My own smirk mirrors on her face. “You wanna talk?” Her brow raises, hands propped on her perfect birthing hips. “Then race me for it.” She nods to the car parked behind me, and I let loose a loud, devious chuckle.
“Fuck yes. Don’t get too wet watching me smoke your ass on that track.” I close the hood and hop in the awaiting vehicle before she can respond.
Slamming the hood of what I now see is a Chevelle, she slides in the driver seat. She winks my way as she turns the engine over and a rumble erupts so fucking loud it vibrates my feet. Gulping down, it hits me that clearly this isn’t her first race either, and from the sound of that car, she knows her shit.
She romps on it as I crank my own car's engine over and follow her to the starting line on the track in The Pit. She’s stuck me in a classic Camaro. Little does she know, but it’s one of my favorite models and years. She has good taste—not that I’d freely admit that to her.
I’m about to roll the passenger window up when a shrill whistle comes from my left. Glancing over, her smile’s purely wicked as she holds her finger up. Swinging from that finger is her tank top, leaving her clad in a black lacey bra. My mouth drops open, and so does her shirt. With that clear message, she hits the gas, and I’m easily left in her wake.
She has fucking balls—more than many of the men I’ve met who gather to race like they own the track. This is her house, and she’s making it clear from the start just who runs it. I’ve raced many times, beginning when I was damn near a kid. Having the experience, the grease and gas in your blood is almost like a disease. You can fight it, but the need is overwhelming to capture that sense of adrenaline, of dangerous peace you get when driving a car so fast you feel as if you’re flying.
No matter how much experience I have, her taillights mock me. I could easily hear the power her engine thundered with, feel its very breath like a hot caress against my neck. There was no way in hell I’d win this one; she’d taunted me like a dog with a bone. Making me believe I’d have her, catch her, and show her just how big my cock was. Not today, though. She has this one in the bag, and all I can do is lick my wounds at having my ass handed to me at the one place I’m most confident—the track.
She’s sitting on her hood by the time I pull up next to her. Shirt back in place, covering the gorgeous exposed flesh that I’d only gotten a brief glance of. Even more fucking beautiful than I’d initially thought. It’s rare in my case that you meet an alpha female that can truly capture your attention. I like them meek and willing usually, but this chick...well, she lights a fire under my ass so hot it burns inside, and we’ve barely even spoken to one another.
Climbing out, I come to stand in front of her. Legs spread shoulder width apart, arms firmly crossed over my chest, brow cocked. I know she has something to say after that show of dominance. That thought has me snorting, wondering what she’d do if I bent her ass over that hood and fucked her until she begged to know my name? Doubt she’s had a man in her life or bed wild enough to stand up to her, but she’ll learn.
“That lap took me one minute, fourteen seconds.”
I don’t ask how she knows, only swallow and remain quiet, because that time is damn good.
“That’s how long you have my attention,” she finishes, and I breathe deeply to keep my temper under control. It’s not often that I’m not the one bending people to my will. I don’t like it, but I need her to hear me out. I’ll take the minute.
“Viking said you have some Iron Fists around here. I want in. He wants me in.”
She scoffs. “I see you know where the gas pedal is in my car. Do you have anything besides that two-wheeled machine you rode in on?”
How does she know I rode my bike? I could’ve driven...maybe because of the vest.
“He said you owe him.”
“He said a lot, apparently. Where is he?”
“With his woman at his club, as he should be. We do his bidding. You damn well know that.”
She smirks again, and I don’t know if it needs to be kissed off her or smacked off at this point. She’s arrogant, more so than even possibly myself. I don’t know how to deal with bitches like this. I prefer it when they crave my touch, wallow in my protection. Clearly, Chevelle doesn’t think she needs either. She’s wrong, however. If the Fists are around, then she needs me here whether she wants to admit it or not.
“Fine.” She breathes the word after a beat. “Keep the Camaro, but listen closely cupcake. You fuck up my car, I’ll bust your goddamn knee caps so badly you’ll never walk straight again. This is my pit. Learn the rules and play by them or get the hell out. Tell your President that my debt is paid. And you get one race, and then you pay entry fees like every other snake in this place.” She slides off the hood, landing on her feet.
Cupcake...she called me a fucking cupcake.
“My name is Mercenary.” It sounds positively feral, more animal than man.
“I heard you the first time,” she smarts off, and before she can blink, I have her hair in my fist, her head wrenched back as I lean in.
Scenting her neck, my hard gaze set intently on hers. “Then you’d be smart to remember it.” I rasp, and she cackles. With a grip on my wrist, she twists, bends, and sends me flying.
My back lands on the packed dirt and rocks knock the breath from lungs. Not often does someone get the beat on me. I’m blinking up at the sky, getting my thoughts together, willing myself not to kill her when her head pops over me. She blocks out the brightness of the industrial size lights, her hair draped around her enough to make out every single feature of her face.
“I wasn’t kidding about busting out your knees. First race is Saturday night. Oh, and cupcake? Keep your hands to yourself, for your own safety.”
I can’t speak. I’m positively livid, and my growl gives it away easily enough. She smiles and then trots off without another word. Climbing to my feet, I glance around, thankful for the small mercy of being alone. I’d have to kill someone if they witnessed what just happened.
Instantly I seek her out, watching as she walks away. Her ass is beyond perfect, her hair nearly touching the juicy globes. Her attitude makes me want to rip someone’s head off. Her smirk makes me want to implant my fist into a wall, and that body, fuck me, do I want to do things to that body.
2. Having a loud exhaust is like eating
chips in church. Everyone looks at you in disgust,
but secretly they want some too.
- Funny Meme
“How’d it go?” Odin, our clubs newest patched Vice President asks as I shut off the engine and climb off my bike. He’s outside with a shiny black Doberman.
I shrug. “Fine, I guess.” If a chick calling me cupcake and handing me my ass can be even called fine. “Whose dog?” I change the subject.
“This beauty belongs to Nightmare’s son. I’m dog sitting while Night takes his kid and ol’ lady out of town for a few days.”
“Does it bite?”
“You’ll be fine; just stick your hand out first. The thing about Dobermans is you have to approach them with respect. If you do, most of them won’t harm you. People have the wrong impression of them.”
I nod and do what he suggests, letting the dog smell me before I attempt to touch it.
“Did Chevelle give you any shit?” His smirk is telling.
“I take it you know her?” I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated with my first impression.
He nods, “Yeah, she’s not one to take any shit.”
“She have a man?”
He snorts. “Brother, no one can get close enough. She’s more likely to punch you than kiss you. A few around here think she may prefer women.”
“Nah, she definitely likes men.”
His brow hikes. “No shit? You went over there once, and you already found that out?” He switches the dog leash to his other hand, following the dog’s leisurely lead.
“I may have gotten in her face a bit.” I sh
rug and scratch the dog behind its cropped ear as we walk.
He tucks his blond hair behind his ears, glancing around the compound. “Damn, I’m surprised she didn’t throw a punch. The last guy I saw grab her ass at a race was drug out of there with a broken nose.” His face lights up with an amused grin at the memory.
Jesus and no one thought to warn me about her beforehand? I was on good behavior; I can only imagine what she’d been like if I’d had a few beers before seeing her. I have a feeling my “me Tarzan, you Jane” usual rationale would’ve landed me with a broken nose as well if I’d have attempted to hike her over my shoulder. Chicks normally love that shit, but apparently, Chevelle isn’t like most chicks. Sounds like she went a bit easy on me when I grabbed her hair and she body slammed me. No wonder she’s the one running The Pit. She can obviously handle herself.
“She ever have anyone around in case she needs help?”
“Chevelle’s not the type to be caught needing help from anyone. She’s smart and cutthroat.”
“Well, she owed Viking apparently.”
He nods. “That happened by chance. Viking had just killed his father and taken over the Widow Makers. Being new to the area and the Oath Keepers he rode with, he wanted us to do something other than drink at the bar.”
“Nothing wrong with the bar,” I grumble, and he continues.
“Anyhow, we rode out to The Pit. People didn’t know what to think when they saw us, two different patches rolling up together, our bikes sounding like angry thunder.”
“What was the big deal?”
“Widow Makers were notorious in the south like the Iron Fists are in the west; they didn’t get along with anyone. Naturally, The Pit calls to a lot of us, the speed and engines, not to mention the fresh pussy floating around and open bets.”
“That’d definitely be somewhere I’d enjoy.”
He nods. “Well, when you have different folks from about sixty different clubs seeing the two together, they band together to challenge you, being that most Austin clubs are on a truce with one another.”
“Oh shit.”
“Viking got them all to chill the fuck out. Saved The Pit from a shit ton of damage. Chevelle was called in since she runs the place. She witnessed everything, and in the end, told Viking thanks and that she owed him. Don’t know what she planned on owing him since he’d had Princess at the time. Hell, half of us thought maybe he was alpha enough that she wanted to actually fuck him.”
“Did he?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, nothing ever came of it. I’m guessing he waited until now to call her on it. And he wouldn’t ever fuck her. He was obsessed with Princess from the moment he saw her from what I’ve heard. He had it bad enough that he chopped a guy’s head clean off for talking negatively about Princess.” We stop walking, and the dog lays in the grass, rolling to expose its belly to Odin.
“Hmm.”
I know I’m plenty alpha to give her what she needs. The real trouble is breaking her just enough to get my chance. I’ve always been up for a challenge, though, and it’ll be a good distraction.
My brothers Saint and Sinner just claimed their woman, and I’ve been a bit taken with her ever since I showed up from Chicago. I was set on getting my chance to fuck her, but club law says I can no longer touch her since she’s property. As much as I don’t want to respect that rule, I have to, or those two could skin me up and bleed me dry in retaliation if they wanted to.
“Anyone break club law around here?” I ask absently, lost in the thought of my brothers’ ol’ lady.
He pauses from scratching the Doberman’s belly to glance up at me. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “Just curious what the club did as punishment.”
“I’ve heard you were a bit rough around the edges, we all have,” Odin admits. “But that’s why we believed you’d fit in with us. The last thing you want to do is cross my brother or any others, in any way.”
“Is that coming from the man’s blood brother or the VP of my club?”
“Both. No one knows him better than me. Well, maybe his ol’ lady, but when it comes to club business, I know what makes Viking tick. He values his club and woman.”
“Good to know,” I reply, and he stands from his haunches.
“I won’t pretend to know what you’re goin’ through man but trust me when I say Texas is the best place for you. Especially if you don’t fit in between the lines anywhere else. We’re all fucked up; every single one of us, in some way.”
I’ve never really fit. I don’t let anyone know that though. I’ve gotten used to being alone when it boils down to it. I’m surprised Odin picked up on that so easily. Maybe he does know what it’s like to stand outside of the lines.
“I appreciate that, O.” He may be the youngest brother around here, but he’s the easiest to talk to. I’m the newest member in this chapter, so I suppose it helps to have the VP at my back too.
“Were any of the Fists around when you were at The Pit?” The dog gets back up, nose pushing through the grass, searching for bugs, I suppose.
“No, just a few employees. Looked like they were cleaning up. Chevelle was down on the track working on a handful of cars.”
“Those are all hers.”
“No fucking way.” My eyes widen, hands resting on my hips as the dog covers its nose with soil.
He nods. “She’s dead serious on that track, and she’s rarely beaten.” We head back toward the club, dog in tow. After a beat, he asks, “Did you challenge her?”
“You could say that.”
He stops, turning to face me again. “What did you do? Viking will be pissed if you fucked up their truce.”
“I should say she challenged me. I had to race her to get a chance to speak to her.”
His lips turn into a grin. “Yeah? How’d that turn out for you?”
“Well, she threw her time in my face, told me I had the same amount to speak. I couldn’t put up much of a fight since I rode her taillights the entire time.”
Odin laughs loudly, not trying to save my pride in the slightest. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Like I already said, she’s serious,” he declares and continues toward the door.
“Wish I’d known that prior to riding over.”
He nods. “You want her attention, then you need to at least almost beat her on the track.”
“We’ll see. I have a feeling she’s used to dickless pricks.”
“This is going to be fun to watch. You whither her resolve down so I can tap that ass after you do all of the work.”
I snort in reply, and he chuckles again crossing the threshold to the bar.
“Brothers, church is in session,” Viking declares, slamming the gavel to the table.
It’s silent enough you could hear a cricket chirp as we all await to hear what he has to say. I’m at the farthest end of the long stretch of table, being that I’m the newest here. I’m not a prospect at least. I’m a fully patched member, but as far as this club’s concerned, I’m fresh meat.
He draws a deep breath in and begins, his blond brows furrowed. “As you’re aware, Ruger was sent on another scouting mission. He rode out with the NOMADS yesterday and is instructed to call me the first chance he gets if he comes across any Fists. We’re this close…” He holds his hand up, pinching his fingers an inch apart. “To figuring out these assholes’ location.”
Our Nordic-looking Prez stares hard at Nightmare’s empty seat. He’s missing this since he’s out of town with his family. “We have to get Night some retribution for what the Iron Fists have put his family through. This wait is driving me crazy; I can only imagine what our brother is dealin’ with.”
Several brothers around the table second his statement and hum in agreement.
Torch sits forward. “Prez.”
Viking’s gaze lands on the fierce man to his right. “Go ahead, Torch.” The brother’s built tall and menacingly
. He reminds me of the Terminator with the way his sharp glower can easily make a man uncomfortable. He gives you a dark glare, and you automatically know you’re going to meet the reaper by his hand.
“My buddy came through on the explosives we wanted. We’ll be ready for whenever we do discover the Fists’ hiding spots. No more half-assed fire; we’ll blow that bitch sky high.”
“Good and the guns?”
His cousin, Blaze, covered in colorful fire tattoos with ears full of multiple small black gauges pipes up. “The Russians delivered as promised, and we have plenty at the ready. Odin helped me unload them, and they’re secure in the basement bunker.”
That’s some of the craziest shit I’ve ever seen too. Viking had a bunker put in under the club’s basement. Unless you know where to look, you won’t find it. Any weapons that come in are stored under there in case a bomb goes off, or we’re raided by the cops. He’s a smart fucker.
Smokey, our club treasurer, takes a long drag of his cigarette. He speaks while exhaling a hazy cloud of smoke. “Club bank is straight. Bills are paid, brothers have money in their pockets, shit’s ordered, and there’s still plenty for a rainy day should the need arise.”
Viking nods. “I saw the books. Good work, all of you. The runs have been paying off, and we’ve climbed out of owing anyone anything. We need to keep the whores happy and safe. They’ve been handing us a steady flow of cash.”
Blaze smirks. “Whores are content. We’ve been keeping an eye on the johns coming through, and in return, they’ve all remained unharmed on our watch. Girls have been tipping us more lately too, so they must be making good money.”
“Bet. Any of them mention they want out of whoring yet?”
“Nope.” His cousin shakes his head. He has hair the same cornfield color as Viking and Odin, only he styles his in a faux hawk whereas the other two keep theirs long.
“Even better. Remember they always have the option to leave safely. We’re security, not pimps.”
We all nod. He says the same thing about it at every church session I’ve been to. And Blaze doesn’t even work the girls anymore. Once Odin took over as VP, Blaze got tasked as Viking’s ol’ lady’s personal security.
Chevelle 6x9 Page 2