by B. B. Hamel
The damn girl was going to be the death of me.
I poured a cup of coffee and walked across the room, wearing only my boxer briefs. I quietly pushed open the bedroom door.
She was twisted up in the sheets, still fast asleep. I snuck inside and grabbed some clean clothes. As I began to slip out, I heard her stir.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting clothes. Go back to sleep.”
“Are you leaving?”
“For a few hours, yeah.”
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I should come.”
“No,” I said. “Club business. Larkin will send some pledges to keep an eye on you.”
She sighed. “Okay.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.” She stretched, and I got a great fucking view of her full tits through her thin, white cotton T-shirt. She had an incredible body, even first thing in the morning. I felt my cock begin to stiffen just looking at her.
I shut the door and shook my head.
Damn girl was going to be the death of me.
We tore down the highway, riding in formation. There were eight of us: me, Clutch, Spoil, Noble, Dow, Tyson, Locke, and Thade. It was a simple buy mission, just a quick swap of cash for goods from the Mexican club, the Mezcals.
There was nothing better than flying down the highway, wearing our cuts, bikes screaming, wind blowing, adrenaline pumping. I loved the anticipation I felt every time I was about to get involved in another mission, even a relatively safe and low-value one like buying drugs from the Mezcals.
We were on good terms, us and the Mexicans. We tried to keep it that way, because they definitely had the ability to strangle us out of the drug game. They got their drugs cheap as dirt across the border, and while we tried to do business with other dealers farther south, we found that we had to buy from the Mezcals from time to time to keep our stock up.
I was running point, with Clutch and Spoil my main backup. The other guys were mainly there as support, just acting as a show of force, proving to the Mezcals that we still had numbers and hardware.
The guys were all strapped into Kevlar and carrying rifles. That was how we rolled when we went up against another crew, even a relatively friendly crew.
The normal cactus patch was this outcropping of low hills and cacti out in the desert, well away from civilization. We found it useful as a nice neutral place to meet up to do our business.
It took about a half hour by bike to tear out there, riding fast. The cops knew not to fuck with us, especially our local cops. We were the law out in the desert, the real guys controlling the space. Nobody fucked with you when you wore the Demons cut, and for good reason.
We pulled up at the spot ten minutes early. I sent Tyson out to scout the surrounding area, just in case some shit was going down. That was just good practice, though I didn’t expect violence to go down.
We leaned against our bikes, shooting the shit for a few minutes. Soon enough, though, the roar of the Mezcal bikes coming up the dirt road meant it was almost time to get down to business.
“Weird time to meet,” Clutch said as the Mezcals pulled up.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Right after that Rebel kid gets murdered.”
“They’re not so stupid,” Noble said. “They wouldn’t make a move on us.”
Spoil grinned. “I hope they do.” He cocked his rifle, chambering a round. “I haven’t had live target practice in a while.”
The guys laughed, and I grinned along with them. But I completely agreed with Clutch; it was a weird time for a drop. Club business never ended, even with Caralee in danger. I knew she’d be safe at my place with the pledges protecting her, since if she got hurt, it was their asses under my fucking boot. And just because Caralee showed up didn’t mean our regular business ended.
Still, it just felt weird. The Mezcal gang pulled up, arraying themselves in front of us. They’d brought along eight as well, though they weren’t as well armed. Their leader, Juan Manuel, stepped up toward me, and I walked out to meet him.
“Larkin busy today?” he asked once I was near enough.
“He sends his regards.”
Juan Manuel shrugged. “Whatever, man. You got the cash?”
I gestured toward Thade, who walked out carrying a duffel bag. “We got it.”
Juan Manuel nodded and gestured to one of his boys. The guy came forward, carrying a large brown paper bag. We met in the middle. Thade tossed them his duffel, and the Mexican tossed us the paper bag.
Thade rooted through it and then nodded to me. I looked at Juan Manuel. “Nice doing business, as always.”
He grinned. “Yeah, sure, man. Hey, I heard something about the Rebels.”
“Yeah?”
“One of their boys got offed.” He dragged a thumb across his neck and made a gagging noise.
“During a deal like this,” I said.
Juan Manuel smirked. “Guess we need to be careful now, huh?”
Just then, up on the southern ridge, there was a loud shout. Everyone looked up just as Tyson crested it, screaming something.
“The fuck is this, man?” Juan Manuel said.
“Spoil, Clutch,” I yelled.
But it was too late. There was a loud bang, then another, and Tyson tumbled forward, blood spurting from his chest.
“The fuck?” Juan Manuel yelled, dropping back toward his boys.
I ran forward. “Move!” I yelled.
Then all hell broke loose.
Bullets sprayed everywhere. I counted four guys firing from the hills as we got behind our bikes. The Mexicans started shooting back, and I tried to signal to Juan Manuel that it wasn’t us attacking.
Whether he saw me or not, he didn’t seem to give a shit. The Mexicans got onto their bikes and rode off, not caring that we were pinned down.
I cursed. “Clutch, man, we gotta make moves,” I yelled over the gunfire.
“Got you boss.”
Clutch, Spoil, and Thade all began returning fire. I nodded to Locke. He was a young guy, one of the newest members. I liked him for his recklessness and his desire to prove himself.
We moved together, sprinting toward the hills. Bullets sprayed all around us, but the others did their job. We made it, diving down onto the base of the hill.
We quickly ran up the side, guns firing. Ahead, I could see the guys more clearly. They were bikers, without a doubt.
“Toss it, fuck,” I yelled to Locke.
He grinned hugely and pulled a grenade from his jacket. He pulled the pin and threw it toward the guys firing their weapons.
The explosion was enormous, a deep, booming scream. We ran up the hill following the bang, getting there just in time to catch two guys falling back. We started firing at them as the others come to join us, but it was too late. They were already on their bikes, pulling off.
“What the fuck was that?” Clutch said. “The fucking Mexicans fucked us!”
“No,” I said. I walked over to where the grenade had gone off, bending over.
There on the ground was what was left of one attacker. But clearly on his jacket was the patch of the Snake Spit MC, a giant serpent breathing fire.
“Fucking bastards,” Spoil growled.
I looked around. “Tyson?”
“Dead,” Locke called out.
“Get his body. Clutch, Spoil, grab this fucker’s corpse too. We’ll need proof.”
“Got it, boss.” The two big men began to load the burnt-up bastard’s body onto their backs.
We spent the next twenty minutes dragging the bodies down and getting them set up on the bikes. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but time was not on our side. We couldn’t wait around for the Snakes to come back.
We got onto our bikes and rolled out.
Tyson was dead. One of the Snakes was dead. The bastards had ambushed us at a meeting.
For no good reason, too. As far as I could tell, we had no beef with the fucking Snakes. But maybe they really were finally
making moves down on us.
The bastards had probably killed Caralee’s friend, too.
My mind suddenly froze, fixated. Caralee was in danger, serious fucking danger if those bastards had the balls to come at us with only three guys in the middle of the day like that.
I threw a sign to Clutch and split off from the main group, speeding back toward Caralee. They could tell Larkin what had happened.
I needed to check on her, needed to make sure she was okay.
Heart racing, I tore up the day, speeding home.
Chapter Seventeen: Caralee
I leaned back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling.
My coffee had gone cold an hour ago, but I was still forcing myself to sip it. The same awful reality TV show about this rich family was playing, and although I didn’t want to keep watching it, I genuinely had nothing else to do. I was trapped in Ford’s cabin while some pledges sat outside to protect me.
Although I didn’t really feel too protected. The image of my apartment torn into pieces from the day before kept coming back to me, not to mention the nightmare from the night before where I’d watched Rod get shot over and over and over.
I figured I’d have that nightmare for a while.
I stood up and stretched and then walked over to the front door. I pulled it open and looked outside.
The two pledges were sitting on Ford’s rocking chairs, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee.
“You guys need anything?” I asked.
“Nah,” the kid named Ryan said. “I’m good.”
“Mind if I have more coffee?” Slip asked.
I smiled and took his mug. “Sure. You guys sure you don’t want to come inside?”
“Sorry,” Slip said. “We got orders to sit outside. For your safety.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
I went back inside and poured Slip some coffee. The two guys were pretty young, maybe a year or two younger than me. Slip was tall, broad, and was always smiling. Ryan, meanwhile, was a little more morose, a little more serious. I liked them, although they weren’t really talkative.
I had the feeling they were under orders not to interact with me too much.
“Here you go,” I said to Slip as I held his mug out the door.
He took it from me. “Thank you kindly.”
“How long are you guys going to be out here?” I asked.
“Until Ford gets back or we’re told to leave,” Ryan said.
“Well thanks, I guess.”
Ryan shrugged. “Don’t thank us. We just do what we’re told.”
I laughed. “How did two nice boys like you get involved with the Demons MC, by the way?”
“Who says we’re nice boys?” Slip said, grinning.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. You guys don’t seem like bikers.”
Ryan stared at me. “We are.”
“Oh. Well, okay,” I said.
Slip smiled but didn’t say anything else. I nodded awkwardly and then disappeared back inside, collapsing onto the couch with a huff.
That was as much as I’d gotten out of them all morning. Ford had disappeared, waking me up at the crack of dawn, and the two guys had shown up pretty soon afterward. Not that I minded having some protection, but I just wished they’d be a little friendlier.
Then again, it wasn’t so bad. If the worst thing I had to say about my time at Ford’s place was that I was bored, well, that wasn’t awful. I’d rather be bored and safe than in harm’s way.
As I sat there, I couldn’t help but think about Ford. I was staying in his bed after all. I kept coming back to that moment when he got changed right in front of me, the way he just smiled as he took his pants off, completely unashamed.
Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. The man was absolutely ripped. His body was incredible, and his tattoos only made him seem that much harder. I couldn’t help but stare at his cock.
I felt the familiar thrill run through me as I thought about him. My pussy was soaking wet, and I bit my lip, looking around.
I couldn’t help myself. I slipped my hand down my panties and began to softly rub myself. The guys outside wouldn’t come in even if I begged them to.
And the thought of Ford fucking me rough up against the couch was too much. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I needed his thick cock deep between my legs. I wanted to feel him grab my hips and push himself deep inside me. I wanted to gasp as his warm breath touched my neck, his rough hands on my clit.
As I touched my soaking pussy, I kept thinking about Ford. I wanted him to spread my legs wide and press his mouth against my pussy. I knew he’d eat me like I’d never been touched before, because the man seemed so incredibly insatiable.
He’d stop just before I came and slowly slide his thick cock deep inside me. I’d moan, head thrown back, as he fucked me, grabbing my breasts, kissing my neck. He’d take me rough and hard, pulling my hips down against him, making me beg for it.
And he’d turn me around, press me down, and fuck me from behind. I wanted him to ravage me, to savage me, to take me without mercy. I’d let him fuck my pussy until I came, so hard and fast, on his thick cock.
I let out a soft, low moan as my real orgasm came on. I pictured him fucking me, slapping my ass, whispering in my ear how dirty I was being, how much he loved my pussy.
I bit my lip, feeling the orgasm come over me. I kept rubbing my pussy, eyes shut, sitting on his couch. My whole body quivered as thoughts of Ford kept running through my mind.
Suddenly I heard a bike come roaring up the driveway. Embarrassed, I got up from the couch, my head buzzing, and ran into the bathroom. I rinsed my fingers off just in time to hear the door bang open.
“Caralee.” It was Ford.
I came back out. “Hi, Ford,” I said.
“You okay?”
I smiled at him awkwardly. Did he somehow know that I was just getting myself off to him? “I’m fine. Why? Nothing is going on.”
He cocked his head. “You seem flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I snapped, looking away.
“Good.” He looked around. “We need to head to the clubhouse.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something happened. Come on. Get dressed.”
I looked at him for a second and saw the anxiety and stress on his face. I walked into the bedroom and quickly got dressed, mentally kicking myself.
What the hell was I thinking, masturbating right there on his couch? Since when could I barely control myself? I was like a horny, stupid teenager again or something.
“Come on,” he said impatiently from the other room.
“Ford, tell me what’s going on. Are you okay?” I called back, getting dressed.
“I’m fine.” But I could hear the stress in his voice.
I came back out wearing a pair of short jean shorts and a black T-shirt. “Tell me, Ford.”
“Something happened at the job,” he said, his voice strained. “Come on. You’ll hear more at the clubhouse.”
I nodded and followed him outside. Ryan and Slip were already on their bikes, engines started. I slipped Ford’s helmet on and then I got on the back. He kicked the bike into gear and we sped off back toward the clubhouse.
The thrill of riding on Ford’s bike was severely diminished by the fact that something bad had clearly happened. He seemed to be okay, but I could tell he was worried about me.
We pulled up outside the clubhouse, and I was shocked by the number of bikes parked outside. There had been a lot the other day, but that was maybe half this number.
“A lot of people,” I said to Ford.
“Big news coming,” he grunted.
“Should I be worried?”
“You’re fine. Just stick with me.”
We pushed into the clubhouse, my stomach a nervous knot.
I hadn’t spent much time around the Demons MC yet. I didn’t know the guys very well or really how the whole group worked. But I could tell instantly that something seri
ous was going on.
The place was packed. Ford waded through the mass, greeting guys, shaking hands, and finally ended up at a table with Clutch and Janine. She smiled at me and made a face as we sat down.
“Crazy, right?” she whispered
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
“Hell if I know. I probably shouldn’t even be here.”
Ford and Clutch instantly began talking quietly to each other, clearly trying to make sure we couldn’t hear. I looked around the room and spotted a few guys I recognized, but for the most part it was filled with strangers.
“I didn’t know they had so many members,” I said.
“Yeah. They’re huge. The other Demons chapters aren’t as big as this one,” Janine said.
“Other chapters?”
“Sure. They have chapters in a bunch of big cities, even one out in Philadelphia.”
I laughed. “That’s crazy.”
“Big organization. I’ve never seen this many here at one time before, though.”
The room was loud with men talking, and the anxiety level was pretty high. Many guys were drinking, but most were just sitting and talking. I got the sense that most people didn’t know what was going on.
After a few minutes, Larkin walked into the main room. “Assholes,” he yelled, and the room started to quiet down. He climbed up onto the bar and looked out over the room. “Been awhile since I called a full chapter meeting.”
“What the fuck’s going on?” an older man in the back yelled.
“That’s what I’m about to tell you, Tom,” Larkin said, “so hold your fucking mouth.”
The boys all laughed, and Larkin looked grim.
“At a routine buy this morning, some of our boys got ambushed.”
There was a murmur in the crowd. Ford looked at me, his face grim.
“Some of you heard, some of you haven’t, but Tyson is dead.”
There was a sudden outrage. Anger spilled out.
“Tyson?” I asked Janine.
“Nice guy,” she said, looking sad.
“We know who did it,” Larkin yelled over the mass of people. He gestured at TomTom behind the bar, and TomTom handed him a piece of cloth.
Larkin held it up. It was the back of a leather jacket with a patch of a snake spitting fire.