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

by Brogan Riley

  “The blue tarantula tattoos are reserved only for the highest priests of the cult,” Jackson says, “the Arachnid Conclave. This is their governing body, thirty-seven men and women in four different countries.”

  The FBI don’t know the exact number. They suspect there’re twenty of them.

  “Eighty-five scorpions,” I say. “This is their legion. The number has been estimated. We also don’t know how many black spiders have joined them over the years.” I thread my fingers through my hair. “About twenty-five ants. We’ve never encountered any of them alive though.” I huff out. “The scorpions are conditioned to kill fast and die even faster when necessary. They can torture their victims for hours though.” I take a long pull of beer. Yes, I like the atmosphere and customs during church. “They’re forced into the training at school age. The black spiders are there by choice.”

  “Some of them had no choice,” Jackson says. “Some of them managed to escape the shit and went into hiding.”

  “Have you found any of them?” I ask.

  Jackson’s eyes bore into me. “Maybe.”

  “We need their testimony,” I say.

  “We?” Jackson says with a kind of dreadful amusement that causes my throat to tighten.

  I’m not gonna go back to my old life. I’ve seen too much. I’ll die or stay here as one of them. It’s very clear to me.

  My thoughts fight against one another in my head.

  I need to convince them they can trust me. “I really want to be a prospect.”

  “Did I even ask you?” Jackson growls. “I ask, you answer. You’d better learn fast, Copper.”

  “Yes, sir,” I growl.

  “Aye, Prez,” Priest corrects me.

  “Aye, Prez,” I say.

  Jackson’s men rumble like a horde of amused toads.

  “You want the dick to be a prospect with us?” Jackson asks.

  “Aye,” they say in unison, raising their hands.

  Something squeezes my heart. They want to trust me. Or keep me inside the compound until the rest of my life.

  “When am I gonna earn the right to claim a woman here?” I ask.

  Jackson’s eyes drill through me. “Never. Get out and clean up the bar. I want the floor to shine, you hear me? And make a cup of coffee for each of the club girls.”

  “Aye, Prez,” I rasp.

  “They need someone to do their pedicure,” Jackson says as the office fills with the roars of his men’s rough humour and the rumbles of their wild enthusiasm.

  The boys start to chant ‘pedicure’, patting their bellies and swaying like they really are toads.

  I’m a funny monkey and this is a circus. “Aye, Prez.”

  I step out of the office before he changes his mind and decides that I’m not suitable for being his prospect.

  The dick at least has a sense of humour. Fuck me. It’s a very eccentric sense of humour.

  I have no other choice so I walk into the bar, grab a mop, and start cleaning. The club girls surround me and start giggling. There are ten of them in total, looking twenty-five years old or more.

  “You’ve never seen a male cleaner, lovely ladies?” I say. With each sweep of the mop, my male pride diminishes. It’s non-existent when the members of the club start taking their seats around the bar and laughing at me.

  “You don’t have to do our feet,” One of the girls says. She has short dark hair and a thick scar on her right cheek. “Prez was joking.”

  “Yeah, every prospect gets the same treatment,” a redhead adds. She twines her fingers in her long hair. “If you really want to do our feet we don’t mind though, handsome.” She blows me a kiss.

  “I’m gonna focus on making the bar look spotless,” I say.

  I roam my eyes over them.

  I wonder why they’re here.

  Their eyes say it all—they’re broken souls, too broken to return to the outside world. I’m sure Jackson regularly stabs human traffickers, rapists, and abusers. I’m sure those women are here by choice. They’re alive here. They’d be dead outside the compound. They accommodate the club members’ needs but the club protects them and gives them a purpose in life. I don’t know whether it’s right or wrong. It’s just a different choice in life. Different doesn’t mean bad.

  Chantal

  She sits with her knees pulled to her chest. “I know you’d find out sooner or later.”

  I sit, cross-legged, the wind lifting our hair. “There shouldn’t be any secrets in the family.”

  “You’re right. Secrets are bad.” She draws in a deep breath, her knuckles corpse white.

  I sometimes wonder who she is. She’s a mix of contradictions. Sometimes, she’s very mature. Sometimes, she’s like a five-year-old girl. Sometimes, she’s a stranger with cold eyes.

  “You saw Sonja’s tattoo, right?” she asks. “I know you saw. Sonja told me.”

  My heart starts thundering. “Yes.” It’s a black eight-legged spider, but I thought it was just a coincidence. I saw it by accident. Sonja didn’t lock the bathroom door and I tumbled inside when she was stripping to have a shower. “That can’t be.”

  “I was too stupid to be awarded such a tattoo. Too stupid to realise what was happening in my own house. She saved me. From him. From them.”

  Chills go down my spine as ice layers my heart. “Who is Sonja?”

  I know she’s my family because the resemblance is striking, but she visits us on very rare occasions. Her husband is an honorary member of the club but he stays away from club business. His visits are even rarer. I’ve never met Sonja’s kids. There seems to be some shit between my mom and her. Sonja is always very nice and very warm towards us. Very sad each time she glances at my mom.

  We call her Sonja. It’s always been like this. I remember our first meeting. That was when I was fourteen. She got off the train and hugged me for two hours. She hugged Ana for three hours. She kept kissing my mom on the top of her head. My mom was deliriously happy to see her, but was strangely relieved when Doctor and Sonja left three days later. Very weird.

  My mom sucks in a breath. “My mother. And my sister.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You do understand, Chantal.”

  I feel like I’m falling down, falling into a dark, sticky, and cold chasm. “Who are you?” My eyes sweep over her face. She looks like she’s bathed in sick nightmares. “Mom?”

  “I was a princess. He was a king. He didn’t deserve to live.”

  “Felix Selig?”

  “Don’t. I don’t want to hear his name ever again.”

  “He was one of them?” My heart breaks at the fear on her face, but I need to know.

  “A subsidizer. What he did to us… That was one of the requirements…” She chokes back tears. “He loved it. He was sick. He deserved to die.” She nods to herself several times.

  There’s a harsh pause as though it’s the middle of winter and snow has fallen upon us.

  Secrets have shadowed my whole life, but now that I know the truth, I feel relieved. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I was ashamed. Scared.”

  “Truth is never shameful. Truth is dignified.”

  Felix was my mom’s father. Sonja is her mother and sister. There’s nothing shameful about it. I can only see the tragedy of two innocent women.

  “Yes, you’re right, my bright little girl.” She cups her own face with her hands.

  “Lies are shameful.”

  I feel purified not contaminated. Very very relieved after all these years.

  I can help my mom, give her a peace that she needs. “Poppy is a cute name. It suits you better than Selene.”

  She laughs through tears. “I’m so happy to have you all.”

  I throw my arm over her back. “It’s easier when you can carry your baggage with the help of your daughter.”

  “Much easier, sweetie. Thank you so so very much.”

  I take a deep breath. “We have the right to Sonja, the right to
be her grandchildren.”

  “I know, but my past is so dark. So sick.”

  “You’re not your past. You’re my mom and she’s my grandma. I love her. I want to see her more often.”

  My mom sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Okay, I’ll call her, tell her to come over.”

  “You should say I’m sorry to her.”

  “She’s never been angry with me because of this. She understands.”

  “But she’s sad, Mom. Very sad. You’re sad too. When you make things right between you both you won’t be sad anymore, I promise.”

  “I know.” Her voice falters as she chokes back the tears.

  “This is our defiance, Mom. We’ll make this dark shit pure and crystal. Joyful. That’s our weapon against them.”

  A respectful silence envelops us for a moment.

  “We need Dante,” she whispers.

  “Yeah, I know, but Dad is so hard on him.”

  “We can trust Dante.”

  “I know, but Dad—“

  “This is your life, Chantal, not your dad’s.” She flashes me a wicked smile.

  “He has feelings for me.”

  “He can love, Chantal. And he’s a very honourable man.”

  “How do you know this?”

  She chuckles. “I just know it.” Her cheeks tinge with a bright red colour.

  Chapter 8

  Dante

  The party goes wild when I’m still polishing the sash window in the storage room. Six fucking hours of mopping the floor. Two fucking hours of wiping the bar top. Every chair. Every couch. Every shot glass. My hands look like I’m the nineteenth century washer-woman. Not to mention that the stairwell still awaits my attention.

  One of the club girls walks in and shoves a glass of orange juice into my hand. She rises on her tiptoes, intending to kiss me, but she freezes when I shake my head. It was her choice that her feet didn’t need my attention so kissing me on the cheek is not necessary.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” a female voice hisses behind us.

  The club girl shudders and turns to face that pissed off woman. My eyes follow her movement and fix on Chantal.

  “Get out,” Chantal repeats. “Now.”

  The girl drops her head and vanishes in an instant. Chantal draws in a shaky breath but her eyes burn with fury.

  “You stink, Dante, stink like a pig, and they’re still throwing themselves at you.”

  “I’m trying my best to deter them.”

  “You’re a free man. You can fuck club whores if you fancy.”

  “I’m not a free man. I’m in a serious relationship.”

  “Oh really?”

  “From the moment I saw one pretty little thief.” I must be on the right track because she twines her finger in her hair and chews her lower lip.

  I want to suck on that perfect lip of hers. I want to slam her on the wall and drive my throbbing cock into her cunt balls deep.

  “Fuck, you reek, you Romeo boy,” she says in a low seductive voice.

  “I’ve mopped and wiped the whole bar. I have the right to reek.”

  “Go have a shower.” She pulls back.

  “Chantal, when—“

  She runs off and I lose sight of her.

  I want to run after her.

  No, her daddy would kill me the moment I’d lay my hand on her shoulder.

  I lean the mop against the wall, rub my hands against my stained jeans, and decide to follow my girl’s suggestion. Because she is my girl?

  She was jealous.

  I like it.

  Her jealousy means we really are in a serious relationship.

  I shuffle up the stairs, then walk along the corridor, and enter my bedroom. A murmur drifts to my ears. I steel myself.

  Maybe I didn’t turn off the water after I’d had a shower in the morning.

  I walk over to the bathroom and pull open the door. My eyes sweep over the clothes scattered on the floor.

  Anger rises up my chest.

  I told him I didn’t want any club whore.

  My eyes dart over to the shower cabin and I freeze.

  My girl is standing under the showerhead and she’s naked. With her flawless back turned toward me, she looks over her shoulder. Her hair slithers down along her spine in a thick strand, reaching to her ass crack. She’s beautiful. More beautiful than I’ve imagined her. Her skin has a delicate pink tinge from the heat of the water streaming down her form. Her globes? Flawless and firm. Delicious.

  My dick strains against my zipper.

  “I don’t have much time, Copper.”

  “You shouldn’t even be here, Chantal.”

  She turns around, hugging herself. “Fine. You can always take one of the club girls. Bye.” She pulls forward.

  I raise my arm and obstruct her way. “Stay.”

  “Nope, not convinced.”

  “Chantal, please stay. I want to have that fucking shower with you. I’ve been dreaming about a shower with you. Convincing enough?”

  She smiles at me, bobs her head, and returns under the showerhead. I strip as my eyes devour her full breasts she’s trying to hide behind her forearm.

  Chantal

  Steam circles his ripped body as my eyes slide down his tattooed chest and flick over his thick, stiff shaft. His pubic hair is dark and trimmed. His thighs are all muscle.

  He looks like a god of war. He is a fallen angel.

  He is mine.

  Fuck. I’m going to punch every club whore if they as much as look at him.

  His hungry eyes slide over me. My stomach flutters.

  I turn my back to him. I guess, I’m not this bold.

  I don’t know why I am here.

  I wanted to kiss him, touch him, and most importantly prevent him from seeking the release somewhere else.

  The girls keep gossiping about him. They’re all deeply in love with him, desperate to spread their legs for him.

  No way in hell.

  He. Is. Mine.

  I feel his intimidating presence right behind me as his chest moulds to my back. It’s a hard shield of muscles. I’m so tiny compared to him. I’m a fragile flower. He’s a massive wolf. His cock throbs against my lower back. His arms wrap around me and shelter me.

  “I’ve missed you, Chantal.” His voice is deep, husky. So full of primal lust.

  “I’ve missed you too, Dante.”

  He holds my breast and squeezes it gently. A low growl leaves his mouth.

  We bend slightly forward as he moves me into the corner of the shower cabin. I jerk my hand up and rest my palm against the tiling.

  “Dante.” It comes out on a gasp.

  He grips my hip, rubbing his hard on up my ass. “Say my name again.”

  I shiver despite the steam enveloping me. “Dante, I…”

  “You?” He spreads my feet with his as his hand slides down my tummy. He circles my entrance with his finger. “You’re a good girl, but I’m gonna make you say bad words.” His mouth touches my shoulder and he bites me gently.

  “I want to give it to you,” I shriek.

  “I know.” He dips a finger into my heat. “And I’m gonna take.”

  “No other women.”

  “No other men, Chantal, I’m warning you.”

  I raise my arm and encircle his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Our tongues tangle together and mate. God, he can kiss. Every stroke of his tongue, every touch of his lips is like a dance of pleasure. So arousing. So consuming.

  He nibbles on my earlobe. “Say it.”

  “No,” I tease.

  He twists my nipple, causing me a sting of pain. A moan escapes my mouth. My pussy pulses.

  “Say it,” he repeats, his voice menacing in a dark tempting way.

  “Fuck me,” I murmur.

  “Fuck me hard, Dante. Say it, Chantal.” He rolls my nipple as he holds my chin with his other hand. “Because that’s what you want? Tell me.”

  “Fuck me hard,” I murmur.
He winds my hair around his fist as his lips slam on mine, and I gasp, “Dante.”

  His arm wraps around my waist and he bends me. I rest both my hands against the tiling for support. He grips the back of my neck with his hand as his fingers spread my folds and search for my clitoris. He massages it in circles, causing a jolt of pleasure to surge through me.

  “Have you ever touched yourself like this, Chantal?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a bad girl.”

  “I am.”

  “But you’ve never allowed any man to touch you?”

  “No, never.”

  “Good girl. You’re gonna be a bad girl but only for me.”

  “Only for you.”

  He crushes me between his massive frame and the wall. His fingers stroke my clit faster. My mind whirls and my muscles tense. My pussy clenches with need. I start moaning like a whore.

  “Good, Chantal?” he rasps into my ear as he runs the head of his cock up and down my ass crack.

  “Good.”

  “You want more?”

  “More.”

  His skilled fingers stroke me faster and I feel the head of his cock circle my tight opening with more and more pressure.

  I shatter.

  A pleasant fog layers my mind.

  I drift up, my body still trembling in the aftermath of my orgasm.

  I realise Dante is carrying me bridal style towards his bed. He lays me gently on the comforter and crawls on top of me. Our bodies are damp, hot from the shower.

  “I liked from behind better,” I rasp to tease him.

  God, I love it when he looks so mad about me.

  “Tomorrow,” he says.

  We kiss like we have an eternity for kissing.

  “Are you on the pill, Chantal?”

  “No.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m gonna knock you up tonight.”

  “You’ll need at least three sessions to be successful.”

  “Five sessions.” He covers my mouth with his and guides his hard cock into my entrance.

  I want him so badly. I want to bear his children. I want to age with him by my side.

  I suck in a breath. He pushes in and buries his whole length inside of me in one thrust. I mewl into his mouth, wiggle beneath him. Agonize beneath him. Fuck, he’s too big. It’s like a heated knife is slicing my bottom.