Rough & Ruthless (Notorious Devils Book 4)

by Hayley Faiman

  “We have ten whores, sweetness, not that you need to even think about them,” I say.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Aren’t they always trying to get in your pants?” she asks, arching her brow.

  I chuckle. Jealous. She’s jealous, and I also find that cute as fuck. Jealous women have never been a turn on, but Mary-Anne, with her narrowed eyes, and her face still flush from her last orgasm—Cute. As. Fuck.

  “Guess they are, if I gave half a fuck about ‘em,” I shrug. “You have nothing to worry about, Mary. What I told you earlier, it stands. You have me, sweetness.”

  “I’ve never been with a man like you before,” she whispers. I see the uncertainty in her eyes.

  The only way I know how to erase that hesitancy is to fuck her; but right now, she wants words to cling to. I can give her those, too. I can give her whatever she wants.

  “Yeah, I know. ‘Cause if you had, he’d have never let you go,” I murmur.

  Her breath hitches before her lips find mine, taking me in a hard, closed mouthed kiss.

  My fingers tighten in her hair at the back of her head, and I deepen the kiss, sliding my tongue into her mouth and taking from her—always taking. She moans, and I hear her beer bottle clank against the bar before her hands wrap around my shoulders. She turns in my lap, facing me a little more, rubbing her tits against my chest.

  “You’re making it hard not to bend you over this stool and fuck the shit out of you,” I murmur against her lips as I break the kiss.

  “Yeah, you’re making it hard not to pull down my jeans so you can do that,” she sighs.

  I chuckle, knowing my girl—whose face pinks with embarrassment at the talk of her panties—would not be down with that; but I know that I affect her the way she does me. That’s all I can give a fuck about right now. My cock presses against the seam of my jeans, and I bite back a groan when Mary’s hand cups me.

  “My pussy might be off limits, but I can take care of this for you, if you like,” she whispers.

  “Later, yeah?” I murmur.

  “Okay,” she whispers, looking down.

  “Hey, sweetness,” I gently call out. Her head lifts and she looks at me, a look of deflation and maybe rejection on her face. “Want to end my night with you naked in my arms, can’t do that if we have all the fun right away.”

  “Yeah,” she says. She doesn’t look as though she believes me.

  I don’t know what’s up with her, but this isn’t the version of Mary-Anne I’ve been getting to know. This unsure, vulnerable, unconfident woman, this isn’t her.

  “You have me, sweetness,” I whisper against her ear before Grease sits down next to me.

  The rest of the night, we talk, Mary-Anne sticking to my side like glue. She doesn’t say or do anything off, but she’s different. It worries me and distracts me the whole evening. I try not to let it show, keeping her close, continuously touching her the whole evening.

  I hope that this isn’t her everyday personality, and that there’s just something bothering her, because I’m not a man who is constantly available to dote and give time and attention to a woman. I don’t have the time or the inclination.

  I need a strong woman who can not only handle me, but the lifestyle as well. Maybe I made a mistake by thinking Mary could be that woman.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what’s wrong with me. I’m insecure and scared. So damn insecure. So fucking scared. Walking into the bathroom before I go down to the bar, I run into four clubwhores.

  They are all fairly young, younger than me, with big breasts and skinny little bodies. I’m thin, but I was not blessed in the chest area. Their hair is a mix of blonde, bright dyed red, dark chocolatey brown, and one girl’s is even purple. They’re all dressed skanky, and here I am in jeans and a tee. I feel frumpy next to them, and I just want to get the hell out of here. I should have just gone to the bathroom in Max’s private bath instead of coming down here.

  “Flavor of the month just walked in,” the blonde girl says. She’s the girl that was talking about sucking Max’s dick. The other girls snicker, but they don’t chime in. I’m grateful. “You know you should seriously consider making a botox appointment. MadDog likes his girls looking young.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask, unbelieving that she is actually saying this to me.

  “MadDog. He gets a new girl here about every month, moves her into his house until he gets bored, and then kicks her ass to the curb. Though, I’m surprised he went with someone your age,” she says as she widens her eyes in feigned shock.

  My age?

  I honestly can’t believe her.

  “You better stick to his dick like glue. It likes to wander around. I sucked him off the night before you got here. Fuck, but that man is hung. I think he’s saving me because he hasn’t fucked me yet. But I seriously cannot wait.” She giggles, and the other girls chime in.

  “He fucked me a couple weeks ago, and my pussy still aches,” the redhead announces. “Kept me in his bed all weekend long.”

  I turn away from them, refusing to buy into their little games another second. Their words have cut into me, though. I’ve never imagined Max to be a saint, not even close, but hearing them say that this is some kind of pattern of his? It makes me feel dirty. I practically run into one of the members, and he looks down at me with a grin.

  “You okay, babe?” he asks as his eyes roam over my face.

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  “You need a pick me up?” he asks, arching a brow.

  “A pick me up?”

  “A line of coke, some X, whatever,” he shrugs.

  I’m not a drug user, but I’ve dabbled. It’s been a long time. Actually, I stopped after I moved out of my parents’ house. I used to party and get high to escape what was my reality, to numb my pain.

  “I could use a little coke,” I say with a shrug.

  He grins before he takes me into a room where there are a few lines on a piece of glass—as if they were just waiting for me.

  I shake my head and reach for the straw beside the glass. I decide to only do one line. It’s been so long, and I don’t want to be too spun up. I close my eyes and wait for the white powder to hit me. Fuck. I grin and turn to the stranger.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Soar, babe.”

  “Soar?” I ask with a giggle, the coke working its way through me.

  “Because I’m always fuckin’ soaring high,” he laughs.

  He sounds like every pothead I’ve ever met, which makes me giggle again.

  I try to compose myself before I thank him and head down to Max. The moment I see him, my high begins to morph into more insecurity, as if the coke has heightened it.

  I don’t feel paranoid, per se, but I feel scared; scared that I’m going to be kicked to the curb in a month, like those bitches said. Scared that I’m giving up my apartment and my life in San Diego to live here, in the middle of nowhere, with this man that I don’t really know—and because why? Because his dick makes my pussy fucking crazy?

  I’m so damn confused, but I can’t stop hanging onto him, afraid he’s going to reject me at any minute. My brain is working in overdrive, completely freaking insane, and it won’t stop.

  I stay glued to Max’s side the entire evening. I feel clingy and even more insecure as the night progresses, especially after he turns down a blowjob from me. I can’t help but wonder if he’s already tired of me. My mind is spinning like a freaking tilt-a-whirl, and I can’t seem to calm myself.

  Once my high starts to come down, I feel tired, edgy, and ready for Max to just ditch me, get it over with, like yanking off a band-aide. His hand travels down to my ass and gives me a squeeze. I look up to see his eyes on me, something that looks like concern etched in his features.

  “Ready for bed?” he asks, his voice low and sexy.

  I nod, unable to speak, afraid that I’m going to act crazy and piss him off.

  Together, we wa
lk past the rest of the partiers. I see the trashy clubwhores from earlier by the pool table. The blonde girl is bent over the table, her chest pressed flat as one of the guys fucks her from behind. Her eyes meet mine and she grins at me. It’s not friendly in the least. It’s downright evil looking.

  I try to ignore her as I follow Max to his room, but there’s something about her, something about that look in her eyes. She’s crazy, and she’s up to something—I can feel it.

  “What’s your problem tonight, Mary,” Max asks as soon as we’re inside of his room.

  “Nothing,” I lie as I start to take my shirt off in an attempt to distract him.

  “Bull’s ass, babe; you’ve been acting cagy and off all night,” he mutters, taking a step closer to me. I gasp when his hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me flush against his body. “You’re high.”

  “I—.”

  “Fuck me, you’re high. What the hell?” he grinds out.

  “I just did a little coke. I ran into some girls in the bathroom, and I just didn’t want to deal,” I ramble, giving everything away.

  Apparently, I not only ramble in my head when I’m high, but I also do it out loud.

  “So all this shit is about you running into some mouthy whores in the bathroom? Mary, what the fuck? I thought you knew the score here?”

  “The redhead said you fucked her a couple weeks ago, the blonde said she sucked you off a few days ago, and they all said that I’m not the first girl you’ve brought in and moved into your house. They also said that in about a month you’d get bored of me and kick me out,” I announce, my voice rising with each word.

  “Fucking hell,” he mutters, stepping back and running his hand along his face. “They’re whores, Mary. I’ve fucked some of them, and they’ve blown me. This can’t come as a surprise to you. The rest of the shit they spewed was to ruffle your feathers. No bitches have lived with me since Eleanora. I thought you were more mature than this shit,” he mutters, taking another step back.

  “You want me to leave it all for you—my apartment and my entire life. You want me to move into your house and be yours. After only a couple of days. I don’t know you, Max. I didn’t know if what they said was true, because we don’t know each other.”

  “Then fucking be a goddamn adult and ask me. Don’t get high like a teenager,” he growls before he walks straight past me, slamming the door behind him and leaving me alone.

  Oh, shit.

  I fucked everything up.

  I slide to the floor, my shirt still somewhere in the room, my back against the bed, and I pull my knees up before I drop my forehead against them. Then I cry.

  I wait for what feels like hours, and when it’s clear that Max won’t be coming back, I decide to go to bed. I find a pajama set that he bought for me today, a tank and a pair of cotton shorts, slipping them on before I crawl beneath the sheets and rest my head on my pillow.

  I stare at the wall, unable to close my eyes or stop my mind from imagining all the things he’s doing right now, wondering which of the whores he’s doing them with. The redhead, the purple haired girl, the bitchy, crazy blonde, or the brunette.

  I walk away from Mary, leaving her alone in my room. If I stay, I’ll let my temper get the best of me and say shit I’ll regret—one of my many faults that I’ve learned my lesson from. I don’t go back to the party, though. The booze and bitches aren’t appealing to me right now.

  I make my way outside and lean against the building, closing my eyes and feeling the cool breeze against my face. Fuck. Maybe this thing between us can’t be anything more than physical. She’s obviously not ready for a man.

  My phone rings in my pocket, and I let out a sigh before I answer, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen, prez,” West, my prospect, says.

  “Be waitin’ in the warehouse for you,” I grunt, kicking off of the wall as I start to walk toward the warehouse.

  Warehouse—I chuckle. Torture chamber is more like it.

  I walk into the building, flipping on the lights, and set a chair in the middle of the room, right above the drain that I installed years ago. Helps to wash away the blood when shit gets messy.

  It’s a big metal building with a concrete floor.

  In the winter, we house the bikes for the guys who live in the clubhouse. Tonight, as the weather is just starting to go from fall to winter, it’s empty—save for the chair and some tools that rest on a table against one of the walls. Tools that I’ll be using on my new friend, Kyle.

  A few minutes later, I see West enter, pushing a blindfolded pissant in front of him. Kyle. He’s shorter than me by a few inches, his frame thin, and about forty pounds lighter than I am. His blond hair is still styled perfectly, even though he’s been traveling in the back of a van for nine hours, and his suit is hardly wrinkled. Prick.

  I shift my head, nodding at the chair, and West nods himself as he pushes the asshole toward the chair before kicking his leg out and watching his ass plant in the seat. He chuckles before he begins to tie him up. Once he’s finished, he looks at me, and I nod before he removes the blindfold.

  “What the fuck,” Kyle practically screams, his eyes wide and frantic as he takes me in.

  “Welcome, pissant,” I laugh.

  West shakes his head behind him, a smile barely visible underneath his bearded face.

  “I know Bates Lukin. I’m dating his sister,” he says in a rush.

  West doesn’t hide his guffaw, which makes Kyle turn around. I assume he’s glaring at him, but West doesn’t give a fuck. He’s a good kid— a little older than most of my prospects, which is maybe why I like him so much—and he has a good head on his shoulders.

  “I’m thinking Sniper might not like the fact that you hit his baby sister, then tried to pimp her out for your personal gain,” I announce.

  Kyle’s head snaps around and his face pales.

  “Yeah, prick, I know all about you,” I grin.

  “Then you know who my father is?” he asks, arching a brow.

  “Yeah, know who he is, but I don’t give a fuck. See, just because he’s some big shot attorney, it doesn’t mean jack fuckin’ shit to me. You hurt a woman, which is despicable enough, but you also hit a woman who is under the protection of the Notorious Devils, which pretty much seals your fate. Then, you tried to pimp her out against her will; and honestly, she told me what a shitty fuck you are, so all that combined—not giving a single fuck who your daddy is.”

  “You’ll regret anything you do to me,” he says, narrowing his eyes, high on his mighty horse, unknowing that he and the horse are about to fall—six feet underground.

  “Doubt that. In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy it a fuck of a lot,” I grin.

  I walk over to the table, lucky that West is a smart fucker. The only sounds I hear are muffled. Kyle has been gagged, the little pissant.

  “Did you arrange the car?” I ask as I gather a knife and pliers. I’m going to keep it pretty simple tonight.

  “Already burnt to a fuckin’ crisp,” West murmurs.

  “The body?”

  “Blasted the face a few times with a shotgun, so no dental records,” West shrugs.

  I nod and hear Kyle whining behind his gag. I look over to him and see that he has tears streaming down his face. I haven’t even touched the fucker yet—pussy.

  “So everybody will think one of your father’s recently released from prison, convictions, killed you. Then, he killed himself, leaving the shotgun right next to him. It’s funny how shit like that happens, you know? Oh, and when he killed you, he did it in your car, and then he lit the expensive fucker on fire,” I shrug, walking back over to him, tools in hand.

  Kyle shakes his head, and I watch as his pants change color, darkening, due to the fact that he’s just pissed himself.

  “He just piss himself?” West asks, wrinkling his nose.

  “He’ll probably shit himself, too. Brace yourself,” I chuckle.

>   I study the prick, thinking about which way I’m going to torture him. I’ve done disembowelment, I’ve pulled fingernails out with pliers, same with teeth. I’ve sliced men up, watching them bleed out slowly. None of these seem to be quite appropriate enough for pissant Kyle.

  “You need to leave, West,” I say. He shakes his head.

  “No, I think I’ll stay,” he grunts. “He’s a douchebag and needs to get what’s coming to him for hurting your woman like that.”

  My brows snap together at his words. My woman. Mary-Anne is that. She is; and though, right now, I’m disappointed in her, it doesn’t make me want her any less.

  I still want justice for her, and I still want to fuck her, and a part of me wants to claim her as my Old Lady, too. We’re something, the two of us—something short of a fucking disaster, but I’m drawn to her like no other woman I have had in my fucking life.

  “Stand him up, drop his pants,” I order.

  West grimaces before he does exactly what I’ve said, and Kyle lets out a muffled scream. I look at his miniscule, flaccid cock and shake my head. Poor Mary. I think about cutting it off, but I decide I’ll do that last. I set my knife down and then grab a metal baseball bat in the corner.

  “Bend him over that bench,” I grunt, pointing to the bench that sits in front of me. West nods once and does what I ask.

  “This is going to hurt like a fuckin’ bitch, Kyle. But you hurt my Mary, and I can’t have that.”

  I take the large end of the bat and press it against his puckered asshole. He screams and his body shakes, but I don’t stop. I didn’t get my road name because I was a fuckin’ saint.

  I shove the bat up his ass and I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it, either. I probably should, but I can’t seem to find a shit to give about any part of him.

  I leave West to dispose of the body. I tell him to call in the other prospects for help, but he shrugs and says he has it handled. Kid fuckin’ held his shit together tight and proved his worth with me. He still has a few months left to prospect, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s already a Devil.

  I ignore the party as I walk past all the pussy, booze, and smoke that fills the room. I’m on a mission, a mission to my Mary-Anne. I walk inside of my room and see her body curled up beneath the sheets of my bed, her black hair cascading down behind her, lying on my own pillow. Just one look and I sigh. This is right. She is right.