Losing It All

by Wilde, Kati

  She takes me in until she gags, her throat convulsing around the fat head, sending me straight to heaven. Then she begins sucking, drawing on my shaft so hard, it almost hurts.

  Almost.

  “Harder.” Teeth gritted, I watch her furious struggle to take more than she’s already managed. Not even a third of my length but all that anger is stroking every inch of me. “Suck me harder.”

  She does and Christ almighty, I’ve never felt anything like it. No finesse, nothing but fury scorching my dick, like she’s determined to make me come through her sheer fucking will. I drag air into my heaving chest when she pulls back and sucks me down again, again, again, harder and harder.

  But it doesn’t hurt. Nothing ever felt so good.

  Bliss boils at the base of my spine and rises the length of my cock. “Holy fuck,” I groan raggedly. “You’re about to suck the cum right out of me.”

  Heat flares through her eyes. Not just rage. Arousal. Satisfaction. Either she’s turned on by sucking dick or loving what she’s doing to me.

  I’m loving what she’s doing to me, too. I shouldn’t. Christ, this is a reward for Crash. It’s a punishment for her. But the hot pull of her mouth, the burn of rage in her eyes are destroying everything else in their path. Destroying me. I’d beg for those cold hands to stroke me now but I can’t do a damn thing except grit my teeth and hold on as she works my dick so good that I helplessly begin fucking her face, thrusting shallowly past her lips, desperate for her to take all of me into her. Into her softness, her heat, until there’s nothing else left that isn’t hers.

  Then one long, hot suck blows me apart. Head thrown back against the bars, I come so goddamn hard that stars burst behind my eyes. Cherry makes a choking sound, like she wasn’t expecting a load of cum to shoot down the back of her throat. She backs off quick, coughing, her face flushed and eyes shining.

  But not filled with so much rage now. There’s some satisfaction, as if she’s pleased that she made me come so fast. Then bemusement as my cock jerks a final time, and she wipes away the spurt that lands on her chin.

  Her bright gaze meets mine. “You’re all right?”

  Better than I should be. “How the fuck do you think I am? The woman who fucked me over to save her own skin just sucked me off as a reward for killing a friend.”

  She bites her lip and averts her face, and the whole world dims.

  Tusk is still shouting. The bars behind my back rattle with the force of whatever he’s doing in his stall.

  “Bring her down here! Bring her the fuck down here! I earned that pussy! I earned it!”

  A guard stops near my stall door. “Are we going to have to hear that all day?”

  Victor doesn’t answer him. Instead he says to Cherry, “You done yet?”

  Without meeting my eyes, she pulls my sweats back into place and tucks me in. Her voice is thick. “We are.”

  “Then go clean up. Lights on in fifteen.”

  Silently she gets to her feet and grabs her kit. No longer touching me. Not even looking at me. And the second she’s gone, all the pain and rot pours back in.

  And fucking drowns me in it.

  14

  What have I become? What have I become?

  I leave Stone’s stall and race down the dimly lit aisle. Matt stands near the bars of his cell, his face lined with worry and fear. I only slow down long enough to choke out, “I can’t,” before stopping in front of my door.

  I wrench it open when the clunk of electric lock sounds. Go clean up. That was the order. Instead I stand in the center of my stall, gasping sobbing breaths.

  I used to be a good person. I used to be. But I’m not anymore.

  Not after what I just did.

  Stone didn’t want me to touch him. He only offered because the alternative was so terrible. But I knew he didn’t really want it.

  I knew that and accepted Stone’s offer, anyway. I should have left him alone. Should have just taken my punishment with Tusk. Instead I chose Stone because I wanted him. Not then. Not like that. But I can’t deny his physical effect on me. So going down on him made a punishment seem like less of one.

  But the worst part of it is…I loved so much of it. Loved seeing his response. Loved hearing his groans. Loved making him come.

  Not only because I wanted him. But because I was so angry, and so tired of feeling helpless. So I took out all my rage on a man in restraints. A man who didn’t want me touching him. A man grieving for his friend.

  No one comes out looking prettier than they went in.

  I knew I wouldn’t. I knew this place would change me.

  But I never thought I’d become so ugly.

  * * *

  By that evening, I’m so exhausted that squeezing my way through the bars above my stall takes everything I have left. Despair and grief are a constant burn in my throat—emotions that only thicken when I glance across the aisle at Crash’s empty stall.

  Matt pulls himself up. “Hey, sis.”

  He sounds as torn up as I feel. Though he doesn’t know what I did to Stone. Maybe he knows what I was ordered to do—give a reward—but not how I became so angry and took my rage out on a helpless man.

  I wish that anger had lasted. Instead only grief and despair are left.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “You all right?”

  No. But I nod.

  He knows I’m lying. His face hardens. “It was Stone?”

  I nod again.

  “Did he hurt—”

  “No.” I stop that train before it goes any farther. “He’s a good guy.”

  A humorless laugh shakes through him. “No, he’s not. But if it makes you feel better, keep thinking that.”

  Knowing he’s a good guy doesn’t make me feel better. The knot in my throat thickens. “It’s my fault he’s here.”

  “No.” It’s flat, unyielding. “No.”

  “But I should have tried harder to—”

  “No.” His fierce whisper cuts me off. “You remember when we first got here, you told me that it wasn’t my fault that you got caught up in this—that it was all on Papa and the Eighty-Eight? This is the same damn thing. So if Stone’s being here is your fault, then you being here is my fault.”

  I’m trapped by that argument. Voice thick, I tell him, “It still feels like it’s my fault, though.”

  “Yeah.” His face softens. “It never stops feeling like that.”

  And might get worse. I whisper raggedly, “With Crash gone”—my throat closes for a long, long second before I can continue—“and Flack gone, they’ve got too many empty stalls. They’ll send me out again as bait. But after last time, they’ll watch me even more closely. I won’t get a chance to escape.”

  He sighs heavily. “Probably not.”

  “But I’ve got another plan.” Breath shuddering, I tell him, “I’ll get into the control booth and kill whoever’s on duty, then I’ll open all the doors.”

  Matt’s lips twitch. “Will you?”

  I nod. “I’ll tell the guard that I want someone to take my virginity before Tusk wins his tenth fight. Then I’ll slit his throat.”

  “With what? Your fingernails?”

  “I’ve got a scalpel hidden in my stall.”

  The amusement flees his expression. Because he hadn’t thought I was serious. Now he shakes his head.

  “Hold up—”

  “It’s a good plan.”

  “Except for the part where you kill someone. That shit has consequences.”

  “No jury would convict me.” Not after everything we’ve been through.

  “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about what killing does to the person you are.”

  Sudden tears fill my eyes. On a sobbing breath, I tell him, “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not the person I thought I was.”

  “Because you’ve had some extreme reactions to some really extreme shit?” Gently he brushes my tears away. “That’s just called being human.”

&n
bsp; “A bad one.”

  “You couldn’t be bad if you tried. And what you’re doing is the best you can do—you’re owning up to the shitty stuff you’re doing to survive, how it affects other people…and how it affects you.” He draws a deep breath. “Killing someone will affect you. Especially killing in cold blood like you’re talking about. And I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you.”

  After the Cage? “I don’t see you any differently.”

  He’s still the brother who does everything in his power to protect me.

  “I do. I fucking hate myself,” he says, his face tormented. “For getting you into this. For not finding a way out of it. For falling in line every damn time. And the only reason I’m holding on is because I’ve got you to love me.”

  My tears fall faster. “Nothing you did could change that.”

  “You couldn’t change how I love you, either. And if it comes down to you being Tusk’s prize and killing a guard, then you kill the guard. But wait until you have no other choice. Wait until the night before the next fight, before Tusk gets in that ring again. And all the time in between, keep looking for another way out. At least then you’ll know you did everything you could.”

  Whatever that’s worth. “Everything I do turns into shit.”

  Every single plan.

  “No,” he says softly. “You do everything right. It’s the world that’s shit.”

  But it isn’t shit now. In this one moment. Reaching through the bars, I hug him tight.

  He hugs me even tighter. “I love you so damn much, sis.”

  And that’s what keeps me holding on, too.

  15

  Stone

  Every day that passes is exactly the same. Wake up to Elton. Run on the track. Work the heavy bag. Jerk my cock to the memory of Cherry’s mouth when it’s lights out.

  And every day that passes, I’m thinking that Anna didn’t get enough of my message. Not enough to connect them to Strawman. Or maybe those wheels are turning. They just aren’t turning fast enough.

  Because every fucking day that passes, the hole in me deepens. And I just gotta keep filling it up, reminding myself of what’s important now. Kill Tusk. Burn down the Cage.

  Don’t fill up with Cherry.

  Though I couldn’t help myself, if she let me. I keep looking for that rage I liked so much. Maybe hoping that it’ll rub off on me, give me some of my own anger to fill me up instead of this aching rot.

  But there’s nothing to see, because in four fucking days, she hasn’t even met my eyes.

  For the best. Just gotta focus on what oughta be filling me up. Focus on getting whoever’s in charge of the Cage to put me in that ring with Tusk.

  One of the guards raps on my stall bars. “Ready?”

  That’s one thing that’s changed—no Handlebar, no Crash. And with Flack dead and Airbag mostly confined to his bed while his broken ribs heal, our exercise groups got shifted around. Now I’m first to go out, with Cherry and Hatchet.

  She’s waiting now with him, wearing that bright red smile and her emerald eyes averted away from me.

  Fuck, this rot in my chest. The door buzzes open.

  Hatchet’s frowning at the two guards. “What the hell are you fuckers coming down with?”

  The guard frowns back. “What are you talking about?”

  “You aren’t supposed to be on duty until tonight.” Hatchet points to the other one. “And he’s already pulled a shift. So are half of you all laid up with some crap? Because I don’t want to catch your fucking germs if you are.”

  Huh. The neo-Nazi’s watching shifts as closely as I am. And apparently he’s been here long enough that he’s lost track of the days.

  But he’s got a point.

  I head back into my stall and rip the blanket off my bed. The guard frowns at me. “You can’t take that.”

  “It’s not for me. It’s for her.” I nod to Cherry, whose gaze darts to mine. “Because you all might not be sick, but if she’s out there freezing like she usually is, it ain’t going to be long until you’ve got a goddamn plague passing around this stable.”

  The guard glances at his partner, then says into his shoulder radio, “You all right if Cherry takes a blanket out so she doesn’t get sick?”

  Victor’s voice comes through. “Do it.”

  There’s no rage when she looks at me now. Gratitude comes through as she turns and lets me drop the blanket over her slender shoulders. She should be fucking pissed, the way these assholes have her freezing out there.

  “We set, then?” the other guard says irritably.

  Hatchet’s giving me a look that I can’t interpret, and don’t fucking care to interpret. But it’s to the guard he says, “So what are you all passing around?”

  “They’re not sick. It’s Thanksgiving,” I tell him. “So some of these assholes are on holiday leave.”

  “Not all of us,” a guard mutters.

  The neo-Nazi turns disbelieving eyes on him. “Are you fucking shitting me with that whiny bullshit? To us?”

  The guard flushes and ushers us ahead, with Cherry between Hatchet and me, but that fucker Tusk is up against his bars and after her as we pass by. In four days, he hasn’t shut up about earning his reward. Just seeing her sets him off.

  She puts her head down and draws that blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  Outside, the cold air slaps at my chest. The sun’s bright but there’s no warmth coming from it.

  Hatchet’s looking at her. That’s one fucker I can’t read, despite the racist shit inked all over his skin. He’s always looking at her. But not like Tusk does. Or even like I do. Stealing glances. As if making sure she’s all right.

  Maybe he’s like some of the other guys in here. Like Handlebar, calling her an angel. Because she takes care of them. Though at the fight, he was an asshole to her.

  Just a goddamn asshole in general.

  Then he says, “You think we’ll get some turkey and stuffing in our healthy shit meal?”

  Cherry smiles slightly. “Maybe the turkey. I’d rather have the pie.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He tilts his head back. “My grandpa used to make a pecan pie that would knock your ass off.”

  Her voice turns wistful. “That sounds really good.”

  “Yeah. And then we’d eat the whole damn thing while watching the game.”

  Christ. “Did you watch the game before or after you took your hood off?”

  He looks over at me, eyes narrowing. “You got a problem with me exercising my freedom of speech, cuck?”

  “I got a problem with everyone who rides with the Eighty-Eight. Though I find it real damn interesting that you’re in here, since the Eighty-Eight are neck deep up the Cage’s ass. You came here as a demonstration?”

  “And won.”

  “That’s a damn shame.” Real damn shame. “What were you being punished for? Maybe the supply of meth you were in charge of dried up?”

  His eyes widen. Just a flicker. “What do you know about a fucking supply?”

  I know the Hellfire Riders took out the local chapter of the Eighty-Eight Henchmen not too long ago. But we don’t go around boasting shit that’ll come back on us. We just protect ours.

  “I heard a clubhouse got hit and the meth kitchen got torched. And that they found a bunch of girls the Henchmen intended to sell.” Because every single one of those assholes is trash. “So yeah. It’s a real fucking shame you won.”

  Cherry’s head is down again, biting her lip so hard that she’s scraping off the lipstick.

  Hatchet lets loose a grating laugh. “Yeah, just feel damn lucky you went up against that pussy, Crash. If you’d—”

  “Stop it,” she hisses at him. “Not that.”

  He looks at her, eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me to shut my mouth, female. I’ll shut yours up so hard you’ll be shitting teeth out your ass.”

  I swear to fuck she almost laughs at him. Her mouth presses tight and her eyes glitter, not with ang
er or humor but something trapped in between.

  “What else would I shit out of? My toes?”

  He blinks and his lips twitch, then a commotion from the direction of the barns has us all pivoting. The guards are already turned around, one of them chanting “Oh shit, oh shit.”

  A naked mountain races toward us. Tusk. Coming for Cherry.

  “Fucking hell.” Hatchet grabs Cherry’s arm and shoves her back. “Get behind me. If he gets past the guards, I’ll take him down. Then you run like hell for the barn.”

  Get him down? Yeah, I’ll let Hatchet do that. She’s wide-eyed, stumbling back—then looks to me in shock when I take her blanket.

  “Gonna need this,” I tell her. Because the fucker likes to bite.

  The guards don’t even try to slow down the charging bastard. Goddamn assholes. Hatchet gets right in front of her. Whoever’s in front of Tusk is going down hard. Best thing to do when a fucker’s charging is to whip to the side, let that momentum carry him through. But that’d take him straight into Cherry. So there’s no other place to go.

  Tusk hits him like a charging bull. Hatchet’s no slouch, that’s for goddamn sure. He drops just at the right second and takes Tusk’s feet out from under him, but the sick fucker’s low enough to grab on and they both go down, rolling and rolling—and Tusk comes out on top.

  Bad fucking place for Hatchet but good for me. I haul Cherry out of the way when she screams and lurches for the struggling pair, like she’s going to take the fucker out with her tiny little hands.

  Then I’m on Tusk, pulling the blanket over his face and hauling back. He roars and tries to tear it away, but I’ve got it tight. Fucking hell, it’s like wrestling a mammoth. Can’t break his neck. Shit. He’s got muscles like steel. But everyone needs oxygen in their brain. I get my arm around his throat while he’s bucking under me, and I start squeezing. His roars start wheezing. But Christ, he fights. His head jerks with fleshy thunks and I realize Hatchet’s pounding his face in through the blanket from below.

  And he’s slowing. Getting sluggish. Real fucking sluggish. The muscles around his neck loosening up just a little bit. Gritting my teeth, I lock my arm tighter.