by Amo Jones
And someone yanked open the door I’d just unlocked and ripped me from the car.
“Hey bitch,” Harry’s voice greeted me, his hot breath in my air as he dragged me across the lot toward the gas station where the sound of gunfire could be heard. “Miss me?”
“How the fuck did you get out of jail?” I demanded, writing in his hold even though he hand a gun pressed to my back and a tight grip on my hair.
“Cartel’s got money, pretty thing. I made bail and thought, what would make my freedom taste even more sweet? The blood of the bitch that tried to fuckin’ end me.”
He pushed open the back door to the store and dragged me down the short hall to the main room where the Volvo dangled half in, half out of the store and Matt was pressed against the far-left wall exchanging gunfire with three Mexican cartel agents at the front.
“Hey one-eyed guy,” Harry called. “Just in case you can’t see me over here with your pretty little girlfriend, I got her jammed up nice and close to the end of my gun.”
Matt froze, his gun still cocked even though his head swiveled to face us. His features distorted with pain as he saw me in Harry’s violent grasp.
“Look, I’m sure we can figure somethin’ out,” he tried to ration.
Harry laughed. “Yeah, fuckin’ right you’d say that. We got you between a rock and a fuckin’ hard place. Looks to me you got nothin’ to bargin with.”
Matt’s panicked face tensed then slowly broke open into a cutting grin. “You so sure ’bout that?”
The rolling thunder of Harley Davidson motorcycle pipes crested through the shattered glass and vibrated the broken pieces littering the ground. A second later, through the fog, the bikers appeared, black leather avengers wearing the patch of Fallen angels.
Gunfire erupted.
I dropped to the ground in Harry’s suddenly lax arms and watched a moment later as he fell backwards with a shot to his head, his eyes wide and dull with death even as he fell. His gun dropped with a clatter and discharged, the shot brushing so close by my shoulder, I could feel the sting of air as it past. Without thinking, I grabbed the hot barrel and curled my fingers over it before I started scrambling along the linoleum floor toward where I thought Matt would be. Twinkies and Lays chip bags exploded on the shelves above me and the roar of fighting bikers punctured the air along with bullets.
“Matt?” I screamed over the noise as I crawled around the shelf I thought he’d be behind.
And he was there, facing away from me, his head caught in the locked arms of the same man who’d tried to kill him in the hospital, the one I’d shot in the ass. He was trying to fight the hold, but there was a gun in the other man’s hand that was pressed precariously close to his temple.
No.
No death, no dying. Not for my Cyclops, for my scarred hero.
I jumped to my feet even though gunfire hailed all around me and screamed to draw his attention away from Matt as I ran towards them, gun raised.
The beautiful assassin turned to me, his gun already moving to follow his gaze so he could kill me.
I killed him first.
My finger pulled the trigger of the gun once, twice, three times because I didn’t know what I was doing and I wanted to be sure.
The first bullet caught his outside shoulder because I didn’t want to aim too close to Matt. The next missed him entirely. But the third… the third got him right in the center of his chest.
Matt spun around on his knees and shoved the guy to the ground, drilling another bullet straight into his skull even though he was already dead.
“I got him,” I whispered as the gunfire slowed then ceased completely.
I swayed on my feet as I stared at the blood spreading into a black-red unctuous pool beneath the dead boy.
Matt caught me as I fell forward and he easily picked me up into his arms as someone shouted his name from the front of the store. I could feel the tension of adrenaline turning his muscles to iron as he strode over the debris and through the blood to the shattered front door.
“You two good?”
I tried to twist out of Matt’s grip so I could stand on my own two feet before The Fallen bikers, but when his grip only tightened on my thighs, I turned my head to look at the man who’d spoken.
“We’re good, thanks to you,” I told the Prez, Zeus Garro, a man bigger than any I’d ever seen before.
He grinned as he flexed his bloody knuckles, a badly beaten, unconscious cartel man at his feet. “Happy to help rid the streets’a Entrance from this kinda filth.”
“Strong words from an outlaw,” I noted even though Matt squeezed me in warning.
Zeus laughed then sobered quickly. “Yeah, well, there’s a fuckin’ big difference ’tween growin’ an’ sellin’ weed, and stealin’ and sellin’ women.”
“Touché.”
“We gotta get outta here ’fore the cops come, but Bat anonymously called Danner junior so you should get a half-decent cop on the scene, even if he is a rookie.”
“Thanks again for the help,” Matt said, tipping his chin in that solemn way men did to convey the intensity of their sentiment.
Zeus repeated the action. “Like I said, man, it was our fuckin’ pleasure. We’re headin’ out, that don’t mean what I said ’fore in the hospital don’t still stand. You wanna place in The Fallen, you’re willin’ to prospect, we’d be fuckin’ lucky to have a man like you to call a brother.”
Matt stared at him for a moment then looked down at me, reading something in my eyes that I knew was mirrored in his own.
“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice strong and sure even though I knew he must have been nervous to commit when we weren’t the kind of people to commit to anything. “Yeah, Garro, I’d like that.”
Zeus’s handsome face split into a wide grin. “Fuck yeah, so would I. Come by the club house after this gets sorted and we’ll replace that piece’a shit leather jacket with somethin’ a far sight fuckin’ better.”
Matt nodded and watched together as the group of five bikers all moved together to swing their legs over their bikes and ride out of there in formation. I watched them go, loving the sight of the wind in their hair, loving that Matt and me would be a part of something that meant family and still gave us our freedom.
Matt turned and carried us back into the store to wait for the cops, our story already fine-tuned from before the incident. The cops wouldn’t believe a one-eyed man and a slip of a twenty-year-old girl could take out four cartel members and sleazy ski bum, but they’d have no evidence to support any other story so they’d take our tale of self-defence and eat it.
I gasped when Matt pushed me up against a wall at the back of the store and fisted a hand in the back of my short hair. His eye burned with fire, the heat of relief and the eclectic burn of adrenaline turned to desire. I knew the second before he kissed me that he was going to light me on fire too.
I groaned into his mouth as he plundered it, his hand already between my legs working at my jeans nimbly until they were undone and his hand could slide inside, finger to my clit. I rocked against his hand, feeling his erection against my inner thigh, my pussy already wet through my panties.
I pushed him away hard with two hands so I could rip open his jeans and tear them down his thighs. My knees had barely hit the ground before I hand my hand in his boxer briefs tugging out his hard cock and my mouth was sealed over the hot tip.
He let me suck him for a long minute, his hand braced on the wall over my head, his chin ducked into his chest so he could watch my red lips move over the flared head of his cock. I hummed over him as he hit the back of my throat and then I swallowed hard, dragging his big dick down my throat.
“Fuck,” he cursed, then used my hair to drag me off his cock.
He sunk to the floor beside me, tore my jeans down my legs, snapped my panties off with a quick tug and then sunk his cock deep to the root inside me. I was still sore from the stretch of him the night before, but I love the ache and burn of hi
m. It reminded me that he was real, not some long forgotten dream I’d cooked up then thrown out as a kid, but a real flesh and blood man that wanted me to be his, that wanted to do something as beautiful and tangible as lay down roots with me.
A stray bullet must have hit the gas station stereo because All I Want For Christmas was playing on repeat over the drone of the drink fridges and the whistle of winter wind streaming through the broken glass door. The linoleum was cold, the blood pooled over it warm, and Matt’s skin was almost unbearably hot against my own.
I stared up at him as he fucked me on the floor of the gas station, his hand tight around my throat, his big cock inside me and I knew I’d kill a thousand more men if it meant keeping him with me for eternity.
“Feel like fuckin’ home,” he growled into my ear as he wrapped himself tight around me and came, flooding me with warmth.
“Yeah,” I gasped, as I came to, feeling me safe and warm on top of me, more of a shield than any roof could be, more family than any one had ever been and I’d only known him for four days. “Fuckin’ home.”
The End.
Check out the rest of The Fallen Men series in Lessons in Corruption, Welcome to the Dark Side, and Good Gone Bad out now and free on Kindle Unlimited.
Giana Darling is a Canadian romance writer who specializes in the taboo and angsty side of love and romance. She currently lives in beautiful British Columbia where she spends time riding on the back of her man’s bike, baking pies, and reading snuggled up with her cat Persephone. She loves to hear from readers so please contact her at gianadarling[at]gmail.com if you have any questions or comments.
Other Books By Giana:
The Affair (The Evolution Of Sin #1)
The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin #2)
The Consequence (The Evolution Of Sin #3)
The Evolution Of Sin Trilogy Boxset
Lessons in Corruption (The Fallen Men Series #1)
Welcome to the Dark Side (The Fallen Men, #2)
Good Gone Bad (The Fallen Men, #3)
Coming Soon:
Enthralled (The Enslaved Duet, Book 1)
Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet, Book 2)
Out of Sight (A Fallen Men Short Story)
After the Fall (The Fallen Men, #4)
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I take the thick robe and dip my head into the loop. Pulling it tightly, I inhale a deep breath.
My world is lost.
I step off the chair…
Melissa
Caring is something I lack in the emotion department lately.
I waited for him—waited for two months. Some may think that that is hardly enough time to give the man who was supposed to be your entire world, but after that day, I knew. I threw all of my hope out the window with every word read…
Pulling open the fridge door to our home on the club property, I take out a bottle of water.
“Babe?” I called out, hollering for Hella. If he wasn’t on a job, he would always make sure that he was home when I got back from the bakery. It was his thing, our thing.
I take a swig of water, looking around the kitchen when a white note catches my eye on the kitchen counter. I pick it up, the thin paper slipping between my fingers. Placing my water down, I open it…
Melissa.
Don’t try to find me—I’ve gone. I won’t be back, and if I do, I want you out of the house. I would never be enough for you. I told you this so many times, but you never listened. I probably will never love anyone the way I did you, but that’s nothing now. All that shit means nothing.
Move on. Forget about me and this life I carelessly led you into.
P.S Divorce is out of the question. If I can’t have you, no one can.
I trembled to the ground, ran all the way to the clubhouse, demanded everyone to tell me where he is—but no one spoke. That’s the thing about men who ride in an MC. They’re a brotherhood. Sure, I was Hella’s old lady, but the moment he walked away from me, their loyalties shifted along with Hella’s presence. Truthfully, deep down I never expected any of them to tell me where he was, but what I didn’t expect, was what they did next. Pity. Everyone gave me the look of pity. I grieved for him for one whole month.
I stayed at our house, curled in a ball and sobbing into his shirt, screaming for him every damn night. Even in my sleep, I was haunted by his presence being ripped away from me so suddenly. I didn’t eat, I didn’t drink, I was too afraid to sleep just in case he came home, and I missed him. It was one whole month of sheer horror. One whole month of loss. I have mourned people before, people who have passed and who had maybe meant something to me, but nothing amounted to losing the one man I fought to get, only for him to permanently remove our battle scars and move on without a second glance back. The heartbreak continued to crack through me as every month passed, but once I hit the third, Beast had come over to tell me that I needed to leave. So, I left. Took what belongings I had without a second glance. Sometimes, we can’t control what other people do, all we can do is live with it, whether we hate it or not.
I sink into the warm water, allowing it to wipe my thoughts away. I hate thinking about my old life, with them, even my own sister. I ignore them with every turn until Millie eventually comes to my apartment or to Eat Me, my bakery downstairs. I’ll be sure to make the visit boring for her in hopes that she’d leave me the fuck alone, but it never works. She’s always back the next week, talking about baby shit. Not that my nephew isn’t cute, I mean, if I was working at a fully functional level, I would totally be bouncing him around on my hip while teaching him some Nate Dogg song, but unfortunately, his auntie is not in the grandest of spirits. In fact, Millie doesn’t bring him anymore.
I’m that tragic.
Pushing up from the ceramic bath, I swipe the water from my face and squeeze the water out of my hair. Korn is blasting on my little sound pod, it’s neurotic tune only fueling my soul into a frenzy. Reaching for the bottle of Jack, I take a swig and stand, slowly stepping out of the tub. Rubbing the condensation off the mirror, I grin at myself in the reflection.
“Oh, yeah, Melissa, you’re totally doing just fine. Just. Fine.”
There’s a bang on the door. I don’t answer. Another bang.
I wrap my towel around my brittle frame and swing it open. “What!”
Drav is leaning on the door frame. “Thought I could hear you talking to yourself.”
I shove him out of the way and make my way to my closet. “What are you doing here, Drav, and how’d you get in?” You know those people who you sort of click with, but don’t, but they have a big dick that temporarily fills the void that someone has willingly ripped from your soul? Yeah, that’s Drav for me. He wears suspenders, classes and has no muscles. He’s the complete opposite of Hella. Ding, ding, that’s what I’m about now. I fucked a guy with tattoos, muscles and then let him whisk me away on his damn Harley to marry him. Where’d that get me? Knee deep in cocaine, a bottle of Jack for breakfast, and a fucking broken heart.
No. I only mess with nerdy guys now.
The ones that can handle me, that is.
“That one night,” he answers, going into the kitchen. I continue shuffling through my clothes to find something clean and wearable. “When we came back here drunk and high as fuck, you showed me where your spare one was, but said I had to forget I showed it to you if I had a small dick.” I roll my eyes, pushing a loose V-neck over my head.
A cupboard closes. “Guess I had a big dick because I was back the next night, and the next, an—”
“—Shut up, Drav!” I yell between jumping around to shove my fishnet tights on. Once they’re securely strapped around my waist, I drag a small leat
her skirt up and begin towel drying my hair as I make my way back into the lounge.
“I’m just saying,” he answers around a bite of my granola. I slant my eyes on him and then catch his foot resting on my cheap knock-off coffee table.
“Feet off!”
Drav gives me puppy eyes. Shame really, bet those work on every other woman, you know, the ones who hadn’t been married to a damn Rottweiler. Drav is definitely probably not most girl’s type. In the face department, he is good looking. He has a sharp jaw, he is clean shaven, nice blue eyes and short brown wavy hair, but let’s be real. Instagram models and Channing fucking Tatum in Magic Mike has ruined these kind of guy’s chances at being the “most girls type.” Everyone is chasing the new trend, the guy with the best abs, the biggest arms, and all that shit. Drav is nerdy, but he is still attractive.
I’m making coffee and trying to think of a way to get rid of Drav when my phone starts vibrating on the counter.
Millie flashes over my screen, interrupting my screensaver. Do I answer, or do I leave it? If I leave it, she will probably make it her daily mission to come and find me, but if I answer, she will probably only be telling me that she’s almost here, or about to be here, at the very least.
Fuck it.
I hit answer and push it to my ear. “What, Millie! I told you, I don’t have time to have lunch with you because besides the fact that I’m not in the mood, I also can’t be bothered with that girl who is hanging off Miles.”
“Melissa, shut up, something has happened.” When we were five years old, Millie hurt herself on the playground. She cried for days she was in that much pain. Her tone closely matched that.
“What? Someone steal your crown?” I stir my coffee, which is a step up from the Jack. My stomach clenches in hunger, pancakes going through my head. I coul—