Knot (Road Kill MC #2)

by Marata Eros

  She could be beautiful. Bright-green eyes narrow on me, taking in as much of me as I do of her. High cheekbones and a pouty mouth round out a face that is sprinkled with freckles across the bridge of her nose. She's fair, but not pasty. The blond hair does nothing for her, washing her out.

  The body. Her boobs look too big for her frame. They don't move when she does. Why would someone my age get their breasts done? I have time to think, like big boobs are so great.

  Then she's sticking her finger in my chest.

  I stagger backward.

  “Listen, bitch.”

  Holy crap. “Stop!” I say, trying to inch away from her.

  “I'm setting some shit straight.”

  I blink, rubbing my chest where she nailed me. “What shit?”

  She considers me. “Are you stupid or something? Repeating stuff?”

  Despite what I've been through, I'm definitely not stupid. I'm tired, hungry, and sexually confused.

  Very sexually confused.

  I don't need to be a pincushion for some girl that's got the wrong idea. “I'm not dumb. And stop poking me. Say what you need to without-without touching me.”

  Her lips curl.

  I wait.

  “I'm with Noose.”

  Just like that, my gut drops off a cliff. “Oh,” I manage.

  Her smile grows as she studies my expression. “He doesn't want a bitch with baggage. I don't have any. Sounds to me you got a whole bunch of luggage.” She crosses her arms, and her mounding, globe-like boobs squish together, creating the grand canyon of cleavage inside the red cut-out of her top.

  “Ah—”

  “So just blast off. He's MC. Ya know what that means, bank girl?”

  Bank girl? I think my IQ just dropped to double digits. I blink again.

  “Yes,” I reply, thinking of Anna, remembering Drake's fingers plundering me. “I sure do.” I gulp the hard knot of fear, sadness, and hopelessness.

  “Noose doesn't want difficult pussy. He doesn't want a bitch that's got a kid by some other stud horse. Got me?”

  The pit in my stomach widens. I nod stupidly. “I have you.”

  She turns and picks up something on the floor behind her. It's a sack I didn't notice she'd entered with.

  “I have some shit for you.” She turns the bag upside down, and clothes land in a pile on the floor. She sniffs. It’s the first delicate action she's made during our entire interchange.

  My throat narrows; unshed tears sear me. I won't let them come. Not if I can help it. Not in front of this girl Noose has apparently claimed.

  I take an inhale that burns to my toes. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  A little of her bravado leaks away, and she cocks her head. “You seem like an okay girl.”

  I stand there, naked and raw from my emotions.

  “I want to give you some advice. You don't belong here. Live your perfect life outside of Road Kill. You'll be okay,” she states as though making a stab at reassurance.

  She toes the clothes at my feet. “Don't have shit that'll cover that rack you got.” She snorts. “Your tits real?”

  I look down at my breasts. “Yeah.”

  Breathe, Rose, breathe. Concentrate on taking breaths and letting them out.

  “It'll get you out of that wasted thing. Prez told me to lend you some stuff.”

  I nod, picking up a tiny g-string, socks, tennis shoes, jeans, and a T-shirt. I give the bra a doubtful look.

  I keep my eyes wide so the tears won't fall. I look at the girl. “What's your name?”

  She blinks as though confused. “Crystal.”

  “Thank you,” I repeat.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  She turns to leave, and I stop her with my voice. “I don't have a perfect life.”

  Crystal shrugs, leaving.

  *

  Surprisingly, the things Crystal gave me fit reasonably well. The shirt is way tighter than I like, and the bra barely covers my nipples, but I don't care a bit. It's so terrific to be liberated from the awful dress, I have no words for the feeling of relief.

  Still, Crystal tore my heart out like a novice surgeon. No anesthetic, just brute force. I guess I needed it. I was starting to believe.

  Believe Noose.

  Believe in something outside myself.

  Dumb, Rose.

  I turn the knob on the door and push it open. The same guy looks down at me. All tough expression.

  “I need to go home,” I say.

  “Sure,” he says. “Let me clear it with Noose.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Things are complicated with Noose and I.”

  His lips twist. “Yeah, I'm getting that.”

  I sweep my eyes over him. He doesn't look like the rest of the bikers. “Are you a biker?”

  He pulls a face that obviously says you're a dumbshit.

  I stiffen my spine.

  “Yeah, I ride.” A lightbulb of understanding flickers over his features then is gone. “Oh, I'm a prospect.”

  “A what?”

  “I want to patch in—become a member of Road Kill.”

  “Does that mean you can get me home?”

  He's really confused now. “Yes,” he says slowly. “But I gotta clear it with Noose, or he'll string me up by the gonads.”

  Okay. “I'll tell him and come back here, okay?”

  His eyes flick to some doors across the noisy club, and I squint through the haze of smoke and bodies. “Is Noose over there?”

  He nods. “Can't miss the door. It's got a hangman's noose graphic.”

  Wonderful.

  “You clear it with him. I don't wanna catch flack.”

  I nod, turning away.

  Throughout the club, there are men and women twined around each other. Some guys are playing pool, but most have women on their laps. Sharing drinks. Laughing.

  Doing other stuff.

  I keep my eyes straight ahead of me, and I can feel their gazes pinned to my form as I walk, but no one says anything, thank God.

  I enter a dimly lit hall, my eyes moving over the pictures attached to the doors.

  On one of the doors is a classic hangman's noose. I straighten, wiping my damp palms on the borrowed jeans. I move forward with purpose.

  The door is barely cracked.

  I push it open just a bit with a fingertip, so nervous that I can barely stand it. I lick my lips, taking a deep breath. The space widens to about two inches. And there, in front of me is the girl who gave me the clothes.

  I mean, I'm not sure it's Crystal because her face is planted on Noose's dick.

  I sway.

  My hand steadies me against the doorjamb.

  Noose's strong hand is buried in her hair, and he's running her mouth down his cock.

  He's not gentle.

  I can't hear Crystal breathing. The only sound is the smacking of her mouth as it rims the tip of him only for him to slam her back down again.

  I step back, very gently closing the door.

  Turning, I walk back to the prospect in a numb, distant fog.

  “You see Noose?”

  I nod. Speech is impossible at the moment.

  “He okay with it? You leaving?”

  I have to think he's more than okay, since he couldn't wait to get a blow job the minute I rejected him.

  I nod again, clear my throat, and croak, “Couldn't wait to get rid of me.”

  He laughs. “Sounds like Noose.”

  Perfect. My stomach boils like it's filled with acid.

  His eyes narrow, looking at my face, then he seems to think better of saying anything. “Follow me. We'll get you home all safe and sound.”

  Safe and sound.

  I don't think I'll ever feel safe again.

  11

  Noose

  “The hearing's on Tuesday.”

  Wring nods. His blond buzz cut leaves his ears sort of stranded on the side of his head, and scars litter his scalp like small cutouts of pearly flesh. He leans back i
n his seat, crossing his arms. “So we've got Trainer on her.” Wring shrugs. “He's not going to leave her, Noose.”

  I know that. But fucking Diablo will not take our interference lying down. There will be retribution.

  I want Rose to know I'm there for the bullshit hearing. I've got her back. Even if she told me to leave.

  Hard to swallow—even if she doesn't want to fuck me. My lips thin into a grim line. Her body sure wants to fuck me. But that's not enough.

  I want her mind. I want her will.

  I want Rose.

  Lifting my cell, I wag it at Wring. “Trainer says she's at her parents’.”

  “She'll be there awhile. Explaining what's gone down,” Wring says.

  I bet she'll leave out the version of my tongue in her pussy and the fingers. An image of Diablo’s fingers in Rose's pussy has me fucking pissed again.

  Wring studies my face, only the rumble of our bikes in the background. We're about three blocks from Rose's parents’ house. I'm hanging out, thinking of what I've got to do.

  “What?” Wring asks. His eyes look like twin discs of shadows in his face. The streetlight from across the street doesn't reach our position.

  “Thinking about what we came in on back there.”

  “Chaos?” he asks in confirmation.

  I nod. I toss the cig butt on the ground and grind it under my heel. “That fucker Diablo—didn't look like he was hurting her.”

  Wring glances away for a second then back at me. “Word is, that fucker is psycho.”

  “Tell me something new. Fucking rapist,” I spit.

  “Not exactly.”

  My head snaps in his direction from scanning the street, waiting for Rose's little car to cruise past. “Explain.”

  Wring swings his palms up inoffensively. “Listen, man—it's the word. But seeing how Rose was getting it, seems to be true.”

  “If you don't tell me what the cryptic fuck you're talking about in the next two seconds, we're gonna go.”

  Wring snorts. “Fine, ya prick. First, Diablo is a rapist. He likes to be one of many. Team player.”

  “Not funny.” I swirl my finger, urging him to go on.

  He agrees with a nod. “So he turns the girls on. Just works their bodies until they're so turned on, they finally let him rape them.”

  I jerk my head back. “How is that rape?”

  “It is.” Wring taps his head. “It's a mental thing, form of torture. Think about it. Girl gets kidnapped. Scared out of her fucking mind. Then she's made to get all fixed up, gets splayed out in front of a bunch of men she doesn't know.”

  My memory flashes on Rose's sexy outfit, the hair, and the makeup. “Go on.” My fingers burn with adrenaline and anger. I have no outlet.

  Wring's eyes flick to mine. “We know how long a human being takes to burn through the fight-or-flight response.”

  Neither of us says anything. We don't need to.

  “Diablo is somewhat skilled in this area, apparently. He plays with the pussy, gets the girl wet—while shame is there—fear, anxiety. But all those emotions are heightened ones. That's what makes it so bad. It's the sheer unexpectedness of it.”

  I can't stand it. “So Rose was turned on?” I growl.

  “Don't kill the messenger, Noose.”

  I hop off the bike, letting it run. I pace the shadowy sidewalk. Night took the day down in one swallow hours ago. I whirl, remembering Diablo's glossy fingers.

  I yell, rage and horror mixed.

  “Fuck!” Wring jumps off the bike, hitting his stride and hopping the step up from the road to sidewalk in two steps. “Shut the fuck up, Noose!” He slaps my shoulder, and my lips clamp shut.

  My fists ready, I step into his chest.

  Wring's pale-blue eyes narrow. “Save this for Diablo.”

  “He made her want to fuck him through tricks.”

  Wring slams his palms into my chest, and I stagger backward.

  Wrong move.

  I jump him. We tumble off the sidewalk, and I chop him a good one in the jaw as we land.

  “Fucker!” Wring mutters and drives a fist into my gut.

  The wind sings out of me. Goddamn.

  Wring sinks fingers into my T-shirt, jerking me nose-to-nose with him. “You dumb fucker, Rose didn't want to fuck him. She had no choice.” Wring shakes me until my teeth rattle. “He was torturing her more by forcing her body to accept it!” he seethes, dropping my ass.

  Air whoops through me.

  My palms slap the grass. I hike my ass to standing.

  Wring's chest heaves, and a red mark rides his jaw. “Think about it, Noose.” He shakes his head. “Forget thinking. You've apparently forgotten how.”

  I glower.

  “Rose would never want to have sex with the man responsible for killing her sister, right? And they were holding her down. What girl could last, with a guy who knows how to pleasure a woman continuously working her pussy?”

  My chin dips. Fuck.

  His voice is soft. “That's right. Nobody. Eventually, fight and flight leaves; adrenaline dies out. If they weren't hurting her, her body would eventually just do what it wanted without her permission. Think, Noose.”

  I don't want to think about another man turning Rose on—a man who doesn't want her pleasure at all. He just wants to fuck her over. Literally.

  “How did you respond to all this? After we got her out of there.”

  I meet his eyes. “I fucked up.”

  Wring chuckles. “If this is any indicator…”

  I glare at him again. “I made sure she was okay in the doc's.” I shrug.

  “How okay?” Wring asks, eyes hooded. Cocksucker knows me.

  “Got her off. Couldn't help it. Saw her with Diablo, and I had to—”

  “Just had to mark your territory, eh?”

  “I'm not peeing on her, Wring.” I sound sullen.

  “I bet she feels like you were.”

  Hadn't thought about it that way. Thought I was showing restraint when I really wanted to go balls deep. Make her mine. Solidify shit. Fuck. I screwed things six ways to Sunday. Then I let Crystal suck me off. Like I needed that complication.

  I fold my arms. “Okay, I royally fucked up.”

  Wring nods, and I just keep the scowl going.

  “Come clean with her, Noose. Give her the day. Then say—Monday, get your dumb ass over to the bank. Ask her out for lunch.”

  “A date?”

  Wring's smirk is deadly. “Yeah, dumbass. Show her you're not all caveman, if possible. Convince her that she's more than tail. If that's how you feel.”

  My chin comes up, and I clench my jaw. “I threw down for her, didn't I?”

  “We wouldn't be having this happy little convo if I thought she was just pussy.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, savagely tightening my hair tie. He's right.

  “If the hearing is Tuesday, and Diablo has to be there, what's wrong with you showing up for Rose? Think about it. If your blood had been beaten to death by Diablo, wouldn't you want someone like yourself at your back?”

  I grind my teeth. “Yeah. I had planned to be there.”

  “She's got to want you there, Noose. Not so sure she does, given our MC status.”

  “Crystal talked to her, told her we had a thing.”

  Surprise washes over Wring's features. “News to me.”

  I scrub my face with a rough palm. “ʼCuz we're not.”

  “Crystal wants to be somebody's property, Noose. Can't blame a girl for trying.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, she's got a mouth like a vacuum. She gets me off, but I'm not interested in anything permanent.”

  “That's what the sweet butts are for. But Crystal didn't get the memo, told your girl Rose something different. She takes off with the prospect, and pretty much everything you did for her to this point is suspect.”

  “Rose thinks I wanted to have a novelty fuck?” I make a noise of disbelief. I wouldn't work this hard for a fuck. Hell, I don't work to get
laid. Easy pussy is everywhere.

  I'd already had the mental conversation with myself that I apparently liked complicated pussy now. Rose's.

  I shake my head. “No way.”

  “But she might think it. Her perspective. Try to wrap your stubborn brain around the concept that she's not telepathic.”

  I flip him off.

  In the distance, I hear a noise like a wound-up tin can. Rose.

  I stand up straight and move to the bike.

  Wring and I flip our legs over our seats simultaneously. We're parked along a narrow green corridor of trees bordered by a sparsely pebbled area for bicycles.

  We parked our rides there instead.

  A little white car cruises past.

  Blond hair flashes from the back seat. The kid. Charlie.

  I barely make out Rose’s outline. It's her, though. I feel like I can scent her across the road and through the glass.

  Our prospect, Trainer, rides by about five seconds later. His eyes find us in the darkness, and he gives the barest nod.

  Rose probably doesn't realize that the protection she didn't want is there anyway.

  Whether she likes it or not.

  12

  Rose

  I never thought I'd get sick of hugging.

  My parents are exhausting. I love them, but God! I'm stuffed. They fed me every protein-layered thing I could eat until I was so full, I thought I would barf.

  Charlie is ready to go home, and I'm ready. I've given the most assurances of my life.

  Yes, I won't leave ever again without my candy. No, I won't be with anyone ever who doesn't know about my medical issue.

  I'm so tired, I'm sleeping on my feet. It's almost eleven o'clock on Saturday night.

  One day off until work. One day of thinking about all the things that've happened in the last week—the last twenty-four hours—and trying to compartmentalize them into place inside my brain so that they make sense.

  It's hopeless. I can't make sense of anything. Noose. Drake. My life.

  Forget it.

  I keep my eyes on the road while Charlie prattles on about all the treats and fun he had at Nana and Papa's.

  I smile, nodding at all the appropriate places.

  But my mind keeps circling back to Noose. How alive I felt in his arms. How vital I felt as his lips, tongue, and hands worked my body. His smell.