by Nicole Fox
I punch him again, an uppercut to the jaw, and he stumbles but stays on his feet. I jab three times, fast, into his gut, the air rushing from his lungs in a “whoof” sound. He dodges my next blow, sticking a leg out to hook the back of my leg. I use it to my advantage, grabbing his leg and body slamming him. Once I’ve got him down, my fists pummel his face. His nose cracks and blood splatters across his cheek. He’s still smiling, though, so I punch him straight in the mouth. He turns his head and spits out a tooth.
With every punch, I retreat further into my base self. David Grisham is controlled and calculating and smart and careful. Griz is not. Griz is predatory. Hungry for blood. Griz is unforgiving. The animal that begged to get out when I was with that girl is now fully uncaged. Spike is nothing but lunch to me right now.
I’ll kill this motherfucker. I’ll fucking kill this crackhead piece of garbage. Why the actual fuck did I ever allow him to ascend to vice president of the club? What the fuck kind of leader allows a wild-card piece of shit like this in leadership? Fuck this guy. Fuck. Him.
His face is bloody and swollen and he’s still hooting and hollering like he’s watching a goddamn football game. Just as I pull back, ready to unleash a blow to knock him unconscious, someone grabs my arm. Two more hands encircle my chest and I’m pulled away from this cock sucking son-of-a-bitch, thrashing and growling like some wild creature. It takes a third member before they can control me enough to get me away.
Two of my members, Jake and Dex, shove me back while Dex’s old lady, Anna, runs to Spike’s side. She’s a nurse, so she checks him out, declares that it’s mostly cosmetic damage, and gives me a dirty look. Not something I’d tolerate on a normal day. Club members’ wives and women do not get to give me attitude about how I run my club.
As it is, I snarl at her. “Get your fucking eyes back in your head,” I snap. “Mind your fucking business or get out of my club.”
“You nearly killed him,” she shoots back. “That what you want?”
Dex sees this interaction and tells Anna to back off. They both help Spike to his feet. That piece of shit has the nerve to smile at me again. It’s like a horror movie in real life. My lips turn down in disgust.
“How’s my hair?” Spike asks one of the club girls, the one he’d been beating at pool a moment earlier. She’s got one hand holding her stick, still, but the other clutches at her flimsy tank top. Her eyes are wide, but she otherwise seems frozen in place.
Spike waves a hand at her in dismissal. He runs a hand through his blond hair, placing it back in his usual ponytail. Then he swaggers up in my personal space, as if I didn’t just beat his ass and hand it to him for dinner.
“That was a good ass-whoopin’, boss. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
My nostrils flare. “Where do I begin? Bragging to a police informant about our upcoming deal with the Juarez family? Snorting product meant for another buyer? Trafficking girls to Mexico? Oh, or maybe kidnapping the daughter of a rival club leader and leaving her in my bed? I mean, to start.”
Spike wipes his nose on the back of his hand. The skin below his eyes is puffy and bruised and one eye is nearly swollen shut. He says, “Hey, I just helped some girls get across the border.”
“We don’t traffic people,” I say, leveling him with a stare. “Especially not underage ones. You want to do human trafficking, you go find another club.”
Spike’s hands go up in surrender. “All right, okay, I gotcha. Won’t happen again.”
“What won’t happen again?” I ask, my voice a growl.
“Any of it. I am here but to serve you, my liege.” He sneers at me, bowing, half of his mouth quirking upward.
I make eye contact with every single member as I look around the room, finally focusing my gaze back on Spike, who has stopped grinning and now seems to realize I’ve done some rather painful damage to his face. Good. He’s bracing one hand on the pool table to hold himself up.
I give him just the slightest smirk before speaking.
“This asshole,” I say, pointing at my second-in-command, “chose to abduct and rough up the daughter of the Grave Robbers. He left her bound and gagged in my bed to claim.”
Jake smirks at this. Anna and Dex both frown at Spike. There’s a ripple of uncomfortable shifting and murmuring among the people in the room. People shift on their feet, look away, anything to keep from getting caught in my crosshairs right now.
“It’s not as if we haven’t laid claim to people before, but there is no reason for this. We want to invite respect from other clubs, and there is no reason to openly incite war by taking someone’s daughter. And I don’t personally enjoy fucking dirty, scared, barely-adult women after they’ve been accosted. Call me crazy, but taking a woman when she’s wet and begging is so much more enjoyable than taking her when she’s begging me to stop.”
“I’ll bet no one’s ever asked you to stop, boss,” one of my club members says, laughing.
I level him with a stare and he stops laughing right quick. “If anyone ever laid a hand on Shannon, I’d expect every one of you motherfuckers to be out with weapons. I don’t care who it is; anyone who touches my daughter ceases to exist. If you think Draven Williams isn’t thinking the same thing right now, then you’re dumber than I thought.”
“Boss is right,” Dex says. “That was a bitch move, Spike.”
Some of the guys mutter words of agreement. They know how I feel about my daughter. They know I’d rip the fingernails from anyone who ever hurt her. Some of the guys have kids of their own. Those are the guys nodding in agreement right now.
“The point is, we need to be smart and vigilant,” I continue. My gaze settles back on Spike. “We now have a rival club’s princess in hand. There is no doubt in my mind that someone will come to reclaim her, and soon. And I won’t stand in front of a bullet for someone who didn’t have the common sense to think through what was a shitty, useless decision. You were thinking with your dick, and I’d happily let Williams cut it off for what you did.”
“She was a gift for you,” Spike says, a little less cocky and looking like he’s about to fall to the floor. “Go unwrap her and enjoy the spoils of war.”
“You fucking moron,” I snap, “there was no war. Grave Robbers aren’t friends, but they weren’t foes either. Now they are. Now go get yourself cleaned up, get some sleep, and I’ll expect you in my office first thing in the morning. You’re going to help me clean up the messes you’ve made.”
“Fuck you very much, then, too,” Spike mutters, trying to get the other guys to laugh.
I take two long steps and punch him right in the nose I’ve already broken. This time, he has the decency to pass out cold.
I look around and say, “Any questions? Alternative opinions? Power plays?”
No one says a fucking word.
“Then get him to the infirmary,” I say, jerking a thumb toward Spike’s lifeless body as I walk out, “and clean up this fucking blood.”
# # #
Tanner
I open the bedroom door and poke my head out. The meathead guarding it turns, his hand on the weapon he’s packing at his side. He’s big and pink-faced and red-haired. His eyes narrow, but he looks more concerned than suspicious. I’m used to big motorcycle dudes, so it’s hard to find one that truly intimidates or scares me. This guy is like a three on the scale, not even halfway to scary. He’s totally going to be easy to manipulate.
When I open the door and reveal myself in only a thong and white lace bra, his eyes go wide. First he looks at my breasts, then he blushes a deeper shade of pink and looks away, finally allowing his eyes to flit back to my face.
“I’m not trying to make trouble,” I say, forcing a wobble into my voice, allowing my eyes to shimmer with tears, “It’s just that I ran a bath and Griz said he’d send up some clothing and I’ve tossed my ruined clothes into the fireplace. I’m really scared and I thought maybe if I took a bath I might feel better. And I’m … I …”
I sta
rt bawling. Not a little fake cry, but huge, heaving sobs. I’m an ugly crier and I can cry on command. It’s a useful trick when you’ve got a father whose favorite word is no.
When I look up at the guy, he just looks really uncomfortable. He has a hand out like he wants to comfort me, but he knows he can’t lay a hand on anyone in the boss’s bedroom. He’s biting his top lip and his eyebrows are scrunched up in the middle of his round, pink face.
I sniffle and take his outstretched hand. “Could you find me a sweatshirt or something?”
“Boss asked me to stay right here,” he answers. “I’m really sorry.”
I take a few shuddering breaths, tears still streaming down my face. “Look, um …”
“Chip,” he says.
“Look, Chip … I’m Tanner, by the way,” I say. “I know you’ve got a heart. I can see it. I just need to take a bath to calm my nerves. I need a big hooded sweatshirt to wrap up in. Please. Can you just help me with this one tiny thing?”
His lips purse to the side and he bites his top lip again. This must be his tell when he’s conflicted. His eyebrows are cinched together again.
“I really shouldn’t,” he says, “Boss’ll murder me if I leave my post.”
“He won’t even know. Just run to the next room or whatever, and grab me some sweats. In and out. I’ll be right on the other side of the door. Please.” My voice breaks again.
Chip takes a big heavy breath in, then lets it back out in a loud sigh. His shoulders slump. “Oh,” he says, “okay. But stay here. Promise?”
I’m the picture of innocence, nodding, mustering up some more tears. “Thank you so much. You’re my hero.”
He looks down both ends of the hall and wanders off. As soon as he ducks into a nearby room, I bolt. I’m barefooted, so I don’t make a sound on the carpet. I turn down the first hallway I find, but it’s just a row of closed doors and a dead end. I run back, taking another turn through the halls of this massive house.
I hear Chip yell, “Hey!” and look back. He’s obviously just realized I’m gone. I run into the first open door, slamming it behind me and leaning back with my eyes closed as I catch my breath.
My ears are ringing, but as my body calms, I come back to reality. And reality means that there are about six bikers in Chained Angels colors in this room, along with three women performing various sexual acts.
Oh, holy hell, what did I get myself into?
Chapter Three
Tanner
Oh, shit. I’ve totally walked into some kind of sex-fueled something-or-other.
There are three guys. One sits on a couch with a leggy redhead straddling him, her buxom chest in his face and a glass of wine in her hand. He’s holding his cock in his hand, working it hard as she encourages him.
Two guys are working a tall exotic woman with short black hair in the corner, one guy’s hand working her pussy, the other guy getting a hand job as he laps at her exposed pierced nipples. She makes eyes contact with me, one eyebrow heading north while a small smile plays at her lips. She makes a big show of spreading her legs a little further, letting me get a better view of the fingering happening there. I blush and look away quickly.
Two other guys, staring at me now, were obviously watching their buddy get sucked off by a tiny blonde. She’s on her knees, so she looks even smaller. I’m pretty sure her blonde hair is actually a wig, and her face, what I can see of it, looks so young that I wonder if she’s even an adult. She’s got her mouth around some biker’s cock. His fists are in her hair and he’s thrusting, making grunting noises that literally make my stomach turn.
“Oh, good, the other girl is here,” one of the watchers says. “Dibs.”
I step forward, squaring my shoulders to keep from appearing too nervous. The last thing I need is one of them questioning who I am, what I’m doing. I need to blend in here, at least for a few minutes, in case Chip pokes his head in looking for me. These girls must be sex workers then. They think I’m a sex worker, so I need to act like a confident, experienced sex worker.
Ha. If they only knew …
But still, I can hide out here for a minute. There are only three people in this building who even know who I am, and that’s Griz, Spike, and that guy Chip. As long as they don’t come around, I’ll be fine. And I can walk right out the door with these women, no one the wiser.
Geesh. No wonder they think I’m here for the party. I’m only in my underwear. I don’t have huge tits but they’re okay, a handful at least. My bra looks immature, though, I’m sure. If I were a real sex worker, I’d certainly invest in some better underwear.
“Too much clothing,” a middle-aged guy says, shaking a finger at me. “Titties out, girl.”
Or maybe not.
I take a few more steps forward, hoping these guys are too drunk and sex-crazed to notice how dirty I am, how many scratches and bruises I have. I hesitate for a moment, frozen with fear at the thought of baring my breasts to these guys.
Fuck it. It’s like jumping in a pool for the first time. If I just get it over with, I’ll be fine. I unhook my bra and toss it to the floor. I pull my hair back, looping a long strand around to hold it in a ponytail. I’m trying not to look like a woman who was recently abducted, thrown on the back of a bike, and left as food for the gods. Or God. There’s only one in this house, and his name is Griz.
It’s actually Griz I think of as I make my way to the group in the middle of the room. The one guy has just ejaculated, the white stream of cum sprayed all over the blonde girl’s chest. He zips himself up and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket, tossing it at her like he’s tossing trash into a bin. She gathers the scattered bills and tucks them into the front of her thong before standing and reaching high over her head in a stretch. The guy whose dick she just sucked slaps her ass and she giggles.
“You took forever tonight,” the girl teases. “My muscles are angry after being in that position for so long.”
The middle-aged guy who told me to get naked walks up behind her, humping her from behind. “I’ll give you a new position, girlie. Bend over and I’ll take it just like this.”
“Asshole is a thousand,” the girl says.
“A bargain!” he hollers. “My old lady won’t let me near the rear.”
They all laugh and I feel like I’m in an alternate universe. Does this happen with the guys in my dad’s club? How can these women be so nonchalant about doing all of this with these men? I mean, none of these women seems to mind the activity—in fact, they look like they all know each other. The whole scene is really weird to me, but then again, I’m pretty naïve about these things.
The youngest of the three in this group wanders over. He’s not bad looking, with a cherub mouth and wavy brown hair. He rubs my nipple with his knuckles lightly.
I just stand there like a stone. A little dry humping and some tongue kissing does not compare to what’s happening here. I haven’t even the slightest idea how to act confident about sex, because I’ve never had it.
Yes, I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin. And I don’t really want to lose it here with these strangers, so I sure hope this guy wants something easy.
He moves his hand to my neck, leaning in, nibbling my ear. “How much for a hand job?” he asks quietly.
Bingo! A hand job I can totally do.
“A hundred,” I say, hoping this is even close to normal.
“For a hundred, I wanna come on your tits,” he says.
“Fine,” I say. I mean, gross, but whatever. That’s what soap is for. This’ll be an adventure and I’ll get it over with. And then I’ll escape and go home to a scalding hot bath and never see any of these people again.
He unzips his jeans and pulls out his cock. I take it in my hand, stroking it as he continues to fondle my breasts. It doesn’t feel bad. Not at all. In fact, there’s something oddly exciting about having my breasts exposed to the cool air, his calloused thumbs rubbing my hardened nubs. He’s very close to me, his head in the crook of my
neck, his hands busy at my chest. I stroke and rub, hoping I’m doing it right. I’m focused, and while it feels kind of good, it’s not turning me on or anything.
I can do this. It’s a business transaction. I’ll be able to tell this story to my friends one drunken night. That one time I imitated a hooker and got a guy off with my hand.
CherubBoy moans, his eyes closing as a small dot of cum appears. He’s close already. I must be doing okay if he’s already at the pre-cum stage. Yay me!
I increase my strokes as I hear other sounds of pleasure around the room. I feel … powerful? I guess? I’m still not turned on, but I like the feeling of having control over someone like this. I like that just this little bit of human touch can drive a man so wild.
Just as the guy says, “Oh, yeah. Grip it harder. I’m almost there,” I’m jerked violently backward by the hair and shoved to the ground.