A rueful grin stretched across her face and she shook her head. That she was riding away with a biker – and feeling that it was the safer option told Cassie all she needed to know about the mess she was in.
***
“Where in the hell do you think you're going?” Andy barked.
Cassie flinched as if she'd been struck. Several years of living in hell with Andy had conditioned her to respond that way. “I – I was going to grab a cup of coffee with Melissa,” she said meekly.
Andy got off the couch where he'd been watching SportsCenter and turned, giving her a fearsome look. “Oh really?” he asked, his tone dripping with venom. “You think you can just go gallivanting around with that stupid whore you call your friend and not even think to ask for my permission?”
Cassie looked at the floor beneath her feet, feeling the heat rising in her face. “I – I'm sorry, Andy,” she said. “I should have asked.”
“God damn right you should have asked.”
She tried to fight the tears that threatened to well up in her eyes, but she couldn't hold them back. Cassie felt the usual shame and embarrassment as the tears rolled down her soft cheeks. Shame and embarrassment seemed to be the only two emotions she could feel around him. There certainly wasn't any love. Not anymore. “Andy,” Cassie spoke, her voice soft, “may I please go have coffee with Melissa? We haven't seen each other in months and I – ”
He shook his head, a look of disbelief on her face. “Are you stupid?” he asked. “Seriously, are you mentally retarded or something?”
“I'm not. I just thought– ”
“Thought?” his laughter was short, sharp. “You obviously didn't think. Idiots like you can't think. Not very well.”
“But, Andy, I really want to see her,” Cassie said. “I'll be home in an hour. I promise.”
Andy crossed the room to where she stood and gave her a small smile. “I'm sorry, Cassie.” And then he drove a fist straight into her stomach, driving the air from her lungs. Cassie doubled over and then fell to her knees, clutching her midsection and gasping for breath. “I'm sorry I married such an idiot,” he said. “I'm sorry you have trouble learning the most simple of things.”
Cassie curled up on the ground in the fetal position, sobbing and trying to catch her breath. Andy kicked her in the ass before walking back to the couch, dropping down, and turning on SportsCenter again.
“Oh, and to answer your question,” he said. “No, you may not go have coffee with that whore.”
Cassie's body shook as she tried to quiet her sobs. The last thing she needed or wanted was to bring down more pain upon herself. Andy didn't like to hear her cry. When she'd first met him, he had been sweet. Kind. Gentle. He'd been a romantic and had she'd fallen for him. As they grew comfortable with one another, she slowly began to see a different side of the man she’d married. Out in public, he was soft spoken. He was the typical accountant type – sort of bland, sort of boring, and pretty well unremarkable.
At home, though, he was something else entirely. He was angry. Demanding. Controlling. He'd run off so many of her friends with his temper and threats of violence. Cassie was shocked that any of them would return her calls anymore. He often took Cassie's car keys to prevent her from going anywhere, often accusing her of sleeping around when he was at work. She never did and never gave him any reason to suspect that she had, but he continued to control every facet of her life.
The few times Cassie had spoken up, had tried to defend herself, she was met with a violent response. As the months, and the years went by, Andy had grown increasingly more comfortable beating his wife. He was careful to avoid leaving cuts or bruises, but he beat her so hard and so often he'd left Cassie an empty shell of herself.
***
Eventually, Cassie had done the only thing she could do. She ran. She hadn't planned it out. It was a spur of the moment thing. He'd called her as he was about to leave for work – his tenth phone call of the day just to check up on her – and she could tell he was in a foul mood, that he'd had a bad day. And she knew that meant she was going to have a horrible night filled with more pain and misery.
After she'd hung up the phone, the tears started to flow, and she'd just run out the front door, not even bothering to close it behind her. She just ran and ran until she found herself outside the truck stop. She was hungry. Tired. And had no idea what her next move was going to be.
That's when Damon had found her in the stairwell sobbing her eyes out.
He was tall, broad shouldered, thick through the chest, and had massive muscles. Looking at him, she had no doubt he'd be able to tear Andy apart with his bare hands. He had those eyes that were unusual and haunting, and a head of thick, long hair as black as midnight, save for the streaks of silver that ran from his temples. He was a little rough looking, but she'd gone with him because she was terrified and had no other options she could see.
He pulled the motorcycle to a stop outside of what looked like an auto repair shop with several large buildings behind it. A high fence with a steel gate that was currently open surrounded the whole compound. Cutting the engine, he put down the kickstand and got off the bike, turning and helping her off the back.
“You've got quite the set up here,” she said. “Looks like you're ready for the zombie apocalypse.”
He gave her a brief smile but, without a word, walked through the open bay doors of the garage where Led Zeppelin was blaring from a stereo in the corner and a couple of men were covered in grease, working on their bikes.
“What up, D?” one man called.
The other man eyed Cassie up and down and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Mighty fine piece you got yourself there, D,” he called. “You're welcome to throw her this way when you're done. I got no problem with sloppy seconds, man.”
The other man in the garage laughed as Damon simply nodded to them but remained silent. Cassie felt the eyes of the two men on me and tried to shake the dirty feeling of being called a “piece” by the one, as well as the implication that she could be passed around like that. He walked on as if he expected her to follow him – which she did. They walked through the garage and into a large room set behind the shop.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Clubhouse,” he said, his voice gruff. “You're safe here.”
Cassie looked around at the main room they were standing in. A large table of highly polished oak surrounded by chairs filled up the middle of the room. A large black flag was hung on the wall behind the chair at the head of the table. On the flag was the head of a dragon outlined in white surrounded by silver ghost flames. On the bottom were the words “Black Dragons MC Kingston NY.”
He passed through the main room and opened a door off to the side. They climbed a flight of stairs and he opened a door at the end of a long hall, motioning her inside. Hesitant, Cassie stepped through the doorway and into a room with a small bed, desk, and a sink with a mirror above it. It was bare and sparse, but surprisingly, very clean.
“Some of us stay here pretty regularly. Other times, one of the guys' old ladies kick 'em out for the night,” Damon explained. “They can come here for a place to stay.”
Cassie nodded as Damon sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked her up and down, the hunger inside of him growing. Cassie felt the heat in her face growing beneath his scrutiny.
“I appreciate you getting me out of there,” she said.
Damon nodded but said nothing, continuing to stare her up and down. She did her best to avoid his eyes.
“So – ummm – how long do you think I can stay here?” she asked.
Damon shrugged noncommittally. “How long do you think you can keep me interested in keeping you around?”
Cassie cocked her head and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. “C'mon now,” he said. “You're a pretty girl. I'm a single guy with needs. Do I need to spell it out?”
She looked at him,
horrified. She was sure he was talking about exchanging sex for shelter. Cassie looked into his face, trying to see something that would tell her she was wrong, that she'd simply misunderstood his comments. But all she could see was him staring her up and down like a starving man looking at a buffet.
“I appreciate you getting me out of there, Damon,” she said, “but I'm not – ”
“Save it,” he said. “We are all that kind of person. We all trade things for other things every day. We barter. We buy and sell different commodities. It's just a natural part of business and life.”
Perhaps that’s true, Cassie thought to herself, but this isn’t a business arrangement. She'd been running for her life. And now Damon was demanding that she get naked and service him for his efforts? She looked at him and the way he was looking at her stirred something inside of Cassie. She knew she should be offended. Should be horrified by his proposition. And on some levels she was.
But on another level entirely, one she never knew existed, she had to admit that his frank, straight-forward proposition was a bit of a turn on. There was something about him that lit a fire in her she thought was long since dead. Andy would come home, demand she bend over the arm of the couch, and she'd spend the next five minutes wishing she were anywhere but there. Unless he was forcing her to blow him, that was her entire sex life with her husband. Her only consolation was that it was over so quickly.
Looking at Damon, though, at his ripped physique and rugged good looks – it stirred the embers of desire inside of her. His blunt proposition was incredibly sexist and demeaning, sure, but it was honest, pragmatic, and, in a way, incredibly sexy.
Her body, though vibrating with trepidation, seemed to be acting of its own volition and crossed the room toward where Damon sat on the edge of the bed.
CHAPTER ONE
Damon looked at Cassie lying beneath the covers of the bed. Her long, coppery red hair was splayed out on the pillow and her long, smooth, gorgeous legs peeked out from beneath the tangle of sheets and blankets. He finished buckling his belt and smiled. He'd been right about her – she was an absolute demon in the sack. It was always the quiet, shy ones who were the most fun.
Leaving her breathing softly, Damon backed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him. After the workout he'd given her last night, he would have been surprised if she were awake before noon. He was pretty sure she'd never had sex that good or that intense in her life. Certainly not with her piece of shit husband. Damon had savored every bit of that pent up, repressed sexual energy. And there had been a lot of it.
Damon didn't have a very high opinion of humanity, in general. He didn't like people. But he reserved his outright hatred and loathing for men who raised their hands to women. He thought abusers like Cassie's husband were the lowest of the low. They were disgusting pieces of shit who should be put down like rabid dogs – probably even before the rabid dogs. Abusers were disgusting, lowlife cowards. Damon should know. He'd had plenty of experience with them in his life.
He came downstairs into the club's kitchen and found Carl sitting at the table, reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee.
“Mornin',” Damon said as he poured a mug for himself.
Carl simply nodded and continued reading his paper. Damon and Carl had been friends for more years than he could count. He was tall, lean, and well-muscled. Over the years, Damon had watched Carl's hair go from light brown to gray, but the style never changed – always pulled back into a ponytail that reached the middle of his back. Carl's face was grizzled with stubble and he had a thick walrus mustache that hung below his chin.
Sixty years old and still able to kick some ass, though he'd be been around, had seen a lot of things – bad things – and, as a result, was mellower, more thoughtful and less reactionary than most of the club's other members. It was one of the things Damon admired about him. Rather than go in with guns blazing, Carl always sought a less violent, more even handed approach. He wasn't afraid of violence and would throw down without hesitation if the situation called for it, but Carl didn't like violence for the sake of violence.
Some of the club's other members didn't like his approach and wanted the Black Dragons to establish a relationship as a club you simply did not fuck with, but it was Carl's steady, calm leadership that had led the BDs to be held in some esteem by the other local clubs. It had avoided a lot of bloodshed over the years. Not that some of those cretins would ever see it. All some of them wanted was to go in and stomp some heads.
Carl's steadiness through the storms was one of the things Damon most admired about him. Over their years together, they'd grown closer than brothers. He was Carl's right hand man and most trusted ally. And as Carl's right hand, the club's Sergeant at Arms – and a damn imposing figure himself – he'd been able to head off a couple of coups over the years.
Damon sighed as he sat down at the table and took a sip of his coffee.
“Heard you brought a new piece in with you last night,” Carl said without looking up from his paper.
Damon shrugged. “Yeah, she needed a place to crash.”
“From what I heard, there was a lot more than just her crashin' going on up there.”
“Price of admission.”
Carl finally put down his paper and gave Damon an incredulous look. “She willing to pay that price?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You really need to ask me that?”
“No,” Carl replied. “But I'm askin' anyway.”
Damon took a sip of his coffee. “She was willing. You know I wouldn't take something like that if she's wasn't.”
Carl nodded. “Good. So nothin' to what some of the guys are sayin' about you kidnappin' her either?”
Damon shook his head. “These little bitches gossip more than a group of little old women.”
“That they do,” Carl grinned. “That they do.”
“No, I did not kidnap her. She was jammed up,” Damon said. “Found her in a stairwell outside the truck stop last night. She was a mess. Needed to get out of there and hide out somewhere. She has an abusive ex chasing her.”
Carl nodded as if he understood why Damon had done what he did. And knowing Damon as well and for as long as he had, he probably did. “How long's she stayin'?”
Damon shrugged. “Maybe a week, I guess. Maybe less.”
“What about the ex?”
“What about him?”
“He gonna come sniffin' around here?”
Damon shook his head. “Doubt it. He doesn't know where she is. Doesn't know she left with me.”
Carl looked at him evenly. “Hope not. Last thing we need right now is more eyes and heat on us.”
“What's going on?”
“Gotta make a run to Margaretville,” he said. “Gotta keep the shipment here for a few days.”
“We gotta keep it at the club?”
Carl nodded. “That's what I said. Problem?”
“Not a problem,” Damon replied. “We just don't usually have to do that and expose ourselves to that kind of risk.”
“It is what it is,” Carl said and shrugged. “Ain't got a choice this time. Distributor can't take it all just yet. Too much heat on them right now. They're looking for a secondary location to store it.”
“It is what it is,” Damon repeated.
“I'm going to want you to head up to Margaretville with Breaker and Willie,” Carl said. “Make sure the transfer goes smooth and that there are no surprises. And I'm gonna want you to go strapped.”
Damon cocked his head. “You expecting trouble?”
“Hope not,” Carl replied. “But we haven't done business with these guys for very long yet. Still not completely comfortable with 'em. Just want to make sure my bases are covered. Just watch your ass while you're there.”
“Understood,” Damon said. “I'll be there.”
Damon didn't necessarily like carrying a gun. But he liked the idea of getting caught with his pants down and not having a gu
n when he needed it even less. They hadn't been doing business with the Mexicans for very long, but Damon had never gotten a shady vibe off of them. It was a lucrative deal for everybody involved so he didn't think Diego and Sergio were going to do anything to screw up the cash cow their weed was. And given the quantity they were buying, there was a lot of money on the line for everybody. They weren't stupid. But if Carl wanted him to go strapped, he was going to go strapped.
“Anything going on I should know about?” Carl asked.
Merrick: Harlequins MC Page 27