by Layla Frost
Giving me heaven then threatening me with the hell of losing her.
Needing to be coated in her come before I filled her with mine, I held her hips and took over, going faster. Harder. My hips rose automatically, not wanting to be away from her perfection.
I was being rough, pounding into her as I thrust up, but she took it.
All of it.
And she did it demanding, “Don’t stop. I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you stop.”
“Violent,” I grunted back.
“Uh—” she started before it hit her.
Squeezing so tight my eyes lost focus, she exploded around me.
Thank Christ.
“Lean back,” I grunted.
She arched to do as I said, her tits in the air as she held on behind her.
Holding her skirt out of the way, I lifted her up and down my length, watching her pussy take my dick like it was made for me—‘cause my dick was damn sure made for her. I didn’t let up as I pumped into her, coming hard enough to see stars.
“Fuckin’ hell, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” I panted when I could think again.
Slumped forward, my femme fatale princess leisurely raised her head and pushed her wild hair from her face. She looked sexy, hell yeah, but also prettier than anything I’d ever seen. “Everyone’s gotta go sometime. Might as well go out with a bang.”
And then she smiled wickedly and clenched her pussy.
Fuckin’ perfection.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
___________________________
YAY
OPHELIA
I WAS EXHAUSTED.
I’d been tired before. Even what I thought was exhaustion.
But, minus a few rough weeks during nursing school, I’d never experienced true exhaustion.
Not until that moment.
Practically swaying on my shitkicker-clad feet, I stood in a motel parking lot next to the bike as Judge got everything locked down for the night.
“You doin’ okay?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
He stood and wrapped an arm around me, kissing my forehead. “Yeah, you’re good. My fuckin’ soldier.”
After our outdoor adventure the day before, we’d gone shopping to get me some biker gear. I’d gotten a pair of boots, a few extra pairs of jeans, and my own leather jacket—though Judge had promised I could wear his whenever I wanted.
Once we’d gotten everything I’d need, we’d gone back to the clubhouse to find Haze, Glitch, Hollywood, Scythe, and Jury there. They’d crashed on the couch or extra beds so no one overslept—which had been smart because we’d gotten on the road before five.
In the morning.
But as I stood, dead on my feet at a small motel in Virginia, I was glad we’d left early. Between stops for gas, the bathroom, and food—not to mention, traffic and construction—it was nearly eight.
And, according to Judge, the next day would be just as long.
“Let’s get you to bed,” Judge said, his own steps slow as we walked over to where Jury was coming out of the office.
He handed us a keycard. “I’m going across the street for a beer. Coming?”
“Nah, gonna crash. Don’t stay out too late, tomorrow’s gonna be rough.”
“Not my first rodeo, asshole.”
Judge flipped him off, but also added a verbal, “Fuck off.”
Hollywood and Jury headed across the way while Scythe and Haze seemed to be opting for sleep.
I scanned the parking lot while Judge unlocked the door, but I didn’t see the white van. Thinking on it, I hadn’t seen it for most of the day. Worry hit my stomach. “Where’s Glitch?”
Judge opened the door, turning on the light and looking around before moving so I could enter. “Van doesn’t ride like a bike and guzzles gas like a motherfucker. He’ll be here in an hour.”
“Oh good.” Not bothering to take off my boots, I belly flopped onto the bed. “Motel sex?”
“Fuck yeah. But in the morning. Don’t want you falling asleep and choking while you’re going down on me.”
“Told you yesterday, everyone goes some time. I’ll go out doing what I love.” I paused and blinked, but my eyes refused to open. “At least I’m guessing I’ll love going down on you.”
“You can find out for sure in the morning when you suck my dick while you ride my face.”
“Yay,” I said.
Or maybe I just thought it.
I wasn’t sure because about ten seconds after, I crashed.
JUDGE
Yay.
I told her she could suck my dick while she rides my face, and she said yay.
Ophelia may not have been a biker bunny, but the whole day riding without a single complaint from her fuckable lips showed she was born to ride a bike.
And her yaying at my filthy mouth showed she was born to ride a biker, too.
Waiting a few minutes to make sure she was fully asleep, I pulled off her boots. I couldn’t get to the button on her jeans, so those would have to wait. I tugged the blanket out from under her carefully, but she was so dead to the world, I could’ve yanked it, and I doubted she’d wake.
Covering her, I sat at the foot of the bed and switched on the TV, flipping through the muted channels until I reached ESPN. I watched the highlights but kept an eye on my phone.
When it rang, it wasn’t the number I’d been anticipating.
My gut turned to stone, and I answered, saying, “What’s wrong?”
“My pregnant wife is gonna lose her mind, and I don’t think tacos and bodega Twinkies will fix it.”
Hell.
“What happened?” I asked Nox.
There was a quiet click followed by a deep inhale.
“You’re quitting,” I heard Beck say in the background.
“The way this shit is going, it’ll be a fookin’ miracle if Gus doesn’t take up smoking when the baby is born,” Nox bit out.
Moving to the bathroom, I closed the door almost all the way. “I’ve been gone less than a day, what the hell is going on?”
“Picked up another Nash castoff, but this one had info and was talkative… when he still could.”
“Okay, and?”
“One of Nash’s high-class girls has a sugar-Grandpa.”
Not much got to me, but the visual of that churned my stomach.
“Guess where he lives,” Nox continued.
“Elder Oaks.”
“Aye.”
The dots were coming together, but one to form a picture I wanted to brain bleach away. Knowing that couldn’t be it, I prodded, “And?”
“And Elder Oaks is apparently the place for rest, relaxation, and a drug ring to rival any cartel. Guess who our own Pablo fookin’ Escobar is.”
My mind went to Ophelia and her easy acceptance of the drugs I’d helped Nox distribute. It made sense that she hadn’t been fazed if she’d been doing the same.
Except at some point, she’d have told me so I could protect her.
And her involvement wouldn’t upset Gus, and therefore Nox.
“Holy shit,” I drawled.
“Holy shit is right. Gus told her nan what I went away for, and the euchre-hustler decided she wanted to upgrade to a drug Robin Hood. Her and her blue hairs have been conning the doctors with all their rich people pains, stockpiling the drugs to slip to me. Like I’d want, or be able to, smuggle thousands of damn dollars of medication out.”
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed.
“That’s what Dair did. You’re all off your fookin’ nut.”
“You know as well as I do, crime doesn’t discriminate.”
“Aye, but Gus’ nan? I went straight there after the bastard gave up the info. Figured I’d sniff around and see if any of the staff stuck out. Wanna know what Ms. Carol Anne did when she saw I was there without Gus? Proud as hell, opened a locked storage closet filled with pills. I don’t even know half the shit they stockpiled. Told her to shut down her elderly cartel, hopefu
lly she listens.”
The puzzle was coming together, but there were still pieces missing. “How’d O get dragged in?”
“The old man must’ve told Nash’s girl about their operation. You’ll have to ask your lass why they’d think she was involved.”
I looked out through the crack to see she hadn’t moved. “It’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow.”
“Aye. I’m tryin’ to find Nash, but he’s in the wind and hasn’t been to his Fortress of Fuckery in weeks. In the meantime, I’ll put the word in the right ears your lass is not involved.”
I didn’t hesitate, not for a second, before saying, “And let them know coming after her means coming after Mayhem.”
Backing her with Mayhem was big, but Nox didn’t question it. “Fun to see the boom from the outside.”
“Don’t you have to go tell your wife her grandma is El Chapo?”
“Fookin’ hell. Be in touch.”
We clicked off, and I returned to my spot at the edge of the bed.
It took longer than I’d expected, but my phone vibrated with the text I’d been waiting for.
Glitch: Pulling in.
My gut clenched and adrenaline raced through my veins like I’d shot up with Red Bull.
Quietly, I slipped from the room, easing the door closed behind me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
___________________________
RAZOR BLADES AND SALT
OPHELIA
WAKING SUDDENLY, I had a panicked moment of disorientation as I tried to figure out where I was. When my eyes focused and my brain fog lifted, I remembered we were in a motel.
Well, I was.
Because no one was in bed with me. And even though I couldn’t see through walls, I somehow knew no one was in the bathroom.
I gingerly climbed out of bed, my muscles protesting each movement.
I’ve been asleep for two hours. Why does it feel like I reverse slept and am more tired now than before?
After checking the bathroom to confirm Judge wasn’t in there, I looked for a note, wondering if maybe he’d changed his mind about going out with Jury and Hollywood.
There was nothing.
Maybe he went for ice.
Or a candy bar.
It’s a scientifically proven fact that vending machine candy tastes seventy-percent better than store bought.
Opening the door and going out into the night seemed like the kind of thing a stupid chick in an action movie would do right before she was kidnapped by bad guys. And, while that happening in real life was probably rare, so were apartments getting ransacked by bad guys.
So, the door stayed closed.
But I did shove the warped and faded armchair out of the way to look out the window.
And see Judge.
But not alone.
There was a woman standing with him. And, even in the dim, flickering parking lot lights, it was easy to see she was beautiful.
Maybe she’s just asking for directions?
She launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
Directions to his penis.
My stomach twisted and clenched, my chest becoming so tight, I couldn’t breathe.
I stormed toward the door, ready to throw it open and go off. Grasping my last, tenuous strand of control, I forced myself to stop with my hand on the knob.
There’s probably a good reason.
There has to be.
I fought to breathe deep and think rationally, but the elephant on my chest made the former hard and the jealousy controlling my emotions made the latter impossible.
My mind raced, trying to come up with a valid excuse, but I couldn’t because I didn’t know why we were there in the first place.
Without that info, I couldn’t know what kind of excuse was valid.
Exhausted, emotional, and not thinking clearly, my brain kept circling around to how little I knew about the business side of Court of Mayhem.
I knew Judge wasn’t riding his bike on the straight and narrow. His version of right and wrong didn’t always line up with the law, and he didn’t hesitate to do what he felt needed to be done.
Like, toss someone into the back of a van.
Or kick someone in the kidney after they’d been kicked in the junk.
That tiny hint of doubt made a thin crack, and everything else rushed to work at it, splitting my insecurities and doubts wide open.
The way we met.
The way he’d pulled away after sex, becoming quiet and withdrawn.
The way he was upfront about so much but wouldn’t tell me why we were travelling across multiple states.
The way she’d hugged him.
Pissed off, I pulled on my boots—ones he must’ve thoughtfully removed, the bastard. I didn’t know if I wanted to do the stupidly irrational thing and flee into the night or do the stupidly crazy thing and run outside to confront him in the middle of a parking lot.
Before I could decide, the door behind me opened. I swung around to see Judge filling the doorway.
His eyes dropped to my feet and narrowed before shooting back up. Since he was Judge, and that meant he didn’t miss much, his body tightened at whatever he saw in my expression. “The fuck?”
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
He closed the door. “Why’re your boots on, O?”
“Why’re you hugging a random woman in a motel parking lot?”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What do you think was happening?”
I had to give him credit, he didn’t go on the defensive and question why I was spying on him. I’d have likely beat him with the remote—at least in my head.
Or maybe in reality.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was capable of anymore.
“I think you were hugging a pretty woman,” I shot back.
Approaching slowly, like a graceful predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security, his voice was even.
Eerily calm.
“And the logical conclusion was I brought you across multiple states so I could hug a chick in the parking lot? Which, you woulda looked for longer than two seconds, you’d have seen she hugged me, and I transferred that hold to Scythe.” He paused for a moment and tilted his head, the angle and shadows making his strong, defined jaw look like it was chiseled from granite. “Or you thinking she’s here ‘cause I’m trafficking whores like that motherfucker?”
I opened my mouth to deny it, even though the thought had crossed my overwrought mind.
Before I could speak, he put his finger up. “Don’t. Don’t fuckin’ speak whatever lie is about to come outta that damn mouth.”
“Judge—”
“Fuck, O. Your attitude makes me hard and your jealous streak makes me harder, but this?” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side as he shook his head. “This is fucked.”
There was a lot I could’ve said to diffuse the situation, but I was still riding the high of my emotions and the guilt of my accusations. “We met when you—”
“I know!” he shouted before inhaling deeply, fighting for control. “I fuckin’ know what I did. Don’t regret it—got you safe and in my life—but I put you through hell for a day. Said I was sorry. Showed it. Explained, sharing shit that could get me in serious trouble. And not just me, my brothers, too. But I trusted you and thought you understood. Thought we were past it.”
“We are,” I said honestly, regret clawing up my throat, as though it could clutch my stupid words and drag them back in.
“But you wanna keep throwin’ it in my face.” Pulling his gun from his waistband, he held the barrel and offered me the grip. “You’re that pissed, take it. Press it to my fuckin’ skull. Use it to jack the van and go home.”
Keeping my eyes on him, I reached out and slowly wrapped my fingers around the gun.
There was no flash of surprise or fear. No regret or sudden move to snatch it back.
He didn’t even blink
.
I set it on the dresser. “You’re a psycho.”
“Yeah, but I’m your psycho. Trust you with my life, O. But,” he threw an arm out toward the door, “this shit isn’t about me. I couldn’t risk you running again and telling someone ‘cause you’re pissed at me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“How am I supposed to know that?”
I crossed my arms. “So I’m supposed to trust you, but you don’t trust me?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m in this. But at the first sign of trouble, you got your boots on, ready to run. How am I supposed to trust you when you think, even for a second, I’m like that motherfucker?” His voice was thick as he gritted out, “You think I pimp out whores? Get ‘em hooked on smack and crank and whatever else they can pop, snort, or shoot and then turn ‘em out ‘til there’s nothing left. You think I’m that kinda man, O?” He stepped closer, not stopping until my back hit the wall and he was cupping me between my thighs. “That the kinda man you let own this pussy?”
“No, I know you don’t,” I said honestly, feeling like an idiot and an asshole.
“But you do think I’m the kinda scumbag that’d fuck another bitch a couple rooms over then climb back into bed with you. Good to know.” Hands to the wall at either side of my head, he dipped down so his face was all I could see. “Real fuckin’ good to know where I stand with you, princess.”
His words were like razor blades and the hurt lacing them was the salt.
“You get quiet,” I blurted.
His head went back a little. “What?”
“After we have sex, you get quiet. We went from zero to sixty, I got scared you were having second thoughts.”
“I kept my damn mouth shut ‘cause if I opened it, I’d tell you I’m so outta my fuckin’ head in love with you, it’s pathetic. Didn’t want you to get freaked and bolt.”
The logical part of my brain wanted to point out that it’d only been a week. Argue that he couldn’t love me after such a short time.
But I took a page from his book and kept my mouth shut.
Judge filled the silence. “I’d tell you that, first chance I get, I’m putting my ring on your finger and my baby in you. That it gets me hard as fuck to think about.” Emphasizing his point, he took my hand and pressed it where his hard-on strained against his jeans before yanking it away. “I’d tell you I’m so hooked on you, I’m not letting go. And that if Nash or any other motherfucker wants to take you from me, they’ll have to put a bullet through my thick skull first.” He stepped back and held his arms out. “So you wanna leave, princess, you can do the same and go.”