by Ker Dukey
My gut twists at the thought of being hooked to a chick and nausea lays heavy in the pit of my stomach. It’s all fucked up.
My eyes move back to the bed, to my future old lady. I know she’s as against this as I am, yet for different reasons. But tomorrow she will step up and fix the shit Brenner brought on us. She will pay half the bill that my cunt of a brother tallied up, and she will stand by Lilith’s Army for the rest of her life.
I can’t help but worry that the cost of this will be more than our freedom. A war is coming. I can feel it in the depths of my soul. And for Avery, choosing a side is going to be costlier than she can ever imagine.
This chair is so fucking uncomfortable, my ass is numb. My eyes peel open and snap closed when the sun beams through the window like a fucking heat beacon.
Standing, I walk over and yank the curtains closed, pulling my cell phone from my pocket to see missed calls and incoming texts from Prez wanting an update.
My gaze drifts to the bed. The duvet is scrunched up; she must be sweating or comatose under there.
Grabbing the material in my fist, I tug it from the bed.
Empty sheets greet me.
She’s gone. I should have handcuffed her to the bed frame. I thought she knew the stakes if we don’t go through with this. Maybe, after all the talk about her dad, she wanted war to rid herself of him, but she’d be going with him. War would mean killing them all. How the fuck did I sleep through her slipping out?
Swiping up my cut, I slide it on and march from the room. The pimply-faced fucker at the desk must have seen which direction she took off in.
I don’t need this bullshit.
“Where are you going?” I hear from behind me as I reach the reception door. Turning, a sigh leaves my chest. It’s only then I realize my lungs are as tight as hell.
She’s wearing a simple white dress and black boots tied all the way up to her knees. Well, damn.
She comes within a hair’s breadth of my face and shrugs her shoulders. “I thought I should at least dress the part.”
I quirk a brow and look her over. “White?” I snort, and her eyes narrow.
“You want to marry me or not, asshole?”
“Not, but we don’t have a choice. So let’s get it over with.”
Rolling her eyes, she slaps something against my chest. “How romantic.”
I take the plastic from her hand and read my name emblazoned across it. “You stole my credit card?”
“Borrowed. I’ll pay you back when your fuckwit of a brother tells you where my purse is,” she calls over her shoulder.
Walking back inside the motel room, she drops her bags on the table. Bags—plural.
“What the hell did you buy?”
She looks over her shoulder at me as I follow her inside and she knits her brow. “I needed fresh underwear and an outfit.”
She rummages through one of the bags and pulls out a cell phone box. Holding it up, she scrunches up her nose. “Sorry, but I needed a new cell too, to text my dad. He will lose his mind if I don’t check in.”
I don’t give a fuck about the money she’s spending, although if it’s any indication of how she’s going to spend once we’re married, it might become a problem. I’m not hurting for cash, but I’d like to keep it that way. I’m not interested in keeping a woman to spend my money on, or just to fuck me missionary for the rest of my life.
“Why does your father make you check in? From what you’ve said about him, I don’t understand.”
She holds up her hand to stop me. Placing both hands on her hips, she talks slowly, as if addressing an infant. “Listen, Slade.”
“Frost.”
“Whatever. Don’t misinterpret what I’ve been telling you. My dad isn’t the cuddly bear daddy every girl dreams of, but I’m still his kid. The one thing my father demands, craves like a drug, is respect and control. His pride is what controls him. He treats me like a possession. He owns me, and I, just like the brothers, obey the Prez. If his brothers thought he didn’t have a handle on his own daughter, it would make him weak in their eyes.”
“No one owns you, Avery.”
She stares at me for a few silent seconds. “You own me now.” She states it bitterly.
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like? How is this going to work? Do you expect me to play the wife role or are we locked in on paper only and both can go about our own business?”
She stares at me with pleading eyes. She looks much older than her eighteen years with the weight of the world racing through her features.
My jaw tightens. “Pretty much the latter.”
As she folds her arms over her chest, my eyes dip to the tits she’s pushing up. She has big, natural tits, which peek over a trim waistline that becomes a little more rounded toward her navel. She had a classic hourglass figure.
“So, I can do what I want?”
“Sure.”
“Go to school?” She tilts her chin up.
“I have no qualms about not being married to a dumb bitch.”
Her eyes turn dark. “And I can fuck who I want?”
Motherfucker. Images of her naked and being ridden hard by some frat boy flickers like a bad movie in my head.
Why does that anger me?
Because no wife of yours would need to get her pleasure elsewhere.
“We need to sell that we’re loved up.”
She laughs without humor. “So you’re not going to be fucking anyone else?”
“You say it like I’m going to be fucking you.” I smirk.
A crimson glow spreads up her neck and sprouts over her cheeks.
“Listen, princess, this isn’t something either of us thought we would be doing, so let’s just cross each bridge as we get to it.”
“Fine.” She grabs her crap and nods her head at me. “Let’s do it.”
My eyes drop to her hand and my mouth falls open. “What the fuck is that?”
She licks over her bottom lip and sucks it into her mouth before shrugging her shoulders. “I’m a princess. I wouldn’t accept a proposal without a ring.”
“That’s not a fucking ring; it’s a planet.”
A huge diamond sits neatly on her finger, glaring up at me. Fuck. How much is my credit limit on that card?
She laughs and points at me. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”
“I am.”
Her hand reaches forward and plants itself over my heart. “Calm yourself, Slade. It’s not real. It just looks the part.”
Thank fuck for that, although she will need a real one.
I’m not sure if I’ll even survive being married to her. Me or my bank balance. Her ass sashays as she walks out of the room and more images assault me, only it’s not a frat boy fucking her doggy style, it’s me.
Burger wrappers litter the bed of his truck and the scent of fried food and sweat in the small confined area makes my lip curl and my belly roll. Reaching into one of the store bags, I grab a can of deodorant and blast myself and then Slade.
“Urgh, what the fuck? Do you mind?”
I almost choke on his choice of words. He is so different from all the brothers I know.
“No. Do you?” I roll my eyes.
“Yes. It’s offensive.”
I snort, trying to hold in the laugh that’s threatening to rumble from me. A biker saying ‘offensive’. Now I’ve heard it all.
“Your smell was offensive, now just be grateful we both smell good.”
His nose scrunches up and he cranks a window and sucks air through it like he’s sucking on an asthma pump.
We’ve been driving for ages, coming off the main road and then onto some back route. It’s been silent, and my mind torments me with thoughts of Dean.
He was so young, with so much ahead of him. Bright, and on his way to Brown after the summer.
Life is so unfair; your light can be snubbed out at any time by anyone. I lied to him about who I was. If I hadn’t, maybe he would never hav
e looked my way and still be alive now.
Guilt is an entity that sits on me, weighing me down. The rational side of me knows it’s not my fault and we could have been anyone in the wrong place at the wrong time, but because of who killed them and who I am, it feels more personal.
Tall trees expand over the landscape, dimming the bright sun beneath their canopy and bringing my attention away from the dark corners of my mind. After Slade set up my new phone, I text my dad, telling him I’m going away for a few days and not to be mad.
He was mad.
I look down at the text again.
If you are being a slut, partying with that cunt friend of yours, I’m going to marry you to Axe the minute you get back.
Everyone wants to marry me off like we’re living in some Middle Eastern country and this shit is the norm.
Axe has been my dad’s VP for the last four years, since his father, Beer, took the rap for the club on a possession charge. He won’t be seeing daylight for the next thirty years—if he even lasts that long. He’s already in his fifties.
Axe is the son my father wished he had produced instead of me. He warned me from a young age that I was going to marry Axe and be loyal to the club, make him proud, but Axe is a fucking moron and a womanizing piece of shit. He was brought up in the club life and lives and breathes every aspect of it. When I was fourteen, he cornered me at a club cookout. I’d gone to my dad’s room at the club to get some peace and study, and he followed me.
“Hey, princess.”
I shift and stiffen before relaxing when Axel enters the room. His feet dance unsteadily over the floor toward the bed I’m sitting on, highlighting that he’s been drinking.
“What do you want?”
His eyes are glazed, like Dad’s get when he’s drunk too much.
“You belong to me. You know that, right?”
“Fuck off, Axel.” I grab my books and move from the bed but he moves too, and he’s quick. His hand jerks out and grabs my wrist, yanking me toward him. I fall clumsily into him, my books clattering to the floor in a heap. My heart rate picks up and begins crashing against my ribcage, warning me of the danger.
“Axel, you’re drunk,” I say, squirming in his tight hold.
He inhales over my breasts and I stiffen. His hands roam to places I’ve never been touched before, and I want to cry when his finger pushes past my panties and strokes there.
“I just want to smell you. Taste you.”
He startles me when he stands, throwing me back on to the bed.
No. No. No.
“My dad won’t like this,” I sob.
He grabs the bottom of my shirt and lifts it over my face, not removing it completely, so it’s resting over my head and smothering my face.
I fight back, my fist flying toward him, but the shirt restricts my movements and I cry out in the hope someone will hear me. A heavy palm comes down over my mouth and I can’t see through the fabric of my top. Trying to drag oxygen into my lungs through my nose that’s smothered with the cotton of my tee leaves me lightheaded. His mouth moves over my stomach, his tongue cold and wet, slippery like a slug.
“You looked so hot tonight out there with those long legs of yours. I just want to taste your sweet pussy, Av. It belongs to me anyway.”
Tears burn my eyes, and when his hands pull down my skirt and panties, my mind goes numb.
His tongue explores me down there, and I think about school work and how much I hate this clubhouse, and if I get good enough grades, I can leave this place in the rearview.
His mass lifts off me and I feel weightless. I count in my mind…
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
When I get to ten and only feel the chill of the air on me, I push down my top and lower my eyes to see Axel passed out cold on the bed.
I wipe the tears away and drag my panties up my legs.
Wading through the clubhouse, I locate my father in the kitchen, fucking a girl a couple of years older than me. I know this because I recognize her from my school. My soul deflates and I run out into the yard to breathe some fresh air. Jules, one of the brothers’ old ladies, comes toward me and strokes the hair out of my face.
“Princess, what are you still doing here? The girls and I are leaving now. Why don’t you come back to my place for the night?”
She must see the turmoil in my eyes because she doesn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she ushers me out to her car.
“You have a frown. What are you thinking about?”
Slade’s voice pulls me from my memory.
“How did we meet?” I ask him. I need to be prepared for the grilling my father is going to give me.
“A bar.”
“Why get married?”
He takes his eyes off the road and glimpses over at me. “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of not waking up to those deep green eyes of yours every day and needed to have you on the back of my bike.”
“What do I like to eat?”
He laughs; a snort that’s contagious. He leans down and picks up the wrappers, throwing them over me like confetti. “You’re a burger girl, and it’s a good fucking thing.”
The truck slows and the smile fades from my lips. We’d been driving through wooded terrain for the last hour or so, and now we’re right in the center of God knows where. Fear trickles up my spine. Was all this marriage shit a lie to get me to comply, and the real plan was to take me far enough away that I wouldn’t ever be found?
“Princess, relax.” He points to something over my shoulder and I slowly turn my gaze to a small clearing through some tall, billowing trees.
Opening the car door, my mouth falls open. There’s a tiny white church; it’s no bigger than a shed. A white wooden bell tower stands prominently in front of it. There are two benches either side of a dirt path, creating an aisle that’s surrounded by bowing trees. It’s quaint and odd, making it kind of beautiful.
“The preacher owes my father.” He nudges me with a wink.
“How can a preacher owe your father?” I scoff.
“Everyone owes someone at some point, darlin’.”
He moves through the brush and plants his ass on one of the benches. “I have a brother and his old lady coming out to meet us. They don’t know this isn’t the real deal, so it gives us time to practice.”
“Why did you invite people?”
“We need witnesses.”
I kick at the dirt and swat a mosquito on my leg.
“Come sit on my lap, princess.”
My head snaps up and my face contorts in anger.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and shakes his head at me. “That, right there, would give us up in a heartbeat. You’re supposed to fucking love me. Want me.”
Damn it, he’s right.
“Just don’t ask me to sit on your lap and we’ll do fine,” I snap.
He stands and takes the two steps toward me, closing the gap between us. “You may now kiss your bride,” he says.
My stomach flips and flops, and the burgers I ate earlier threaten to reappear.
His head bows down to mine and his huge paw-like hands cup my face. My breathing becomes rapid pants as he presses his lips to mine. His kiss isn’t soft; it’s firm and demanding. He pushes his tongue past my lips and devours me, exploring and dueling with me, his body pushing up to mine. His hand moves into my hair, gripping handfuls as he commands and conquers my lips. The hair on his face grates over my soft flesh and it feels good; raw and hungry. When his hand drops to my ass, flashes of Dean shoot into my mind like a bullet from a loaded shotgun, splintering off into tiny fragments.
I push him away.
He laughs, deep and gleeful. Bastard.
“You can’t be prudish, princess.”
“I’m not prudish. My boyfriend just died,
and here I am necking with his killer’s brother.”
His smile drops from his face and his eyes narrow on me. “I’ll let that slip this once because we’re alone and this is hard for you, but don’t make me be the bad guy because I can be and, if I have to, I will be.”
He moves again toward me and my feet hum to step back, but I don’t. Instead, I hold my own. His palm wraps around my waist, resting just above my ass. Tugging me against him, he looks me in the eye, his expression unreadable. “I love you.”
This is stupid.
“I want to be inside you.”
This is all part of his act, and it’s degrading.
“I’m going to never stop tasting you.”
I slap at his chest. “No one can hear you.”
His other hand wraps around me and grabs a handful of ass cheek. “Fuck, that’s a full ass.”
Pig.
My body has become so tense the skin may actually tear over the muscle.
“You a virgin, or a get back at daddy by fucking his club brothers kinda girl?”
His words cause a gasp from my lips, and he laughs, so chesty that it rumbles through his body and vibrates against mine.
“Fucked his brothers, huh?” His eyes draw to thin slits.
“One brother.”
“What should I wear?” Jenna asks giddily.
I shake my head. “You are not coming to the clubhouse.”
“It’s your sixteenth!” She pouts, dropping the dress she’s holding up.
There is no way she’s coming to witness club whores sing and cheer for me turning sixteen. I hate birthdays.
“We can do something after to celebrate.”
“Party?”
“I was thinking just the two of us.”
She sighs and grabs another dress from the rack. “You’re so boring, Av. Live a little.”
“Fine. Arrange whatever you want. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
I wave her goodbye and make my way through her house and out the front door.
It takes me forty minutes to walk to the clubhouse, but I refused to have one of the prospects rolling up at school or Jenna’s house and showing everyone who I really am.