OUR ACCIDENTAL BABY: Hellhounds MC

by Paula Cox

  “You lie. He wouldn’t have anything to do with some whore from the Bulls.”

  “No? Of course he didn’t know who I was at the time. Seems he will stick his cock into just about anyone,” she said with a leer, and then paused as she looked at me as if I confirmed her point.

  “That’s when you planted the bug.”

  “That’s right. I fucked him silly and while he was sleeping, I placed a little bug just inside the bedroom door, behind the dresser. You should ask him about me sometime. Oh, wait…you can’t, because you will be dead. He must have liked it, though, because we did it twice more, just for fun. We would come out of his bedroom beat all to shit, covered in scratches and bruises. It was worth it, though. Does he still have the scars on his back from where I scratched him?”

  I glared at her.

  She smiled at me, the smile not touching her eyes. “He was one of the best fucks I have ever had. I like a man that isn’t afraid to get rough.”

  I continued to glare at her but said nothing. “Maybe I will make you two watch each other getting fucked.” She paused as she thought it over. “Yes, I think I will. It will be interesting to see which of you dies first.”

  “Fuck you, you crazy bitch. I’ll kill myself first.”

  She tossed the closed razor on the bed about halfway between us, the white bone handle standing out in stark contrast to the dull red spread. “There you go. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

  I thought about going for it, but decided that I was no match for Sloane and she would kill me for sure.

  “That’s what I thought.” Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out. “What? I’m fucking busy! Okay, I’ll be right there.” She looked to me. “I’ll be back later. Don’t go anywhere,” she said as she slithered off the bed, taking the razor with her.

  Fuck! I cursed to myself. If she had left the Razor I was going to try my luck with the gorilla at the door.

  After Sloane left, I paced in my room as I listened to some bitch in the room beside me as she shrieked and screamed, begging for her john to fuck her harder as the headboard thumped against the wall. Just about the time they quit, some other harlot on the other side started. This had to be whore central, the place where the Bulls’ hookers brought their tricks.

  I opened the door, but the goon was still there and he smiled at me. “Oh, please try to run,” he begged.

  I left the door open a crack, just enough so I could see him standing there. If he left, I was going to make a break for it and take my chances. As I watched, I could see him slowly rubbing his cock through his pants, the screaming and moaning from the next room obviously affecting him.

  I pursed my lips as I thought, looking about the room for something I could use. I picked up the lamp, hefting it my hand, before I put it down. Not heavy enough and too unwieldy. Then I picked up the alarm clock. It didn’t work, but it was one of those old radio alarm clocks, heavy and made of sturdy plastic. It was just the right thickness for a good grip and big enough to get two hands on. I yanked the plug from the wall then put the clock back the way it was.

  I had to escape. I had to escape and to not only warn the Hounds, but to protect myself from being serially raped, as well. I had only one weapon I could use, so I began to undress.

  I lay down on the bed, nude, and began to finger myself, watching the goon through the door. During a quiet moment, I wailed as if I was having an orgasm and I saw his head turn in my direction. I could see him peeking through the crack in the door, trying to see what I was doing. I wailed again, bucking my hips like I was fucking my brains out.

  He moved off the rail, pushed opened the door, and stepped into the room. I was so scared I had almost no wetness, but I fingered myself frantically as I thrust and panted.

  “I need a cock. Being pregnant makes me so horny. Please, please, fuck me,” I gasped. He hesitated so I began to move my hand again. “Please, I need your hard cock in me. Please fuck me,” I mewled squirming around on the bed. I felt ridiculous, but Boyd seemed to enjoy the show.

  As he began to undressed I could tell he wasn’t a particularly bad looking guy, especially if he would wash and comb his hair. He pulled off only this pants and boots, and as his pants fell to the floor, I saw the gun inside the waistband. When he began to move toward the bed, I held up my hand.

  “No… all the way. I want to feel all of you against me,” I breathed, putting a finger into my mouth and sucking on it. “Please, baby, I need to feel you against me.” I needed every advantage I could get, so as he began to pull his shirt over his head, binding his arms, I leapt from the bed, grabbed the alarm clock with both hand, and brought it down on his head with every ounce of strength I possessed. The clock shattered in my hand and Boyd went down with a grunt. I knelt on his back hit him again with the largest piece I had left and then dove for the gun.

  I was just pulling it from the holster when he was on me, bleeding profusely from a large cut on his head. He was immensely strong and I kicked and scratched as we struggled. He grabbed my face, growling in rage as he tried to twist my head off. His hand was over my mouth, trying to cut my wind off as he squeeze my face in his vice like grip. I sunk my teeth sunk into web between his thumb and first finger, his scream mixing with the screams of the bitch one room over. He reared back, my teeth so firmly in his hand that he started to pull me off the floor before a chunk came loose. I spat it out and kicked away from him. He was bleeding badly from the hand in addition to his head as he began to rise. I could see death in his eyes and I knew I was in a fight for my life. I got to my feet first and brought the gun down in a crushing blow on the back of his head, trying to cave his skull in. He fell to the floor again, rolling to his back and raising a hand to protect himself as I jumped on him, swinging the gun in a blind fury of fear and rage. The first blow he blocked, but I got through with a clean strike on the second one, hitting him just above the left eye, and he went still, but I kept hitting him, bringing the gun down in four more whistling arcs as I pounded the gun into his face and head.

  I stopped, still astraddle him, breathing hard. I felt sick. I scrambled to my feet and raced to the bathroom. It was a much a pigsty as the rest of the place, but I quickly rinsed my mouth out and washed the blood splatters off of me before I could puke.

  Feeling better I quickly gathered my clothes and dressed, checking Boyd for a pulse. He still had one, damnit, and I thought about shooting him, but that was a step too far. I took his phone, and the gun, and slipped out, hurrying along the walk and down the stairs.

  Chapter 33

  The moment my shoes touched the parking lot, I began to run. I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t care. I just knew that I had to get as far away from the motel as I could, as fast as I could, and the direction didn’t matter.

  I ran, phone in one hand and gun in the other, until I was gasping for breath. As I stumbled to a halt, I shoved the gun between my waistband and my hip and pulled my shirt over it. As I bent at the waist, trying to catch my breath, I touched the keypad on the phone, thanking god that it wasn’t a smart phone that could be easily locked.

  I dialed Cain’s number, then sucked in a great lungful of air and stood up straight. The phone rang and rang, and I prayed he would answer. When it went to voicemail I whimpered, hung up, and dialed it again as I began to walk.

  Once again the call went to voicemail, and once again, I hung up and then redialed the number. I knew it was karma for not answering Cain’s frantic attempts to get in touch with me after the shooting at The Claw.

  I entered the restaurant on the corner and sat down where I could see the door and tried the phone again.

  “Cain!” he snarled after a few rings.

  “Cain! It’s Alex! I—”

  “Alex! Thank God! Where are you? Are you okay?” he shouted. Before I could answer I heard a man roar in pain in the background. “Stop! Stop! Quiet! I have her on the phone!” he screamed to someone before he came back on the line with me. “Where are you?”

&nb
sp; “I’m at the corner of Denton and Ayers. There is a restaurant there called Sweetpea’s.”

  “Denton and Ayers,” Cain said to someone. “Where is that? Is that in Dallas?” he asked me.

  “Yes.”

  “Got it. Fuck…you’re right smack in the middle of Bulls territory. Go in the restaurant and find a seat where you can see the door. If you see anyone riding a black Harley with a grey bull head painted on the tank, you get the hell out of there, okay? We’re coming as fast as we can, but it’s going to take a little time to get there. You are all the way across town and we may run into trouble.”

  “Should I call the cops?”

  “No! We’re coming. Just don’t move. I need five guys! I’m going for Alex!” Cain yelled, clearly talking to someone else. “We’re coming, Alex! Sit tight!” he said before he canceled the call.

  As the waitress saunters over I slump down in the booth. “What can I getcha to drink?” she asked as she slid a menu and a glass of water in front of me.

  I didn’t have a cent on me, and I was too terrified to eat anyway. “Just water.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

  I picked up the menu like I was reading it, peeking over the top. I saw a black motorcycle, then another, race by, but I couldn’t tell if there were bulls painted on the tanks.

  A few minutes later the waitress strolled up. “Know what you want?”

  I was in a bind, but I was sure Cain would cover me when he showed up. “Just the burger plate and fries,” I mumbled as she wrote.

  She held out her hand for the menu. “Got it.”

  I didn’t want to let the menu go, but I handed it to her and she turned to walk away.

  It didn’t take long for the meal to arrive. It smelled good, but I had no appetite and every time the door opened, my heart nearly stopped. I nibbled at the burger, drawing out my meal as I prayed that Cain would arrive soon.

  As I watched the door, I saw black motorcycles racing back and forth in the street. Some were two up, with a woman on the back, others solo. Twenty minutes after I arrived at Sweetpea’s, a motorcycle stopped at the curb and a man and woman dismounted. I continued to chew my burger, keeping my head down, but watching the door from under my brow. The two, I had to assume Bulls, walked away from the bike in opposite directions.

  The man and woman were clearly looking for me, and I debated bolting, but before I could make up my mind, the door opened and the man entered and looked around. I slowly leaned over onto my left hip and slipped the weapon from inside my pants and tucked it under my right leg.

  The man turned and went into the other room first, then returned to the room I was seated in. He made it only three steps in before he saw me. As recognition dawned on his face I pulled the chrome revolver from under my leg and pointed it at him. I had shot my gun all of about five times in the two years that I had owned it. It stayed in the bedside table drawer most of the time, but the handgun I held, though a lot bigger and heavier than mine, was enough like my own weapon that I knew how to work it.

  “That’s far enough,” I said as I slid out of the booth, the gun still pointed at the man, the few other customers staring at me with slack jawed amazement or panic.

  “We’re going to kill you, you bitch,” the man snarled.

  “Not today, you’re not,” I sneered, trying to keep up the brave face as I began to step backwards.

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” he said as he took a step toward me.

  I saw the woman that was on the bike with him step into the restaurant and immediately pull out her phone. It was about to get real and I tightened my finger on the trigger. “Not one more step,” I warned as I took another step back.

  He paused, and I took another step back, but when he stepped forward again, I squeezed the trigger, causing the gun to roar. I didn’t know what kind of gun it was, but it packed a hell of a lot more punch than my little revolver did as the recoil tried to tear the gun from my hand. The man was so close that I couldn’t miss, and he went down hard, the glass behind him shattering and every person in the place screaming and ducking.

  I stood for a moment in mute amazement that I had actually shot someone, before I turned and ran. More Bulls would be arriving soon and I didn’t want to take the chance that they would come in with guns blazing.

  I hit the emergency exit at a full run, the buzzer sounding as I banged through the door. I turned right and pounded around the end of the building. I looked behind me to see the woman giving chase.

  I had a substantial lead her, and she was a lot heavier than I was, and I was beginning to pull away from her, my legs fueled by my panic. I tried to jump some hedges, didn’t make it, and fell with a tumbling roll. I bounded back to my feet, grabbed the gun again and ran, not even feeling the fall.

  I heard the bellow of several motorcycles behind me and I turned. Four bikes were charging across the parking lot toward me. As they skidded to a stop, I whirled and brought the gun up. Three guys, one of whom I recognized as the thug I smashed over the head, and Sloane dismount. Two of the guys pulled their guns and pointed them at me as Sloane drew her razor.

  “I’m going to fuck you good, now,” Sloane snarled as she flicked the razor open.

  “Take one step and I’ll kill you!” I screamed, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the gun.

  “It’s four against one, you stupid bitch. You can’t win.”

  “Who wants to die first, then?” I screamed, thrusting the weapon in their direction. Before they could answer, I heard several pops in the distance. All our heads turned in the direction of the gunfire.

  “Kill —” Sloane began.

  I squeezed the trigger the moment she spoke and the man in the middle screamed as he dropped. I was aiming for his chest, but I had hit him in the crotch. I turned and ran toward the gunshots as the other goon open fired, but I was a moving target and after a moment, the shooting stopped. I circled back around toward Sweetpea’s, literally running for my life. I popped out on Ayres as I saw six motorcycles around the corner, charging hard in my directions. I turned and ran toward them, praying it was Cain and not more Bulls.

  I recognized Cain just as he skidded to a stop, his bike falling in a crash as he leapt from it. I ran toward him, gasping in effort and fear.

  “Get down!” he screamed as his weapon came up. I slowed as fast as I could then dropped as six guns bellowed. When it was quiet, I uncovered my head and looked behind me. Three bodies were on the ground, riddled with gunshots. I surged to my feet, dropping the gun, and ran to Cain, throwing myself into his arms.

  Chapter 34

  I was bouncing on my toes outside the courthouse in excitement. It had been three days since my ordeal and today Cain and the other five Hellhounds were being released from custody.

  I spent a night in jail while the cops checked my story, but between my crashed car, my detailed description of the inside of the Red Rug Inn, the smashed clock and the cuts on Boyd head, not to mention the testimony of the diners in Sweetpea’s and several witnesses that I wasn’t even aware of in parking lot where I shot the second man, I had been released without charges.

  It was a little harder getting the Hounds sprung. I had to endure a prolonged and harsh lecture by the judge about calling the police in a kidnapping situation, but in the end my pleading that the Hounds had been coming to rescue me and had saved my life and the life of our child, swayed him and he had granted them bond.

  The moment Cain appeared, I dashed up the three steps and, once again, flung myself into his arms. He held me tight as I cried into his shoulder, the other five Hellhounds gathering around to thank me for my heartfelt pleading on their behalf. I tucked in tight and walked with Cain and the other Hellhounds to the parking lot where the rest of the Hounds were waiting, along with five motorcycles. Cain would be riding with me in his truck since my car and his hog were damaged beyond operation.

  I held back as the Hounds greeted each other
with hugs and back slaps. I had kept to myself in Cain’s apartment after being released by the police, ashamed and unable to face the club.

  “I’ll see you at the clubhouse later,” Cain said as the group began to mount up before he turned to me.

  “I’m sorry,” was all that I could think to say.

  “Why?”

  I could tell he was hurt, and I didn’t blame him. All of this was my fault, and we both knew it. “I realize now it was a setup, but I have something to show you. Can we go back to your place?”

  He looked at me and I could see the anger and pain burning in his eyes. “Yes. But then I think you need to go. I will buy you a plane ticket home, as I promised.”