard herself moan as his tongue plunged into her mouth, and that, now familiar, warmth spread throughout her body. She'd tried to fight this... tried to pretend that she was unaffected, and that it was only sex, but it was so much more than that. No one had ever fucked her like Nitro did. He somehow managed to be in control yet always take his cues from her. She fucking loved that about him.
Mouse wasn't sure how, but Nitro seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.
He knew, for example, that she sometimes would feel herself freaking out when she felt pinned down—he hadn't ever asked why, and she'd always thought she'd kept a lid on it and hid it pretty well, but he just knew whenever it happened—so as he pushed her back against the arm of the sofa, he watched her closely. And as he positioned himself between her thighs, his eyes were locked onto hers as he waited for that moment to of panic to grip her. Only when he was satisfied that she wasn't going to stiffen and push against him did he continue his assault on her mouth.
Even if she’d have panicked, he wouldn't've stopped. He would have paused, and waited. He would have told her how much he wanted her, and how much he knew she wanted him. And he would have promised, like he always did, that he would never hurt her.
And she would have believed him.
She wasn't
panicking now.
Nitro pulled away slightly and grinned. “I'm beginning to think you only want me for my body.”
“You complaining, biker boy?” Mouse squirmed as his hand ran across her hip.
“Nope.” His thumb rubbed against her clit, and his grin widened as her body trembled. “It is a very fine body.”
It was. The best.
And, boy, did he know how to use it.
~oOo~
God, he loved her.
Something—someone—in her past, had hurt her. He could feel it in the way she'd stiffen sometimes, and see the panic in her eyes. But then their eyes would meet, and he'd see that fear turn to trust. It was fragile—one wrong move and he could shatter it forever—but she was prepared to put herself in his hands, and when she was lost and hurting, she'd come to him.
Mouse may have been afraid sometimes, but she was brave. His little warrior may have been hurt, but she wasn't a victim, and with him at her side, he was determined she'd be invincible.
One day she'd trust him enough to tear down her wall.
There was no fear this time. Even as he pinned her to the sofa, all he could see in those cobalt eyes had been want—she wanted him. Shit, he felt about ten feet tall. Her slim, muscular legs wrapped themselves around his waist as he pushed himself inside her. And as her warm, wet walls tightened around his cock, Nitro had to clench his jaw to prevent himself from blurting out the words he'd promised never to say.
As he started to move, pumping harder and faster, Mouse tilted her pelvis and dug her nails into his back. Her head dropped back against the arm of the sofa, and she gasped. “Oh God, Nitro. I love you.”
And then she was sobbing, and he was coming.
Fuck, he loved Mouse.
12
Nitro,
Sorry to run out on you, but I didn't want to wake you. I shouldn't have bailed on Digger and I'm going to be freaking out till I see him.
I borrowed a tenner from your wallet for the bus fare, I'll pay you back as soon as I have some cash. (so probably never)
Itinerant Child Page 9