Tracking Luxe (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 3)

by V. Theia

  Old ladies were to be treasured like the rarest fucking gems.

  “Why are you here, Dani?” He asked, voice hoarse with tiredness.

  “I..” she hesitated. “For fun, baby,” lust gathered in her throat so wet and ripe he could practically hear it rattling. Did she think she was gonna have fun with him? Right here in front of everyone? Just fuck her into the bar?

  He could.

  He could do that.

  Rid himself of the need for another.

  His goddamn pining dick would do as he was told and fuck where Grinder told him to. None of this a particular sweet tasting pussy bullshit. He’d had enough.

  Swaying up to his full height, pushing himself from the bar he towered over Demi...wait ... Dani, that was it. “Fun, babe? That’s why you’re at my club, is it?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She purred in his face.

  Her dark hair was all wrong. Not as straight, not as soft. Didn’t smell of the same flowers.

  Was his Luxe with Steele right now? Someone else? Was she hungering for his dick right now? wishing for Grinder between her gorgeous, perfect legs?

  His growl came up his throat. The driving hunger within him was so goddamn palpable he was close to feeling out of control, booze and weed aside. His head buzzed, not from the high, but a dirty rotten thief telling him to slam into her harder and faster.

  Harder, Nathan. Oh, Dios mio, Harder.

  He wanted a distraction, something to take the edge off him feeling so unruly and dangerous within his own skin, like he was a firecracker ready to escape the trajectory course and go rogue. She was fucking with more than his head.

  Fuck. if only she would.

  Fuck. Fuck it. Curses dropped, he dug a thumb into his eye socket to stop himself from seeing Luxe sprawled out on his bed. “Fuck. You’re not her, are you, babe? Not her.” He muttered more to himself.

  “Who? I can be anyone you want me to be, baby. Anyone, you just tell me, we can have fun, you and me, can’t we?” Tits scraped his chest, hands toyed at his belt and Grinder swayed in his boots, the sloshing in his gut didn’t let up, his head was swimming so fucking much he felt like he was under water, the music dulling in his ears. The batch of weed had been strong, too much booze, he’d drank like he was in a competition with his own subconscious, the first one to pass out wins.

  Hands rolled up his chest, caught around the back of his neck. Memories assaulted his fogged brain, that one dirty memory fighting to get through. “She did that, felt so good... Fuck…don’t do that.” his head lolled on his neck, heavy as a rock.

  Purr. Purr. Purr. “I can deal with this for you.” Bold fingers cupped his hardness.

  His groan turned dark picturing different fingers shaping his cock and pumping him until he’d lost his mind and his come all over his belly and her little pleased laugh so fucking delighted for making him lose himself.

  Perfume stinking up his nostrils to confuse him.

  He blinked slowly and brought the face in front of him into focus. She wasn’t right, didn’t feel right against his chest, the shape was all wrong, not as soft.

  His mouth anchored down right there in grabbing distance if that was what he wanted to happen. He sucked in her breath, she didn’t taste anything like a flawless thief.

  A gravelly request tumbled out of his lips. “Do you speak Spanish, babe?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “What’s a bit of pump n’ grind between friends?” - Lawless

  Lawless didn't need to peer far through the dark and the noise to feel the crawl of eyes on him from somewhere within the chaos of the ramble crowd.

  It was a heaving over his skin.

  It was a tingling in his throat.

  His bones knew.

  Or more accurately; his aching Johnson.

  Maelstrom was his noise and self-awareness with the space around him.

  Lifting the beer bottle to his mouth he took a long draw, the brew had grown warm and he placed it on a near table, choosing instead to rest his shoulder on the wall he let his deviant eyes track through the sea of bodies.

  It was a usual Renegade Souls party. An end of the month bash, good business, good crime blowout where they let the locals in ... who dare come that was. Naughty fish were always curious about what went on behind their doors. The club had a bad reputation and most folks in Armado Springs feared Lawless and his boys. It didn’t stop them coming along to see for themselves with their greedy, naughty little mouths agape.

  Malleable minds were so fucking predictable. So were greedy glands.

  He couldn't figure why, not that he cared why, most everyone's opinions flew over his shaved head.

  Maybe because he was a genius and didn't need to hear anyone else's wah wah drone.

  Or maybe he just didn't give a rat’s ass.

  His brothers were having fun in their little orgies of two's and threes, the music thumping, he could smell the weed in the air and none of it held his attention.

  He was bored more and more lately and that was never a good sign.

  There hadn’t been anyone to kill or torture recently and that was just a crying shame to let his skills rot in the dirt. He was a surgeon who needed to keep in tip top shape.

  The heat was killing him, reminded him of times he’d rather forget of the stench of a trailer park, if he stepped outside of the air-conditioned room he’d sweat bullets and that just pissed him off. Lawless hated being irritated by anything, small or big.

  Sweat running down his back or someone begging for their life, it was all the same irritating noise to him. Please, don’t. Please, I’m sorry. If only he had the sweet pleading sounds in his ears.

  It was the way his mind was created; all his wires and neurons didn't always align perfectly and he was fine with that until he wasn't.

  And just who the fuck was eyeballing him? Goddamn greedy eyes.

  What new fish would dare try to eye-fuck him …

  Only it wasn’t one of the locals, was it? Nah, they knew too well not to fuck with Lawless. They told stories about him, posted about him on their little Facebook feeds, like he couldn’t hack each one of those accounts in his sleep if he wanted to. Let them talk, let them gossip. Fish were boring.

  His eyes narrowed, moving past Pretty-boy getting hot and heavy with Marietta and her cousin, wicked dude double teaming. Lawless smirked but didn't take the time to voyeur, he wasn't interested in a sex show if he wasn't involved and public displays of ... anything gave him the scratch.

  Didn't he almost shit a brick when that kid of Zara's ... Angela ... clung to him like a goddamn koala last year. Shit, he could still feel her claws under his skin.

  Digging. Digging. Digging. Pleading for help.

  Nasty business.

  Air shunted through his chest, he stopped moving his gaze.

  He knew who it was. The little bitch wouldn’t dare.

  He felt the stare in the middle of his forehead, a hot poker and it just stirred him up in all the wrong ways because they'd had this crap out before and Lawless didn't do repeat conversations. Wasting his time and breath was for fools and unless it was his momma no fucker would dare call Lawless a fool. Not unless he wanted to die slow and painful begging to Jesus to take them.

  One groupie associated to the club a few years ago had once called him a crazy psychopath. The naughty little maggot had been attracted to not only the club's notorious reputation, but to Lawless' own dark façade. Not that he went for any of the sort, he wasn't slapping on guy liner or growling at saccharine innocents. He'd found it funny and indulged the bad meat for an hour or two, she'd walked away satisfied and formed an attachment he didn’t pay a second’s attention to. But now he couldn't even recall her name, maybe she'd gotten herself caged with a wedding ring, maybe she'd died. Who cared.

  He wasn't a monster, or so he liked to claim, but that was the truth, he didn't care much of anything. He didn’t see the day coming when he cared like Rider did for Zara or Preacher with his woman. It just did
n’t feel right to him, like the noise was a drone of wrongness, it made his eyes itch right in the socket.

  The sensation persisted. His skin tingled, his throat burned and he sought out the fucking eyes on him.

  Bingo.

  Heat and lust and greedy, greedy want waved through the crowd.

  Only this pair of eyes on him, as he'd suspected, were familiar eyes he saw every day.

  Oh, you mother of all Motherfuckers.

  He had no time for covetous little monkeys.

  Lawless' eyebrows dropped, he stared nastily for a minute, nostrils flared, mad as hell, and he shifted himself off the wall and headed in the opposite direction, one legged stride after another, down the long corridor of doors and didn't stop until he reached the very end, he stepped inside one of the storage closets, his custom ankle length coat flapping making his entrance, the place had several similar rooms, mostly for the kitchen shit, Zara was making quite the pint-size queen running domestically around the clubhouse nowadays, his boots connected to a crate of bottled waters, he used his toe to move it back a bit, shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over a sack of whatever-it-was. The room throwing off shadows.

  If they followed he'd know it was more than a mere eye-fuck.

  Don’t you fucking dare. He warned.

  And Lawless didn't have to wait long at all. He was behind the door when it creaked open like it did on those Scooby Doo cartoons he watched as a kid when his momma was in one of her better moods. E.g. Not being her usual crazy-bitch-self. Momma, what did I do wrong?

  He waited a millisecond. Oh, yeah, Lawless had the patience of a serial killer. Just so happened he was one, wasn't that funny? Maybe he should talk about it at his next book club meeting.

  Letting air into his lungs, he narrowed his eyes.

  He grabbed the neck of the eye-fucker before the door could close.

  Caught the noise they made.

  Creeping bastard thought Lawless wasn't here? Gonna pretend shock? Really? After they followed him down here. Meat never learned.

  Feeling the dominance rise in his chest, that steady thump-thump-thump behind his ribcage. It wasn't his daily flavor, he was not wielding a flogger on the regular, what was it the kids said; he dabbled from time to time. Again, it was his boredom, nothing much held his attention until he wanted it and then he became obsessed. It was always best that no fucker caught Lawless' attention, really ... it was best all around.

  To be wanted or hated by Lawless, he'd pondered it a few times the way he was, oh yeah, he knew exactly why, he was a smart cookie for figuring out his own mind.

  But figuring out the minds of others, when he clearly showed who he was with a stark stay the fuck away warning, and still they gave him the look.

  Truly, he deserved some sort of shiny award for his restraint.

  Only tonight he was not restrained in the least.

  He felt it stir beneath his skin, that prickle of dominance, to overpower, to fucking reign like his favorite pharaoh King Tut, and indeed, the body under his hand, as his fingers clasped around the back of the neck, would do just fine, they'd followed him after all, isn't this what they craved? If that wasn’t permission, Lawless didn’t know what was.

  Truthfully, that pharaoh was worth channelling this evening.

  Naughty, dirty bastard under his strong fist.

  Secrets were delicious on the right tongue. Lawless held this secret for a long while now ... what was it ... the night of that raid on the Rebel's MC, it had come as a bolt out of the blue, shocking Lawless, and that was hard to do, what with him being a monster and all… hold up, his mind replaying his earlier thoughts like an old-fashioned tape recorder, hitting pause and fast forward to find the right section of memory, he’d decided he wasn’t a monster, yeah, that sounded right.

  The same night Rider rescued his now old lady, his baby-mama, and the same night Lawless had that little limpet girl wrapped around his mid-section sobbing into his chest, fucks sake, he'd played cards with her for hours, fetching her food, growling for her to eat and to drink the goddamn water, what kinda kid didn't know they were hungry? she'd looked up at him with her sad almond shaped eyes like he was a god.

  Lawless was no god. Sure, his play things cried out oh, god, more, god, please, god. And that was all fine and good, but there was nothing godlike about him, who could live up to that reputation?

  Finally, he spoke. The body hadn't moved almost as if they knew not to.

  He couldn't say good meat, ‘cause he knew this fucking meat and there was nothing good about them at all.

  "Didn't I fucking say if you wanted something, to ask? Chicken shit giving me the eyes and sneaking after me like a motherfucking liar."

  The body groaned when Lawless pressed them into the wall, using his full weight to anchor them there.

  Two breaths panting in the dark.

  "Fucking coward, aren't you? Yeah you are." He used his weight on the rigid spine, reached around and the groan turned frenzied when Lawless grasped the zipper, tugging it down.

  His own restraint caved in. His dick hardened.

  "Hands on the wall, you, bastard coward, don’t make me repeat myself."

  "Law..."

  "Not interested in a fucking tête-à-tête, neither are you, don't pretend otherwise, do yourself a favor and shut your fucking trap. I should be caving in your fucking skull." Nagging irritation went through him. Electric annoyance.

  He didn't like being used.

  Flesh met his hand as he reached inside the worn denim.

  Hard wanting flesh met his fingers, he grasped in a tight fist and dragged it out into the open.

  And began pumping the huge cock through his palm.

  "This what you want, to get your rocks off while you keep your dirty, nasty secret?" He let go and thrust his hand through the dark in front of the face. “Lick my fucking hand, chicken shit.” His palm was wet immediately and he grasped again. Up, down, Lawless pumping angrily at the cock, the grunts from the body did nothing to tamp down the feeling in his chest even as his own cock tingled at the tip. He pressed harder with his other hand around the nape, pinning the guy to the wall, rendering him unable to move even if he wanted to.

  "I never took you for a pussy." His voice box like grit.

  "Fuck..."

  Lawless laughed low in his throat. An offensive sound.

  "Always got summit to say, except now, huh?"

  He worked the cock like he was stroking his own steel pipe, fluid leaking from the tip to make for a wet slide. Faster, tighter. Under him, bones and thick muscle grew taut, he knew better than most the sacrifice this guy was taking to have a taste of a craving, hadn't Lawless been there, done that, got the bloodstained T-shirt once over? But he was no one's convenience to be used like a sack of rotten potatoes.

  Fuck you to hell, and take my momma with you.

  It only made him angry enough to spill blood on the nice clean floor Z-girl would be pissed about.

  Each jerk of his hand, riling up the thick cock only served to solidify his own irritation. He'd succumbed to this guy’s wicked hunger once before because he was hyped up on the murder of the evening, call him a sentimental bastard but bloodshed got his Johnson hard, on a fraught night when adrenaline was at its highest, everyone had done mad things.

  Every. One.

  It had been pleasurable. A depraved release and those were so easy to come by. In any other circumstance, Lawless would have forgotten it had even happened, he certainly hadn’t give it a second thought. Never to have repeated that’s for fucking sure. But giving him the eyes and acting like Lawless was someone’s menu to pick from, all the while keeping your deviant secrets. Nah. Now he was mad. He was no fuckers happy meal.

  "So, are you a coward now? Maybe we should change your name legally."

  "Fuck. Don't be a dick, Law." The body beneath him groaned, shoving his hips into Lawless' hand as he squeezed and pumped, the head dropped between his braced arms, Law could hear him struggle to drag
air into his lungs past the blast of lust.

  "That's funny considering what I've got hold of." With speed, he grabbed the back of the shirt and flipped the guy around, crashing him hard into the wall hard enough for a less robust guy it would have broken a bone.

  Face to face, inches apart, just how he preferred right before he killed a person. He could taste the beer fumes on the chuffed air in his face. Dutch fucking courage.

  The guy panted and waited for Lawless to make a move, his own dick so fucking iron hard ready to pump, pump into a hole, Lawless glanced down at the wanting meat and smirked like a taunting demon, not reaching down for it just yet.

  "Wanted a bit of slap and tickle in the dark, did you?" When the guy growled and made to shove Lawless back, Law got right in his face, using his bulk to keep him there. "You fucking came to me, remember, like a begging dog," he laughed, tauntingly. "Standing there wanting what I can give and too chicken shit with your cock out to even ask for it. Poor scared bastard so warm with your secrets can’t even say it out loud, can you?"

  Willing victims were how Lawless described his bed partners, not that anything he did took place in something archaic as a bed, please. Who was he, Romeo?

  "The gutless sub wants a dominant to be all mean and tough and give you a slap and climax is that right? Did your own hand stop working? None of the eager gashes out there willing to suck you dry?"

  "Not a fucking sub." Growls dripped from the guy making Lawless smirk like the truthful bastard he was and add in a harsh whisper, "liar."