by Forgy, M. N.
“Raincheck babe,” Gatz pats Dolly’s hand gently before side eyeing me as he walks past.
I sigh, smiling at Dolly. “I think it’s because he still has crabs,” I shrug before following Gatz. He looks over his shoulder with an angry look. Oh, fucking with him is going to be so much fun.
“What, that should keep pussy away from you for at least a few days. You should thank me,” I laugh, but he doesn’t see the humor.
“I’m going to take a piss, tell me if you see something,” Gatz says stepping inside the hall bathroom.
I turn the hall light on, but it doesn’t do much in the way of light. It’s one fucking light down a stretch of hallway. Half the time it doesn’t even want to work. Heading to the back door, a red light flashes on the floor catches my attention. Bending down I eye it. My heart skips a beat. It’s a fucking homemade bomb. A paint can with wire around it and what looks like parts of a cell phone.
“EVERYONE OUT!” I roar, turning I push and jerk people out of the hallway. Zeek looks at me from the bar with a concerned look. “Bomb!” I inform him, running toward the front door. I stop, remembering Gatz in the bathroom. I turn to go get him when suddenly Felix grabs me by the cut stopping me.
“Come on, brother!” He jerks me in the way of the door.
“Fucking let me go, I have to get Gatz!” I resist, pulling from his grip.
Like a firecracker being held in someone’s hand the bomb goes off and debris flies everywhere. The pressure throws me and Felix back, farther away from Gatz. The boom so loud it makes my ears ring and my head ache. Wood splinters and slices through the air as our club is blown to bits.
Screaming in my ears, I ignore my own pain and throw parts of flooring and ceiling off my body.
“GATZ!” I yell with a trembling voice.
Coughing, I head toward the bathroom where Gatz was. My feet stumble on ceiling and wires that have crumbled to the floor. My hands trying to grab onto walls that were once there, but are now blown out. Water sprays from the ceiling, and a fire burns brightly from the left as I find Gatz in what’s left of the bathroom. He’s on the floor with a metal beam stuck into his abdomen, his shirt and surrounding area soaked with dark blood.
“Brother!” I cry out, falling to my knees. I crawl to his side, nails scratching against my hands and knees as I make my way to him. His face is pale, lost eyes looking at me to save him. “Help!” I scream for someone; anyone. I grab the beam with both hands and try and lift it, my teeth clenching as I pull with every fucking muscle I have in my body. It’s no good, it’s way too heavy.
He coughs and blood dribbles from his lips, and out of his nose, his eyes wide and scared. Moving away from the beam I make my way back to his side and clasp his hand tightly.
“You’re going to be fine, just hang in there,” I whisper. “Someone is coming.” Pulling his hand free of mine, he pulls his leather cut open with what little strength he has left. His bloody hand shaking, he takes out an envelope and hands it to me.
Why the fuck is he handing me this? Then I realize he thinks he is going to die.
“No, no you’re going to make it out of this,” I reassure, and the look on his face tells me he knows better. As if death is whispering in his ear already, and he’d better make every breath count.
Zeek flies into the room slipping and falling on debris that has crashed onto the floor.
“Call an ambulance!” I choke on emotion.
Zeek shakes his head, slowly stepping into what is left of the room.
“It’s too late brother,” Zeek replies softly, hunching down next to me. My eyes fall to Gatz, who has a lifeless look in his eyes.
“No,” I growl, not ready to let him go.
I shake him, call his name, but get nothing in return. He’s gone. I lost my brother. It reminds me of what can really be gone in the matter of seconds.
“His fight is over,” Zeek whispers with thick emotion in his voice.
Clenching his cut in my hand an emotional howl rips up my throat as tears fill my eyes. Someone came at my club, and they will pay for this. They will fucking die. Gatz is one of the brothers I was closest too, and losing him digs up old wounds with my ex-wife’s death.
“EMT, out of the way!” A bossy blonde woman and a smaller man enter the room falling to Gatz side. Zeek and I stand, trying to get out of their way. I stall, curious what they will do. Can they bring him back?
“No pulse,” the blonde states, her fingers on Gatz’s neck checking for a pulse.
“Yeah, he’s done,” the man replies, observing the beam in his body.
“Time of death, eight-forty,” the blonde calls it, and the finality hits me in my chest like another bomb just went off.
My head hangs, the pain in my chest making it hard for me to breath.
“Come on,” Zeek encourages, patting my back. I pinch my brows with my fingers, trying to push back the tears. He was only twenty-three years old, he still had so much life to live and it was just violently ripped from him.
Stepping over the wreckage I suddenly need air, the smoke and dust making my lungs burn. I want someone’s blood for this. The thirst insatiable, and fury an urgency that has me grinding my teeth. Outside I see my fellow brothers looking at what is left of our club with shock, but what catches my eye next makes my heart stop beating altogether.
Just across the street where an SUV is parked stands a man in a suit, a cigar in his hand. He gives a jut of his chin, a wolfish smile on his face and then it hits me who the fuck it is.
“CROSS!” I yell so loud and hostile the vessels in my forehead throb. He gets into an SUV and they race out of the parking lot. I turn to find my bike, but Zeek grabs hold of me.
“Think about this for a minute, brother!” he hollers in my face. I’m so flustered, so angry I can’t think about anything but going after that motherfucker and killing him. To fuck with bringing him alive to the mafia.
Felix coughs, stepping up next to me. “Was that him, was that fucking Cross?” he asks holding his side in pain.
“He’s here, he did this!” I seethe, shrugging Zeek’s hold off me. Why are we still standing here, we need to go after him.
“Should we go after him?” Mac asks, blood dripping from his head from a piece of glass.
Zeek gives me a look, before running his hand over his dusty hair.
“Trust me I want to, but it’s a fucking trap. I bet it’s because he knows we have Raven and is retaliating,” Zeek suggests.
“Or he knows about our deal with the mafia,” Felix suggests.
“Fuck that, I say we go after him now!” Aggression, rage, and impulse fueling my decision.
“That’s what he wants,” Zeek states calmly, his head lowered to where his dark hair falls in his eyes. “We would be riding right into his hands, Machete, getting more of us killed. We gotta do this smart.”
I turn, wanting to scream, break something or someone.
The sound of a saw echoes through the club as they cut away the beam from Gatz and it takes everything I have to keep from falling to the ground. I’m a curse, anyone I get close to… dies.
Running my hand over my face I watch the EMT’s enter the club with a stretcher in slow motion. Everything goes silent, and I feel like I’m sinking where I stand as they enter the wreckage.
The Sin City Outlaws all stand in a line as the stretcher is pulled out of the club, our loyal brother lifeless and gone under that bloody white sheet making it hard for me to breathe. Lowering my head, I hold back my emotion, and promise to the gods, Cross will die for this. Adrenaline courses through my veins just as deep as my loyalty for Gatz.
Turning I look at my bike, anger boiling deep.
Raven will fucking tell me where Cross is. TONIGHT.
Chapter 10
Raven
Sitting on the cot I sing “Believer” by Imagine Dragons, lost in my own little dark world. That is one thing I do like, singing. Music tells what I’m feeling. Gives me the words I can’t e
xpress myself.
I’ve been in here for what feels like hours, not a person to be seen or heard. I wonder where Machete is? I hear the door in the main room slam open violently and what sounds like tables over turning. I stop my singing and begin to breathe heavily with worry.
My nostrils flare and my eyes round. Something is wrong.
The locks are quickly slid opened and the door is kicked open. I slink against the wall, my hands rolled into fists.
Machete stands in the doorway like a madman. His head is lowered with bloodshot eyes, his arms bowed outward and fists coiled tight. He glares at me like he wants to snap me in two.
Swallowing hard, I straighten my spine.
“What?” I ask with a tilted head. Something happened, something bad. My eyes fall to the blood on his shirt and my breath hitches in my throat.
He stomps into the room and lunges for me. His hand tangling in my hair until strands snap and pull from my scalp. I try to claw at his hands, but it doesn’t faze him. Roughly he pulls me off the bed and shoves me up against the wall, his breath feathering across my lips.
“Where is Cross, tell me now,” he demands with an eerily calm voice.
I furrow my brows. “Did Cross do something?”
Machete roars like a wounded animal. Bending down, he grabs me by the thighs and throws me over his shoulder roughly. My body slamming against his hard shoulder nearly taking the breath from my lungs.
“What are you doing!” I yell hysterically. His touch is cold and hard. He stomps through the bunker and up the stairs, slamming open a door so hard it sounds like it comes off the hinges. My heart skips a beat as I notice he’s taking me through a warehouse.
“Machete, talk to me. What happened?” I implore him to tell me what is going on, but I get nothing in return. His body is hot to the touch, sweaty even. His breathing labored, and face hard as he stomps through the dark building. All I see is the ground and a bunch of wooden boxes in passing before the smell of fresh air wafts around me. I push myself up and try to see where I am, but Machete drops me to the ground. Fresh dirt bites into my knees as I realize I’m outside on Nevada fresh soil. Wind blows my hair around my face and I close my eyes to take it all in. Is he letting me go?
“Take me to him. Right now!” His voice angry and violent, my eyes snap open. He points off into the desert, his eyes glossy with emotion.
I look around, noticing nothing but dark desert around the warehouse. Stars so bright above me you can’t help but get lost in their majestic burn. I have no idea where I am let alone taking Machete anywhere. A hot wave crashes inside my chest realizing I’m literally in the middle of nowhere and the only person that might be on my side is losing his shit. He’s hostile and clearly about to take it out on me if I don’t give him something and now.
I lower my head, my chest constricting with the confession about to pour from my soul.
“I, I don’t know where he is,” I finally admit, and Machete’s face goes stoic. I shake my head, looking down at the dirt. “He always came to me Machete, I don’t know where Cross is.” Now he knows I don’t know where Cross is, and if The Outlaws want to kill me… at least Machete will be the one taking my life.
He roars, his head tilted back as he screams to the gods above. He’s the most hostile I’ve ever seen him. His face is red, the vessels in his neck bulging with raw emotion as he hollers his pain into the night. My brows furrow as I openly stare at him. He’s hurting. Slowly I crawl over to his left leg and embrace it tightly. My arms snaking up his thigh, and my ass sitting on his boot I look up at my master wanting so bad to take his pain away.
“Tell me you’re lying, Raven,” he snaps hatefully. I look down at his dusty boot, wishing I were lying. I’d give anything to know exactly where Cross is.
“I don’t know where he fucking is,” I repeat. He reaches out and I slap his hand away out of instinct. His violent demeanor making me defensive. His forehead wrinkles and he growls before lunging at me. Grasping me by the arm he tosses me over his shoulder like a disobedient child.
I fight him, not making it easy. My elbow slams into his back and my teeth sinking into his shoulder, but it doesn’t slow him down any. The smell of fresh air gone and mildew back as we return to the bunker. I kick him in the groin and he drops me to the ground. My knees biting into the unforgiving floor. Looking up at him with heated eyes I try and catch my breath.
“Get up,” he demands, the tone of his voice not to be messed with. Slowly I stand, and he quickly grabs my wrists and pushes my body up against the wall. My eyes fall to his mouth, his hot breath mixing with my own.
His lips brush against mine and out of instinct I chase his, wanting the contact. He kisses me once, twice, and finally slips his tongue into my mouth. It’s rough, hard, and full of madness. He grips my face kissing me like I’m the remedy to his pain.
“He killed him,” Machete mutters against my mouth in almost a whimper. “Cross killed Gatz,” he clarifies. “He blew up our club and killed my brother! Tell me where he is so I can rip that motherfucker apart!” he begs, his face flustered red and sweaty.
“He killed Gatz?” I ask with disbelief.
His hands on my wrists he gives them one tight jerk before pulling me away from the wall and onto the small cot.
I breathe through my nose, hurt weaves through my chest that Cross took Gatz’s life. He’s a fucking reaper and a swift one at that. He takes families and pulls them apart. I also can’t help but feel responsible. If only I knew where Cross was, we could end the chaos that he paints across the city. Gatz was actually nice to me, treated me like a human rather than an animal. Why did he have to be the one to die?
Machete exits the room and comes back with zip ties and some kind of bar. My eyes widen to the size of saucers. Is he going to spank me with that? Tie me to it?
I try and buck against his hold, but each of my hands are suddenly zip tied to the cot and my ankles are jerked taut, straightening my legs. I try to look over my shoulder but I have no idea what he’s doing. Each ankle is attached to a cold bar that spreads my legs apart, I am completely helpless and immobile.
Taking the machete from his side he slices through my clothes, leaving them to rags. My body hums with excitement, but my heart skips a beat in fear. This is the scariest he’s been since I’ve been down here.
Machete slides onto the bed, his knees in between mine. I can’t close my legs as the fucking spreader bar keeps mine apart.
“Why should I believe you?” he whispers into the back of my head. The smell of smoke and leather strong.
“You already do or you would have killed me,” I reply arrogantly, but I don’t really believe that.
“You’re so sure?” He jerks my head by my hair and I wince.
Blowing the hair from my eyes I watch him disappear into the other room and return with a wooden paddle in his one hand. It looks to be stained with blood from others before me, and my stomach suddenly drops.
Standing before me he slaps the paddle into his other hand, his eyes hooded and looking down at me with wild eyes.
Gripping my ass cheek with one hand, I notice a tear slip down his cheek as he raises his hand back as far as it can and strikes my ass with the paddle.
White blinding heat bites into my lower half and I clench my eyes as the burn races up my back and my nipples pebble. It hurts, way more than the crop. I can tell he’s hurting, angry, and using me as an outlet. He rubs at the soreness, his fingers a fucking remedy and aphrodisiac.
He strikes me again, and my mouth parts from the pain, but my body arching into the air for his soothing touch after the hit. Just as expected, he rubs at the burn and I mewl in response. God, it feels so good and painful at the same time.
“I’m sorry he hurt you,” I cry out after the next strike, and he stalls with his hand raised in the air. His chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand falls, and I hear him sniffle and a tear falls against my back, tickling as it slides down my side. I feel so much hurt
and loss in that one lonely tear, more than I’ve experienced in my whole life. I’m right, he’s hurting. Someone pulled the mask from my beast and hurt him.
He lifts his chin, his formidable stance back in place. My fucking beast, back in place.
“Do it,” I grind out, knowing what my master needs.
He strikes me again and red goose bumps slip across my skin. I open my mouth to respond, and I’m slapped again and again. Each lick taking the words, cries, and whimpers right from my mouth.
My pussy clenches with desire and my body aches from the pain. Shoving my face into the loose blanket I bite my bottom lip and scream. Endorphins firing off at every nerve ending from the pain I can’t help but moan. I love it when he spanks me. It hurts so good. It makes my body come alive in ways I never knew it could.
“You like that?” his voice husky. I can’t verbally respond I’m so wound up, so I just nod.
I’m practically dripping wet between my legs, but my skin hurts to the point breathing is a chore. I want him to stop and keep going all at the same time.
“I lost a brother tonight and can’t do shit about it,” he confesses, his voice scratchy but rough.
My sex pulsing with desire I can’t help myself, I push my ass against his groin.
“Let me make you feel good?” I whisper lustfully, offering the only remedy I can for his broken heart.
A feral growl erupts from my master, his hand sliding under my belly as he hoists my ass into the air in one swift move.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers.
Machete
Pulling her ass into me, I shove my jeans down to my knees and fist my cock. Cum drips from the tip right onto her red ass, and I can’t help myself, I raise my hand and slap her backside. The spanking tonight was nothing like the crop, tonight was full of respect, control, and I admit… passion. She moans, her fingers clawing into the sheets. My balls squeeze hearing her pain, my own pain too hard to bear at this moment.
Spreading her ass cheeks apart I look upon her swollen pink pussy, it drips for me, ready for me. Digging my fingers into her skin I slam myself into her hot tight cunt. My dick drowning in her wetness as it goes as deep as I can.