The Arachnid Conclave: A Suspense Romance Novel (MC Saga Book 2)

by Brogan Riley

  He is not my blood brother. His biological parents were both a waste of oxygen. We’re his family. The family he wants to protect at all costs.

  “He is a good man,” I say as Priest and I exchange glances, and his eyes flicker with amusement.

  “Fuck me, you have a crush on him, kid,” Santi says and erupts into laughter. He shakes his head. His African-American face lights up as a grin raises the corners of his full mouth.

  Yep, I can always count on Santi’s straightforward sense of humour.

  “So what?” I snap.

  Santi glides his palm over his head. “Fuck me.”

  Tyler chuckles and Priest pats my shoulder.

  They’re amused by my declaration.

  I huff out. That’s my chance. I huff out again. Now or never. “He wants to destroy the Arachnid Conclave and he needs our help.”

  There’s silence, a gravely, dark silence that envelops us like a mourning veil and I wonder if I’m already six feet under. No, I’m still breathing, curling up into Priest’s chest, and his eyes fill with worry.

  Dante groans.

  Santi leans over him and delivers a precise punch. Every cell of my body jumps in protest.

  Chapter 5

  Dante

  I’m in heaven or inside a private jet, I’m not sure. It’s creamy and beige all around me. Sounds fill my ears. The humming noise of a jet turbine is not heavenly so I must be alive.

  Her face blurs above mine. Thick droplets of moisture splash against my forehead. A man growls like an outraged predator. That man tells her to move away. A needle jabs my butt. I feel weird. In fact, I’m in a good mood. My surroundings spin out of control until darkness falls upon me.

  I teeter between the darkness and lightness and the darkness prevails.

  An agonising pain claws at my body. It kicks me out of my timeless void.

  I lift my eyelids and I wish I hadn’t. I feel dried out like it’s my worst hangover ever. A streak of artificial light hurts my eyes as my head pulsates with a hammering pain. Nausea courses through my stomach. Rain pours over my body, as cold as a bad winter. No, it’s not raining. My eyes flick over my surroundings. I’m inside a shower cabin. I’m laying on the black tiled floor and a woman with long blonde hair is holding the showerhead above my head. I bend my stiff neck and scan myself. I’m naked.

  I tremble. “What the fuck?” It comes out in a barely audible rasp.

  “Behave,” a male voice warns.

  My eyes travel to a tall figure. He’s one of the men who attacked me and he’s holding a gun trained on my head.

  I put my fists on the floor and take a deep breath. My lungs hurt. I jerk my body up but I can’t sit up. My muscles are too stiff, too painful. Even my bones hurt.

  The woman throws the showerhead aside as she moves back, shooting me a pitying glance. She disappears into the blurry dimness clouding my peripheral vision.

  “Prez wants to have a chat with you,” the man says.

  “Where am I?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Chantal?”

  “The kid’s all fine.” The man chuckles. “Say a big thank you to her.”

  “I will.”

  “She saved your life.”

  “I will thank her.”

  “For now. Prez may have a different opinion on your future.” He throws a towel over my body. “Move.”

  I don’t want to be a pussy to him so I steel myself. Black flashes dance in front of my eyes as I pull myself up. Fire seizes my muscles. The pain knocks the air out of my lungs.

  Panting like an old dog, I lean against the tiled wall. It has a chequered pattern of white and black colours. My body shivers from cold, my teeth chattering together, but my headache seems to be fading.

  My blood tints the bottom of the shower cabin. Hell yeah. My hosts are very rough around the edges.

  “Move,” the man repeats.

  Chantal

  I take a hit of my cigarette and dispose of it into the jar. Nate pats my shoulder with his big hand.

  “Better?” he asks as his blue eyes fill with concern.

  With his massive frame and unruly dark blond hair, he looks like a bear. A thick beard covers his face.

  We’re seated in the conservatory, a chilly breeze coming inside through the door ajar.

  I nod. “Better. Thanks, Uncle Nate.” My hands shake. “What if he wants to kill him?”

  “Don’t think about it.”

  Violet flops from Cade’s lap, walks over to me, and wraps her slim arms around me. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Chantal. Have a good rest. Don’t think about it.” Strength radiates from her even though she’s a very tiny woman.

  A smile crosses my face.

  Cade can’t tear his green eyes off her tiny ass. Like ever. He threads his fingers through his short auburn hair and grins to himself. Nate is the same as Cade when it comes to Violet.

  The club girls gossip about the three of them on a regular basis. They can’t imagine Violet’s small from between those two massive men.

  I know Violet and her two old men are happy and that’s all I should know.

  We’re sitting around the wicker coffee table—Nate and I are seated in two armchairs and Cade is seated on the couch.

  Nate slaps Violet’s ass lightly. “Can you please bring some beer, little flower?”

  She chuckles, pulls away from me, and kisses him on the mouth. Then she kisses Cade on the mouth and goes to the kitchen.

  “How did you do that?” Cade asks.

  “The hacking thing?” I shrug. “Genes.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Cade says.

  I chuckle. “Thanks, Uncle Cade.”

  I’m staying with them because I’m scared to go back to my house. My dad is really cool, but he doesn’t tolerate any breaches of security. I’m sure I’ll be stripped of internet access for life. I’ll be grounded for life. I’ll have to listen to his monologues even after my death.

  I’ll stay in here for a week or two to delay the punishment. I can help Violet with cooking and cleaning; I can babysit her twins. They’re seven months old now. Violet needs my help urgently.

  Violet comes back from the kitchen, two bottles of beer swinging in her hand. She puts them on the table and ties her long blonde hair in a high bun. Her big violet-blue eyes shift towards mine. “A glass of orange juice?”

  “She needs a shot of vodka,” Cade says.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I say. “The cigarette is enough.”

  I don’t drink alcohol and I don’t smoke. Today, I just need a few hits to calm my nerves.

  I keep myself in perfect shape in case something bad happens. In fact, I’ve been obsessed with staying fit and healthy since I saw the shit about the Arachnid Conclave in my dad’s files.

  You never know. My fast legs and healthy lungs could save my life one day.

  “So,” Violet starts as mischievous flickers dance in her eyes, “a special agent?”

  I suck in a breath. “Well.”

  “Your dad is very pissed off,” Cade says.

  Pissed off? Cade is being very diplomatic. I’m sure my dad has turned into an outraged monster.

  I lock my eyes onto his. “He wouldn’t kill his own daughter, would he?”

  Nate erupts into laughter. “He’ll kill your freedom for sure.”

  Violet puts her hands on her hips and looks at them sternly. “She’s had enough. Leave her.” She nods at me several times. “Male honesty.” She rolls her eyes.

  Dante

  Santi, the black man as tall as me throws some clothes at me. Priest, the man with a bald head and gloomy grey eyes puts a metal bracelet around my ankle.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  The bracelet clicks the moment Priest fastens it. “The safety measures,” he grumbles.

  “It’ll blow you up if you as much as think of going near the high wall,” Santi says. “Up to forty steps away from the clubhouse, or you’re a pile of dead meat.�
��

  “Forty steps?” I pull a grey t-shirt on. “Fine. I’m not gonna go farther than twenty.” I grab a pair of jeans and pull it on. “Any toothbrush?”

  Santi erupts into laughter. I like the guy. He can fight and seems to have a good sense of humour.

  He passes a pair of boots to me and points a finger to a washbasin with a round mirror that hangs above it. I notice a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

  I scramble to my feet and stagger toward the washbasin. My head pulsates with a dull pain. My mind whirls for a moment. I look in the mirror. My bruised reflection winces back. A few droplets of blood dribble out of my nose so I wash them away.

  I brush my teeth and thread my swollen fingers through my hair. At least three of them are broken. Painful as fuck.

  They haven’t killed me yet. I have no doubt they wouldn’t hesitate to kill a cop if they threatened the safety of their club.

  Liberator wants to see me. If I’m smart he’ll let me live.

  Excitement rushes through my veins. I’m gonna meet the famous Liberator. It’s like unravelling an ancient mystery. Not to mention that I’m still trying to do my job properly.

  Santi thrusts his chin out toward me. “Let’s go.”

  I nod. “Let’s go.”

  They lead me out of the bathroom. We cross a narrow room with white walls and modern furniture. My eyes sweep over a double bed, a pine wardrobe, a matching chest of drawers, a grey desk, and a grey leather chair.

  “My hotel room?” I ask.

  “You don’t like it?” Priest asks in a gruff voice. “There’s plenty of space in the basement.”

  “No, it’s really nice,” I say, raising my hands in a warding gesture.

  We step out of the room and they lead me along a corridor. The photos of the club members adorn the burgundy walls and alternate with the posters of half-naked women. Music drifts up to my ears as it mingles with human voices. Men rumble. Women squeal and laugh.

  We made our way down a gothic stairwell and I immerse myself into the pure decadence filling their bar. Neon lights and black and white surfaces give it an elegant appearance. Two women wearing short tulle skirts deliver drinks to two tables, their naked tits bouncing with every step. Five of the club members are seated on red couches. Six of them are sitting on red and black bar stools.

  We pass a curvy blonde who’s on all fours. She has one dick in her mouth and one up her ass as far as I can see, and she seems to be enjoying it.

  Santi shoves me toward a black booth so I cross the bar, all eyes turning to me. I notice a motorcycle that hangs on the wall, two pool tables, and one couple. The woman has her elbows on a table and the man is fucking her from behind.

  I step into the booth and my eyes travel to Liberator. I know it’s him. His grey eyes fix onto mine, two abysses of fury and ruthlessness. He is justice personified, his gaze like an inferno of punishment. He leans back in the armchair, a mountain of a man.

  Santi shoves me toward the other armchair, so I sit down. Two bottles of vodka arrive on the table.

  Music stops playing. An electrified silence layers us.

  “Poppy,” Liberator says with a softness that I didn’t expect to hear from him.

  A woman appears behind him. No, not a woman. A beautiful nymph. Her hair is styled in an elegant bob, giving her face a seductive appearance. Her brown eyes? The ocean of sweetness and sin. She wears a gothic black corset with a tulle silver skirt that falls to her knees. A Victorian necklace encircles her neck.

  Liberator pats his thigh and the woman straddles his lap, her back turned to his chest.

  “My wife, Poppy,” Liberator says.

  He looks fifty-five. She looks twenty-five.

  That’s fucking taboo.

  I bow my head and she flashes me a timid smile.

  Fucking hell. She’s too innocent to be in here.

  Chantal is too innocent to be in here even more. Jealousy jabs me at the thought that the little shit might have stepped into this cave of decadence.

  Then my mind fills with the images of Chantal dressed like Poppy. I’m dwelling in my fantasies. Chantal’s sitting in my lap, rubbing her bottom against my cock. Chantal is sucking me off. Chantal is riding me.

  My dick twitches in my pants and strains against my zipper.

  Poppy watches me for a moment and I feel unnerved. She whispers something into her husband’s ear. His eyes start burning. I don’t know whether it’s fury or something else.

  Liberator whispers something into Poppy’s ear and I manage to discern the words ‘are you sure?’. Poppy kisses him on the cheek, and then he starts planting kisses up and down her neck. Her eyes flutter as she arches against him.

  I wipe the blood from underneath my nose and grab my shot glass. “To beautiful women.”

  Liberator crosses his arm over Poppy’s chest, holds his shot glass, and grins at me. “To beautiful women.”

  I down my vodka and slam the glass down on the table. A platter filled with food lands on my thighs.

  I don’t hesitate.

  I’m so fucking hungry I wolf my meal down in an instant. I put the empty platter on the low round table.

  “You wanted to talk,” I say.

  “My wife wanted to look at you first,” Liberator says.

  I nod. “Fair enough,” I say even though I kind of don’t understand the situation.

  “Relax,” he says, flashing me a predatory grin. “You’re not gonna die tonight.”

  “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

  “We’re gonna have fun tonight,” he says but that’s addressed to his wife.

  My hand jerks up as Poppy plunges hers under her skirt, her face buried in her husband’s neck. She lifts her hips. Her body shivers as she lowers herself and grinds herself against his hips.

  Heat shoots to my dick. Fucking hell. I didn’t expect that at all.

  This place can make a voyeuristic beast out of you. There’re no rules here. Dark lust hangs unleashed in the air.

  Liberator waves his hand and a blonde woman walks over to us. She wears only a very short green tulle skirt. I know her. She showered me with cold water.

  She moves the table aside and kneels between my legs. Her hand rests against the front of my trousers. She strokes my erection up and down.

  “That’s not necessary,” I say.

  I’m kind of in a relationship, right?

  “You don’t refuse pussy when I offer,” Liberator says, his hand on his wife’s breast.

  Poppy sways her hips, her arms wrapping around his neck, her face painted with a mix of pain and pleasure.

  The blonde opens my jeans as her fingers close around my hard cock.

  I need to fuck. Yeah, the filthy atmosphere in the bar, the sight of Poppy, and the adrenaline in my veins have made me feel very edgy.

  I want to fuck but not like this.

  I need Chantal’s cunt. Only hers.

  I take the blonde’s hand off even though I know I’ve just insulted my host. Even though I know it’s a death sentence here.

  I guess, I really am in love.

  Being in love means that you never stick your dick into another woman’s hole.

  “I’m a good host,” Liberator says. “You’re a shitty guest.”

  His wife moans out her pleasure. He buries his face in her hair and moves her up and down, growling out his.

  My dick wants to explode.

  My dick wants to be inside Chantal.

  I hold my cock and stroke myself. The blonde’s eyes fix onto mine. She smirks at me, turns over so she’s on all fours and shows off her naked ass. Her pussy glistens as she strokes herself.

  Fucking hell.

  I’m on the brink. I close my eyes. I imagine Chantal’s mouth wrapped around my dick. She’d suck me fast and hard. She’d take my whole length and gag each time my cock would slam on her throat. My balls tighten. I stroke myself harder and cum. I open my eyes. The blonde moans and comes a moment after me. She lifts herself and wipes my
cum away with her skirt. She walks off.

  Poppy fixes her eyes onto mine, her gaze like the mystery of universe. “He will do just fine, Jackson,” she says. She moves her ass up and down his groin as he bites down on her shoulder.

  I watch them, amazed at the aura they both seem to be exuding.

  That thing between them is love, the purest I’ve ever seen even though it’s so dirty. As dirty as it is beautiful. I fucking envy him.

  He shoves his hand between her legs and works her until she shudders in ecstasy. He allows her to take a few deep breaths and then makes her come once again. She’s so sated she falls asleep in his arms, a fawn in the embrace of a wolf.

  My dick is still hard, but I put it back into my jeans.

  “Drink,” Liberator says. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Jackson, right?”

  “Yeah, you can call me Jackson.”

  I refill our shot glasses and empty mine. Jackson lays his wife onto the couch and sits down on the floor with a bottle of vodka swinging in his hand. The back of his head is touching Poppy’s knees. He waves his hand at me so I join him. One of the club girls shoves a bottle into my hand. Scotch whiskey to be precise.

  It won’t end well for me.

  “Drink,” Jackson says.

  I don’t know but he feels like a decent guy now. “I’m fucking full of praise for your little empire.”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Sure, no rush.”

  He grins at me. “I knew we’d meet one day in person.”

  Of course, he knows me. This is his job as President to know things and ensure the club’s survival. “You’re doing your job and I’m doing mine, out the best I can.”

  “Drink.”

  I nod and a take a long pull of whiskey straight from the bottle. It burns down my throat, causing me to cough. Jackson raises his bottle and we clink them.

  “Drink,” he says.

  I drink until blackness cuts me off from reality.

  Chapter 6

  Dante

  I wake up as the day is about to dawn. I raise my head and pain hits me hard. My dry eyes flick over my surroundings. I’m lying on my bed. It seems like the Furious Daggers are not the worst hosts in the world. I crawl from the bed and nausea pins me down to the floor. My surroundings drift to me and then away from me. I take a deep breath. With my palms against the floor, I pull myself up. A wave of shivers rolls over me as I stagger toward the bathroom.