by Nicole Snow
I knew he wasn't joking. The edge in his voice was the same just before he murdered Ed. It should've made me jump up and run, but I loved it. This was an animal passion I'd never fathomed outside my own dark fantasies, a passion that was real because it was so damned psychotic.
He forced his hand between my thighs, found my clit, and rubbed. The tension in my muscles instantly withered.
Not fair.
He knew how to work my body too well, and I still didn't have a clue how to handle him, let alone work him over. His lips replaced the hand over my mouth. When he started running his free hand through my red hair, pushing me up to meet his mouth, I automatically opened my legs.
His hips rocked against my belly, his dick growing hard and hungry.
Yes, there'd be a lot to think about very soon. But tonight, there was nothing to worry about except how bright he lit me up and made me burn.
VI: Deceived (Rabid)
She moaned when I kissed her the next morning, shifting lazily in the bed. I loved the way those cherry-chestnut locks falling off her head looked when they were flopping in my hand while I fucked her, but this was beautiful too.
I could've laid next to her all damned day if it wasn't for all the shit threatening to tarnish this piece of heaven I'd ripped from the sky. Just as well, because she'd need time to think long and hard about what I'd offered her last night.
It wasn't just the heat of the moment. I wanted her to be my old lady. Fuck, I wanted it since I decided I wanted my dick inside her, since I first washed her bleeding cuts and laid a kiss on those lips underneath the stars.
She'd think and get me an answer, yeah.
Obviously, 'no' wasn't a serious option. No wasn't in my fucking vocabulary when it came to this chick.
She was mine, dammit. Mine when she was curled up next to me, making me hard just having her skin on mine. Mine when she was going nuclear on my dick. Mine when she woke up later and felt the soreness I'd no doubt left in her pussy.
I wasn't sorry for that shit at all. Same way my heart swelled with pride when I looked at the bruises I'd left on her neck with my teeth. I wanted her to think about me every time she moved. It'd be the perfect reminder of everything we'd had tonight, everything I'd done for her, every way I'd ravaged her sweet body and left it to smolder.
Fuck, it was hard to leave. Did I already say that?
I slid my clothes on, unable to resist planting one more kiss on her forehead before I went. “Sleep tight, baby. I'll be back by evening.”
I left her some money on the way out with a little note attached to get the tire fixed on her car.
Soon, I was on my Harley, riding into the early morning sun. The shit I had in my bag felt like it was burning a fucking hole in the compartment behind me. I'd taken it off Big Dead Ed before I stripped his face and fingerprints with the acid.
Two patches soaked in somebody's blood. Both had the Spanish crap I couldn't pronounce at the bottom, right beneath the cartel's symbolic bird and cactus.
Yeah, the asshole was just as sloppy screwing over my club as he was getting drink and hobbling onto his bike. Killing one cartel boss was a fucking miracle, but three?
Nobody would call it anything other than pure bullshit. My bros wouldn't be happy to see it when I laid it out for 'em, but they'd swallow the sudden fondness they had for the Oregon fucks. And I'd be lying if I said part of me didn't enjoy imagining Asphalt and a couple other dudes eating their crow raw and rotten.
I stopped by a local joint for a breakfast sandwich and coffee. I'd need to keep my eyes pried open today after all the life she'd sucked outta me. And shit, I still wanted more. I'd let Christa's pussy put me right into my grave if I wasn't careful.
My phone rang while I was about to dig into my food. I saw Brass' number and cursed.
“Yeah? What's going on, bro?”
“You'd better get your ass over to the clubhouse this second. Shit's going down.” That was the VP talking, and not my friend.
“What the fuck? I'm on my way over right now.”
“Hurry the hell up. Get ready to talk to the Prez. I hope to fucking God you haven't done something as stupid as I think.”
“Yeah? What's that?” I growled, but the line was dead.
I wolfed down my food angrily, pissed that my one night of peace was already gone with the morning light. Everything about the Veep's tone said I was due for a beating, or maybe something worse.
God damn it. Good thing I'd fucked her at least five times last night. It might be a week or two before I'd be able to again, if my brothers were going to be massive dicks and start swinging before I could show them what I'd found.
There were a lot of bikes parked outside when I got through the gate. Too fucking many. None of them ours.
Shit. I shouldn't have assumed Ed was the only asshole from Klamath in our territory. They couldn't have known we'd take the bait with his bullshit about the cartel before he sprung his trap, so he'd brought his boys for backup.
I checked the holster holding my handgun before I went inside. Roman was waiting by the door like a bulldog. He took one severe look at me and stood, smashing his knuckles together.
“Calm the fuck down! I know you've all been waiting for me. Brass told me.”
“Prez is waiting for you in his office,” he said, barely giving me enough space to squeeze past him on my way down the hall.
There were several strangers wearing our patch over by the bar. Greasy looking, dead eyed bastards, the kind who were the norm in this club before our little revolution. They all looked at me like vultures waiting for a big meal.
Shit!
No fear. I walked into Blackjack's office and found the old man perched behind his desk. He kicked his leg underneath the table, pushing the chair out for me, and pointed. Soon as I tried to sit, he popped up, uppercutting me in the jaw so hard I swore I lost a fucking tooth.
“Motherfuck!” I growled, tasting copper in the blood. A quick check with my tongue told me everything was all there. Surprising. “Christ, Prez. I thought you'd at least try talking with your mouth first before you brought out your fists.”
He didn't say anything. I saw why a second later, when the door popped open, and Brass walked in. My bro looked at me like he'd caught me stealing his bike, a look of outrage and sadness.
“Cut the shit, son,” Blackjack growled. “We both know you killed the bastard. So do the boys from Klamath. They showed up here this morning, demanding to know why the fuck their VP didn't return last night. They would've put lead in a few people if I hadn't managed to talk their asses out of it, backed by Roman's fists.”
“Look, I fucked up on one thing, I'll admit that.” Shit, make that two. I'd forgotten my fucking bag in my bike while I was stewing, too pissed to remember the smoking gun I had outside.
“One thing?” Brass gave me an evil smile. “Brother, you're in the deepest shit anyone's been in since we took down Fang and his friends. If you killed a brother in this organization – an officer, no less – you know what happens next.”
We locked eyes. Yeah, I damned well did. The fucks in southern Oregon would be taking a vote soon once Blackjack told them what I'd done. They'd vote for my head on a platter, but not before they stripped my patch and everything remotely Grizzlies MC related on my skin. And if this charter didn't want an all-out blood war between brothers, Redding would vote to stand down and let them have their justice.
All kosher according to club charter. I was looking at a violent, bloody death.
“I'm only going to ask you once, Rabid. We know the truth, and this is just a fucking formality, but it needs to be done.” Blackjack took a breath and leaned forward. “Did you murder Big Ed last night?”
What the fuck was the point in hiding it? Truth or lie, I was dead as soon as I admitted it. And I was ready to face that, as long as I could get their assurance my girl would be safe.
“Answer him, asshole,” Brass growled, slamming a not-so-brotherly hand on my should
er.
“I took him out with a stab to the throat,” I said, never breaking eye contact with my evil looking Prez. “It was at that shithole on the edge of town, the Pig's Tail or whatever the fuck it's called, where all the junkies and whores hang out. Caught up to him right before he was about to blow town. I found him drunk and tipsy inside the bar, got him to come out back, and we had words. Our talk ended with my blade in his fucking jugular, just like I planned the minute I got there.”
I stood, ripping Brass' hand off my shoulder. Spreading my hands on the Prez's desk, I stooped down to his level, glaring at him.
“Before you kill me, Prez, there's something you ought to know. Just two things.”
“Yeah? Spill it. Better do it fast.” The merciless expression on his face looked like it was about to set his long gray hair on fire.
“My girl's been in debt to the Klamath crew for a few years. Christa took a loan from their fucked up club running some kinda bar up there. They've been harassing her ever since, sending brothers down here to fuck with her whenever she's the least bit late. Yesterday, our buddy Ed slashed her tire and roughed her up. I wasn't gonna take that shit. I also knew he was lying through his fucking teeth when he dropped that cartel boss patch for Brass – and this time I got proof. You gotta let me show you before I get the blow to the face I probably deserve. I found two more bloody cartel patches stuffed in Ed's pocket before I dumped his body, just like the one he gave Brass. They're in my bike. Just say the word and walk me out, I'll let you see it with your own damned eyes.”
Blackjack snorted. Leaning back in his high leather chair, his hands twitched on the table. It was like watching a transistor waiting to blow. I braced for the impact, ready for both the Prez and the VP to go to work, breaking everything on my face to smithereens. And that was if the Prez didn't pull his gun and put me outta my misery with a clean shot before the Klamath boys did.
“I don't need to see shit, Rabid,” he finally said. “Everybody in this room's on the same page. I knew Rip and his Veep were blowing smoke up our asses the second Brass laid that fucking thing out on the table.”
Jaw, meet floor. After I finished picking my mouth up off the sticky ground, I swiveled, staring at Brass. He nodded.
“What the fuck? Then what the hell was the point of that bullshit brawl in church last time?”
“The point was to keep it on the down low before any dumb fuckers got impulsive, brother.” Brass stepped forward, giving me the evil eye. “You just made our job a helluva a lot harder. Honestly, if the jackass you killed wasn't fucking with Christa, I'd punch you right through the goddamned wall.”
I bared my teeth, the only instinct after a threat like that. But the rest of my brain, apart from the lizard section, realized he was right. Not that I was ready to admit I'd fucked up or apologize.
Shit, if only they'd told me, instead of this cloak and dagger shit! We wouldn't be cooped up here with some very angry assholes from Klamath outside this office right now.
“I ought to give them your ass anyway for this.” Blackjack's voice was stone cold. “But then I'd be no better than Fang. You're taxing this club right to hell, son. I'm not going to let you die, but the heap of shit reserved for you just landed on the whole club.”
“Why pull any punches if everybody knows where we stand?” I asked, guilt tugging at my heart. “Shit, when the rest of the charters find out Klamath tried to screw national, they'll stand down without threatening you, Prez.”
“No, they'll help us do the job when they find out the Klamath fucks have been working with the cartel,” Blackjack said.
Fuck, I almost had to hold my jaw to keep it from hitting the ground again. So, they were bigger bastards than even I'd thought. I balled fists, fully ready to march out and fight the assholes in the bar all alone if I had to. Exactly the kinda deadly hot head shit the two men in the room with me were trying to avoid.
“Christ.” I shook my head, all I could do to ignore the impulse. “How long's this been going on?”
“Nobody knows,” Brass said. “Might've started under Fang. Maybe they only went nuts in the last few weeks, purely because they don't approve of the new leadership. We wanted to get the jump on 'em. Now, thanks to you offing their VP, we never will.”
Shit. That cut deep. I was perfectly willing and ready to spill my own blood to keep Christa safe. But having any brothers stuffer for it was almost as bad as her taking the pain herself.
“Say the word,” I said. “I'll buy you guys time. Whatever it takes. I'll go with 'em right now if you think it'll help. That's what they're expecting. I can handle whatever the fuck they wanna deal out. They can't kill me 'til our charters both vote on it, and you deliver the results, Prez.”
“No.” Blackjack shook his head, his eyes wide and maybe slightly impressed. Guess he never expected me to offer up my own hide. “They'll know we're onto them whether they've got you or not. Rip and his crew are dumb, but the cartel sure as fuck isn't. The Mexicans will see us pulling reserves away from the fight when we go to confront the boys up north.”
“Then, what? We tell them to fuck off and expect they'll just walk outta here?”
“They damned well better,” Blackjack growled. “That's their only choice if they don't want half their crew winding up dead today. Roman's assured me all our brothers are quicker shots than they are. We'll kill them in this clubhouse if they try to start shit here.”
Damn. There was nothing worse than a club's HQ turning into a fucking war zone.
The three of us looked at each other, letting the realization set in that this was the only way out. I was ready. The ink all over my body burned like a shield. My blood seethed, taking the tattoos' heat, ready to give the ultimate sacrifice for this brotherhood, and for her too.
“I'm ready when you are, brothers.”
Blackjack stood up. Brass clapped me on the shoulder, this time giving me the brotherly grip I'd felt a hundred times before.
“I've always got your back, and you know it. Even when you're making shit ten times harder than it needs to be. You were there for me and Missy when things got bad. I'm doing the same for you and Christa.” He paused, heading toward the door with me while Blackjack got his bearings on his half-healed leg. “Oh, but you'd better hurry the fuck up and claim this girl if you really want her. If I find out she's just another fucking slut to you, I swear I'm gonna –“
He raised his fist, and I pushed it down hard. “Already working on it, bro. Settle your ass down.”
“All right,” Blackjack said, growling through the pain in his hip. “Let's go.”
Roman joined us as soon as we stepped out. So did several other guys who'd been lingering on the opposite side of the bar, Asphalt and several prospects, keeping watch on our shitty guests.
“You, Marrow.” Blackjack called the name of a skinny, dirty looking man with an eye patch when we were just a couple feet away. “Let's talk.”
The five Klamath boys walked up and took their places next to us. Goddamn, they were ugly. It shouldn't have been so easy to see who the evil fuckers were just looking at them, but it was.
“Well? Is this piece of shit coming with us, or what?” Marrow pointed at me, a killer glint in his eye.
“You guys can pack up your shit and leave Redding, that's what. I'll give you three minutes before we start shooting. Rabid's not going anywhere.” Blackjack would've stared them down just the same, even if he didn't have Roman's wall of muscle behind him. Tough motherfucker.
“You gotta be shitting me!” Marrow twisted his head and spat tobacco on the floor. “I'm gonna ask you again, brother, because I think you must've fucked up your head in there talking to him. Are you sure you wanna make this mistake? You know what it fucking means.”
“Yeah, I do. Soon as Rip hears, he'll hit every other Prez in the five state area and try to brand this mother charter a rogue group with a kill order. Go a-fucking-head. If you think I give a shit, you're wrong.”
Marrow's
good eye twitched. Snarling, he reached right for me, tried to get his hand around my throat. I was faster. Started pounding my fists into his chest while his boys surrounded me, slamming punches into my spine. I hit the floor hard, and some asshole's boot was on my back.
The world exploded with men screaming, roaring, fighting. I rolled, getting the upper hand on one of the greasy motherfuckers. My fists wouldn't stop 'til his hot blood stained my knuckles, pounding his nasty little face over and over and over.
Then there was a bang like the end of the world. Everybody stopped moving.
“The next fucking shot's going right through the skulls of anybody wearing an Oregon patch!” Roman thundered, his magnum in hand. The hole he'd put through the ceiling was still smoking. “Pick your asses up and leave, or I'll carry you outside in fucking body bags.”
Brass and Asphalt helped me off the floor. The asshole I'd been pounding on scampered away like a wounded rat, covering his busted nose.
“Then go ahead and shoot me right through the fucking chest,” Marrow snarled, walking right up to our big man and standing like a peacock. “I'm not leaving unless that cocksucker Rabid's handcuffed and stuffed on the back of somebody's bike. Shoot me, big man. Shoot me! Rip'll find out one way or another, and then he won't even need that vote to bring every free man in the rest of the Grizzlies MC down on this fucked up charter! Now, you gonna pop that fucking thing in my ribs or what?”
For a second, I seriously thought Roman was gonna unload hellfire into his chest. But he raised his gun, and smashed it across the asshole's face instead. Several teeth exploded from his mouth and hit the floor, bouncing like popcorn kernels.
Marrow reached for the holster near his hip. Roman struck him again, bashing his wrist so hard I swore it snapped. The asshole howled, toppling backward as pain tore through him. His brothers caught him, helped him stand straight.
“Get the fuck out,” Blackjack growled. “Last warning before we take more than blood and teeth!”