by Paula Cox
I nod my head and continue, “Western wanted to expel her, but I knew she didn’t deserve it. She’s got a tough life. She lives in this place. I think they call it a clubhouse. It’s where the bikers all live. The girl’s told me about it a couple of times when I’ve asked about her family.
“God, that sounds terrible. Could you imagine?”
“I met her father tonight. God, he was a piece of work. He was tall – a giant! Covered in tattoos from head to toe. His eyes were so dark they almost glowed beneath his eyebrows.” I stopped myself before I could go too far.
“So, he was hot?” She smiles at me wickedly.
“No, Erin. He certainly wasn’t my type.” I usually go for guys in polo shirts and khaki pants, not a guy in leather and ripped up denim covered in oil stains. “But he was so intimidating. He actually tried to step to me, and I think he wanted to hurt me. It was this way he stared at me…I don’t know.”
Erin put her hand to her head dramatically as she tipped it over to say, “Well, this is getting good…”
I slapped her leg, stopping her from continuing, “Oh stop it! It wasn’t like that. He cursed at me. He told me to go fuck myself for daring to discipline his daughter! Who does that?”
“Someone who wants to rock your world.” She watched me as I tried to interject, “No! Come on. Hot biker guy comes into your classroom and intimidates you. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about him in bed.”
“I wasn’t. I promise you that. I was just hoping he’d let me get out of there alive.”
Erin eyes me suspiciously before turning back to the television. The rest of the night was spent in a haze. My eyes grew heavy as the hours passed and my grading accumulated on my lap. By 10, I was asleep on the couch, tucked under a throw blanket Erin threw on top of me as I fell in and out of consciousness.
Suddenly, there is a knock on my door, a pounding of fists and a scream of shouts. The voice is deep like thunder, and it echoes through the empty house. I call out for Erin to get it, but she is nowhere in sight. I’m alone – completely, utterly alone.
I stand up and walk behind the couch. Something tells me I should run – or at least hide. But before I can move myself from my place, the door opens, light bursting inside. I shriek as I peer into the face of a man. He’s got a wild, unbridled look in his eyes that tells me exactly what he wants.
I turn to run, but he reaches towards me, scooping me in his arms and pulling me close. His large hands run through my wavy hair, untangling each curl as they go. He’s gentle, too gentle as he dips me back slightly for a slow, deep kiss. Our lips touch and everything inside of me becomes warm like melted caramel.
I place a hand on his chest to push him off, but my body has seemed to be taken over by his spells. They are slowly unbuttoning his flannel red and black shirt and then pulling it off his large, muscular arms. My fingers follow the lines of his red, black, and gray tattoos as if they are a roadmap.
They lead to his hands, my tiny fingers engulfed by his as he leads my hands and arms above my head. He lets go and moves to my dress. One hand lowers down and picks the hemline up. In one swift move, the dress is off, and I’m more exposed than I've been in a long time to any man, let alone this one.
I have the urge to run. This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be here in my house, in my life. He shouldn’t be seeing me in my white panties and bra with my skin glowing in the light from the still open door. But he senses my hesitation and pulls me back into him. This time, he kisses me hard and fast. My head can barely keep up with his movements as he tosses it to and from the side, attempting to explore every angle of my mouth.
His hand rests on my bare shoulder and then pushes it hard. I fall backwards onto the couch in a thud with him landing on top of me. I cry out again to Erin. I’m not sure why, though. Every part of me wants him like this. And as he slips down the side of my bra strap down my shoulder and over the soft skin of my shoulder using his mouth, I go silent. His lips head back towards my chest where he pecks gently at me, a total contrast from his kiss just seconds ago.
His mouth leaves a trail towards my breasts. With his teeth, he bites into my bra, pulling the cup down and exposing my full mountains to his open mouth. I watch as a bit of his tongue flickered towards my nipple, catching the very tip with a dab of his mouth. My hips and chest rise towards him, wanting more. He goes to the other side, repeating the same motion. His tongue softly planting itself for a millisecond, just enough for me to feel the wetness of his mouth.
I shout out, unable to control myself. He places a hand over my mouth and a finger to his lips as he quiets me. His hand keeps me silent as he goes down farther, this time taking the entire nipple into his mouth. I feel his tongue swirling around the tip of me. And then, his teeth. They gently bite down on the most sensitive nerves as I gasp and my hips flex upwards towards him, sliding up against his hard cock still concealed in his jeans.
He comes up for air, a smile growing across his darkened face. He looks at me and says huskily, “Are you gonna be good?”
“No.” I find myself replying. “I’m not a good girl.”
He contradicts me, “You’re a good girl. And good girls like you do as you’re told.”
“I’m not a good girl. I’m not.” I want to argue with him. I don’t want him to tell me what to do. I want to take the lead.
He looks at me, his eyebrow shooting upwards as he studies my annoyed face. “Fine, but bad girls get punished.” His arms move to my side, whipping my own arms upwards and pinning them in place with one of his large hands. His other hand unhooks the belt and pulls it through his belt loops. He ties the leather around my hands, hooking them in place. I struggle against him, but he’s strong. Way too strong.
With my arms stuck above my head, I begin to kick, trying to fight my way off of the couch. But he slides his pants off quickly and straddles me. I can feel the cold skin of his cock press down on my stomach as he strokes my chin with his hands. He whispers to me, “Stop, Michelle. I’ll give you what you want.”
And as he forces my legs apart, I stop my thrashing and kicking to feel the sensation as his large, strong cock slowly enters me centimeters at a time. It is what I want. It was what I was fighting for.
With a few slow pumps, he has made his way fully inside me. I’m tight, but I’m wet. And I can feel his cock fill each and every one of my gaps. He places one of my legs upon his chest, moving me to my side as he begins to drive into me in a spinning angle. It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before, but it’s deeper, harder, rougher.
All I can do is take it, grinding my hips into his as he begins to pick up a rhythm. In, out, in, out. I can hardly keep up with him, but with each push and pull, I want more. I want him more. I want me more. I bring my tied arms to my mouth and bite down on my fingers, needing to suppress a wail of a pleasure scream.
My body heats up as every bit of me loosens around him. My skin tingles and pricks, and I can even feel the hairs on my head begin to stand up on their own. Everything about his cock is magical. I push harder back, his balls hitting my ass in time with his movements.
And then, the room goes silent. He’s still pounding into me, but my body has lost all control. I know I’m calling out to him, asking him to stop, but wanting him to finish me. But I can’t hear a word or make out what I’m trying to say. It’s like I’ve become an entirely different person as that same light from the door envelopes me and the waves of his cock fucking me wash over my body.
I cry out once more – loudly. Loud enough to wake up Erin who has fallen asleep in the loveseat next to me. She turns her head side to side as she comes to. “Jesus, Michelle,” she says groggily, “what’s the matter?”
I’m panting, unable to catch my breath. I’m soaking wet in my own sweat…and juices. I look at her with eyes wide and wild as I attempt to lie. “It was just a nightmare,” I say vaguely, almost trying to convince myself it’s true.
Chapter 5: Missing Pieces
CAL
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br /> Maddie looks up at me with these big, swollen eyes, and I’m melting. This girl knows how to twist me around in knots, more than any woman I've ever been with. She’s got that direct line to my soft spot, and even though I’m enraged, furious at how she acted, I still can’t stand to yell at her.
I kneel down to her, taking her tiny hands in mind and wipe her cheeks with my thumb. I lower my voice, sweeting it for her, “Listen, Maddie. If your mother was here, she would be doing these things, but she’s not. I’m not gonna pretend that you ain’t been raised like you ought to be. You shouldn’t have to see half the crap you do, but I wanna do right by you.”
Maddie nods her little head knowingly, her mess of curls falling around her face. She brushes them away, stiffens her chin, and looks back up at me. She’s a tough girl, and she isn’t one to show weakness. That’s one thing I can be proud of teaching her.
“Was Miss Springer mad?” Her voice is cracking, but she pulls it out amongst the sniffles and chokes.
She surprises me with this question. That annoying, stuck up bitch doesn’t know zilch about Maddie. Nor does she really care about her. She’s just one of those needle nosed ladies who need to be put in their place. I laugh as I ask jokingly, “What do you care about that teacher? I thought you hated her.”
“No!” Maddie exclaims, breaking her tears. “Miss Springer is cool. She treats me right. She stands up for me, and she doesn’t make me read out loud in class unless I want to. And she never yells at me.”
A teacher that doesn’t yell…now that is a surprise. By the way her classroom was all perfect and set, you’d think that woman would yell about a fly getting in the room – let alone Maddie beating the shit out of some asshole kid. Maybe she’s not what I think she is. Maybe she isn’t the kind of bitch that gets off on power trips. Maybe I underestimated her.
Maddie certainly seems to care, and I can guess why. This isn’t a place of love and affection. And I’m on night rides out to the drop points so much that she spends more time with the underlings and the club’s old ladies than she does with me. When I do see her, it’s moments in between club meetings or school runs.
And I’m sure when she’s here, and I’m not, she’s seeing some bad shit, too. Just last week, a guy came in shot up in the shoulder. His white t-shirt and colors jacket had to be cut off of him so the club doc could stitch him up on our kitchen table – the same table we had breakfast at most mornings. I remember Maddie slipping in to get a glass of milk before her bedtime. It was if there wasn’t a guy having vodka and vicodin poured down his throat so Doc could stitch him up.
I clear my throat before reassuring Maddie that her teacher was still on her side, “Tomorrow, I’m gonna walk you into your new classroom. Michelle – I mean Miss Springer – is gonna send your homework there. If you’re good for the rest of the quarter with no more fights, no more cursing, you’re gonna be back in there. You think you can handle that?”
Maddie lights up, her eyes beaming with hope. “Fuck yeah!” She looks distraught as she catches herself, “Oh – shit – I mean, heck yeah!”
I glance at the clock over her shoulder as I hear the commotion coming from the club’s meeting space. I’m running late. I tell Maddie to head upstairs and find Miranda, the maid in charge of her tonight, and head down to the basement where the club’s members have assembled.
The Devil’s Mustangs are all sitting around at the circular tables, chatting lowly. It’s been a long week for almost everyone. Routes are being blocked, members are being attacked out in the open, and territory is falling to the Coyotes almost every day. And I can tell by how our leader, President Jager, is reacting that money ain’t flowing like it’s supposed to be. When money don’t come, Jager and the rest get anxious. There’s no such thing as a broke motorcycle club.
I take my seat next to Red Dog as he whispers over to Ace, “Fuck that, man! We need some action. We need to punish those little pricks for taking what’s ours. We’ve been on this beat for over 20 years, and now we’re just gonna let ‘em take our blow and our customers? That’s freakin’ crazy.”
“I’ve been here a lot longer than you have, man, and I know that this is just part of the game. Jager’s got a plan, and it’s gonna be good.”
“You better hope it is.” He leans in, eying the rest of the table as he says it, “If not, I hear the young guns are calling for mutiny, and all us old timers, the loyalists, we’re gonna be gone fast. Ain’t no stopping that kind of change.”
I roll my eyes. It’s like Ace said – these shifts of power is just part of the game. You win some, you lose some. And Jager’s been good to us for the last ten years. He knows this club and the Coyotes like the back of his hands, and he runs our blow enterprise like a CEO at a Fortune 500 company. And if it’s really in trouble, he’d snuff it out quick.
But there is a small part of me that wants what Red Dog is antsy for to come true. I want blood. Lots of it. The Coyotes aren’t just our club’s mortal rivals; they’re the assholes that killed the mother of my daughter. They shot her tire right in front of me in retaliation for me shooting into their clubhouse the night before. They’re the ones that made me a single father, raising my daughter in a club with no help. They’re the ones that took my April away.
Jager, with his leather jacket bursting with club patches and his receding hair is hidden behind a black leather baseball cap. His hands smooth out his thick black mustache before he speaks, his loud, grizzly voice cutting through the room’s noise. “This meeting is coming to order. Y’all know why we called you here. The Coyote’s been raiding our drop spots, intimidating and threatening our dealers, and two of our shippers are moving to the Coyotes in return for their protection.”
The room shifts uneasily as the rest of the men slowly heat up. Hearing it from Jager makes it real. They lean in as he continues, “Now, normally I’d say this is to be expected. We can’t keep all our territory all the time. But now there’s been blood. Tommy T was shot in the shoulder. Red Dog got cut at the Earwig Bar. Hunter’s been missing since Tuesday. Their blood requires retribution.”
Jager slams his fist onto the table before him as he looks every man in the eyes. It’s his trademark, the one that gets everyone of us riled up. Looking him in the eye is like staring death in the face.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna need some recon, and we’re gonna need to find Hunter. Red Dog and Cal are leading this one. You take orders from them. In the meantime, everyone else is gonna double up in their runs. Recruits gonna ride lead with runners and one enforcer. You get yourself in trouble, you got my go ahead to do what you need to do to hold the territory. And if anything goes bad, you call Cal so he can report back to me. You all hear me?”
A terrible, low cry rises up around the room as the men get pumped at the idea of vengeance. Jager asks in a shout, “Are you with me, Mustangs?” Again, the shouts as the men get to their feet. “Then we ride!”
Everyone, including me, is standing, shouting. Our war cry is going up as we take arms. Red Dog runs towards the room in the back and pulls out his an armful of armor – 3 large shotguns and at least 6 handguns. He throws an ammo belt around a man’s neck and then hands one of his lower enforcers a gun. He circles the tables, handing out his wares.
When he gets to me, Jager is on his side. He hands me a large handgun and a box of bullets. I place the bullet into the magazine and then click it in place. The weight of the gun feels heavier these days as I think of Maddie and Maddie’s mom. One who I will give my life to avenge. The other who I will give anything to live for. I know more than anyone else in the room that one bullet can change anything. And for these rookies, these road virgins, it could mean that difference between life and death, especially when war is coming.
And today, war with between the Devil’s Mustangs and the Coyotes is at our doorstep. I just gotta hope that I can get the recon, find the missing Mustang, and get the hell home for my daughter.
Chapter 6: Detention
MICHELLE
It’s been one of those days. You know, the days when you’re head won’t stop pounding, your mind is everywhere but where it should be, and you go all afternoon before you realize you’re wearing your shirt inside out. And by the end of the school day, I’m totally feeling it. In fact, this is one of the few days where I've been glad to send my students out of the classroom and where I really don’t want to watch them go.
Instead, all I want to do is sit back in my desk, thumb through a teacher’s edition textbook, and highlight till my hand has turned yellow. It’s my guilty pleasure – my relaxation technique. And no one is going to stop me from devouring the next three lessons for social studies.
… until Maddie walks in. It was the second day I hadn’t seen her in my classroom. I won’t lie when I say part of me didn’t miss her. As much as I commended her bravery and honesty, I certainly didn’t miss having to constantly correct her cursing or prevent her from lashing out on some of the other hotheads in my class. It was like a constant battle with her, and her being in the behavioral classrooms was a bit of a relief.