GIVE IN: Steel Phoenix MC

by Paula Cox

  About an hour into our drive, he pulls us over to some seedy motel just north of downtown. The Star Motel looks as if it’s out of the 1950’s. There’s still a sign boasting its color TV’s and free coffee—though neither neon sign lights up entirely. Unsurprisingly, it looks all but empty.

  We pull into a parking space next to the large, stacked garbage cans. Rev pulls us so far over that his jet-black bike almost blends into the metal boxes. He throws himself off the front of the bike and pulls out my bag from the storage compartment. I barely register him tossing at me until it smacks me in the face.

  “Let’s move,” he growls as he digs out a baseball hat and a pair of thick aviator sunglasses for himself. I struggle to catch up with him as he strides off towards the front office. Before I can enter the glassed-in room, he warns me, “Stay here. Don’t touch anything. Don’t talk to anyone. Face away from the street and lot. Whatever you do, don’t get yourself noticed.”

  Easier said than done. If he wanted privacy, he picked the wrong location. Though we are a few miles out of the downtown area, the street is plagued with bike riders. It’s a ratio of one to every four or five cars. And I’m still so shaken up from the attack at the bar that I can’t help but watch each one go with suspicion.

  I don’t want to be taken off guard like I was. Being yanked off my chair and dragged until I was face down on some table was the most horrifying moment of my life outside watching my mom get taken away by the police.

  After a few minutes of staring out onto the road, Rev comes barreling out of the office, grabs me by the hand, and forces me down the corridor. All the while, he scolds me like a child. “What the fuck did I say about not being by the window? Do you have a death wish or something?”

  “No. I was just...” I can’t get out another word before he pulls us into one of the last rooms down the hallway. It’s in plain view of the parking lot, probably so he can watch out for anyone who comes and goes. Plus, easy access to the bike in case we need to make a getaway. He’s done this before.

  He slams my bag on the orange-reddish shag carpet and heads straight towards the window. Gesturing towards the lot as he fastens the blinds down, he continues the lecture. “I don’t think you know what’s at stake here. Those two guys at the bar? They were nothing. They were the first test. And Enrique’s going to keep coming for you until you end up dead or we get the money he’s owed.”

  My mouth floods with what tastes like blood, but I know it’s the endorphins racing through my system. System shock is what they call the moments before you have a panic attack. I honestly can’t believe I’ve held it together until now. But in the protection of the dark hotel room, away from the leather jacket men and the menacing cycles on the main strip outside, I fall to pieces.

  First, my knees buckle under me. They land softly on the ground along with my hips and then chest. My head follows behind them, and my eyes clamp shut. I’m still conscious enough to hear Rev sigh deeply, and then his boots stamp on the ground near me. He kneels down beside me, brushing the strands of hair away from my sweaty face.

  “You’re gonna have to toughen up, darlin’, if you want to survive.” That’s it. That’s all he can muster up. I don’t know what I expect from him. He’s not the kind of guy that would mourn anything. And that performance at the bar with him defying death showed that fear wasn’t his M.O. either.

  As furious as I am with him, I have to deal with me first. I let the waves of anxiety pass over me, reminding myself that I’m alive. I’m not dying (at least not here, right now). And I need to breathe.

  Minutes pass, maybe an hour, where I’m still on the carpet with my knees tucked into my chest. Through the fog in my mind, I try to force myself to recall all the training I have dealing with panic attacks. Think of something positive, some recent memory or sensation that made you feel alive. Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is laying on that dresser with Rev between my thighs, but I brush that one off as fast as my brain lets me. Instead, I remember the day my parents brought home Bugsy—how he was dirty from living in some drug den but still smelled like heaven to me. Nothing could beat that feeling.

  It works. That sense of security and home eventually overcome all the fear and pain built up in me. I start to feel the lines of the carpet against my face, the crease of my jeans down my legs, and the scratchy band of my ankle socks. Near me, some light shines from a partially opened door. Rev hands a person in the shadows a small wad of cash and returns with some boxes. The smell is unmistakable—pizza. My stomach gurgles, reminding me how long it’s been since that bowl of kid’s cereal at Rev’s apartment.

  “If you’re alive down there, I’ve got some cheese and pepperoni. If you’re one of those hippy-dippy fruity girls that don’t eat meat, well, you’re fucked. You can pick it off yourself then.” He pulls out the office seat to the desk, waiting for me to stand.

  “I eat meat,” I struggle to say. I’m parched from the panic attack. Without me even asking, he hands me an ice-cold water bottle from the mini fridge. After a long sip, I add, “Thanks... for the pizza too. You didn’t have to—”

  “I was hungry. And you’re no good to me if you’re gonna pull that bullshit panic attack drama. I got no time for that,” he snaps back, taking a bite of the pizza. I get to my knees and slide myself over towards the desk. The pizza steams a little as I pull off one of the cheesy slices. Every part of my body aches with hunger just from the sight of it.

  We eat in silence, both of us scarfing down slice after slice. The food is finally giving me back some of my strength, enough to ask a few questions that have been on my mind since the whole bar scene. I go and sit down on the king-sized bed directly beside Rev as I quietly clear my throat.

  “What are we doing here, Rev? I mean, is there a plan or are you going to kill me?”

  He doesn’t hesitate to respond, “If you want some real honesty—I don’t fucking know yet.”

  Ouch. After the fight at the bar with him chasing off those club members, I thought it was clear that he wasn’t about to let me die because of my brother’s debts. A part of me had hoped that our earlier conversation and the whole sex-on-his-bed thing had erased the possibility of him taking me out as well. I guess not.

  My voice shakes. “Why kill me though? It’s not going to get your money any faster. My brother probably wouldn’t even realize I was dead or gone. He’s not exactly...” I struggle to find the right description. With it, I guess? He’s been like this for so long now that it’s hard to image the other side of him—the side of him that took me hiking as a kid or held my hand in my bed when our parents fought. That version was long gone and replaced by something resembling a monster consumed in the darkness.

  “Yeah. I thought of that.” Rev stands and throws a half-eaten slice of pizza onto the folded down box and wipes his hand with the thin paper napkins. He lingers by the desk for a while before turning to face me. “Either way, I gotta get my money. This is how it works.”

  “What would have happened if my brother was the one to walk through those doors and not me?” I gulp back the second question. “Would you have killed him if he didn’t have the cash?”

  “No,” he replies, “I would’ve brought him to Enrique. He does whatever he wants with the guys who don’t pay.” That answers my questions. Knowing the very limited amount of what I know about Enrique, the answer was that Mark would most certainly end up dead. My heart flutters in my chest thinking about the possibility of burying my brother alongside my mom and dad. Or would he be burying me, considering the circumstances?

  “I know guys like your brother though,” Rev continues, maybe sensing my sadness, “He would’ve come up with the money somehow. Little rats like him always find a way.”

  “What do you mean?” I know drug addicts. I’ve seen them at their very worst; the absolute breaking point. I doubt Rev could know or have seen more than me.

  “He got himself in entirely too much debt with the wrong kind of guy. Even the wors
t drug addicts have an idea of when their tabs are due. Actually, that’s where he might be.” His voice goes hazy as if he’s having a side conversation with himself. “Some go to other dealers. They cut a deal with them in exchange for them erasing their debts or protecting them. Other guys go solo and start selling themselves. From what I’ve heard about your brother, he’s probably selling or maybe even prostituting. He’s that type.”

  “Type? What type?” My haunches raise. No one talks about my brother like that, especially not some clueless street thug like Rev.

  “The type that has it in their blood. Your daddy was an addict, so that means your mom was too. Your grandparents are probably dead. A good chance that they were in the shit too. It runs in the blood of trash families like yours.”

  “Stop it,” I say, my voice as firm as I can make it.

  “If they were alive, you’d have them to take care of, or they’d still be in the picture.” He gives me a once-over with those piercing green eyes, and I suddenly feel as if I’m being stripped naked. “Mid-twenties, I’m guessing. You’re still young. You’ve probably, stupidly, convinced yourself that you can save your brother. Oh, darlin’—explains why you’re a therapist or a counselor or whatever. You want to change the world for him.”

  “STOP IT!” I shout, fresh anger rising within me. Unlike the panic attack where every part of my body slowed down to a halt, my senses have fired up with rage. All my muscles begin to tense.

  Still, Rev presses on, “It’s okay that it’s not working, Jenna. I’ve seen others fail. Parents, cousins, husbands, sisters—they all end up in the same place—with shit up their nose or a needle in their arms.”

  “I SAID STOP!”Before I can stop myself, a hand flies out, landing directly on his face with a thunderous clap. His head bounces back slightly from the motion—or the surprise. When I pull away in shock, I see the outline of my fingers, red and purple, on his cheek. For whatever reason, that only makes me more enraged.

  I go in for another hit, but this time he’s ready. His hand grabs me by the wrist, pulling me into him, but he loses his footing. Rev just manages to park himself on the desk chair as I tumble into his lap. He moves his grip up my arm until he has got both pinned to my sides.

  “Are you done? Are you fucking done, Jenna?” he seethes, “Did that make you feel better? Make you feel like a real, tough woman?”

  Every word he utters is pure arrogant crap, and I can’t take it anymore. Every bit of me wants to take this cocky, bullheaded man and put him in his place. But there’s no point fighting back. He’s a well-built wall that’s been trained in combat with much stronger men than me. If I even tried to land another hit, I’d end up hurting myself more.

  Our labored breathes mix as we sit, face to face, inches from another. I shut my eyes in defiance as I wait for Rev to put me down or unleash some sick punishment his dark and twisted mind has probably already thought out. But he doesn’t do a thing. I’m not forced down onto the floor or slid off his lap. Instead, he pulls me in closer so that I can practically feel the remaining heat of my slap on my own skin.

  I stare into those almond-shaped eyes—the pupils narrowed on me. Inside those stormy globes is a hurricane with the lightning and thunder rolling in. Every bit of him makes me feel as if I’m caught in his tide. Bit by bit, like a magnet pulling towards the other, I turn my lips to his. They meet slowly with one kiss, two kisses, three kisses until our mouths and tongues are entwined. We push back and forth, neither wanting to give up control. I’m at a disadvantage with his arms tucked around my back and doubled over, but I hold my own as I ease myself down on his lap and nestled up against his chest.

  Something clicks for Rev. I don’t know how I know, but there’s a moment where he pulls away. His forehead presses into mine as he looks down at my chest and lap. He gives a weighty sigh as if to say, “I give in.” I half expect him to stop, to push me off. But there’s the click, a millisecond change, where his eyes brighten, he licks his lips, and he goes from resolve to full-on wild. I have no time to adjust to this version of him before my shirt is whipped off of my back and my bra straps come cascading down my shoulders. He presses himself deep into the crevice between my neck and shoulders, nibbling on tiny bits of my skin. I cry out in shock, but I have zero power. Do I even want any?

  My skin burns for him. It aches for his hands on my breasts or his cock between my legs. I bury my head in that thick layer of hair, inhaling the remains of shampoo, smoke, and road on him. The smell of him is fuel burning within my ignition. I lean closer to him so that I’m practically smothering him with my chest.

  What am I doing? What am I doing?I repeat this over and over in my head as he releases my arms only to hook them around his neck before he lifts me up and stands, my legs straddling his waist. He walks us over to the bed and throws me down onto it. I push myself up onto my knees so he can watch me remove the remains of my torn bra. He immediately sinks down and joins me. My breasts press together while I kneed his firm, thick-muscled chest with my fingertips. He watches the show for only a few moments before lying back and urging me down with him. My breasts hover above his lips until one touches down between the sharp rivets of his teeth and the smooth surface of his tongue and lips. He uses his mouth almost like a suction cup around the nipple, forcing me to remain still—just another way he takes control, just when I think I’m taking the lead.

  “Is this what you want?” I find myself asking. My hips have been doing all the talking. I wasn’t even aware that I’d been grinding them in neat little circles around his growing package.

  Rev pulls away to look at me; the spark flares up in his glowing face. “No,” he murmurs just light enough for me to hear. His thick, gritty hands clasp around my bare shoulders and begin to push so that I have to slither down his legs. Like a begging dog, I watch as he quickly removes his pants and tight black cotton boxers. I try not to gape at his full, erect glory but it’s just too damn divine.

  “I want to hear you say you want this,” he commands. “Say it.” I can barely look up at this statue of a man. He reaches down and places a hand behind my head and pushes me closer to his cock. I can smell the earthy scent of it coming closer to my mouth. “Beg me for it,” he snarls.

  Almost with shyness, I gulp and nod in agreement. I was never good at this before. Blowing a guy was something more adventurous girls did—girls who spent their lives between some man’s sheets. There’s no doubt in my mind that Rev’s had many girls in this position—their pretty heads right in front of his cock with their ruby red lips beckoning him to enter. I could never hold a candle to them, but damnit, I was going to try.

  “Did you fucking hear me?” Rev demands. “I want to hear the words. Tell me you want it.”

  I feel the corner of my lips lift up while I look him dead in the eye. “I want your cock, Rev. Please?” There’s no emotion in my words. It’s matter-of-fact, give-me-what-I-ask-for. I bet most girls put on a show for a guy like Rev with his throbbing dick and those lean, sculpted muscles. But I’m eager to show him that I can do things in my own way.

  Rev bites his bottom lip before pressing a little harder at the back of my neck. I twist my head away from him before diving in; I don’t beat around the bush with this. If I’ve learned anything about this man in the past two days, it’s that Rev is wild. He’s efficient. He likes his action at full-force or nothing at all. If I’m going to please him, and damn do I oddly want that, I’m going to keep those things in mind.

  The back of my tongue drapes around the top of his cock as I use my hand to guide it in and out of my puckered mouth. It makes a little tiny pop as I push it fully out and then suck it quickly back in. He growls in shock, but in between the rumble that resonates through his body, are deep, unmistakable groans of ecstasy.

  “Fuck, Jenna... Damn... Suck my cock... Yeah... Fuck... Suck it... “ He seems lost in the moment, repeating himself like a broken record each time I speed up just a hair quicker. My mouth pumps his shaft from top
to bottom with a swirl of the tongue at the tip. Once he’s used to the rhythm, using his own hips to match my motions, I switch it up entirely. With one giant thrust, I gulp him down to the base of his cock where the thin, curly hairs tickle my nose. And I wait. And wait. The only thing that moves is my hands wrapping around his hardening, girthy balls. I tug gently until I feel him exhale. And with that, I shoot up again to go back down and do it again.

  “Where... the hell... did you...” he pants, he actually pants! I’ve managed to best this monster of a man—reduce him to a guy who has practically melted in my mouth. The taste of his precum lingers between my taste buds. But there’s more to come... and soon. The pulsating vein at the side of his cock has only intensified, and his balls have changed texture and shape between my gentle fingers.

  Do I stay? Do I go? I look to Rev for the answer, but it’s as if he’s playing a dangerous game of chicken with me. After a few moments of his bulging rod only swelling more within my thrusting mouth, he slides himself out and back towards the bed. The rickety thing practically collapses under the force of his weight.