by Jc Emery
I turn to leave, but I’m not fast or strong enough to get very far. There’s a scuffle behind me, and some cursing, but I can’t see what’s going on. Duke wraps his muscular arm around my waist and pulls me up against him roughly. Leaning in, he whispers in my ear, “We’re going to get over this privately, or we’re going to do it out here while I make you come. Your choice.”
There’s nothing I can say or do to change his mind or stop this from happening, so instead of fighting it, I just give in. And I feel like the biggest loser for being so angry one minute only to give in like a coward the next. Turning us around, Duke leads us through the crowd of men and the occasional woman and down the hall. On our way out, I see that everybody’s gone back to their previous conversations with the exception of two people: Ryan and Jim. So much alike, courtesy of their genes, the father and son look equally pissed off, and neither moves a muscle. Much too late, I’m starting to get the hint that something I’m unaware of is going on with the club.
It’s a familiar walk down the hall and into Duke’s room. The gray paint on the walls doesn’t look any different now than it did that night, a few months ago, that he led me here for a very different purpose. The lock sounds the same as the door closes behind me. The same stale smell of beer and leather fills my nose, only this time it doesn’t excite me. This time it makes me feel strangely nauseated. The fact that I’m even in this situation is just stupid as fuck—no other way to describe it. I face the outside wall of the room with Duke at my back, refusing to turn around.
I close my eyes for just a moment and picture my dad in his leather cut, his long, dark reddish brown hair hanging over his shoulders. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head just slightly to the side. He says, “Buckle up, Girl.” He was always my rock—the one person who made everything else better and a little less fucked up. He was strong willed and damn mean to those who crossed him. Saying I miss him wouldn’t do it justice.
The memory makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs and start hitting things at random. He’s been gone a long time, and there’s little chance he’ll be back anytime soon with the way he’s going. All I have now are my memories.
“Turn around,” Duke says, his deep voice steady and calm now. I open my eyes and blink away all thoughts of my dad. It’s just wrong to stand here and think about him while I’m in this room. As far as I know, he doesn’t know what I’ve become, and I don’t want him to know, either.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and narrow my eyes at Duke. I may be complying, but I’m not about to be pleasant while doing it.
“What?” I say, drawing the word out. Letting out a huff, he raises his hand.
Remembering the way he looked when I brought up his precious little Princess, I flinch back at the movement. Steeling my jaw, I squint my eyes in anticipation of an impact that never comes. Strong hands cup my jaw and pull me forward. Holding my head to his chest, Duke strokes my hair and whispers, “You think I’d hit you?”
I say nothing. I have nothing good to say. It doesn’t matter how violent these men can be. They don’t like to be reminded of their cruelty. Instead, I opt for placing a light kiss on his cut, just above his SECRETARY patch. It’s the closest I can come to an apology. He pulls my head back slowly, his eyes searching mine for an answer. Keeping my face as carefully blank as possible, I don’t break eye contact no matter how much his attention makes me squirm.
“Who hit you?” he asks, surprising me. My lips part, and my brows draw together.
“Nobody,” I say. My lie comes far too quickly to be believable, but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t something I’m willing to talk about with anyone, much less Duke.
“One day you’re going to trust me,” he says. “But in the mean time, we need to get a few things straight.” Setting his feet wider apart, he leans in, whispering, “Do not ever speak to me like that in front of my brothers again. This can only work one way, and that’s you figuring out your place. You got that?”
“My place? I have to figure out my place? Oh, hell no,” I snap and push back off his chest. I don’t want to be that near to him anymore. I don’t want to be bullied. I just wanted that moment to last a little longer. It was calm and quiet and gentle, and I just don’t have enough of that in my life.
He grabs at my arms and pushes me up against the wall. I brace for a hard hit, but it doesn’t come. I know he won’t hurt me, but damn it, the panic seizes at my chest anyway. He’s so in control in everything he does, it seems. I’m about to say a hundred different things about being cornered here when I realize it’s all useless. I could scream at him until I lose my voice. I could try to push him away in every physical and emotional way possible, but none of it matters. He’s targeted me, and he won’t go away until he wants to. And he won’t give me any notice when he’s done with me. It’ll just be over, and my life will go back to being like it was before all of this began. Only, by that time I’ll be used to having a man promise me stupid shit he never intends to keep. And that’s the dangerous thing about having something worth losing—once it’s gone—and that always hurts.
“You over your shit, or do I need to fuck the attitude right out of you?” he says with a cocky smirk.
“Fuck you,” I snap and try to push him off me. His smile falls as he expertly twists my wrists with my arms up over my head and holds them in place with his right hand.
“Keep it up,” he says. “You won’t like where this goes.”
“No, I probably won’t,” I hiss and glare up at him. He drags his free fingers along the top of my jeans before flicking the button open. His tongue peeks out and licks his lips. My attention diverts from his eyes to his mouth. Wanting him despite everything just pisses me off to a point of irrationality. Two months. Two fucking months, and this is the shit he’s pulling? I’m not giving into him that easily. “Maybe Princess will let you fuck her royal pussy.”
His grip on my wrists becomes painfully tight, and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. His ability to keep himself in check when he’s being taunted is aggravating, and words spill from my mouth before I can stop them. Everything I want to say boils over and flies out. “Go find your whore, because I’m done.”
“I already got my whore, babe. Might want to think twice about the shit that flies out of your mouth,” he says. Slowly he drags the zipper of my jeans down, keeping his eyes on mine. “Princess ain’t who you think she is, but let me check you about a few things since you’re a slow learner.”
I don’t even know what the fuck he’s going on about. My lungs struggle to pull in enough oxygen to keep up with the angry way my chest heaves. For a moment my vision blurs as my eyes cross, and I try to push off the wall, but he’s not having it. He slams his hips into mine, making his attraction apparent, shoving me back, and this time I smack my head against the exposed brick with a loud thunk. My jaw locks, and the dull throbbing from the back of my skull sends me into a maniacal fit.
“You’re such a cock-sucking bitch!” I scream. My face heats and my ears are practically burning from the blood rushing to my head. I don’t even give a shit what he does anymore. I just want him to know that I’m not okay with this. “Don’t fucking manhandle me!”
From his left hip, he produces a long, black serrated edge knife that looks like something straight out of a war game. I’m so jacked up by his macho shit that I can’t even bring myself to be afraid until he brings the knife down to my open jeans. Refusing to let panic take over, I force my breathing to stay controlled. I don’t want to fall apart despite the circumstances. With a stiff upper lip, I take my eyes away from the knife and look him square in the eye.
“Do what you gotta do,” I say. “I get it. I’m just the club whore. I get no say. Cut me, beat me up—go for it,” I hiss in his face. My eyes well with unshed tears. Whether they’re from anger or fear, I don’t know. “But this is the last time you touch me.”
The fabric presses against my pussy, and a second later it
’s gone. He clips the knife back in its holder and skims his hand down my side and to my hip. “You are one stupid bitch,” he says. Gripping my hip with enough force to leave a bruise, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead atop my head. His warm breath washes down over my face. Every minute or so, he gives both my hip and my wrists a squeeze. When he loosens his grip he finally lifts his head and opens his eyes. His free hand travels from my hip down the line of my jeans, tracing the star tattoos on my lower belly. With his index, middle, and ring finger, he slides into my jeans, curves up, and slams himself into me. Shock from the movement causes me to tighten around him and freeze up.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says with a gravelly voice. “But remember who I am. I am Forsaken. I’ve killed men for less—tortured them because I can.” My lungs stop for a moment and, when they resume, all I can force out are breathy pants. I don’t want to enjoy this—any of this—but I do.
“Pushing me is not wise, Nicole. If I have to scare you to shut you up, I will. But I won’t ever hurt you,” he says, his voice falling to a whisper. “Don’t complicate shit, chill out, and understand this—I want you as my woman. That means you represent me and I’m responsible for you. I let you pull that shit again, and my brothers will start questioning whether or not I can handle the shit I gotta do for this club if I can’t even handle my woman. Do you understand that?”
“Two months,” I say very slowly so he can understand, because obviously he’s really fucking slow.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” he says, pulling his fingers out and shoving them back in again. He hits a sweet spot, and my mouth hangs open, my eyes drift to the back of my head, and I clamp down on him tight.
“Two months,” I repeat trying to sound like a hard ass, but it comes out as a whimper. “Do you understand that?”
“You my woman?” he asks as his thumb finds my clit. I let out a loud moan and let my head fall back against the brick. I don’t respond. He doesn’t deserve a response. He’s a childish prick who always has to have the last word. Now that he’s put the knife away, I can breathe a little easier, knowing that he isn’t going to hurt me. My dad can’t ride, so he can’t vote, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t family. Carving up a member’s kid is bad news, and I don’t think Duke would bring that on himself. But then, I also didn’t think he’d push me into a wall and pull a knife on me, either.
“You pulled a knife on me,” I hiss, but it’s cut off by the pressure that’s building in my muscles, screaming its way through my bones and heating my bloodstream.
“I won’t hurt you, I told you that,” he grits out as he continues his ministrations. “I won’t ever hurt you.” Leaning down, my smashes his lips to mine. I don’t even attempt to fight it. Greedily, I suck his bottom lip in between mine and give it a quick bite. His eyes blaze when he pulls back, and then he’s on me again. Our tongues slide against one another in a fight of dominance. When we pull apart, neither of us can breathe.
“Let me go,” I say. He shakes his head and curls his fingers inside my pussy. Everything blurs and disappears for half a second before I can stop myself from splintering in a million little pieces.
“You’ll run,” he says hoarsely. I shake my head and buck my hips into his hand.
“No, I just want your cock,” I say. I clamp down on his hand and let my body slip toward the floor. After a beat, he lets go of my wrists and wraps his arm around my waist as we sink to the floor together. He doesn’t remove his fingers as he slowly guides me to my back. My wrists ache where he’d held me in place, but I can barely feel it. Lying down beside me, he continues to pump in and out of my pussy. I’m so slick and needy that I worry I’ll lose control before I get him inside me.
His eyes travel up to the table above my head, and his fingers still. It’s but a few seconds before I start to lose the high he’s been building in my gut. Impatiently, I yank my jeans down and kick them off then get to work on his belt. His eyes are still focused elsewhere, but I’m not having it. He can be in control everywhere else, but right now, he’s mine and this is my show.
Grabbing his face, I pull him down to my lips and drag my tongue against them. Instantly, his legs are shimmying out of his jeans, with a little help from me as I reach up with my feet and drag them to his ankles. A mass of frenzied flesh, and I’m clamping my legs together to keep the sweet pounding from dissipating. He pulls back to say something, but I pull him in again and wrap my legs around his waist. With one hand, he shoves his boxers down and guides himself hard and fast into my core. My back arches, and goose flesh breaks out all over my body. He hooks his hands over my shoulders from behind and drives into me again and again until I drift off into a sea of nothingness where my body pounds and aches and then fractures—not once, and not even twice, but three times—until he’s curled into me and his lips are at my neck. With a satisfied grunt, he kisses my neck and sucks at the flesh, marking me for everybody to see who I belong to.
“Now,” he says. “I don’t ever want to hear those fucking words come out of your mouth again. Don’t forget whose woman you are. Next time there will be consequences.”
And just like that, my blissful mood is shattered. Wiggling out from underneath him and scrambling across the room, I slide into my jeans and my flats. Turning to look at Duke, I find him standing; his broad shoulders block the light from streaming in from the window and cast a shadow over my frame. Consequences, that’s what it always comes back to. This is all way too fucked up. I shake my head slowly and fold my arms over my chest.
“No, I meant what I said. That was the last time you touch me,” I say and walk out, slamming the door behind me. In the hallway, I pause for a brief moment to see if he follows.
He doesn’t.
Chapter 4
I leave the clubhouse tucked into Chief’s side. He’s giving me a whole caveman speech about respect and the club and relationships. As much as I like Chief, I want to scream at him to shut up. He’s one of the biggest fucking hypocrites I’ve ever met. But doing that definitely has consequences. I say absolutely nothing that would allude to cooperation on my part and make up some bullshit excuse about having to pick Jeremy up at summer school. I don’t think he buys it, but he doesn’t argue with me, and he lets me leave quickly.
Pulling up to the small yellow ranch house, I cut the engine of the Corolla and take a moment to collect my thoughts. I never got an answer about who Princess is and what the hell is going on with her and Duke, nor do I think I’m going to get a straight answer from him. He said she isn’t who I think she is, but I don’t know who I think she is other than one of his good little whores. Pulling my cell out of my purse, I look up Chel’s number and send her a text saying, WHO IS PRINCESS?
It’s a little on the petty side, but oh well. If Duke is going to pull this crap with me, I want to know who the hell else he’s spending time with. My phone rings in in my hand. I check the caller I.D. to see Chel’s picture on the screen. Swiping the screen to unlock it, I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey,” I say.
“Are you and Duke a thing?” Chel asks in a whisper. Immediately, I’m on the defensive.
“That’s a hell to the no,” I say and lean my head back against the head rest. “Who’s Princess?” Maybe if I keep asking, she’ll actually tell me something. Chel and I are pretty tight. I’ve watched her kid so many times she should probably put me on payroll, and last year when she had nowhere to go, I let her stay in our extra bedroom. I could probably use that for leverage if she’s reluctant to give up the goods.
“Why do you want to know?” she asks.
“So you do know something,” I say. “Just spit it the fuck out, will you?”
“I’m not supposed to know this shit,” she says warily.
“Chel, I got shit to do today.”
“Fine,” she says. She draws in a deep breath and then slowly blows it out. It sounds like she’s smoking. I thought she quit?
“She’s Ruby’s niece or kid or so
mething. Ryan says the girl doesn’t have a clue who her mom is.”
“That’s fucked up,” I say, unable to find anything else to respond with.
“You think?”
“So that’s why Duke calls her Princess? Because she’s Ruby’s kid? How fucking old is she?” I have a million questions flying around in my brain as I try to process it all.
“I don’t know,” Chel whisper-shouts. “Ryan says she’s legal. Do you know the last name Mancuso?”
“Should I?” I ask. A quiet chuckle sounds on the other end.
“Look it up. You’ll see. I gotta go. Chief’s coming.” The line goes dead, and I toss my phone back into my purse and climb out of the car. On my way into the house, the phone rings. It’s the clubhouse. I slide the bar to answer the call, but when I hear Duke’s voice, I hang up. He tries to call twice more from both the clubhouse and his cell, but I ignore those calls. Fuck him and fuck his bullshit.
Walking into the house, I find the front door unlocked and the faint sounds of feminine giggles and masculine laughter coming from down the hall. I don’t even have to go look to know Jeremy’s door is closed. Pausing in the entry, I consider my options. I could storm down the hall and stop whatever’s going on, but it’s not really my job. I mean, I guess it is in a way. He’s almost eighteen, though, and he doesn’t really listen to a thing I say anyway. It wouldn’t do any good.
Frustration builds, and I decide to just give up on the idea of being a parental figure for the evening. Walking into the kitchen, which is coincidentally the room farthest away from Jeremy’s room, I set my purse down and take a look around. Years back, before my mother left and then Dad got locked up, this used to be my favorite room in the house. It’s not all that big, but the large window over the sink lets in a lot of natural light. The countertop forms an L-shape and curves around the outside corner of the house with the sink, range, and refrigerator forming a triangle. It wasn’t like this when Dad bought the house. I was barely five then, but I can remember clearly when my mother said that the placement was all wrong.