Dirty Salvation (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 1)

by V. Theia

  Narcissists thrive when attempting to make people crazy. It's called psychological warfare.

  And no one wielded that weapon better than Hades.

  That jerk-off mind fucking asshole.

  She forced her face to show no emotion, a monster gets off on fear, they can taste it in the air like candy and she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She moved and stood directly in front of him, revealing nothing but the obedient stance he demanded from everyone.

  A fucking narcissist would want people to bow to him next.

  Zara hated him.

  She didn't need to quantify how much.

  She simply, irrefutably, loathed every breath the man took, and wanted him so dead.

  For someone who had once liked to be prepared for everything, with her ten-year career trajectory, nothing could have pre-warned her for him.

  There had been no class in her history of schooling to teach just what happens when a monster makes you his toy.

  Lacing her fingers in front of her, her threadbare white tank top gave her no warmth and the sweatpants too big trailed on the floor even though she'd turned them up four times at the hem, she was barefoot as always, shoes would give her freedom, he'd once told her, earn your shoes, he'd smirked, and though she'd done everything those shitheads wanted, she was still without footwear, he had no intention of giving her a pair, either.

  The control of a narcissist. Petty little man, she accused only in her own mind, the last free thing she owned.

  "I can see the defiance in your eyes, such fire, you hate me, don't you, sweet love?"

  She abhorred him calling her that name. There was nothing sweet in the endearment and she'd puke if there was ever a day she was so brainwashed that she wanted the name to become an endearment, gun to her head moment.

  Her belly clenched every time he used it, and he used it because she'd once spat in his face and told him her name was Zara. She'd felt the force of his hand that day, it had felt like a shovel, and then as though he'd flipped a switch he'd smiled and told her she shouldn't anger him again.

  Zara ignored the name ever since.

  "No." she answered because he'd expect one. No one ignored Hades. "Should I bring you a fresh coffee?"

  "Obedient little slave wants to please me, does she?" His cocky grin would be called handsome, she supposed, she'd seen women swoon over that smile. Fucking idiots.

  Zara shrugged. "I thought you said something was wrong with yours.".

  He was up in a second, towering beastly over her, she shrank back, expecting a strike of some kind. Instead, it was so much worse.

  So very worse she felt bile charge into her throat. She swallowed and recoiled inside as he cupped the side of her face tenderly, tipping it up to look at him.

  Hit me instead, she implored silently. The pain she could deal with.

  Not this mindfuck. Never this.

  "Why so tense, sweet love? Didn't I relax you enough earlier?"

  That same bile she'd swallowed threatened to make a re-trip back to the surface.

  You disgust me, she wanted to spit in his face. If she stood at the doorway he used for his shady dealings of guns and drugs and prostitution, she could see the main exit door, freedom was right there and yet Zara had never felt so far from it.

  This is my life. She reminded. As if she needed it.

  Her days were bleak with no end in sight. She’d passed woe is me One hundred and sixty-four days ago. Kill me, already.

  God, she longed for that end now. Three years was too long to endure, she couldn't go on, already she planned to end it and soon. And she knew just how she'd do it.

  "I'm not tense." Her voice brittle. Defeated. She'd say anything he wanted at this point, but she wouldn't validate his delusions, let him beat her if he wanted, please, beat me to death.

  "Hmmm ... one day, my sweet love, you'll look at me with adoring eyes, If I must continue to fucking break you, I will, piece by piece, you will surrender everything to me until there's nothing left except the shell of a fucktoy and you'll thank me for it, for making you into something better, something that belongs to my club."

  So dark was his voice, so true was his threat a giant shudder racked her body.

  She believed him.

  He'd break her will and spirit eventually if she didn't end things herself.

  "I think you need a reminder who you belong to, girl, who the fuck you obey when you're standing there with defiance in your eyes. Go close the fucking door and get back over here." He stood so much taller than her, wider than the door frame, every vein standing on the surface of his skin.

  A good-looking monster with a vile soul.

  There was no logic to a sadist, she'd barely said a word, knowing how to be cautious around him, and still he'd deemed her guilty of something. Resigned, her insides cold, her heart dead already, soon her body would follow, she turned to close the door, his smirk was frightful, and Zara took the steps back to where he wanted her, the clang of his belt was a noise she hated, he'd wrap the leather around his large fist until it was good and tight.

  She'd plead before he was finished.

  She'd beg for him to stop while he laughed and she bled.

  Just as he predicted he broke her a tiny bit more each time.

  "Ahhh…sweet love, I think you're gonna like this. And, girl..." something dark slithered into his voice, like a snake finding its home. "You'll call me master, got it?"

  His laugh peeled the air as she nodded her head blankly

  And it was that noise that dragged Zara from her nightmare.

  The silent scream stung her throat.

  Wild terrified filled eyes, her heart thumping she flung herself out of the bed before she realized what she was doing, standing startled in the middle of the floor shivers traveling down her spine, darting her gaze around the dark room cataloging every piece of furniture trying to ground herself with the truth.

  Not there. I'm not there again.

  Not there. Not there. Not there.

  Frantic breathes, the shakes racked her naked body until she had to grab a shirt from the floor, it swamped her down to her thighs, billowing out on either side of her body, she recognized it was Rider's.

  Rider! Still asleep in his bed. Thank god, she hadn't made a sound trapped in her dream and woke him.

  Just a dream.

  God. Sinking down into the leather chair before her weak knees gave out, her teeth clanged together, she cradled her knees up to her chest, refusing to submit to the tears pricking her eyes. One step forward and her nightmares were right there reminding her she was never going to be over this shit.

  Zara sat huddled in the chair watching Rider sleeping for an hour until dawn crest and then she showered, dressing quietly she left him there to head to the kitchen.

  Sadness shrouded her.

  The next day and the one after that she hung around the bike shop with Rider, fetching coffees for the men, phoning in pizza orders, talking to Capone, avoiding the dark stares from Hawk, and in their lunch break she followed Rider over to the office, watched him swear his way through paperwork, she happened to look over his shoulder, curious to what had him calling someone a cocksucking fuckbrain she grinned and chimed in "Um…Rider, do you know you're forgetting to count those overheads in the net total? that's why it's off by four thousand?"

  No more nightmares, she was keeping herself busy.

  "What?" his eyes narrowed and cursed again. "you know this shit?"

  Zara shrugged. By this shit she assumed he meant math. Didn't everyone? "I thought Texas was your money guy?"

  "He refuses to deal with people and invoices after one of the customers insulted his sense of dress."

  Zara grinned. She liked Texas, he stuck out like a sore thumb, not your average biker.

  "Well if you take another look you see where you're going wrong with it."

  "Here." he thrust the green papers at her, she took it instinctively, her brows pinching together with confusion. "You do it. Y
ou're hired."

  And just like that Zara was the new in-house admin to the Renegade Souls MC.

  Life was ticking on one day at a time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “She’s no friend of mine. She’s my old lady.” – Rider

  Rider recognized pretty quickly as he watched his Icy heal over the weeks, that she was a rare woman. She was addictive with a pure heart, throughout all its damage, it was pure and good ... but it came with a dirty mind.

  He smiled slowly, watching her from across the room as she laughed with big Jim, her cheeks flush from whatever compliment he was giving her today. He did that a lot. Jim was a good man, a great biker-asset to his club from the original format, one of the few Rider had kept on board, and he'd taken Zara under his fatherly wing. Same with his uncle Jed who had deemed Zara ‘girlie’ from day one and told him he liked her and to make her fucking smile already.

  Rider was trying his hardest.

  He continued to watch her. His eyelids dropping to half mast, lazy and full of desire.

  She looked like snow wouldn't melt even on the hottest of days. Still with her prom queen face and wavy prima donna hair, though her clothes were a helluva lot different now than the first time he'd seen her, Zara was a good girl with a dirty mind.

  And he was the only lucky one who knew it.

  Lucky fucking him.

  His girl was a hungry little thing for all things concerning him even to the point her libido overtook his.

  "What's got you smiling like an idiot, Prez? Or need I ask..." Rider heard from behind and cocked his head, breaking the view of Zara, turning to see a grinning Preacher giving it the jiggling eyebrows.

  “You really wanna call me an idiot today and die, Preach? That’s gonna cut into all your dick-time isn’t it? How many women you got on your hook right now, six, seven? That’s gonna be some glamorous fuckin’ wake. It’ll be tits for days.”

  Preacher barked a laugh. Shithead amused pegging the reason for Rider's smile.

  Rider slid his eyes back to Zara for a second.

  Shit was going well with her in the office, she worked with him and his treasurer.

  Texas was pleased to hand over the customer-service to her, his money man was a lot of things, he could invest in money pits and turn them into gold mines, but tactful was not one of them and if he told a cantankerous customer to go fuck themselves once more Rider was going to straight up strangle him.

  “Nah, nothing like that, bro. You have too many on the dick at once and they get to talking with each other and that’s when jealous rages happen. You ever had a chick take a baseball bat to your bike? I had to bury that old girl. The bike, not the chick.” something slick in Preacher’s grin made Rider flash his own.

  Preacher loved the women, plural, in varying shapes and colors, and they all loved him in return. “But now you’re all matrimonially hooked up to that sweet thing you wouldn’t know ‘bout that would ya?” he winked at Rider who dismissed it with an eye-roll.

  “Don’t get dead anytime soon from a crazy one who thinks you're gonna put a ring on it, Preach. I might need you to head out of town. I’ll let you know at the next church.”

  “Fucck yeah. I’m down for an out of town pussy-hunt, Prez.” He joked and Rider knew it from his tone.

  His voice might have been aimed at his boy, but his eyes were all over Zara.

  She’d been liquid soft during the night after coming home from his late-night ride, pliant and whimpering for his cock.

  The cock he couldn’t shove deep enough into her to satisfy them both for very long, they’d just kept going until she’d fallen back to sleep exhausted beneath him.

  Thank fuck because he’d been about dead, he’d collapsed at Zara’s side, perspiration covering his body, unable to rise to shower himself off, he’d gathered her in fitting her small frame into his ribs and fell into sleep with her.

  His body didn’t remember the fatigued fuck he’d had just a few hours ago, it didn’t recall how drained he was, she’d wrung his dick out and put it away wet, not when he was growing hard just watching her mingle and talk to his brothers.

  “Eye fuck much, Rider. You're gonna go blind.” laughed Preacher nudging his shoulder with his wide one. “Give us a heads up if you’re gonna get down and dirty so we can clear out, or grab a seat. I’m easy either way. Just tell me something…”

  Rider turned his head finally breaking his gaze from Zara’s laughing face, his brow arched. Whatever Preacher was about to say his smirk said it was nothing Rider wanted to hear. He folded his arms and waited for the punchline.

  “I’m all for Z-girl being the new queen, get me, Prez? She’s a sweet little thing, I like her. But…” his dirty grin only widened. “She'a screamer, yeah?”

  Rider’s warning growl rumbled. In addition, he took a step forward to knock his teeth out. Preacher laughed and took off yelling over his shoulder he had a harem to service.

  Fucking asshole, Rider shook his head with a slight grin, knowing Preacher he probably did.

  As for Rider, he’d done enough eye-fucking, he waited until she glanced his way and gestured her over.

  Motioning with two fingers. He saw her brow arch. So fucking royally it made him hard. An untapped laugh rumbled deep in Rider’s chest. Look at her, he thought, with her chin held high, the spark of defiance in her pale eyes, so strong, and so still so unsure of their new relationship.

  The two aspects of Zara in constant battle with her every action. But that pull and tug made her what she was now, what years of hardship had molded her to be. He was enjoying seeing her emerge into herself again, one feisty bite at a time.

  And what she was, here and right now, always, was his.

  Only his.

  If it took Rider a lifetime to convince his old lady, then that's what he'd do.

  Old lady. It felt right.

  He wanted her on the back of his bike being his club queen. And maybe more one day.

  She called what they were dating friends she wouldn't accept anything else because she was damaged, in her words. He deserved more, she'd told him one heated night when he was still slicked with sex sweat.

  He’d fuck friends right off her tongue. No friend had ever been on his cock so much, his Icy needed to drop that fucking opinion already.

  Fuck that. Rider deserved his old lady.

  Zara was his goddamn old lady whether she liked it or not.

  She could continue to tell him she was broken and unworthy of him and he'd want her.

  Crave her.

  Need her.

  Want to fuck her every goddamn minute of the night.

  Funny that Rider warned his men about addictions, to stay off the drugs, keep the booze down to a dull roar, and here he was, fully fledged, inducted into the addiction hall of fame.

  His drug was five foot three and glaring at him.

  The beat of her heart matched rhythm with his, as he caught her wrist soon as she was close enough, dragging her forward to bump into his body.

  Delicate. Blonde. A fucking Amazonian of a woman.

  He'd witnessed as days went by her backbone rebuild itself, her confidence grew. And with each passing day when she understood, there was no fists coming at her from his club members she became a little bit sassier.

  And she had some humor on her, dry. Funny as shit.

  A shadow of her former self he'd brought home with him.

  But that part of Zara he’d once known was gone. The sweet virgin he'd...shit, he couldn't think of how he'd spoiled her dirty, or his dick would take all the blood supply and he needed to think.

  She wasn't the same girl. But then he was not the same guy, either. They were enjoying getting to each other as they were now.

  He'd been a jerk to her, letting her think he didn't want to see her again. Truth was, and he could admit it now, with age came wisdom and the courage to admit wrongs, he'd been knocked off his goddamn boots that night. Sex was out of this world and he'd felt too much for h
er all at once. Arranged for her to see him with whatshername's mouth locked around his cock.

  Stupid fucking asshat.

  She was never going to let him forget that screw-up. He didn't know then what she'd mean to him. He just had an inkling and it scared the fuck out of him. No doubt about it his cock loved her then and now, more now he’d dirtied her. It just so happened his heart was in on the action now, too.

  A hard-worn biker with dirty and bad under his belt was feeling love.

  He'd got the woman he deserved.

  The one to be at his back, in his confidence, the one to laugh with and fuck into new year until he died of orgasm overload.

  He wanted to be the man she deserved.

  "Hey, baby." his nose knocked against hers.

  In comfort, reflex now, Rider's large palm skated down Zara's back. Her sudden shudder went with the feel of her softening and she gave an involuntary mewling sound low in her throat.

  “I told Tiny I would help with dinner. Can you believe he doesn’t know how to make meatloaf? It’s un-American. I googled a recipe because don’t tell him but I haven’t made one either, but it can’t be that difficult.”

  As much as Rider had not given that one lick of a thought ever before he couldn’t care less if Tiny knew his left from his right, his hands snaked down Zara’s back, keeping her flush to his body, those same hands came to rest on the dip of her spine where she had those two adorable as hell dimples above her ass. “Couldn’t give a fuck, Zara,“ he told her smiling. “And he’ll have to manage his meat on his own.” aware of the double entendre he grinned pressing his mouth to her ear. “You’re gonna be busy.”

  “Busy with what? I told you I got all up to date with that disaster of a cabin office and if you dare leave invoices that far behind again I will scream, you were sitting on hundreds of dollars and not even known about it. I mean, Really, Rider, that’s bad management. “

  Sweet as fuck. Rider grinned down at her.

  And while some of his men and prospects milled about the club, Jed at the bar, as usual, Grinder taking on one of the hangaround's at pool, most everyone bunkering down from the howling snow outside, he cupped the back of Zara’s head bringing her in closer to his body, his thumb tipped up her chin, she had that shy look in her eyes, he loved that.