by Franca Storm
She glares at me for a second, before going on, “You’re new to the VP role. You weren’t around a couple of years ago.”
How’s she know that? And how the fuck she know Trig? Way she reacted to his name seemed like she ain’t a fan and he’s pissed her off somehow. Why didn’t the bastard tell me he had a history with her before he sent me down here? If there’s one thing I hate, it ain’t knowing shit ‘bout people I gotta deal with. And this bitch knowing shit don’t sit well with me.
I just nod. I ain’t gonna get into it with her. Ain’t her fucking business.
“They brought you in during the shakeup, huh? Got rid of that sick bastard before you, so you guys could start your whole legitimate vision?”
What the fuck? Bitch knows way too much.
Guess she sees it on my face, cuz she tells me, “Know your enemies.”
Speaking of, I been struggling to get a read on her. Showed me she’s a professional at the diner and it seemed she knew what she’s doing. But then she brings me here, to her damn home? Don’t add up. Why’d she risk it? Says Thorns is her enemy and who brings their enemy into their fucking home?
“What’s your damage, woman?”
“What?” she snaps.
“You stupid? That it? Bringing a guy you dunno to your home? A guy who’s VP of a MC you call your enemy and shit?”
She smirks. “I have my reasons. Why? Are you planning on roughing me up?”
Roughing her up? If anybody else spouted the shit she’s been, disrespecting me and the club like that, wouldn’t be a question ‘bout it. Woulda been roughed up good. A done deal. But I don’t beat on women. Some of the brothers might not respect that line, but I do. Ain’t never laid my hands on a woman that way and I ain’t never gonna. Ain’t my father.
But I do wanna lay my hands on her in another way. The second she started mouthing off to me earlier, I was down for that. Had a permanent hard-on since she threatened to pull her gun on me.
Talk ‘bout throwing me through a loop. Such a demented response. Know she meant business, but my dick was in the driving seat. If it’d come down to it, I probably woulda let her pull the damn thing just for the sick thrill of seeing a sight like it.
I ain’t used to women like her. In the club, they know their fucking place and shit. But this bitch ain’t nothing like them. Been messing with me all over the place since I walked into that diner. That smart mouth of hers should piss me off big time. It does, but that ain’t the end of the story. It fucking turns me on too. It’s some hot shit.
It don’t help that she’s such a fine piece of ass. Tight little body. Perky tits that’d make a sweet handful. Her silky dark brown hair that I wanna fist my hands in and tug on hard. And those deep blue eyes of hers? Fucking sexy as sin.
Yeah, she hates bikers. But I ain’t never let hatred get in the way of a good fuck. And while I’m stuck in this hell hole of a city on club business, I got time to play.
“Rough you up, huh? That what you want? My hands on you, babe?”
“I’ll break your fingers,” she fires back.
But it’s all bullshit. I ain’t blind. I see her blushing, crossing her legs, all awkward and shit. She’s turned on. Mmm, yeah. I bet she’s already warm and wet between her thighs.
She stands up, tryin’ to hide it. Nice try, babe.
“Tell me what you know about Skinner’s plans.”
“Like I said: looks like he wants to set up shop here.”
“And that concerns Black Thorns how? This isn’t your territory.”
“Reirdon’s right next door to Brockford. So, yeah, it concerns us, babe.”
She starts pacing slowly as she takes my words in. “All right,” she says finally, walking over to me where I’m lounging on the other couch. She stops in front of me, her arms still folded over her chest, pushing her sweet tits up and giving me a hell of a view.
“This is how it’s gonna work here. You tell me what you know. Give me all the intel you have on this latest initiative of theirs and I’ll take care of it.”
I scoff. “Ain’t happening.”
“Yes, it is. I’ll take it from there,” she insists.
That’s it! This bitch dunno when to back down. I been holding back so far, thinking playing nice is the right way to go, cuz she’s a woman. She’s a tiny little thing. But to hell with that. It ain’t working. She’s a fucking ball buster and dunno when to back down. Well, I’m ‘bout to fucking show her. Make her back down.
Grabbing her hips, I pull her down onto the couch, forcing her under me. She fights me. With her fists. No nails like most bitches would use. Nah, she’s all punches and kicks. Damn. Just getting me harder, babe. I grunt as her steel toe boots scrape my shins. She might be feisty, but she ain’t got the weight or muscle I got to back it up. I pin her legs with mine and capture her fists with one hand, pressing ‘em to her tits ‘til she’s at my mercy.
She grins at me then.
What the fuck? Weren’t expecting that.
Before I can figure out her game, she shows me. She rolls her hips. I grunt as her pussy rubs against my rock hard dick. Fucking hell. She’s messing with me.
“So easy,” she says, doing it again and driving me insane.
“Stop,” I growl at her.
“Why?” she taunts. “It’s clearly what you want. Aww…got a hard-on for me, biker boy?”
She wants to play, we’ll play. I slide my hand inside her jeans so quickly that all she can do is gasp. My fingers brush her panties and I smile to myself. Wet. Soaking wet. “Sure you hate bikers, babe? Cuz your pussy’s craving this biker’s dick.”
“You’re disgusting,” she hisses.
Funny thing is, she don’t make no attempt to pull my hand outta her tight little jeans.
“Yeah?” I slide a finger underneath the lacy fabric of her panties and tease her drenched pussy. “I think you like that. Down and dirty.”
She bites her lip and shakes her head, tryin’ to fight it.
But I got all the proof I need on my fingers.
Our eyes lock and the heat between us almost makes me stop breathing. Real intense.
Jesus, I ain’t never felt nothing like it. My dick’s straining against my jeans painfully now. I’m right on the goddamn edge here.
I tease her pussy some more, and lean into her, my breath hot on her neck. “Want me to fuck you?”
She grinds against my fingers, answering me silently, before panting, “Yes, but no more foreplay.”
“What?” I ask, as I let go of her hands and rip open her jeans, roughly tugging ‘em down her legs.
“I want your dick, not your fingers,” she tells me.
“Music to my fucking ears, babe.”
I shake off my cut. I pull a condom outta the back pocket of my jeans, unbuckle the damn things in record time and sheath my throbbing dick.
I sink into her slowly, groaning at the feel of such a tight pussy. Been a long-ass time since I’ve felt anything like this. The sluts that hang ‘round the clubhouse are all so damn loose. Nothing like this. Holy fucking shit. Can’t fucking move inside her. Her grip’s outta this world.
I look down at her and she’s got her head thrown back, her eyes closed as she licks her lips. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve even seen. Shit. That thought unsettles me. Get a grip, asshole.
“Hold my hands,” she says, her eyes snapping open. “Hold my hands down,” she presses when I don’t answer fast enough. It’s kinda hard to focus when I’m tryin’ to fight every instinct to pound her into the couch. Can’t ‘til she adjusts to my size. She’d probably pull her gun and shoot me for that.
I grab her wrists and slam ‘em into the couch above her head. Don’t take long before I feel her relax ‘round me. Mmm. Rough gets her off.
“Yes,” she moans out.
And that’s it. I’m done. I pull out almost all the way and then slam back in hard. She curses like a sailor as I pound her so fucking hard the couch moves.
�
�Name?” she pants at me.
“Neil,” I utter without thinking. My brain’s on lockdown right now. No blood flowing there. “Neil Barron.”
“Barron?” she questions. There’s an edge in her voice.
Fuck that. No more talking. I don’t bother responding. I lean into her, my tongue tasting the side of her neck. I suck hard, hard enough to leave a mark.
Next thing I know, she’s kicking me and yelling for me to get off her.
What the fuck?
“Get off me,” she orders.
“Please tell me you’re fucking about, babe.”
“No. Get off me. Now,” she shrieks. “Now! Pull out!”
As soon as I pull out and lift my weight off her, she scrambles off the couch, hastily pulling on her jeans. She’s white as a damn sheet.
“You’re related to Skinner? Pete Barron? The President of the Devil’s Mavericks is your family?”
Wow, she’s really freaked out, basically hysterical. “Why?” What’s the story here?
“Answer me!” she screams.
“We’re related, yeah.” Christ, even admitting the connection repulses me.
“What…who…who is he to you exactly? A distant relative?” she asks, way too hopeful ‘bout the distant part.
I pocket the condom, zip up my jeans and shrug my cut back on. “No,” I tell her, forcing myself to say the words I fucking hate admitting on my best days. “I’m his son.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh God. I’m gonna be sick.” She grabs her mouth and runs from the room into the kitchen. A second later, I hear her puking her guts up.
What the fuck’s going on here?
Chapter 3
~Roxana~
“What’d he do to you?” Ax’s deep, commanding voice booms through the kitchen, making me jump. I didn’t even hear him come in. No surprise, really, seeing as though I was a little busy with trying to stop my violent vomiting into the kitchen sink.
I run the water and snatch up a roll of paper towel. Quickly ripping off a piece and wiping my mouth, I scrunch up the sheet and toss it into the garbage can a few feet away. I turn back to the sink then and lean against the counter, trying to get a grip and calm my racing heartbeat.
“Babe?” he presses.
I can’t answer him. I can’t look at him.
It’s too awful.
He’s Skinner’s son? He shares DNA with that monster and I just had him inside me? I just had his hands and mouth on me? Oh God. And he marked me! I felt him biting my neck. I slap my hand over the mark. I can’t see it, but I can feel the tenderness there. Another wave of nausea assaults me, but this time I somehow manage to hold it at bay.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I finally say.
“Why’d I go ‘round advertising that shit?”
I finally look at him then. “You’re not a fan of him.”
A rumbling growl escapes him, making his answer clear. The fierce look in his eyes—now cold—suggests there is deep-seated hatred there for Skinner. “What. Did. He. Do?” He grinds out each word with alarming fervor. It takes a moment for me to really take him in. His entire body is tense. His jaw is locked. And his hands are shaking. Pure rage.
“That’s my business.”
“You just made it mine,” he seethes.
And just like that, with merely a few moments of conversation with this man, my back is up. Sure, I’m tough with people as a rule. I have to be with what I do for a living. But I’ve never been this insanely fierce and unyielding with someone I’ve just met. He has this inexplicable way of getting under my skin. He’s such a fucking alpha male and so infuriating about it too. No one controls me and certainly not some misogynistic biker. He made his greatest attempt on the couch when he had me pinned. But he realized his mistake quickly when I showed him who was really in control. And it’s gonna stay that way.
“How exactly?” I demand.
“You fucking with me here?” he yells, frustrated. He shifts his weight agitatedly and fumes, “Had my dick buried deep inside you, babe. So, if he’s…” Disgust plays on his face and he grimaces. “Did he fu—?”
“No!” I cut him off quickly before I have to hear the end of that awful sentence.
“No?” he asks, needing to make sure.
“No,” I confirm. “He didn’t do that.” Like hell, I’m gonna tell this guy the whole story there.
Some of the tension leaves his body and he takes a few steps towards me. “I’m sorry.” His tone is gentler now, remarkably so for an abrasive biker type. “He’s got a history with that.”
“I know.” I know too well.
He’s standing in front of me now. “What went down?”
“It doesn’t matter. Like I said: that’s my business.”
“And like I said: you made it mine. The second you reacted the way you did when I told you my name, forcing me to pull out mid-fuck like that.”
“Of course that’s what this about. Your fucking dick.”
“That ain’t what—”
“I need you to leave.”
“Rox,” he says.
It’s the first time he’s actually said my name. Up until now it’s been a bunch of babes and woman. Infuriating, but there was no point on calling him on it, because it’s ingrained in guys like him. A staple of their vocab. But hearing my actual name on his lips now? It’s…good. Really good. No, too good. Shit, this is not working out how I’d planned at all. Are these feelings…for him? Impossible. We just met. Completely unacceptable.
He touches my arm lightly.
I jerk away and hold up my hand. “No! Don’t touch me!”
“I ain’t him!” he bellows, suddenly irate.
“You’re his son!” I turn away. “I can’t…don’t touch me again.”
A moment later, I hear him curse. Heavy, angry footsteps stalk away from me. And the next thing I hear is him roaring, “Fuck!”. The front door slams.
I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s gone and sink back against the counter.
The roar of his Harley sounds, no doubt waking up the neighbors for the second time. A Harley Heritage Softail Classic 2012. A sweet bike. Yeah, I know a bit about bikes. It’s weird to many people, cuz everyone knows I hate bikers. The bikers I hate are MC thug-types, not regular riders. I have no issue there.
I blow out a breath as the roar of his engine finally disappears completely. Thank God he’s gone.
Bringing up the stuff with Skinner was too much. I can’t think about that awful day. And having his son here in my home was way too much to process. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Chapter 4
~Ax~
I kick the door shut to the shithole motel room. The whole room shakes with the force of it.
Ripping the paper bag off the bottle of Jack clutched tightly in my white-knuckle grip, I screw off the top and take a long swig, needing to feel that comforting fucking burn as it sears my throat. The only thing that can calm me down right now is the bite from this bottle and a good shot of nicotine.
I pull out my pack of smokes from my cut and fire one up, taking a harsh drag. Blowing it out, I start pacing the room wildly. I got a smoke in one hand and the bottle of Jack in the other. Gotta get a grip on my rage. But her shitty words keep screwing with me.
“I ain’t him!”
“You’re his son!”
Fuck, hearing that shit outta her mouth was like a bullet to my brain, ripping through every mental block I put in place over the years in one goddamn shot. Everything I’d done to separate myself from that sick fuck had just snapped right back into place, connecting us again as she’d tarred us with the same bloodied brush. Like all the blood on his hands and all his crimes were mine. It was like all the demented shit he’s done was coming right back on me. And the way she’d looked at me, like she was looking right through me and seeing him? It was a brutal fucking blow, the kind that drives you straight to your knees, making you go to that dark place between giving into the pain or summoning the balls of ste
el needed to throw that next punch.
That bastard ain’t nothing but a sperm donor. Calling him a father ain’t something I’ve done since I was a kid. Before I knew what he really was, what he was capable of and what he’s done. He’s a disgrace to the MC way of life. Hell, he’s a disgrace to human beings in general.
Shit, why am I getting into this bullshit? How’d she get under my skin like this? Bitch is messing with my head. Known her a few hours and she’s having this impact on? Jesus. Gotta man up and get a goddamn grip. That smart mouth of hers and her ballsy attitude’s got me all twisted up like a pussy-whipped fool. What the hell? I cop a brief feel of some tight, hot pussy and I’m acting like a damn school boy who’s just stuck his dick in some bitch for the first time.
These thoughts shouldn’t be running through my head in the first place. Fucking her was just to relieve the tension in my damn dick that she’d fired up since the second I’d walked into that diner. Nothing more. Never nothing more.
Well, that’s off the table now. Thanks to her connection with Skinner. That’s on her end. On mine is I don’t want some bitch looking at me like I’m the man I’ve hated with a vengeance for most of my life, like she can’t separate me from him. Screw her to hell and back then. How fucking ignorant is that?
Tomorrow I’m taking care of the shit I came here to deal with. Nothing else. No fucking ‘round now. It’d shocked me when I’d found out RJ was a goddamn woman and my plan to strong-arm what I needed outta him had gone up in smoke. No more. No more handling her with kid gloves. The damn gloves are coming off tomorrow. I’ll steamroll her into submission if I gotta. She’s a woman? So fucking what? She’s ‘bout to see how me and the boys really do business. No taking shit from nobody.
She’s fucking lucky it’s me Trig sent down here and not Daz “Smiter” Forbes, our Sergeant-at-Arms. He’d have her kneeling at his feet in seconds and ready to do whatever the fuck he wanted, probably begging to suck his cock too. Smiter don’t take shit from nobody. But the guy racks up a shitload of collateral damage. Got orders from Prez to do this on the down low. No drawing attention to the club. I got a more subtle approach. That’s why Trig sent me in.