THORN: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “Thorn!” Isabel’s voice cracks, barely above a whisper. I turn back to her, and my face must be something to see, because she shrinks away from me in horror and starts to tremble. “I swear,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to do what you think I was! I swear, I was only trying to make a quick call to my friend! The one I was with when Oz’s men took me!” Her eyes fill. “I just wanted to hear a friendly voice, and tell her I’m okay!”

  “You expect me to believe that?” I laugh incredulously. “Jesus fucking Christ!” I rake my hand through my hair.

  “Yes! I do, because it’s true!” she cries. Tears start to spill down her cheeks. “I promise Thorn! I swear, I wouldn’t lie to you!”

  “You wouldn’t lie to me?!” I repeat, stunned. “What the fuck do you call this, then?” I sweep my hand toward the contents of her purse. Isabel at least has the sense to look ashamed. Her cheeks redden as she casts her eyes down toward the floor.

  “I didn’t mean to!” she insists, but her voice is unsteady, like she knows she’s fighting a losing battle. “I just… I saw the strap of my purse in your bag a couple days ago and, well…” She looks up at me helplessly. “I’m sorry, Thorn… I’m just so lonely, and you’re so angry at me all the time, and…” More tears slide down her cheeks. “I promise,” she finishes in a desolate whisper. “I just wanted to talk to my friend for a couple of minutes. That’s all.”

  Her lips are trembling as the tears continue to come. She makes little snuffling noises as she cries but tries to suppress them, staring down at the floor like she knows there’s nothing more to say.

  I shouldn’t fucking believe her. I should assume every single bloody thing out of this girl’s mouth is a lie. But in spite of myself, I do. It rings true, what she’s saying. I’ve been staying away from her since the night I told her about Jimmy. At least during the day. It’s for her own good, and our safety, to be sure. But at night, I haven’t been able to stop myself from taking her. From coming back for more. She’s like a drug.

  I can see why she’d think I was angry at her. Even though I don’t want to see it. I find myself trying to imagine what the last few days have been like for her. No one to talk to, nothing to do, and me leaving her alone inside to twiddle her thumbs while I stay outside and try to talk myself out of going to her bed again when the darkness comes.

  Maybe it’s only natural that eventually she’d look for some way to connect with a friend. Maybe it really is as simple as that.

  I feel my anger draining out of me as quickly as it came. Most of it, anyway. There’s still a bit left, because the fact is what she did was fucking stupid. And I tell her so, as I sit tiredly on the bed and rest my head in my hands.

  “I just wanted to talk to Deb for a minute,” Isabel says weakly, and leans against the wall. “She hasn’t heard from me since the night I disappeared. She must be worried sick. I just wanted to tell her I was okay.”

  “Don’t you realize the men who’re looking for you could have traced the call?” I sigh. “Jesus, what an idiotic thing to do, Isabel.”

  “Don’t call me an idiot!” she protests, a thin flare of her own anger coming to the surface.

  “I didn’t call you an idiot!” I bark back at her. “Besides, if you don’t want me to call you an idiot, then stop acting like one!”

  “Well, maybe you could just talk to me once in a while, then!” She throws up her hands in frustration. “God, Thorn, what do you expect me to do? I sit in this house all day by myself while you go out and do whatever. I don’t even know what I’ve done to make you hate me so much all of a sudden!”

  “Hate you?” Jesus, does she really not know?

  “Yes!” She stomps her foot, then looks sort of ashamed that she’s done something so childish. “It’s not my fault, Thorn! I’m sorry my dad hired you — or forced you — to do this. I’m sorry I’m his daughter. I’m sorry I’m even here, messed up in all this! All I wanted was to just take my stupid classes at the stupid community college, and live my stupid life, far from the Death Devils and everything they represent. I didn’t ask you to be here, and I wish to God I could just tell you to leave!”

  “You do?”

  My eyes meet hers, and she looks quickly away.

  “I mean…” She trails off. “I just mean, I wish you didn’t have to be messed up in all this.”

  “Isabel.” I take a step toward her, trying to ignore the sudden stiffness of my cock as I notice how hard her nipples are under her shirt. “My job is to keep you safe. You are not helping me do that job by going behind my back.”

  “I know.” Her voice is subdued. I hear just a trace of the breathiness in her throat that’s there right before I plunge myself inside her. My shaft begins to throb.

  “I swear to you,” I say, grabbing her face in my hand and turning it toward me. “If you have any thoughts of trying to escape, don’t. You won’t live through it.” I don’t mean what I’ll do to her. The thought of her in Fowler’s hands creates a knot of nausea in the pit of my stomach. I see her as he would see her.

  And I know what he would do to her before he killed her.

  “I promise I didn’t. I don’t.”

  Isabel’s voice is breathless. Her dark, stormy eyes are wide, frightened as she looks up at me. For the millionth time, my brain curses that I’m stuck protecting someone I don’t want the responsibility for. Protecting a brother, that’s one thing. Every man in the Lords of Carnage would die to protect the others. It’s a vow we all made when we were patched in. We’re all equals. We all signed on for the same thing. We have each other’s backs. But this…

  This… has changed.

  My gut clenches as my brain wrestles with a thought that’s forced its way in without my even knowing it.

  This used to be about protecting a spoiled MC princess. It used to be a fucked-up job that I was doing because my club prez demanded it. And because the Lords needed it. I didn’t give a damn about Oz, or the Death Devils, or this girl, beyond what it meant for the brothers I promised to ride and die for.

  It used to be something I couldn’t wait to be done with. So I’d never have to see Isabel again. Or so I told myself.

  Here in the States, the life I left behind in Ireland is far away from me. Here, I don’t have a mother, a family, a past. All I have is the club, and my role in it.

  But as I stare down into Isabel’s eyes — frightened but trusting — it’s like she’s a siren, calling me toward something I want to resist with everything I have in me.

  “Thorn,” she whispers. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean…” Her breath hitches. “I didn’t mean to betray you. I just didn’t think. All I wanted was to talk to someone who missed me.” She blinks and looks away. “Just to remind myself I’m still… real. That I still exist, to the world outside.”

  My heart twists in sympathy for her. I know she didn’t ask for this. But I make one more desperate attempt to push her away. “Jesus Christ, woman!” I say gruffly, frowning down at her instead. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Stop that!” Isabel cries. She yanks herself out of my grasp and, rounds on me. “Stop calling me woman like it’s an insult! Just because I don’t have a… cock, doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m some sort of idiot!”

  Watching her plump lips as she stumbles over the word sends a jolt through my dick like she’s just told me she wants to suck it. In spite of the tension between us, I have to laugh. “You don’t like saying it,” I growl at her. “But you sure do like it, don’t you, girl?”

  “Why do you get off on making me feel like shit?” she yells, flinging out her arms in exasperation. “Why do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to you?”

  My body has a mind of its own as I grab her by the wrists and pull her to me. “I’ve told you already, I don’t hate you,” I growl against her ear. “That’s the whole problem, Isabel. I’ve been trying to hate you since the day I met you. It’s my bad luck I can’t seem to m
anage it.”

  Isabel shivers and instinctively molds her body against mine, letting out a soft moan. Without even reaching between her legs to touch her, I know she’s wet for me. Ready.

  I can’t hold back anymore. I’ve been fooling myself these last few weeks, telling myself the reason I can’t stay away from her is just because she’s here, she’s close, and there’s no one else around. But this is more than that. Much more. This girl’s found her way inside me. At this point, even if her father told her my job was done, I’d protect and defend Isabel until my dying breath. It’s no longer just a job to me. It’s personal.

  She belongs to me. Her body, her soul. Every orgasm she’ll ever have. All of it: Mine.

  It’s time to show her that.

  And then, it’s time to end the motherfuckers who are trying to hurt her. Once and for all.

  26

  Thorn

  “I want to hate you,” I rasp as I move between her legs. My cock is hard as a bat. “Don’t you see, Isabel, it’s better for you if I do.”

  Her naked thighs are trembling. I push them apart and plunge my tongue inside her. She gasps and arches toward me.

  “But I’ll be fucked if I can stay away from you. Hard as I try.” Jesus, she tastes sweet as she writhes on my tongue. Her clit is hard, pulsing. She’s soaking wet. Her hips thrust upward, needing my mouth on her, and I devour her, kissing, caressing, licking, as she moans and thrashes on the bed. I slip two fingers inside her, stroking and caressing until I find the spot that drives her wild. She tenses and cries out.

  “You’re mine, Isabel,” I growl. My hot breath teases the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh and she shudders. She’s already so close, and I can hardly wait to fuck her. My cock’s so hard it hurts. If I don’t get inside her soon, I’m going to shoot my load in my pants like a fucking teenager.

  “Tell me you’re mine,” I insist.

  She moans and clutches at the sheets. “I’m yours,” she pants. “Oh, God, Thorn, please, I’m so close…”

  “All of you. Your body is mine. Your pussy is mine. Everything. Mine.”

  “Yes…” she whispers, and then, all at once, her whole body freezes. A second later, she shatters, her orgasm ripping through her like wildfire. She keeps coming as I pull her toward me. I flip her over on her back, onto her knees, and bury myself deep inside her, up to the hilt. Jesus, she’s so hot, so wet… I know exactly how it’s going to feel now when I push inside her, but it’s still a shock that it’s always better than I think it’s going to be. Isabel’s head is pressed against the pillow but she pushes her hips back and meets me thrust for thrust, urging me deeper, her channel clutching my dick. I speed up, because I can’t wait, I need to come inside her. One of my hands grabs her hip, hard and bruising, the other wraps her long hair around my fist. She’s whimpering, but then the whimpers change to loud cries of pleasure and I know she’s about to come again. “Come for me, baby,” I croon as I feel my balls start to tighten.

  “Thorn, I’m coming…” she mewls. Her channel contracts, and that’s all it takes to send me over the edge. I thrust once more and explode, claiming her, coming so hard and so long I fill her up to the hilt with everything I’ve got. Jesus Christ, it feels better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

  I stay inside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into the curve of me as I fall down onto the bed. We’re both panting, breathing in rhythm, and it feels like even our heartbeats are in sync with one another. I can’t talk, don’t want to say what’s on the tip of my tongue, because it’s shit I’ve never said to any woman. It’s shit you can’t take back once you’ve said it.

  Isabel’s mine. I’ve told her that.

  But I’m not prepared to tell her the rest.

  That I’m hers, as well.

  The next day, I’ve had enough of fucking waiting around. I ring Oz for an update. For once, he actually has something to tell me.

  “I’ve been waiting for your call,” he mutters into the phone. “I think I’ve figured out who the mole is in my organization. A traitorous snake named Playboy.” Oz’s voice instantly transforms to the cold-as-ice tone I’ve heard him use once or twice. It’s a voice that should strike fear into the heart of any man it’s directed toward. “I’m going to torture it out of him. And then, I’m going to kill him.”

  “If the guy I ended at our safe house is any indication, you won’t get much.” This Playboy must be a fuckin’ idiot if he’s put himself between two men as dangerous as Oz and Fowler. Either way, he’s gonna be toast when one or the other finds out his cover is blown. I’d almost feel sorry for the guy, except he deserves everything that’s coming to him.

  I’m about to respond to Oz when suddenly, I get an idea.

  “How sure are you he’s the one feeding intel to Fowler?” I ask him.

  “Almost positive.”

  “And he doesn’t know that you know.”

  “Not yet.” I hear his lip curl in disgust.

  “Hold off, Oz. I have a better idea.”

  I tell him it’s time to push this thing to its logical conclusion. “It’s time to stop playing defense and go on the offense. To end Fowler and his organization, and take care of this threat once and for all.”

  And what I have in mind starts with the mole.

  “Start talking to your club about the situation with Isabel, when the mole is there and can hear you,” I say. “Tell them I’ve betrayed you. That I’ve abandoned Isabel. Say that she’s called you, and that she’s terrified and all alone in a cabin in Michigan. She’s begging you to come get her. Tell them you’re looking for someone to come up here, get her and bring her back home to you.”

  “The mole.”

  “Exactly. Make sure you stress that Isabel is alone. Isolated. That she has no defense.”

  Oz is silent for a moment. Then: “You think Fowler will come after her himself.”

  “Yes. I do,” I affirm. “He’s been waiting for weeks to get his hands on her. Knowing she’s completely alone and there for the taking is likely to be just the lure he needs. It’s the best way to get him out in the open. Maybe the only way.”

  “I will send my entire club.” Oz’s voice is thick with rage and the thirst for revenge.

  “No.” I stop him. “You put me in charge of her, Oz. You have to let me do this my way.”

  “This man is threatening me. And my family.” Oz’s anger brooks no argument. But fuck it. I know the way this has to go. And I’m not taking no for an answer.

  “No,” I repeat, louder this time. “Not your club. Mine.”

  “Yours?” His tone makes it clear he’s about to refuse.

  “It has to be the Lords for this to work, Oz.” I’m not going to budge on this, and he needs to know it. “I’ve fought with them. Bled with them. I know my brothers, and they know me. If you throw men we haven’t worked with into it, you put all of us in danger. Including Isabel.”

  Oz is silent, weighing my words. I’m almost sure he’s going to continue arguing. But some star must be looking down on me for once in my life, because he ends up relenting.

  “You’ll get Isabel out of there before this happens. I don’t want her put at risk,” he warns. It’s not a question.

  “Of course. She’ll be safe. I give you my word.”

  It’s a small lie. But it doesn’t matter. I do intend to keep Isabel safe, no matter what. Beyond that, Oz doesn’t need to know anything else. All he needs to know is, I’m going to take care of Fowler, for good. Me and my club.

  “All right,” he finally growls. “But I do not think I have to tell you what the consequences will be if this goes bad.”

  It’s a threat. More than that, it’s a promise.

  If this goes wrong, the alliance between our clubs will be broken.

  I may pay for it with my life.

  Most importantly, though: Isabel will be hurt. Raped, for sure. Probably killed.

  But I know — I know it in my bones — that I’m t
he best shot of her staying alive.

  And if Isabel is killed, I don’t want to live, anyway.

  “No,” I say. “You don’t.”

  I ring Rock from a clean burner. My prez hasn’t heard from me in a while, so I spend some time filling him in on the details of what I know. I tell him our location, and what I want to put in place to catch Fowler and his men.

  “You’re expecting Fowler to show up himself?” Rock asks.

  “Yeah. Hoping. And I’m guessing he’ll have men with him, but if we’re lucky he won’t suspect anything. Still, we’ll need as many Lords as you can spare. And they’ll need to get up here without being followed. I’d bet money Fowler has people watching the club.”

  Rock grunts. “And when we get up there?”

  “We kill them. Fowler first, and everyone else with him.”

  If I expect any pushback from Rock, I don’t get it. Instead, I can practically hear his grin through the phone.

  “Been a little quiet around here since you’ve been gone, Thorn,” he chuckles. “Looks like that’s about to end. I’ll call church and tell the Lords what to get ready for. Phone me back tomorrow morning and we’ll get everything in place.”

  27

  Isabel

  Thorn is outside on the porch, talking to my father. The conversation’s heated, and loud enough that I can hear a lot of what’s being said on this end even though I’m in the kitchen trying to pretend I’m not trying to listen in.

  They’re talking about Fowler, which I know is the name of the man who’s looking for me to get to Oz. It sounds like they’re arguing about a strategy to lure him out in the open and take him out. I’ve never actually heard anyone talk back to my father before. But Thorn isn’t backing down. Eventually, they seem to come to some sort of agreement, and Thorn hangs up.

  He comes back inside, looking preoccupied. It’s a look I’ve seen on his face a lot in recent days. I want to ask him about the conversation, but something stops me. I don’t want to upset the fragile state of complicity we’ve been in since last night. I don’t want to do anything to make him angry, or doubt me.