by K. L. Savage
It was just sex.
Maybe that’s what I need. It’s been a while because I’ve been so caught up with Mary that I’ve forgotten that I’m a single man. Mary drives me nuts, Bobby-Jane tugs my nuts. See the difference?
“Maybe, I’ll call you later,” she gives me a wink and heads into the room where her client is.
“Yeah, too bad she can’t call you,” Luci says, sitting down on a stool and pushes his feet against the ground to roll in front of me.
“Why not?”
“You destroyed your phone, remember?” he smirks, grabbing his notepad and a red pen.
“Fuck.” I cover my face and let out a painful groan. A beautiful, missed opportunity, gone because I can’t keep my head on straight.
“Your dick will live, but the time is ticking, Knives. What are we doing?”
“I want a pinup on my arm, a woman with long black hair and red lipstick.” Once the words come out of my mouth, I nearly choke on my tongue and wish my swamp kitty carrying MC brother was around to cut it out of me. I just described Mary.
“How do you want her body?” Luci asks as he starts to draw on the paper in delicate lines.
I imagine Mary; she has fuller breasts and an ass shaped like a peach that I want nothing more than to sink my damn teeth into. My cock jumps, and I clear my throat and take a deep breath to get myself under control. How awkward would it be to get an erection while Luci tattoos me?
“Medium size tits and ass,” I say to him, which he just nods as he starts creating the outline of her tits, and it’s almost like he has seen Mary naked, because the body on the paper is everything I dream about.
I shouldn’t be doing this, but as he draws her hair, long and wavy behind her back, I want nothing more than to finally close the distance between me and Mary. I think somehow… in some way; the little hellraiser wiggled her way into my heart.
I don’t know when that happened, but as Luci places the stencil on my forearm and pulls it away, I know it’s the only way I’m really ever going to have her. This picture is the only way I’ll be able to have her close to me. “Can you add a leather jacket? Keep it unzipped.”
“Yeah, I can freehand that on with a marker,” Luci states as he starts putting the tattoo gun together and unwrapping a clean, sterile needle. “Come on. Come sit on my throne of pain,” He laughs at his own joke, but all I do is roll my eyes. I flop onto the red leather chair, flip my arm over, and Luci shines the light on it.
I dig into my pocket for my ninja star and roll it over my fingers as the gun buzzes, and the needle hits my skin. Euphoria takes over as the pain hits. It’s sweet, it stings, and it burns.
Just. Like. Mary.
I’m going to kill him.
I cannot believe I’ve had to stay in jail for two days. I haven’t showered. I have had to hover when I pee because there is no way in hell I am sitting on a stainless steel toilet that’s probably never been cleaned.
When I see him, I’m going to wrap my hands around his throat, punch him in the gut again with that damn leg he bought me for Christmas, then scream in his face.
“Well, looks like you’re a free woman,” Officer Daniels slides the key in the cell and slides the door open.
Don’t get sassy, Mary.
“You look familiar,” another cop says, his blue eyes narrowing as he evaluates me.
I swallow, hoping he doesn’t stare at me too long. Not a lot of people know who I am, but there are a few sprinkled about who recognize me. I zip up my leather jacket, and that’s when he shakes his head clear, scoffing at himself. “Never mind, you can’t be her. That’s impossible.” He tilts his head down and goes back to what he was doing.
Blowing out a breath, I start walking the green mile toward the exit when I remember I have a court date. “Officer Daniels? When will I know about the court date?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Knives took care of it when he paid your bail.”
I freeze. His words encase me like an iceberg, and if snow could fall right about now, I’d be making snowballs and launching them at the cop. “You’re going to have to repeat that. What?” I say with a bit of a bite.
“Oh yeah. You could have left days ago, but Knives wanted you to stay. We listen to the Kings. We know who really pays our bills.” He walks around his desk, picks up a file, and doesn’t pay me any mind as if what he just said doesn’t make me plan Knives’ murder.
“He’s a dead man,” I say through tight teeth. I cannot believe the bail was paid days ago. My fingers twitch, and the fury inside me is boiling over. I’m about ready to take his ninja star and stab him with it. I stomp toward the door and slam the bar against it, opening it with so much force it bounces off the brick wall and nearly hits me again.
The sun is too bright after being locked inside for two days. I lift my hand and block the yellow light out of my eyes.
“Hey, Hellraiser. Damn, you look like shit.”
I scan the parking lot for the bane of my existence, and when I see him, I fly down the steps. He looks cocky sitting on his motorcycle, all leather cut, muscles, trimmed beard, the sides of his heads shaved with a bit of hair on top, and a mischievous smile to wreck my heart. “You! Why would you do that?” I poke a finger against his chest.
His hard, broad, muscular chest. A real man’s chest. It isn’t shaved, not baby smooth, but hairy, all the way down his abs, and I itch to run my fingers through it.
Not that I’d ever admit that out loud to anyone.
“Here. Put this on,” Knives says, completely ignoring the anger and the poke against the chest. My eyes land on the tattoo below his neck that says ‘Judge Me.’
Oh, I’m judging. He doesn’t have to worry about that.
“Did you hear me? Why would you do that, Knives? I am not a person you can fuck with whenever you want. I have feelings. Everyone makes mistakes, and you walked out on me when I needed you. You wouldn’t have done that to one of your MC brothers.”
“Don’t for a second compare yourself to them,” he says. “My brothers know when they make a mistake, but you don’t. That’s the difference, Mary. You’re doing it for the good to fuck yourself over. My brothers land in jail because they are breaking laws for the better good. What the hell are you doing to better yourself or the world? Nothing.”
“I—”
He stops me from saying anything else by pushing the helmet against my chest. “You, nothing. You have no reason to defend yourself. You’re putting yourself in harm’s way, and guess what? You were safer there in that jail cell than you were in your car. And guess who could sleep at night? Me. The club. The people that care about you. Shut the hell up, Mary. Put the helmet on and get on my bike.”
If my ass wasn’t burning from the spanking he just gave me, I’d sass him and tell him I’d rather walk, but the hard glint in his eyes tells me there is no room for discussion. With a nod, I slide the helmet on my head and swing my leg over to mount the bike. I’m squeezed tight between Knives and the backrest, my tits snug against his back. I inhale a sharp breath as my nipples harden from the contact. I dig my fingernails into my thighs to stop myself from wrapping my arms around his waist.
He revs the engine, but we don’t move forward. He reaches behind his back and grips my hands, pulling my arms around his waist.
Just like I didn’t want.
“You’re going to have to hold on a lot tighter, Hellraiser. Lean when I lean, and don’t distract me. You want freedom? You’re about to experience it.”
I have no idea what Knives means about freedom, but if it feels anything like his abs do clenching under my fingers, I want it. Once he feels like I have a good hold on him, he punches forward, and the bikes jerks, which pushes me against his backrest more. I hold on tighter, my fingers toying with this shirt, and the motion, along with the air breezing by us, has his shirt inching up his torso. My fingers graze against his bare stomach, and the coarse hairs I love so much tickle my palm. I gasp and do my best not t
o move or explore, but being this close to him without fighting feels different.
It’s just like that moment we kissed. Seems like we only ever get along when we’re touching each other.
That’s not a good thing.
The bike vibrates between my legs and tickles my swollen clit. Every bounce of the bike, every vibration from the bike speeding up, nearly makes me whimper and fall apart. With the throbbing between my legs, it is hard to figure out if the rumbling is actually coming from the bike or the man in front of me.
We zigzag through the parking lot until we are at the stop sign that takes us to the main road. He takes a right, passing the strip where all the fun is. Even though I’ve been in Vegas for almost a year, I have never been to the strip. Maybe I’ll go and get a job; there are plenty of jobs I can do to put distance between me and Knives. Eventually, I’ll move out of the clubhouse, and they won’t ever have to worry about me again.
It hurts to think about, but I feel like the Kings got stuck with me. They aren’t. I can take care of myself. It might not seem like it, but I can if I have to.
And I really think I have to, because something is changing between me and Knives. I’m not sure what it is, but it can’t be good.
Nothing good can be built from hate.
And Knives hates me, that much I know.
We make our way to Loneliest Road, a long stretch of narrow pavement that cuts through four-hundred miles of the United States. There is desert on either side of us, mountains and forests. It’s beautiful. Getting lost in the desert, the horizons of the sun, and the sand disappearing between my toes.
It sounds like heaven. A real break from life. I have been running from the truth for so long that I don’t know what it’s like to stop and think about what I want. I haven’t pressed reset on my life since I’ve been here. I think maybe it’s time I move on, somewhere, and do something.
I don’t know what, but it’s got to feel better than being a burden.
I hold onto Knives tighter when he speeds up, and the grumbling of the engine whips through the air.
I expect for him to slow down, but he doesn’t.
The bike goes faster, quickly gaining more speed until I’m worried Knives is going to lose control and we’re going to wreck. I squeeze his waist and raise my voice, “Stop it, Knives! Stop. You’re going too fast!” I try to yell over the rush of wind we are slicing through as we fly down the road.
Most of my hair is flattened by the helmet, but the ends are slashing, dancing, stinging my arms. His hand twists the throttle again, and the bike lurches forward, gaining more speed, going even faster. “Stop! Knives, please!” I nearly sob. I’m scared. Everything is blurring past us. I can’t see anything.
He slams on the brakes, and the bike fishtails. The smell of burnt rubber surrounds us, along with a cloud of smoke. He pulls off to the shoulder, the bike dipping from pavement to sand. I jerk off the helmet and toss it on the ground. I’m breathing heavily, inhaling dust and smoke from the tires. “What the fuck, Knives? What was that?”
He hops off his Harley, and his cold eyes hit me like daggers. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Mary? Didn’t you want to be free? Don’t you like speed? Don’t you crave the adrenaline pumping in your veins the faster you go? What, you didn’t like it? Was it too much for you to handle? Is it so different from bursting past the cops at 110 mph, feeling the wind in your hair? When you aren’t cozied up in a box of a car.”
“Stop it,” I sound pathetic with the emotion clogging my throat.
He kicks his helmet, and it flies across the desert, landing with a loud smack before it bounces again, this time stopping next to a dead bush. “Goddamn it, Mary!” he roars so loud, I can hear the gravel in his throat as he stresses his vocal cords. His voice carries, and a few crows down the road stop picking at a dead animal and fly away. “I won’t stop it. I won’t stop. You can’t be doing shit like this; do you understand me?”
“I’m not a child. Don’t talk to me like a child, Knives.”
“Then stop acting like one. What the hell is your problem? Why are you doing this? Why act out? Why with the rebellion? Why do you have a death wish?”
“Why do you suddenly care?” I hiss, swinging my legs over the bike and sliding off. “Why do you care what I do? I’m a goddamn adult, Knives. I can do whatever I want. Stop acting like you give a damn when you’d be perfectly happy if I swerved off the side of the road and—”
Before I can say another word, he takes four long strides over to me and shoves his hand over my mouth. “Don’t you dare say another word. Don’t you dare sit there and say what I think you’re about to say. I swear—” He removes his hand and screams in the air, takes out a ninja star, and scratches his beard with it. It’s like the ninja star is his comfort. “You drive me fucking nuts, you know that? You drive me… insane.”
“That’s why you should be happy that—”
He flings the ninja star at me, and I jump. The metal lodges in the metal of his motorcycle right as I flinch. “I said, don’t say another word. God, you think I’m that kind of man? To want you dead? Do you really think I hate you that much? Is that how much you hate me?”
“What? No, I don’t think you want me dead, I care—” I catch myself before I say I care about him. “I would never want you, me, or anyone dead.”
“Well, you know that isn’t the case with me, right? You know that there are plenty of people I want dead, but you aren’t one of them, Mary. Do you want to know why I don’t want you speeding down the road? You want to know why I care?” He stomps toward me again and places his hand on the back of the neck. “This.”
He slams our lips together in a fiery kiss, not giving me a second to think, a second to breathe, a second to figure out what the hell is going on. His palm is so wide, his fingers nearly touch as they wrap around my throat. Knives is telling me he is in control, the way he guides my head, moves his mouth, flicks his tongue.
I’m transported back to Christmas, where I felt his lips for the first time, and I can hardly breathe.
We are horrible to one another, though. I pull back to let him know I want to bring the kiss to an end. I don’t, but I need to. The more I kiss him, the deeper I’m going to feel about a man that isn’t good for me.
I’m not good for him either.
We’re snakes coiling around each other, and the more we fight, the tighter we grip each other. And we are both too stubborn to let go. If we don’t stop, one of us will get hurt beyond repair.
He pulls away and puts space between us, enough to where I can catch my breath without breathing the same air he is. Our chests are in sync as we grovel to breathe. My entire body is hot, his eyes are locked on my face, and his chin is nearly touching his chest. He’s staring at me through ill intentions, wicked eyes, and long brown lashes. His shapely brows are drawn together, and his fists clench at his sides. The pinkness of his lips is heightened from our kiss.
I check out his entire body, slowly dropping my attention to his chest. His nipples are hard, and every time his lungs expand, the shirt stretches over the brute strength of his pecs. I swallow, coating my mouth with saliva as I notice things I tried not to notice before on his body.
Like how tall he really is. And how built and defined his muscles are. And how every time I see him, there’s a new tattoo. And how about the erection tenting his black jeans right now? His cock is traveling down his left thigh, nearly poking out of the tear he has in his jeans. I can see the pale flesh of his leg, the coarse hair that is also on his torso.
“Why did you do that?” I find my voice, but it doesn’t sound like me. It’s hoarse with desire and uncertainty. I lick my lips, and I make my way up his body, but pause on his forearm. There’s a tattoo there that wasn’t there a few days ago. It’s glistening in the sun from ointment, but the further I inspect it, the more I see a pin-up girl.
She’s wearing my leather jacket and my red lipstick.
That has to be a coincidence. No
way would he get me tattooed on his body when we can’t figure out how to have a conversation with one another.
“Did you feel it?” he asks. “That moment where everything else faded away. All there was, was me and you.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to admit that I felt the exact same thing, just like I did at Christmas.
“You’re lying,” he says with a smile on his face, as if it doesn’t bother him that I’m denying whatever… this is between us.
It’s hate.
It’s lust.
It’s like.
But it isn’t love.
And if it isn’t love, if it can’t be love, then I don’t want anything to do with it. Nursing a broken heart isn’t worth the tears over a man that can’t commit himself to you, but you knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to.
Yeah, I’m not about to fall down that hole.
There isn’t much I know about Knives, but I know this, he isn’t boyfriend material.
He isn’t husband material.
But if I’m honest with myself, I’m not wife material either.
And what happens when the two clash?
Arguments. Fights. Yelling. He’ll start drinking and call me a no-good, worthless whore. I’ll tell him he doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants.
What will we be left with?
Misery.
And my misery does not like company.
I wait for her to say something, anything, but she stares at me with round light brown eyes, frozen next to my bike. She’s a pretty fucking picture standing next to my motorcycle, wind blowing her already fucked up hair from not being brushed over the last few days. The cascading strands fall to her ass, and the breeze picks them up, and they flow to the right, then left. Her lips aren’t red from her lipstick since she isn’t wearing any; they are swollen from our kiss.
She’s lying if she says she doesn’t feel anything between us. Because I see the emotion clear as fucking day as she stares at me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect us to go skipping hand in hand across the desert any time soon, but damn it, she has to know there is something other than the constant arguing.