In real time, the intensity of my own touch increased significantly, and I raced in conjunction with the fantasy to orgasm. I knew my body well, and it took but only a couple minutes for me to reach that spot. In the seconds leading up to the orgasm, the fantasy blurred from the reality, and I was reduced to shouting his name.
“Brock, Brock, yes, oh, Brock! Ohhh! Oh, fuck, Brock!”
I squirmed and let out a loud moan as various images of Brock naked flashed in my mind. His thick, long cock stood erect from his body. His abs rippled. That smirk of his that refused to ever say everything that was going on flashed in the fantasy.
“Heather,” he said in his gravely, rough voice. “Yes, baby.”
And then, just like that, I was back in my bedroom. The fantasy had ended.
But the reality had not. I knew that there was beyond a fifty percent chance that, while maybe not that exact fantasy in Porter Ridge would come true, I would have something very close to approximating that. Hell, honestly, it was probably much higher than fifty percent. It was probably closer to eighty percent.
Let’s just hope that Brock will live up to the image I’ve given him when that time comes. Actually, who the hell am I kidding. Let’s just hope I can please him like I know he’ll please me.
When I’d caught my breath enough, I sat up from the bed, trying to catch my breathing. I’d gotten so enamored in the pleasure that I’d forgotten to close my window, though it would have taken someone of particular interest in me to see me in my apartment on the second floor. I hurried over to close it after I’d pressed my shirt up against my chest, and once I had privacy, I let it drop, naked once more. I went over to my cell phone and looked at my messages, noticing that I had one from a 661 number I did not recognize.
“Party tonight at King’s Repairs. You’re coming.”
Brock.
How the hell did he get my number?
I played dumb at first, writing back to ask who it was and how they—OK, he—had gotten my number. But Brock saw right through it.
“You know exactly who it is. And I know people. I know a lot of people. I’ll see you here at 10.”
I initially thought that there was no way I was actually going to go to that party. I wasn’t a teenager looking to sneak out from her parents’ house, nor was I a college student who could afford to skip school. I was a professional who had to stay on top of my shit to be responsible to a group of fourth graders.
“I don’t think I can make it,” I wrote.
But I never hit sent. I just couldn’t help but admire the gumption and balls from Brock to outright tell me he was going to see me tonight. And, to his credit, he was following through on saying that he would see me again. If I said no…
His boldness was sexy. And it wasn’t like I had a lot of other romantic or sexual options in Romara.
Fuck it. Let’s go. What’s the worst that could happen?
5
Brock
I was in a pissed off mood when I got to King’s Repairs, which doubled as the clubhouse for the Savage Kings MC.
But there was no chance I was going to show that to anyone except my brother. I prided myself on remaining stoic and neutral in a club setting, although it wasn’t like I never lost my temper. The gentlemen knew that, if needed, I could unleash hell on just about anyone.
“… told ‘em, y’all ain’t never fuck with a Texas boy like me!”
Not surprisingly, Parker, the sergeant-in-arms of the club, had the rest of the officers laughing their ass off. A big, burly Marine from Dallas with a visible war scar over his left eye, Parker’s personality could have made many believe that he was born to be a stand-up comedian. But I knew better than anyone that Parker didn’t take flak from anyone—even Sheriff Jones, even me—and he would call out anyone. Parker’s size, age, and experience gave him a gravitas that almost made me believe on some days that he, not my brother and I, ran the club.
“Hey, y’all, look, it’s El Presidente!” he shouted as I walked in. “Holy shit, son. Where the hell have ya been? And don’thca lie to us and say you were gettin’ gas. Only if you were eatin’ some beans or shit!”
“Very funny, Parker,” I said as I sat at the head of the table. “I’ll tell you after the meeting. We’ve got more important things to discuss.”
Not even Parker could disagree on that. Actually, given Parker was a Marine, he probably especially agreed with my statement. He cleared his throat and scooted his chair forward.
I took a quick glance around the rest of the room. There was Greg “Petey” Peterson, our treasurer. Although Parker was older than Landon or I, Petey was actually the oldest person in the club. Through his work documents, I knew that he was 36, but he kept that a secret from everyone else. Petey was the kind of person that epitomized “dependable.” He always kept track of club financial information and could also keep individual secrets; he probably knew everyone’s darkest secret, and yet no one really knew much of Petey. I didn’t fear him, but I certainly had a healthy awareness of him.
To his right was Zane Williams, our secretary and our record-keeper. I had never met anyone so shameless about sleeping around as Zane. While Zane had his fair share of beautiful women, he also had made plenty of questionable choices. Despite our shit-talking, Zane seemed completely unaffected. I suspected that he had some issues from the few times that he hadn’t ended a party with someone, but those occurrences came rarely.
To his right, bringing the circle back to me, were two new offices, Ty Bolden and William Wolf. Both of them had been longtime members and recently promoted to being officers, but they had received such promotions more on the basis of longevity than merit. That wasn’t to say that we’d stupidly pushed someone we thought wouldn’t help us, but it did mean that they were more likely to go along with the consensus instead of making their own choice.
And to their left was my brother, Landon, the King who least wanted to be here and most needed his ass whipped in line—but also the smartest and, surprisingly, the most violent of all of us when he got into a certain state.
It was a potpourri of characters, from Landon at just 25 years old “old” Petey at 36 years old. Ty and William were close to Petey, but it was unquestioned that Petey was the senior statesman. We had people who loved drinking, who loved drugs, who loved partying, who loved reading, and who loved just about everything in between. It was all because of my father, who had started this whole club about twenty years ago as a way to support my brother and I after my mother had died.
My father, the one who’d been killed ten years ago by…
I cleared my throat.
“I understand from Landon that we know where the Anarchists have placed the guns, correct?”
“Yes,” Landon said. “Ty and William did some recon. They’re in a warehouse on the east side of town, about six miles from here. It’s an industrial area, not a ton of civilians in the area. We could hit it without stirring up too much trouble pretty easily.”
“Pretty easily is relative, though,” Petey said. “It’s likely to be guarded. They’re probably well-protected.”
“Yeah, for now,” Parker said. “But if ya thinkin’ they gonna guard that place forever, ya just outta ya damn mind.”
“But we can’t just sit on our asses and let them get away with it, man!” Zane said, pounding the table. “I refuse to let these fucking assholes take our guns without some sort of retaliation.”
“You really think I want to let it go by?” Parker said. “Hell, I’d like nothin’ more than to go in and kick their ass! Y’all, y’all know I ain’t gonna just lie down and let it happen. But we ain’t need to go runnin’ to our death. Right, Brock?”
I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation as I should have, though. Once everyone had started to speak up, I’d let my mind drift to Heather. I needed to get her back around. I needed to finish the deal.
“Hey, disphit, pay attention,” Parker said, snapping his fingers. “It wasn’t gas ya sorr
y ass was pumpin’, that’s for sure.”
“Anyways,” I said, trying to move past Parker’s remark. “Parker is right, we strike tonight, they’ll pick us apart from their rooftops with glee. But we wait a while, and they’ll move the guns again. We need to be bold… in due time.”
I chuckled.
“Guys, this isn’t hard. We strike tomorrow late into the evening or early in the morning. I mean, real late. Like, not midnight. I mean like four in the morning or so. The closer to sunrise we get, the more they’ll think we’re not coming.”
“And with how many—”
“Let’s take everyone on the run,” I said. “Or at least everyone except maybe an officer and a couple of pledges. I want this to make clear to the Anarchists—they can fuck around on the edges of us, but they take our guns, we fucking overwhelm them. Understood?”
“Now that’s an el presidente I can get behind,” Parker said with a chuckle.
That was one thing I liked to think of myself as being very good at. I could understand the mood of the crowd of an individual pretty easily. It was why I had complete confidence in being able to seduce Heather—and why I had complete confidence as president of the club.
“They thought they could sneak one by us, and we’d be so stunned that we’d just sit by the side and take some time to regroup. But we’re the fucking Savage Kings. We don’t take that shit. So Friday night, we’re going to fucking bust down that warehouse, take our guns, and take out whatever Anarchists get in the way. We’ll teach those assholes not to fuck with us!”
A couple of “hell yeahs!” emerged from the group.
“So let’s have our usual party tonight,” I said. “Let’s call it an early celebration of a decimation of the Anarchists. They woke the sleeping giant. Time for the giant to enjoy waking up first!”
I banged the gavel as the group went nuts. I took the chance to slide out of the clubhouse, grab my phone from outside, and look at my texts.
It was early evening, and the sun had not yet fully set. I suppose celebrating on a night when we got our guns stolen might have been a weird look, but the last thing I wanted the club to feel was that we had to adjust to the Anarchists, not the other way around. Plus, I knew how much the club loved to party. I had my enjoyable moments, but some loved it to a ridiculous amount.
But I didn’t enjoy it quite as much as someone like Zane. For one, I liked to be a little selective in the women that I slept with. For another, as president, I didn’t like having moments in which I looked out of control.
Today, though, had given me another reason that I might not have felt the greatest about throwing a party.
But when I looked at my phone, when I thought about what had happened barely an hour ago, and when I thought about what more could happen…
I texted the Sheriff, asking him for a favor. Within five minutes, he had that favor completed. And after another five minutes, I had my goal accomplished.
I had Heather Richards coming to the party tonight. And I’d make sure she’d come in more than just that way.
6
Heather
UCLA had given me its fair share of good parties. Living in San Francisco had shown me plenty of good times in a variety of different venues. I had seen debaucherous, luxurious, and everything in between.
But I had never seen something quite so shameless and so free as the party that I walked into at the Savage Kings party.
It wasn’t so much that everyone was naked and loose and free, although there were certainly people in various states of undress and inebriation trying to make their way to a clubhouse couch or private room. It wasn’t so much that people were hammered, although they seemed to be getting pretty far along.
No, it was more that people not only didn’t seem to mind how crazy the party was, they really seemed to relish it. There was absolutely no one standing in the corner, looking embarrassed or ashamed about being at the party. No one looked bored or wished they were somewhere else. I had never seen a party that seemed to have one hundred percent satisfaction with the attendees.
Even though I had a feeling that coming to this party might be a disastrous long-term decision, I had little doubt that in the short term, it was not something to be regretted.
“Well, hello, blondie.”
I turned my attention to a drunk young guy, no older than 22, walking toward me. He had a handlebar mustache, half-closed eyes, and a walk that suggested if he tried to take more than five steps at a time, he would stumble forward and trip on himself. I wasn’t the least bit concerned with him, but he did offer a chance to entertain me.
“You, you are, oh my God,” he said, laughing as he leaned against the wall, trying to hold himself up. “You are so fucking hot.”
“Well thank you,” I said. “But I’m actually here to see someone else.”
“Nah, girl, nah,” he said. “You, you gotta understand, I’m new here, see, and I have to prove myself by hitting on the next girl that, that, walks in. So… yeah, come fuck me.”
I laughed, reminded of all the boys at UCLA who thought they had game but instead only had the social graces of a turtle moving on land.
“I’m sorry, hun, but I’m here to see someone else,” I said. “And I really don’t think it would be a good idea for you to hit on me. Maybe try the next girl? I’ll say that I was here already.”
“Nah, nah, nah, nah,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I looked over his shoulder and saw Brock approaching. Brock didn’t look especially concerned, almost like he knew what was happening. But I didn’t have any doubt that he would step in at a moment’s notice if the new guy tried to touch me inappropriately.
And frankly, as soon as Brock came into view, I didn’t pay any attention to the young boy before me. Brock had thrown on a white undershirt in place of the button-down he had on before, and it was almost see-through. I could see the faint outline of his muscles, especially his delts, his pecs, and his abs. I was usually someone who preferred to do things in private, but the sexual tension developing just from looking at him was enormous and almost impossible to ignore.
“I promise you, you’ll, you’ll…”
The drunk boy held up a finger. I took a step back as I realized what was about to happen.
With one massive lurch, the boy threw up all over on the ground in front of me, missing my shoes by just inches. The club members behind him let out a collective groan, followed by some laughter and taunting of the boy they had presumably nicknamed “Prospect.”
“Get the hell out of here,” Brock finally said when he’d had enough. “Next time you pick a girl to hit on, one, don’t throw up in front of her, and two, make sure it’s not the president’s girl.”
“Oh shit,” Prospect said, sitting in his own vomit and hacking up still. “I’m sorry sir, I really, really, oh, shit, why.”
The rest of the club continued to laugh at the poor boy. Brock stepped forward, picked the boy up, and carried him back down the hallway. He shouted for another prospect to come and clean up the mess, which drew gags and coughing fits from some more new members.
“Do it now!” Brock said with sudden anger. “I am not going to keep Heather waiting any longer!”
I almost felt like I was getting the royal treatment, the way the other prospects got on their knees. Honestly, a part of me wanted to help. It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to dealing with gross situations as a teacher.
As soon as the boys finished, they ran into the kitchen to clean up. Brock came over, grabbed my hand, and led me.
“Where are we going?”
But Brock didn’t answer. He just looked back at me with that same smirk on his face. That smirk that I had imagined when I had climaxed.
He ordered a couple of people out of the way when he turned the corner just before I did. When I saw what he had yelled at, I couldn’t help but grin.
“Now then,” he said. “Let’s try this pool competition again, shall we?”
&n
bsp; This was bad—in the best way possible. In some strange way, I’d held on to the notion that I could move at a pace that would both minimize potential heartache while also allowing for the steady rise in pleasure, but that was getting disavowed. I had underestimated Brock’s ability to seduce and charm me, and I had underestimated my willingness to go along with it.
To think, twenty-four hours ago, I was asleep and thinking it was going to be a typical Thursday. Funny how quickly things can change.
“But this time, I’m going to break,” Brock said. “And you’re going to watch, sexy.”
He slapped my ass hard, sending tingling through my body. I yipped and jumped, but he didn’t apologize. If he had, it would have seemed out of character anyways.
“By the way,” he said. “House rule. Every time someone makes a shot, you have to take drink. Since you’re a lady, you can sip on beer. If you were one of the guys, though, you’d have to take a shot of the player’s choice.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring. I’m glad you don’t want to destroy me.”
“Not in the literal sense,” he said, placing his hand on my cheek, spreading goosebumps all over my body. “Just in a different way, darling.”
Briefly, his face contorted, as if he, too, recognized the danger of the two of us going back to what once was. I didn’t know his reasons, but I knew that any time I went back to someone who had burned me once, there was a chance the fire had never quite gone out completely.
But that goddamn closed-mouth smile, the one where his lips curled up and his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, came back and I forgot all about it.
He broke, landing a ball in the stripes. I waited for my turn, sipping on a beer.
Then, on the next shot, he made a ball in.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next.
Before I knew it, he was down to the eight ball, without the pool stick having ever gotten to me.
Savage Redemption Page 3