Break Me In: A Biker Romance Serial (The Devil's Host Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by Shari Slade

My body is awkward, jerking and swaying in the darkness. Every sharp crack tries to pull me back to the present, forces me to pay attention. I squeeze my eyes shut so we can be alone in that place where pain is pleasure. Where everything he does to me feels good because he’s the one doing it.

  All my moans belong to him.

  I don’t know how many strikes it takes for Harry to cave—five lashes? Fifty? I just know that he does.

  “The Bloody Jokers. They didn’t give me a choice either.” Harry cries.

  The rival club name is strange and none of his sobbing confession makes sense to me, but Dev is satisfied. He leaves Harry in a heap on the floor and stalks over to us. Fresh adrenaline spikes my bloodstream, and my heart stutters back to a racing gallop. I try to slow my breathing, to hide my fear from this monster, but I can’t. I feel my nostrils flaring, see Dev’s satisfied smirk. His gaze rakes over me, and it’s like salt in every wound. He’s cold, assessing, and so fucking pleased with himself. I hold my cry in my throat, trap it there, because he wants it more than anything. He wants my anguish and the anguish it will cause Noah. I refuse to give that to him too.

  Whatever he wants, I’m going to make him fight for it if I can.

  He smiles. “You were a very good girl. The club owes you a favor.”

  There’s a heat in that smile that makes my stomach turn even as I’m relieved that this nightmare is ending. Having Dev owe me anything feels wrong, dangerous in a way climbing onto the back of Noah’s bike never did. I think maybe the only thing Dev owes people is terror and chaos. “Then let me go.”

  “That’s not up to me, sweetheart. You’re his problem. And if he’s anything like me, after that performance you aren’t going anywhere.”

  My mouth floods with saliva, and I want to spit right in Dev’s smug face. I’m reminded of snakes that swallow their prey whole and then don’t eat for a month. That’s the look on Dev’s face. Like he’ll be digesting tonight’s entertainment for a long time. I pray that I’m right, because if he touches me again, I’m pretty sure Noah will lose his mind and we’ll all end up dead.

  I don’t know much, but everything I know so far tells me Noah is nothing like him. Beneath the rough exterior, Noah has honor and kindness. Dev has none.

  Noah stands frozen in front of me, and I mentally cheer for him. He’s not taking what is so obviously bait. He stays like that—eyes forward, fists clenched—until all of Dev’s men file out the door. The last of them drag Harry from the room, like it’s a dark parade and he’s the banner stretched between them. Maybe that’s exactly what it is.

  I imagine there’s still coleslaw clinging to the bottom of his boots. I imagine him singing like it’s closing time. Is it still Harry? Or just a body?

  As soon as the door closes behind them, Noah drops the switch and picks up some of the rope they’d cut away from Harry’s body.

  “You went too far, Dev. I think maybe you’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

  Smug, self-satisfied, Dev doesn’t move. “Too far? I decide what’s too far. I draw the damn line.”

  Noah shakes his head and coils rope around his hands. “I’ve seen power break a man before. I’ve seen it twist a man until all that’s left is greed and hollow cruelty. You may get to draw the line, but it’s my job to hold it. Now I’m going to do my job.”

  “Good.”

  And then that angry wall of muscle is in motion again. The tiger unleashed. The cage broken. Dev doesn’t have five men at his side anymore. He realizes that far too late. I watch the understanding and surprise break over his face and then I watch his eyes bulge.

  “I’m going to hold the fucking line to your throat and choke you with it.”

  Chapter Seven

  “You killed him for me.” My voice cracks. My throat is dry and aching from all the crying out I’ve done and also from holding back. Exhaustion sinks deep into my bones, and I can hardly hold my head up.

  Noah flicks open a pocketknife and attacks the knot at my wrists. “I killed him for a lot of reasons. What he did to you—what he made me do to you—that was an act of war. He knew I’d claimed you, and he made me hurt you anyway. For the club. It’s not supposed to be that way. Twisted like that. We may be criminals, but there’s a code of fucking conduct. Unspoken. And spoken. This shit broke all of the rules. And those fuckers just stood by and let it happen. No, they helped him do it. I can’t let it stand.”

  Those fuckers? He meant the other men in the room. The ones who grabbed him when I fell, the ones who made sure he did what needed to be done. Is he going after them now? My mind spins on war, though. They certainly have enough guns and men, but all of them against Noah? Is he as crazy as Dev?

  The knot at my wrist gives, and I slump into Noah’s arms.

  Noah cradles me like a handful of broken glass swept off the floor—light and careful, like I might cut him or shatter further. I want his solid arms to squeeze me, to remind me that I am flesh and bone and pumping blood. I feel insubstantial, shivering and floating above the horror of this dark little room.

  I worry that he feels insubstantial too.

  “Hold me tighter.” I ask because it will do us both good.

  “It’ll hurt.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He gathers me close and traces the curves of my face with the rough edge of his thumb—over my nose, my cheeks, brushing my hair from my forehead. “You gotta start caring, Star. Because I’m caring too much right now. It’s tearing me up inside how much I care.”

  I can hardly look at him. His touch and voice and eyes are all so soft right now it’s almost scary. I knew what to do with his hardness, but this? His tenderness rains down on me like the sweetest hail. Pinging against my defenses.

  “What about Harry? Where’d they take his…?” I can’t bring myself to say the word body…”

  He traces soothing circles into my scalp. “You can’t worry about that. He may not have chosen his life, but he chose his death. He knew the penalty for throwing in with the Bloody Jokers, the price of betrayal.”

  “And Kristi? Her shop?”

  “I’ll deal with it.”

  I curl my arm around his neck and press my face into his shoulder, hiding from betrayal and prices and everything awful. “Can’t we just leave?”

  He skims his hand over my back and upper arms. I wince when he hits a sore spot, but he doesn’t stop touching. Jesus, he’s not avoiding my injuries. He’s checking me, methodically. “This is my whole life here. My brothers. My family. My job. I can’t walk away and let them destroy it all unchecked.”

  I’d walked away from my whole life.

  Twice.

  That this one had such a hold on him, that he thought it was worth staying for—dying for—was confusing and intriguing. I wanted that for myself. “You have a family?”

  Noah nods. “My old man had to quit riding a few years back. Got a sister too. Jules. She’s nineteen and a handful.” He presses a kiss to the corner of my lips that lights a fire inside me, inside both of us.

  His hungry mouth claims mine, gentle at first but then fierce, until it’s all wet heat and teeth.

  His tongue slides against mine and his fingers dig into my ass while I’m cradled in his arms, and it’s like I can finally breathe again. I’m not just a problem to be dealt with or collateral to be protected. I’m his. I’m wanted.

  “I can’t hurt you again. Not one fucking hair on your head.”

  For the first time in my life, in this horrible place, with this man who does horrible things, I feel cherished. “When you hurt me, it felt like love.”

  “That’s fucked-up, Star. And it’s why I need to get you the hell out of here. Get you safe.”

  “I don’t want to be protected, though. Not like that. I want to be with you. Does what I want count at all?”

  “No.” Half growl, half smile—he nips my bottom lip, and another flood of warmth spreads through my body, chasing away the chill and fear. “What I just did? That was a bl
oody fucking coup. I have to deal with the aftermath, we don’t have a chance in hell if I don’t.”

  Hope swells in my chest. “But we do have a chance?”

  “I guess we’ve got a chance. Maybe. If I survive the blood feud Dev started with the Jokers. If I survive cleaning up the mess he made of our club while I wasn’t paying attention. If I survive the way my fucking cock gets hard every time you so much as blink in my direction. There’s a lot of fucking ifs. Even then I still won’t deserve you, but I’m a selfish fucker so I’ll take you anyway. If.”

  All those ifs, and the only one I can think about is attached to his cock. It’s the only one I can do anything about. “Is it hard now?”

  “Are you blinking?”

  “Fuck me, Noah.” The request is a sigh, a plea, an involuntary response. Totally inappropriate, one hundred percent ridiculous, but I don’t care. We might never have another chance. “If everything is about to go to shit, let’s at least have that before it does. I want you inside me.”

  “Here?” He means this awful room where terrible things happened. To Harry. To me. To him.

  “Make it go away. Make us both forget. For now.”

  He sets me down, and I wobble on my feet for the first time in what feels like hours. He shoves a wooden chair under the doorknob, and then I’m spinning. My hands are against the wall, and Noah is behind me, yanking down my jeans. Two tugs and my ass is bare. His belt buckle clinks, and I know his jeans are down too. The crinkle of a wrapper. His sharp inhale as he rolls on a condom.

  My body melts, sore and tired but wound so damn tight waiting for him to touch me. He gathers my hair into his fist and presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “This is what you want?”

  “Yes,” I hiss as his other hand slips down the front of my body, pinching my nipples, teasing my belly, then finally dipping between my legs to torment my clit. Fast. Hard. Painful. It’s what I want. What I need. Especially after all that slow torture. I need it to burn.

  “If I were a good man, I wouldn’t do this.”

  I’m so wet, but there’s no embarrassment in this moment. Not after all we’ve done tonight. “Would a good man touch my pussy like that, feel how ready I am, and walk away? No. You’re good, Noah; I know you are.”

  He whips me around to face him. There’s nothing soft in his eyes now, only violence and hard lust. I reach for him, and he lifts me up. Finally, finally his cock is at my entrance, the blunt head spreading me open, filling me up.

  Noah is holding me in his arms so tight and filling me so full. Our eyes are locked, dark with something more than lust. We are needful in this moment. We need each other. I’m soft where he is hard. Light where he is dark. I’m not broken glass. I’m unbreakable. I bend and bend. I take everything he gives me, every angry thrust, and shudder around him.

  Claimed and claiming.

  The orgasm rips through us both like a battle cry.

  Chapter Eight

  I wake up in Noah’s room at the club for the second day in a row, and my first thought is the same one I’ve had each time—it’s nicer than my apartment.

  Not because it’s clean—it really isn’t. Or because of the fancy amenities—it has none. But because every inch of the space is so unapologetically his.

  My memories from a few nights before cut through the haze of sleep. The beating. The bodies. Noah hauling me in here for the first time, tossed over his shoulder—broken, sore, terrified—with the hoots and wolf whistles from his brothers still ringing in my ears. He must have looked like a conquering Viking to them. That would make me the spoils of a war they didn’t even know happened, except for the few who’d been blindly loyal to Dev. God, were they all dead now too? Had Noah and Stone torn through them all yet? Then I’d wept tears of relief as soon as we crossed the threshold because I’d felt so deeply that this room was an inner sanctum, safer somehow than anywhere else in the club, a place where only Noah could touch me.

  He’d touched me so gently. He’d fucked me hard in that awful place, but here everything had been soft. He’d undressed me. Smoothed something cool and slick over my welts. Whispered apologies into my skin. Ordered me to sleep.

  And that’s what I’d done. For days.

  Now, I’m awake. Rested and alert. Hyperaware. Taking it all in again.

  His walls are covered with a kind of collage. Bikes and centerfolds and whiskey-ad sunsets. I can almost picture him thumbing through the pages of a parts catalog or a dirty magazine, coming across some shiny thing he wants for himself, and tearing it out to feather his nest. Building the life he wants layer by layer. I want to touch each one and ask him for the story that goes along with it. Because they are all stories. I know that much. It’s not wallpaper; it’s a vision board. And I’m the latest addition.

  I’m on my side, pinned by the force of Noah’s will and the weight of his body. He’s spooned behind me. Clinging to me, really. He’s got one arm under me, hooked up so his massive palm crushes my breast. The other arm is draped over my waist—that palm cups my pussy. Every breath I take shifts my body just enough to rub my most tender places against his callused fingers. My nipples are already hardening, the bundle of nerves near the top of my mound plumping and tightening.

  I don’t want to be turned on like this, so easily. It’s embarrassing. He’s going to wake up with my wetness coating his hand. My cheeks burn, remembering what he did the last time. The way he’d shoved his fingers into my mouth so I could clean them. Lick them like a cock, his cock, the one that is hard and hot against my back.

  I rock my hips.

  He makes a sleepy noise, half grunt, half moan, and then he’s rocking with me. He traps my nipple between two fingers and rolls it, sending sharp shocks of pleasure spearing from my breast down to my clit. “Greedy girl.”

  “I am.” I whine. I don’t want to do that either, but I can’t help it. Every stroke and flick makes me so needy and desperate. I’ll do almost anything, suffer almost any indignity just to have this. To have his mouth on me, his cock inside me.

  I’ve already suffered so much it should be my reward.

  “Take what you want, Star. If you’re going to survive in this place, you’re gonna have to learn.”

  I turn to do just that, but he flexes his muscles and clamps me in place. “Hey, I can’t move.”

  “I didn’t say it’d be easy.”

  “Don’t you want—”

  “Feeling you struggle in my arms has my dick so fucking hard right now, baby.”

  Oh shit. I don’t know if it’s a game or a lesson or both, but everything that had been a sleepy simmer is suddenly at a raging boil. I’m small and naked, and his hand is wrapped around my throat. I can’t do what he’s asking me to do. It goes against my every instinct.

  I whimper, and he growls in response, squeezing me tighter. “Fight me.”

  Do I have any fight left in me? With his palm caressing my windpipe and his leg wrapped over mine?

  I can breathe—just. His grip is solid, restrictive and restrained, an undeniable reminder that he is powerful, that his body is a weapon with the safety on. And then I can’t breathe when he clamps down harder. Just for a second. Just long enough for my vision to go hazy at the edges. Adrenaline jolts through me, tightening every muscle, raising every hair. My heart is a hummingbird in a steel cage beating out yes yes yes with its wings.

  Yes. I can fight.

  Hemmed in, I can’t really use my fists or my feet. I can hardly move. But I can dig my nails into the hand at my throat. I can slam my elbow into his ribs.

  So I do.

  I yank and tug and writhe until I’m covered in a sheen of sweat from the exertion. His cock only seems to get hotter and harder at my back. A thick promise, taunting me. Maybe if I had a pry bar, I could get him off my neck. Get some leverage. My ragged nails don’t do more than scrape off a layer of his skin. He grunts at the blows to his gut though and works the fingers on his other hand between the lips of my pussy.

  Fina
lly.

  It’s a cruel touch, blunt and rough. But my body is already melted for him. It gives way, easy and slick, so he skates over my clit. My hips buck, eager to take what he’ll give me. To take what I want.

  He laughs. “Fight harder. A few little love taps aren’t going to get you anywhere.”

  “Got you touching my clit,” I pant, still clawing the hand at my throat.

  “But you want more than that. You’re so empty and aching, I can feel it.” He thrusts two fingers inside me, and I clench around him as he pumps in and out. He uses quick, shallow thrusts that only make me more desperate for something deeper, harder, faster. “I could play like this for days. Getting you close but never all the way. Getting my hand all messy so you can clean it for me. Is this what you wanted? My fingers inside your hot cunt again.”

  He is infuriating. As relentless and unchangeable as the tide. As immovable as a mountain.

  I grit my teeth. “You know what I want.”

  “You want them in your tight little asshole then?”

  I hadn’t even thought of that. My mind screams no no no, but my pussy gushes around his fingers because please please. And still he strokes, the wet noises drowned out by my whimpers.

  I shake my head, unable to give voice to this conflicted desire. I want him filling me up…everywhere. Too much and not enough. Deep and hard. Soft and slow. The teasing, the torment, it’s nearly unbearable. I just want him to fuck me again. To claim me in the daylight. To take me as a woman, not as a debt to be collected or a prize to be won or a victim to be soothed.

  “I don’t want your fingers. I want your cock.” All that wanting builds and builds without anywhere to go. I’m frantic with need, frustrated, almost angry with it. If I could bite him, I would. “Pin me to your fucking wall and make me come already.”

  His grip loosens around my neck, and then we’re rolling until he’s on top of me. “You don’t go on my wall. My wall is for shit I’ll never have, places I’ll never go. I’ll fuck you in my bed where you belong.”