by H. J. Bellus
I throw my hands up over my head and let Grizz fuck me. The combination of the desire covering his face and the sensation of him inside me sends me straight over the edge. Grizz flips me over, fills me again and begins to fuck me. His hand wraps around the back of my neck and pushes my face down into the mattress. I reach back, trying to find his thighs to grab on to, and that’s when I feel him grab me by the hips and pull me up. With my head still shoved down by the force of his hand, and my ass in the air, Grizz fucks me hard. Just like his kisses, it is brutal, passionate, and strangely addictive.
I hear and then feel the hot flow of Grizz enter me. Instead of collapsing on the bed next to me, he stands up, zips up his pants, and leaves the room. Well, I guess that’s how it feels to be fucked by a biker.
“Piper, two minutes, and let’s fucking roll,” Digger yells as he pounds on my door.
Fuck! Lockdown. I forgot amidst our heated passion. I grab my bags, rearrange my ponytail, and head for the porch. This time a very different scene lies before me. All the bikers have saddled up to their bikes and are ready to leave. I search for Grizz, and my heart sinks when I spot him. He’s on his bike, dressed in his dark hoodie, and cut with a very perky barely dressed whore straddling him.
The blonde is dressed in proper club whore clothes, and has her hands all over Grizz. This moment is beyond awkward in all aspects.
“Let’s go, Piper,” Digger hollers.
He’s perched on his bike with an extra helmet in hand. I look between him and Grizz, both men see me watching them, and all of our hesitation creates an intense feeling. Everything inside me wants to go rip the fucking blonde off the back of Grizz’s bike and stomp gravel into her horsey looking face, but I’m immediately reminded of Grizz’s words. He wants nothing from me besides my pussy. Clearly, things are very black and white with him.
Being the stubborn bitch I am, I stroll over to Digger’s bike, grab the helmet, and settle on the bike with my two bags. I can feel Grizz watching my every move, so you can damn well bet I took advantage of my short pencil skirt and crawling up behind Digger. He’s about the same size as Grizz, they are both huge men, well over six feet, muscular, and well, basically a brick shit house.
Forcing myself forward, pressing my breasts into Digger’s back, I strap on one of my bags. Having balance issues, I place my other bag in Digger’s lap while I firmly secure the backpack. Digger definitely loves the attention. After my bag is finally strapped to my back, I rise up a little and reach around to get the other from his lap. Now with my tits resting on his shoulder and my hand in his crotch, I can feel the heat of Grizz’s anger as he glares at me during this little performance.
“Take that sweet little ass back in the house and fuck her, Digger” yells one of the bikers.
I reach down and nip Digger’s ear with my teeth, which earns a shower of catcalls and shouts of approval.
“Prospect, go get her fucking bag now,” Grizz yells, fires up his bike, and rides away.
Mission complete. If Grizz thinks he can have me, and then the next minute have that sweet little bitch on the back of his bike, then he can think again.
“He’s gonna break your heart,” Digger says as we watch Grizz roar down the lane on his bike.
“How do you know I have one left to break?” I ask.
“You just better hope you break his before that man has the chance to ruin you.”
Digger drops the conversation, fires his bike to life, and follows Grizz down the lane. He keeps his distance from Grizz the entire ride. I allow myself to melt into Digger, resting my head on his back and wrapping my arms around his waist.
When we finally reach the club, Grizz and his girl are nowhere to be seen. His bike is parked out front. All the bikes look very similar, however, Grizz’s bike is easy to spot with its white color, chrome, and red accents. I guess it’s only fitting for the hottest biker to drive the hottest bike.
Digger climbs off his bike, grabs my other bag from the prospect, then takes my hand and leads me into the main part of the clubhouse. Today it’s well-lit and packed full of bodies ranging from men to babies and everything in between. I tighten my grip on Digger’s hand and huddle as close as possible. As we pass a section of couches through a narrow walkway, I feel a hand snake up the bottom of my skirt, causing me to leap into Digger.
“Fucking hands off her,” he roars as he picks me up.
I huddle down deep into his chest, burying my face from all the prying stares.
“Your fucking prissy shit-eating clothes don’t help you around here,” Digger growls.
“I don’t have anything else,” I manage to reply through my tears.
We finally make it to a quiet, dark corner, and he sits me down on a bar stool safe from the rest of the club. I refuse to let go of Digger’s hand when he sits me down. The man has been quiet and growly the last week towards me, but he’s truly my only source of protection other than Grizz.
“Don’t leave me, Digger.”
He doesn’t respond, instead he simply stands in front of me, blocking most of my view from the club. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Grizz exiting a room, zipping up his pants with that blonde hot on his heels.
That dirty asshole, I chant over and over in my head. I, for one, fully understand the action of love ‘em and leave ‘em or ‘screw them for what you need,’ but he really takes the man whore level to an all-new high. His cock was inside me only twenty minutes ago, and God knows where it just was.
He spots Digger in the corner, and makes his way over to us.
“Go,” he growls.
Digger nods, releases my hand, and walks away. Without saying a word, Grizz grabs me from the bar stool, sits down on it and puts me dead center in his lap. He snakes one of his arms around my front, sliding his palm down the front of my skirt and resting on my lower belly.
“Kelly, beer,” he hollers.
“Holy fuck, if it isn’t the Grizz himself,” comes an unfamiliar voice.
“Brother,” Grizz spouts in admiration at the fellow biker before us.
For a moment, I feel as though Grizz is going to let me go and embrace the man in a bikerish way. Not sure that’s a thing, but it just feels like what is expected at this point.
“Who’s this?” he asks, gesturing at me.
“Our problem,” Grizz grumbles.
“I guess TV does add ten pounds,” he chuckles.
Tears sting the back of my eyes, listening to the two bikers so nonchalantly discuss me as if I were a piece of trash filling their space. I try to wiggle free and go find Digger. He’s not much for company, but he sure as hell treats me a lot better. The more I move, the tighter Grizz’s grip tugs around my waist.
“Oh yeah, there ain’t much padding for the pushing with this one,” Grizz fires backs.
The two men howl in laughter, and I’m forced to stay centered in his lap, listening to the cruel words. I mentally will Digger to walk by to save me from this mess. A piercing whistle cuts through the crowd noise, and the whole club falls silent as the biker they call Mayor begins to speak. Mayor is the club prez. He rules with an iron fist and is known for his stone cold tactics. Mayley told me the first night I visited the club that Mayor is widely known for all the blood he wears on his cut. He doesn’t think twice when there is a threat to the club.
“Listen up,” he roars, silencing all noise.
Looking around, I notice some of the women have vanished, along with small children. Currently, bikers, club whores, and few old ladies fill the room.
“We have a situation. We’ll be in lockdown until it’s resolved. I hear some bitching about the way I handled a situation. If you uneducated fucks must know, we have a high profile businesswoman in our possession. The Devil’s Idols seek revenge from Animal’s attacks, and our transport deal with the Mexicans is no longer viable because they don’t want to be in the middle of this fucking mess. The Devil’s Idol spotted our men on their way home from the mission. They not only spotted them,
but Piper, also. They want the girl. Devils are not fucking idiots. They know we kept her alive for a reason, and that reason will stay at the table where the fucking decision was made. You are on lockdown until further notice,” he finishes as he flips on the television.
A small Asian woman standing outside Masonite Industries reporting the news fills the television screen. Mayor turns up the volume. The screen flips to a picture of me in my favorite pin-striped dress suit and purple heels carrying my very expensive briefcase. It is the picture perfect walking advertisement for the modern businesswoman kicking ass and taking names. I barely recognize the Piper on the television screen. She’s glowing with happiness and success, and obviously extremely on top of her game to take over the marketing world. The screen goes back to the reporter, and I’m finally able to focus on the words coming out of her mouth.
“This is Piper Jones, the leading market analyst for Nicholson Global. Last week she was sent to Portland, Oregon to finalize one of the largest mergers the marketing world has seen. It has been reported that she’s been missing since Thursday. Authorities are urging anyone with any information to come forward at this time. Her boss, also rumored to be her fiancé, has put up a hundred thousand dollar reward for any information concerning Piper.”
The screen shoots to Thomas in his New York office in his stunning black suit. There is not one thing finer than him in his office in that damn suit. I can’t recall how many times I have ripped it off him in that same office.
The woman’s voice is back on while Thomas’ face is displayed on the screen.
“Mr. Nicholson, this is your opportunity to tell the world what you need.”
Thomas puts on the game face, I so easily recognize as he prepares to charm my captors. He has no idea who he’s dealing with this time.
“I am making this plea to save the life of Piper Jones. Whoever has so unjustly taken her from us must do the right thing now and set her free. Piper, if you can hear me, remember, I know that you’re a fighter and a survivor. Hang in there, Piper. I’m coming for you,” he finishes in a very rehearsed voice.
If I know anything, Thomas is only doing this interview for the extra media attention. He truly believes in the ripe old saying no media exposure is bad. The man is using my kidnapping as good PR for his company. Always on his toes, that Thomas.
“Did that pussy have a script?” a biker yells from the back, causing the whole crowd to howl in laughter.
I want desperately to bury my face and pretend this whole scene isn’t unraveling before a complete crowd of strangers, but I will die of embarrassment before I find any comfort in the cut of the asshole I’m sitting on.
“Now, some background info on Piper…”
This is when I finally turn off all emotions, even the tiny gleam of hope and survival mingling inside me. It all vanishes when the sight of my mother graces the television, and then my father, and then me as a foster child, a juvenile delinquent, and finally as a successful business woman. Minutes pass as my story is broadcasted to the nation and I can’t bear to listen to one more word of it. Fiction has always been my favorite genre and that’s what I will my whole life to be.
“Piper Jones is truly a mystery, folks. Losing everything at such a young age, being lost in the system, surviving on her own, and then finally making it big in the business world only to have it all taken away. If you have any information regarding Piper, please contact your local sheriff’s department. Piper, our thoughts and prayers are with you.”
As the television cuts off, I finally spot Digger and rush over to him. Grizz’s grasp was long gone around my waist. When I get to Digger, I jump into his arms and bury my face.
“And that there is why we’re in lockdown. No one leaves until I say. Piper Jones will be taken care of, none of the club’s worry,” Mayor says, and retreats into his office with nothing further.
“Piper,” Digger whispers.
“I’m not going back to him. Let me stay with you, please,” I beg.
“Doesn’t work that way, girl, and you know it.”
“Digger,” I plead, as I grasp tighter to him.
I feel the movement of his body as he moves through the crowd and finally down the long hallway to the very familiar room I stayed in the other night. Grizz’s room. Digger opens the door, sets me down on the bed, and turns to leave.
“Don’t,” I beg.
“Prospect,” he growls.
Moments later, the familiar face of one of the prospects they boss around appears in the doorway.
“You’re going to stand in front of this door. You’re not to let anyone in except for Grizz. Do you fucking understand me?”
“Got it, Digger,” he replies.
Before I have the chance to beg Digger to stay with me, he slams the door and I’m all alone. The images of my face on the television screen and my history told to the nation is enough to make me sick. My stomach lurches and my body follows as I dash for the tiny bathroom in Grizz’s room. I empty the contents of my stomach and then the stinging bile follows, leaving a burning trail deep in my throat. Everything I have worked so religiously to conceal was just exposed to the world in moments.
I climb into Grizz’s clothes and search for my bag with my insulin in it. I just want to sleep, dive into a deep coma and never return. I tear up the room before I remember that I slid off my backpack when I was hidden in the corner on the barstool. Sonofabitch! The one thing I truly do need is outside this room. There is no way the prospect is going to let me leave. Fuck!
Making my way over to the door, I pull down Grizz’s oversize shirt. It hits me about mid-thigh, I have his boxers rolled up at the waistline so they don’t fall off my waist. I knock on the door and wait for an answer. The noise coming from the club is ridiculously loud and I wonder if the prospect is still standing guard or off to party.
“Hey,” I scream, and continue to bang for several long minutes.
The door finally busts open revealing the scrawny and very young prospect standing on the other side of it. He doesn’t look amused at all, and I can tell he’s already prepared to slam the door in my face without question.
“Hey, I need to go get a bag I left out by the bar.”
“Um, no, you don’t.”
“Seriously, I need the bag. It has my insulin in it. I need it now,” I demand, and push past him before he can grab me.
The prospect goes to grab my arm and drags me back to the room.
“You fucking touch me and I’ll scream bloody murder. I’ll tell Grizz and Digger all the awful things you were trying to do to me. Got it? Just let me grab my fucking bag.”
The biker holds his arms up in defense and lets me go. I can feel his very near presence behind me as he follows me down the hall and into the main bar area. The scene is something else, bodies everywhere—some clothed, some not, and lots and lots of noise and alcohol flowing about.
In the corner, I spot Grizz and the biker he was so thrilled to see. There is a naked blonde in Grizz’s lap riding him while the other guy fucks her mouth. It’s the same blonde he let ride on his bike with him. The scene completely damages me and seals the final nail in my coffin.
Bag, get your bag, Piper, I mentally will myself. Move your feet, grab your bag, and run. Run, Piper, run from this fucking hell, and build a new life. Screw the consequences, fuck the overrated idea of success and just run for a new life.
Closing in on the group, the blonde’s moans and the men’s grunts force me to hold back my vomit. I bend down to grab my bag, and make full eye contact with Grizz. He’s not impressed to see me. A mixture of pain and pleasure covers his face as the slut on him continues to ride him.
“Piper…” he starts, but I run before he can finish his thought.
I do not bolt back to his room, but rather for the front door. I don’t get far before a hand grabs me and packs me back to Grizz’s room.
“You dumb bitch, you could’ve got me killed,” hisses the prospect.
I sla
m the door in his face before he has the chance to rip me to shreds anymore tonight. I think I have been dealt enough verbal lashing, humiliation and downright punishment for a lifetime. I gave myself to Grizz, watched him choose another woman over me, silently observed the secrets of my life unfold on national news, and then witness another woman fucking Grizz. I’ve had enough.
As I finish up my testing, I spot a bottle of whiskey in the corner on a lonely nightstand. The whiskey is much needed to put me to sleep. The clear bottle of vodka sits perched on the nightstand with a lone picture. Grabbing the picture, I immediately recognize my bright auburn hair and carefree smile. It is a picture from when Thomas took me to the beach for the weekend. He had it posted on his blog to help with PR.
Why would Grizz have this picture? Where did he get it from?
I turn over the picture to possibly get a clue as to why the asshole biker would have it. On the back of the picture in a man’s handwriting reads, “I should never have looked into those deep brown eyes. I should never have ran my hands through that auburn silky hair. I’ll never be the same.”
What pussy wrote that?
Tearing the picture up, I laugh out loud and then slam the vodka. The burning sensation starts in my throat and follows all the way down to my belly. Swallow after swallow, the burning increases as my head goes dizzy, be it from the alcohol or the sugar levels, I don’t give one fuck.
I stumble over to the bed, burrowing deep down into Grizz’s smell on my clothes and in the sheets. I wonder how many women he’s had in the bed. That thought nearly threatens to make me puke again, but the effects of the alcohol work faster than the disgust building in my belly.
***
“Piper, I’m such an ass. I am so sorry for hurting you tonight. I bring nothing but pain and hurt to people I care for. Never again will I hurt you,” he whispers.
“What?” I mumble in my sleep.
“Are you awake, Piper girl?”
“Mmmm.”
“Piper, you’re sweating. Do you feel okay?”
I bury my face deeper into the body holding me, trying to capture that dream of my biker apologizing and professing his love to me before it disappears. My shoulders begin to violently shake and his voice gets louder.