The Soldiers of Wrath MC: Complete Series

by Jenika Snow

  Striker didn’t stick around. He wasn’t interested in the club whore at Weasel’s feet. Entering the clubhouse, he saw several guys fucking, drinking, or playing cards. Overall, the night was quiet, and not much was happening, nothing wild anyway.

  Taking a seat at the bar, he saw Nerd was working through his little puzzle book. The guy was obsessed with his puzzles and always trying to work some shit out. He was a full nerd, and Striker imagined him being a little teacher’s pet in high school, always with his hand in the air.

  Nerd might be into puzzles and books, but he was a mean ass motherfucker who was as vicious as they came. The books he’d read over the years had given him a hard stomach.

  “You’re home early,” Nerd said, without looking up from his puzzle.

  “Are you turning into a fucking woman?”

  Nerd laughed. “I thought you’d be at Dominion. You’ve got your needs.”

  “I’ve got a problem with it.”

  “Geez, man, whatever.” Nerd held his hands up, and Striker shook his head.

  “Sorry, I’m just not in a good place right now.”

  “We all know what that feels like. Shit has been moving slowly around here. I almost miss getting my ass shot at. And I’ve got such a nice ass.”

  “Fuck off, Nerd.”

  “Come on, you know you want to take a nice bite out of my ass.”

  Rolling his eyes, Striker took the beer that one of the club whores gave him. He couldn’t remember her name. They all seemed to blend together.

  Elena stared at her reflection in the mirror. She stood alone in the bathroom the staff was allowed to use. The diner was busy, but her shift wasn’t due to start for another ten minutes. She’d come to work thirty minutes early, that’s how boring her life was right now. All she wanted to do was work, sleep, and perhaps study. She was taking night classes since her family wouldn’t pay the money for her to go away to college.

  She no longer lived with her parents; they wanted her to be a good little wife who married a man of their choice. Her dreams didn’t seem important to them. No matter how hard Elena tried, she couldn’t force herself to fall for a man she didn’t know, didn’t like, and was twenty years older.

  Her mother and father actually believed she would be suited to have a man who could tame her wild ways.

  Tucking her hair behind her ear, she turned away from the mirror.

  None of her answers were ever going to come from staring in a mirror. Entering the main diner, she grabbed her notepad, and started taking orders. She had two shifts today, the morning run, which ended at twelve, and then she was back at six, where she’d stay until two in the early hours of the morning.

  Annie and Sasha gave her a smile. They were the two other waitresses who’d taught her how to wait tables and deal with difficult customers. In a way, those two women were her friends.

  It was pitiful, nineteen years old, and she had two friends, but then her life hadn’t been conducive to building relationships. Her parents home schooled her for the most of her life, and she’d never been good at making friends with new people.

  One day, she was going to leave all of this behind and live her life to the fullest. Until she did, she had bills to pay as she tried to make her way without her parents. She could do it; she was determined to succeed.

  Chapter 2

  Striker slammed his dick into the club whore and spanked her ass repeatedly. She cried out beneath him, but he wasn’t feeling it. Hell, he couldn’t even keep his dick hard. He’d managed to stay away from Dominion, and he was losing his fucking mind. He couldn’t handle not going and delivering the pain he gave to the submissive women, but he didn’t want the club to know where he was going to get that release, no matter what Nerd had said about them being okay with it.

  Fuck, it was all fucked up.

  He needed to give pain, and he needed a woman to want that pain and enjoy it because it gave her pleasure to make him happy.

  Pulling out of the faceless whore, he tore off the condom and told her to get the fuck out of his room.

  “What did I do wrong?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Just get the fuck out.”

  “Come on, Striker; I want your dick.”

  He was annoyed with himself, his life, his desires, and especially with her for pushing him right now. “Your pussy is too damn big. Stay off the brothers and tighten yourself up.” He heard her gasp and didn’t care. Picking up his jeans, he tugged on a shirt, left his room, and the club. He ignored the calls of the brothers and kept making his way toward his bike.

  Fresh air and a ride would clear his mind; maybe it would help him to deal with whatever shit was going on in his head.

  He rode around town for an hour, and the whole time, he kept going back to the same old problems. Striker should tell Demon more about his needs, his cravings, and that if he didn’t go back soon, it was going to drive him crazy. Maybe the prez wouldn’t even give a shit? He’d lose his shit, be too strung out, and that wasn’t safe for him or the club.

  When hunger finally got the better of him, he pulled into the parking lot of a small diner. Dismounting his Harley, he made his way into the restaurant. There were only a couple of people eating, and he took a seat in the back.

  Minding his own business, Striker picked up the menu and looked it over.

  “Hi there, is there anything I can get you to drink to start off?” a sweet voice said, invading his solitude and his frustration.

  Looking up, he stared into the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. Her raven hair cascaded around her shoulders, and he didn’t know what to say.

  For a moment, he couldn’t speak; he didn’t know what it was about her that caused this tightness in his body and made it stand at attention. There was an air of vulnerability, an innocence, and a timid demeanor. It called to the Dom in him, the male that wanted to protect her. The sensation to do that was so sudden, so powerful, that he felt his heart pick up speed, felt his palms start to sweat, and grew even more annoyed with himself.

  Was he that hard up for a little D/s action, for a scene to help him relax and let off the steam inside of him that he was resorting to wanting random women, including his waitress?

  Get yourself together.

  “Sir?”

  He knew she was being polite in using that term, but fucking hell, hearing her say it, knowing that it was one of the titles he used a Dom, had Striker instantly getting wood. He shifted on the seat, tried to act like he wasn’t affected, but shit, he hadn’t felt this kind of arousal, not even at Dominion. It was misplaced for sure, but undeniable.

  “Um,” she looked a little nervous and started biting her lip. Striker couldn’t help but watch the act. And when she looked over her shoulder, her shirt becoming snug around her chest, her white bra visible through her equally white t-shirt, his dick punched forward even more. The fucker rubbed along his zipper, wanting out.

  “I,” he cleared his throat, his voice gruff.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” She was biting her lip again, and he didn’t miss how she looked at his cut. Did she know what his biker vest meant? Did she know what it meant to be a Patch? Maybe she did because she looked nervous as hell.

  “Coffee. Just coffee right now.”

  She nodded once, stood there for a second, just staring at him, and then turned and left him at his table, staring at her ass, and wanting to bend her over the lunch counter. He stared at her ass, those big, luscious, juicy globes moving under the tight material of her black pants. She had a woman’s body, thick, lush, and able to take a pounding from a man like him.

  He reached under the table and adjusted his cock, the fucker so damn hard he almost groaned at the slight touch alone. And like some sick, obsessed asshole, Striker couldn’t stop staring at her. She looked at him, the long dark fall of her hair not able to hide the fact she might be uncomfortable by his attention. If she was afraid, she had every right to be. What he wanted to do to an innocent
looking woman like her was so wrong, because she looked too innocent for his desires and needs.

  Well, damn, he was either one sick bastard, hard up for a good session of fucking, or something about that woman called out to his dominating side that no other woman had ever brought forth. Either way, Striker didn’t know if he could ignore it, but he’d sure as hell try. That woman, shy and innocent in appearance, would be scared shitless if she knew the kind of things he liked to do in the bedroom.

  Elena wrapped her coat tighter around her body, the chill in the air intense. She hated walking home, hated the night. But with no extra money for a car, and barely making ends meet as it was, Elena was forced to walk home at night. And to top it off, she lived in a shitty part of town, one where drug dealers and prostitutes were a common occurrence.

  Turning left on the street, she slipped her hand in her coat pocket, kept her pepper spray firmly in her grasp, her finger on the depressor, and kept her eyes open. She hated this, hated that she had to be afraid all the time. The sound of people laughing and swearing, even moaning could be heard, and Elena looked to the side and saw the neon sign for Dominion. She didn’t know much about the club, but she did know it was a popular, if not exclusive, BDSM place. She’d seen men and women entering and leaving every time she walked past it, and the bouncer by the door seemed like a brute, always glaring at her.

  Turning away and focusing on the ground, she kept walking, her thoughts clear, alert to her surroundings.

  She thought about the biker, the scary looking biker that had come into the diner. After an almost awkward exchange, he kept staring at her, almost as if appraising her; he hadn’t spoken to her again. He was big, tall, and muscular; he looked like he could kill someone with his bare hands. Maybe he had, which wouldn’t surprise Elena. She’d sensed his gaze on her the entire time, felt the sensation of him watching her, taking in every single move she made. Shivers wracked her body as she thought about that, as she imagined what it would feel like to give herself to a man that had danger surrounding him. And she had recognized danger and a good dose of violence. She was stupid to want a man like that, to even think about him. All she should be thinking is staying the hell away from him.

  And when he’d stayed at the diner until right before it closed, she thought for sure there would be problems, that he’d start shit with her, frighten her because he got off on it. But he’d gotten up, walked outside to a massive motorcycle, and left. She had breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing how tense she’d been, how on edge he’d made her feel.

  Elena walked faster, just wanting to get home, even if her apartment building wasn’t the safest or the cleanest.

  “Hey, pretty girl.”

  Elena tensed, kept her hold on the pepper spray can, and ignored the man.

  “You working the streets tonight?” he asked with amusement in his voice.

  “Nah, man, look at her clothes. She looks uppity as shit, probably keeps a lock around her legs.”

  There was a round of laughter from the two men, but Elena still kept her head lowered, focused on her feet, and prayed they didn’t escalate things.

  “Hey, I know you,” one of the guys said, and she did lift her head then. Two younger men leaned against the brick wall of an out of business building. They wore baseball caps and looked a little too clean for this part of town.

  Elena had learned long ago not to say anything back when someone in this part of town hassled her. It was safer, smarter. Most of the time she was just harassed, but one time one of the guys had tried to touch her. She’d pepper sprayed his ass and hauled hers to the nearest 24-hour coffee shop. She’d stayed there until the sun rose, until she felt safe.

  “Yeah, you’re the bitch that doesn’t talk much.”

  She didn’t recognize them, but then again she worked at the diner; she didn’t go to socialize, and she assumed that’s what they were talking about. That big ass, scary biker was the first man she’d really taken notice of, really found herself interested in, and that was not a good thing, not a smart thing to keep in her head. Putting her head down and walking faster, she felt like her heart would burst right through her chest.

  “Hey, you’re one snotty little cunt, aren’t you?” As she was about to cross the street, put a little distance between herself and them, one of the men grabbed her arm and yanked her toward them. She slammed into his body, losing her grip on the pepper spray.

  “Come on, be our friend, pretty girl,” the guy she wasn’t currently pressed up against said from beside her, his warm breath right by her ear.

  “Get off of me, or I’ll scream.” Of course, it was an empty threat. If they were in this part of town, they knew screaming wouldn’t do anything to help. Here, no one helped anyone out.

  They both started laughing and pulled her into the nearest alley. Her bag dropped out of her hand, but she’d managed to grab her pepper spray. Keeping it close to her thigh, out of sight, she struggled to get free, to get in a better position to use the spray, or knee them in the balls.

  “You sure are pretty, in a clean, not used up way,” the one holding her said, and started licking at her throat. She held in her gag reflex, twisted slightly, which only made him moan. But he loosened his hold when she stilled, probably thinking she’d stopped fighting him.

  “Thatta girl.”

  The other guy started laughing, and with the dim light of the streetlight washing over him, she could see he was touching himself through his pants. She closed her eyes, squeezed them until it hurt, and prayed she’d get out of this. But even spraying them might not be enough.

  The sound of a zipper lowering had her eyes snapping open and her fear spiking.

  “Can’t say I’ll make this good for you, but you’ll definitely be feeling it afterward.”

  Bile rose in her throat, and when the one holding her against the wall backed off slightly, going for the zipper of his pants, she lifted her hand and pointed the spray right at his eyes. Depressing on the trigger, she sprayed the shit out of his eyes, feeling a small twinge of pride when he howled in pain.

  His friend cursed and came forward. He tried to dodge him, but he wrapped his hand around her hair, yanking her backward. She was slammed against the wall, and before she could do anything, he aimed his fist at her face and connected with her temple and eye. He then punched her in the stomach until she doubled over, gasping for air. She felt blood trickle down.

  Dizziness assaulted her, and she turned her head and threw up, not able to help it as pain consumed her. She felt blood trickle down her temple and eye, knew he’d split her skin, and she felt nausea fill her again.

  “You stupid fucking bitch. I’m going to fuck you so hard you bleed.”

  She couldn’t even rise, couldn’t even fight back for how sick she felt, for how much it hurt. But Elena couldn’t just sit here and take it.

  She was hauled up, and using all the strength she had, she brought her knee up, connected with his nuts.

  He grunted and cursed, and she was hit in the face again, so hard this time her head cracked back against the brick wall. Darkness threatened to take her, but before she let it claim her, the sound of a motorcycle came closer, the deep rumble filling her head. Lights filled the alley, and she blinked back the blurriness, trying to focus. But she couldn’t hear very well anymore, couldn’t see anything but a large, imposing figure walking toward them, his voice muffled, unintelligible, and sounding like the very devil himself.

  Was he her savior, or was this her end?

  Chapter 3

  Striker had watched the young woman leave the diner, parked in an alley across the street, knowing he should feel bad, feel like a creep for doing it, but not caring and not stopping. After she’d disappeared down the street, he’d sat, debating on going after her or just ignoring this need he suddenly had for her. He’d never had this sudden, intense reaction to a woman, and because of that, he had followed her, staying far enough behind she couldn’t hear his Harley, but following her noneth
eless.

  Just by looking at her, he’d seen that she was too damn sweet; this world would swallow her whole and spit her back out again.

  Fuck.

  She was alone, and even if he didn’t know her, he had a feeling she wasn’t the type of person able to really take care of herself. And by that, he meant going to any lengths.

  It wasn’t up to him to make it work, though.

  Fuck.

  He repeated that over and over again.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  And then he’d seen her walk past Dominion. He’d been so focused on the club, his outlet for a while now, that Striker lost sight of her for a moment, his surprise that she was stopping to stare at Dominion shocking him. And then he’d found her, saw her getting pulled into any alley, and rage filled him. Two men surrounded the woman, and they were scaring her, hurting her. He pulled into the alley, dismounted his bike quickly, and rushed toward her as one of them slammed his fist into her stomach, and the other hit her in the face.

  Striker charged, not thinking, only seeing these men dead. He grabbed one man’s arm, cupped his head, and slammed him against the brick wall. The other guy’s face was red, and the scent of chemicals filled his head. Good, she’d gotten the prick with pepper spray. The asshole released her, and she instantly fell in a heap on the ground, covering her face and crying.

  “What the fuck do you want?” the man still standing asked.

  “You touched her, hurt her,” Striker said, hoping this fucker was a good fighter, because he wanted this to last. He wanted this man’s blood on his hands; he wanted to hear the crunch of bones breaking against his knuckles.

  “Yeah, we’re going to have a taste of her cunt. You want a piece, you’re going to have to get in line.”

  This fucker was dead.

  “You’re not going to touch the girl,” he said, getting ready to attack.

  “Fuck off, she’s ours.” The man on the ground got up. He looked a little dazed, but even he wasn’t ready to back away. They were assholes.