by Keta Kendric
“When I attempted to get into her financials to see where the money from her books sales was going, I discovered that the money goes through an organization called the Phoenix Foundation, which then distributes it to other non-profit organizations.”
The crease in my forehead deepened. “What? Are you saying she doesn’t use any of the money for herself? How the fuck is she living?” I asked D, knowing he hadn’t found the answer yet, or he would have told me.
D’s update had my mind reeling. Working off a debt for her sister was a fucking rouse if Megan had the ability to give money away. How the fuck was she living and more importantly, why had she chosen to spend thirty days among my MC?
D continued. “Man, that’s one of the questions I’ve been trying to find answers to. When I hacked into her social media accounts, they were all under Megan Jones, but that was it; no state, city, or anything associated with an actual person. She gives the bare minimum as far as information goes and the details she gives leads to dead ends. All I know is she’s someplace in the United States and I ain’t even one hundred on that.”
D remained silent for a moment before he continued. When he started using slang terms, I knew something had stumped him. D was the whitest white boy I knew, but he’d grown up in one of the worst areas in Philly, so he was about as hood as they came.
While some men ran around playing hard, D had shared with me stories of his childhood that rivaled my own. He’d seen as much action on the streets of Philly as we’d seen as soldiers in the active warzones we were exposed to.
“Knox, man, I’m still searching. I can’t tell you yet who the hell this Megan is and where the hell she’s at. The driver’s license you scanned me is registered to a legit Texas address. But, Aaron, get this shit. When I hacked into the DMV and pulled up the Megan Jones that belonged at that Texas address, it was not the same Megan Jones whose face was on the license you scanned me. Your pretty brown Megan had put her face on a pretty white Megan’s driver’s license.”
“What the fuck?” I asked, not believing what I was hearing. Who the fuck had I been sleeping with for two weeks? Who the fuck had I been obsessing over?
The updates D was sharing had me beyond pissed and so irritated, the vein in my forehead throbbed. Megan had played me. She’d played my entire MC, pretending to be someone else so she could get whatever the hell she wanted from us. The worst part of the situation was, I still didn’t know what the fuck she’d wanted from us or why.
“I’ll keep digging, Knox.” D’s voice pulled me away from the dark anger that nipped at my mind and planted deadly intent there. “I have another assignment. It’s a field assignment, but I’ll work on this for you when I can,” D stated. “I’ll call you later to let you know what else I find out.”
“Thanks, D,” I managed before hanging up. I didn’t bother D when he had what he called field assignments. There were times when he went black, and I knew it meant some type of illegal operation that involved violence and likely, death.
My fingers clenched tighter around Megan’s driver’s license. I’d intended to have D check her out the day I’d taken it from her purse, but I’d gotten distracted: the sex, the cooking, her ability to make me feel like I was something special. Even her ability to endure the occasional bouts of violence that had crept into my life had blinded me to who or what she truly was. She’d masterfully seduced me and made me see only what she wanted me to see.
The driver’s license was the only thing of hers I had, and I’d just found out that it wasn’t truly hers. I was hot at this point, so angry with her for fooling me that I wanted to hurt someone. All of that longing and need I’d had for her was being eaten by pure unadulterated rage. Through gritted teeth, I grumbled at the license in my hand. “When I find you, whoever the fuck you are, I’m going to make you sorry you ever met me.”
3 Megan
I couldn’t stop licking my parted lips or stop my nails from clawing into Aaron’s back. “So fucking good.” I chanted dirty words at him, but he was a man that didn’t need any encouragement. The man could fuck so good that I was prepared to drop my panties anytime he wanted it. It didn’t matter if I was eating, or sleeping or cleaning. I’d stop whatever the hell I was doing and let him take me any way he wanted it.
“Shit, baby, you’re fucking me so damn good. You’re going to make me cum.”
And that was exactly what I was about to do. Every time he sank into me, he brushed past my G-spot and reached as far as he could go inside my pussy, stroking an untapped desire; a mixture of pain and pleasure that drove me clean out of my fucking mind. Jesus, his dick was so big and delicious. Aaron had the biggest dick I’d ever seen in person, and he knew how to use it masterfully.
I’d never experienced anything like it and I couldn’t get enough. One of my legs was wrapped around his back. The other leg was raised high in the air as his strong hand gripped and pushed against the back of my ankle.
He slowed up the forceful pounding and started the grinding thrust that left him planted deep inside me. God, he was massaging every pleasure zone inside me, making my body bend and fold and flex to his every movement. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything but scream for him to keep fucking me.
Finally, when I believed my heart was about to burst, an orgasm ripped through me with the force of a hurricane. Stars started to sparkle as they fell and rained down pleasure all over me.
My mattress danced under my startled body as I sprang up with a start. My harsh breaths got away from me as my hand bobbed atop my heaving chest. I kicked angrily at my covers, pushing them away from my legs, upset that my pleasure wasn’t real. The steady flow of cool air coming from the vent above my bed did nothing to cool my hot body.
I’d had another one of those pussy-wetting dreams about Aaron, the unforgettable man I’d been sleeping with, but had no other choice but to walk away from. In the two weeks that I’d spent with him, we’d slept together so many times I’d lost count.
He’d lured my body into every position imaginable. Had coaxed countless orgasms out of me. Had encouraged me to embrace my sexual appetite, one that I wasn’t aware I possessed. With him, I had thrown my insecurities out the window and enjoyed our time together.
Aaron had given me the best sexual experiences I’d ever had in my life. Now, I craved him. My body ached for him. I longed to feel him possess me like only he could. I was convinced that no one would ever be able to do to me what Aaron had done. No one else would ever measure up. No other man would ever be able to fill me up to near bursting with not only pleasure but strong hard dick.
It had been weeks since I’d gathered the strength and left Aaron, one of the sexiest and finest men I’d ever come across.
The man should put a patent on techniques for fucking because he’d turned me out. His tall, medium frame was built of pure sin and seduction. His tight abs, his sensuous lips, his dark blond hair, his piecing blue eyes, and his collection of tattoos was nothing short of a modern marvel. The man had enough in his sex arsenal to stop any woman in her tracks.
Before meeting Aaron, I’d never been into sex other than to satisfy my urge when I’d gotten one. Before him, I could literally go months without so much as a twinge of desire awakening within me. Now, weeks without him had me twitchy like a fucking addict.
Frantic hands, contorted face, legs jumping, I was a body-aching mess. I was the worst kind of addict and I feared Aaron was the only one that could give me what I needed. I had done endless miles of running over the last few weeks in a failed attempt to get Aaron off my mind. If I kept up my pace, I was going to end up blowing out my fucking knees.
I forced myself to roll out of bed so I could take another in a line of cold showers. Like all the other dreams I’d had about Aaron, this one had left my pussy soaking wet, and I’d be forced to finish myself off with my fingers. Masturbation got the job done, but it didn’t come close to satisfying me the way Aaron could.
After a q
uick cold shower at three in the damn morning, I sat at my laptop and began to work on my latest manuscript. Beyond the mask of decency and benevolence I stayed hidden behind, I showed the world the dark side that lurked within me through my books, a twisted part of me that I have managed to keep well hidden. A part of me I had yet to understand. A part that scared the shit out of me as much as it excited me.
Aaron was one of a few people who I’d revealed a part of my darkness to. Infiltrating one of Florida’s most dangerous motorcycle clubs was an idea that I’d been considering for months after I’d moved to the area. But, if I was going to pull off something that dangerous and crazy and live to tell about it, I had to plan well.
Even with my planning, I’d never expected to get into the MC the way I had. I’d veered so far off my original course that I had to adopt a new one. Who would have ever thought that the August Knights would take me in, allow me to work for them, and allow me anywhere near the inner workings of their club? I’d even been put in a position where I’d ended up with a gun in my hands twice and had pulled the trigger twice.
Of all the obstacles I’d faced while working for the August Knights, nothing had impacted me the way Aaron had. I missed him so badly that I’d been tempted to do something as stupid as veer off plan and visit him again.
But, however strong my urges were for him, returning to him was one thing I knew I couldn’t do. I could never go back. If Aaron found out I’d used him and his MC and the true reason why, I was sure that he would kill me. Knowing what I knew about him and how he operated, killing me was a certainty.
The idea of Aaron looking for me had crossed my mind, but even if he searched for me, I’d put a few measures in place to keep myself hidden. He had no idea I was about four hundred miles away from him, right under his nose in South Florida.
I dropped my ever-running thoughts of Aaron and proceeded to write the third installment of my Motorcycle Club series. The information I’d gathered while with Aaron’s MC had given me ideas, insight, and so much material that I had enough for a seven-book series.
If the MC were to ever find out I’d used them, they would definitely send Aaron to kill me. The way I saw it, I’d done what any good investigative journalist would do. Sometimes, you had to go into the belly of the beast to get the answers you needed and the ideas that gave you the edge over your adversaries.
I was willing to do things that many others weren’t willing to do. I was willing to take risks that some would never consider. If I didn’t put myself out there, I’d lose my edge, and losing my edge could mean death to someone in my situation. Losing my edge could mean death for someone with my jagged, dark past…a past that never stopped lurking. One that I knew would never stop hunting me.
4 Aaron
Another week and no fucking updates on Megan. I’d spent the week running guns and was forced to delay what I considered my most important task—tracking down Megan’s lying ass. The longer it took me to find her, the more my rage against her grew.
The first place I’d decided to investigate was the address on the driver’s license. D hadn’t found any new leads yet, and like me, he’d been called away on one of his field assignments.
So far, all D and I knew was that Megan Jones was not only the name Megan wrote her books under, it was also an alias to hide who she truly was. It bothered the fuck out of me that I had no idea who this woman was. Facts were, she was as dangerous as anyone in my MC. The scariest part of the situation was that we’d never allowed an outsider to get that close to us. Megan could have killed all of us if she’d had a mind to do so.
Since I couldn’t sleep, I’d chosen to depart during the middle of the night and had driven the long stretch from Florida to Texas. I was tired as fuck but restless at the same time. My body was exhausted, but my mind was too anxious to stop me from tracking down Megan or whoever the fuck she was.
A little after seven in the morning, I sat outside the office building of the lady whose address was on the driver’s license. I’d tried the home address on the license, but no one had answered the door. D had linked the woman’s home address on the driver’s license with her place of business.
Going straight into investigative mode, I hadn’t even bothered to check into a motel. Instead, I’d parked my truck across the street from the office building and fed the parking meter some of the change from my ashtray before I hiked across the paved street.
When people started to enter the building, I merged my body in with a group and followed them in. I’d observed enough to know that this wasn’t one of those buildings that had metal detectors and guards that wanted to see credential before you were allowed in.
A fresh, welcoming aroma met me as soon as I stepped inside the building. The open floor plan allowed me to look up several stories to a giant tinted-glass ceiling. There was a coffee shop, a restaurant, and a few small shopping outlets on the first floor. You could glance up and on certain floors, see the large scripted letters that showcased the names of some of the businesses.
In the lounge area near the coffee shop, people sat with their laptops opened or swiping at their iPads, drinking coffee, and conversing. Their interactions with each other were loud and animated, no doubt, the caffeine doing its job.
The click of heels alerted me to a group of three women walking in my direction. Their conversations ceased as all three glared at me like I was a mouth-watering steak being prepared to their liking. I’d shave my beard off, so my face was cleaner and fresher-looking, I presumed. I’d pulled my hair back into a ponytail, secured by a rubber band which I thought made me look more approachable.
One of the ladies licked her lips suggestively, one’s eyebrows shot up as a gleaming smile spread across her face, and the other just gawked. Their pace slowed considerably the closer they got to me. Their heels scraped against the floor as they made an abrupt stop in front of me, halting my movement.
As if practiced, the group greeted me in unison. “Hello,” they sang. Their greeting was followed by girlish giggles.
The brunette from the group asked, “Can I help you?” Her seductive tone and heated gaze indicated that she was offering the kind of help that could only be given behind closed doors.
After shaking my head no to the question, I greeted them with a quick, “Good morning,” and zipped around them, quickening my steps to get away from them.
Clicking heels started up again, and their voices carried on purpose, I was sure.
“I’d like to help him all right. Right out of those clothes,” one stated before they all laughed.
Another one of them expressed, “I’d like for him to help me out with something on my desk.”
Their not-so-quiet banter made me smile. I’d gotten used to women treating me like I was a piece of meat. Therefore, I didn’t feel bad about my tendency to fuck them once and leave them. However, it was too bad I’d been unable to apply that same principle to Megan’s conniving ass.
The glass-encased legend on the lobby wall displayed that the Megan Jones attached to the address on the driver’s license was an attorney that worked out of an office on the seventh floor. Could there be a connection that tied this Megan to my Megan?
As I turned to head towards the elevators, I was nearly trampled by another woman, and was hit with, “Hi, can I escort you to where you need to go?”
A lanky blonde with a blue business jacket and a short pink skirt that showed off legs for days had found her way into my personal space. Her attire indicated she worked someplace within the building. The woman didn’t hide her scanning eyes as they roamed my body from head to toe.
“Thank you,” I said. “But, I think I can find my way.”
She leaned in closely, and for a moment, I thought the woman was going to kiss me until I caught the flash of a business card she had pinched between her manicured fingers.
“You ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me,” she offered, not the least bit ashamed that she was flirting with a perfect s
tranger, giving him an invite to her pussy as far as I was concerned.
I smiled and nodded my head as I took the card, being careful not to engage her in conversation so that I could continue with my mission. She hadn’t even bothered to ask my name, which reinforced what I was to her. When she walked away, I didn’t have to glance back in her direction to sense her eyes all over me.
In jeans and a white T-shirt, I was likely the most plainly dressed person in the building, but people, especially women, often went out of their way to be nice to me.
With over fifty tattoos scattered all over my body, shoulder-length hair, and a darkly-shadowed chin, I wasn’t exactly the kind of man a woman wanted to take home to meet her family.
However, I was the man a woman didn’t mind having a one-night stand with; the one they didn’t mind cheating on their husbands with or the one they’d fuck in just about any location at any time.
At times, I didn’t think they saw a person. I was a package. I was the epitome of the bad boy they fantasized about. I was the walking image of someone they wanted to fuck, and no matter what I did to myself: beard, no beard, short hair or long, I’d never be the man they would take home to family or the one they wanted to marry. Shit, I wasn’t even the one they would take out to a restaurant, and the thought of having a kid with my ass probably gave them nightmares.
I took the elevator up to the attorney’s floor, hoping she would shed some light on why someone was using her address and name as an alias.
My pace slowed when I walked into the highly fashioned and stylish-looking office. I glanced down at myself and around at the expensive paintings, the glossy floors, and highly varnished and perfectly finished furnishings.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked before my eyes made the full journey around the office space. Her wide smile danced under sparkling green eyes.