by Zoey Parker
“So, Cleo,” Roxy said, coming up to stand on the other side of her, “how drunk will we be getting tonight?”
“Enough,” Cleo replied shortly.
“Enough to bang Hector?” Roxy joked, both Jinx and she breaking into snorts of laughter.
Hector was actually a nice guy who was incredibly respectful to the women of Satan’s Disciples, but he was a notorious tomcat who often picked up whatever was lying around at the end of the night.
Cleo gave her friends a small smile. “No, not Hector. I don’t think I could be drunk enough for that and still be conscious.”
“Well, then,” Jinx exclaimed brightly, turning Cleo on her stool to survey the bar, “let’s take a look at our options.” It was common tradition for the girls to help Cleo pick out who she would go home with on the nights Spike would go AWOL with other girls. “I know this is your favorite part, Roxy,” Jinx said drily.
It was the worst kept secret in Satan’s Disciples that Roxy was a lesbian. Ever since she had joined three years back, there had been a quiet understanding that Roxy wasn’t ever going to be anyone’s back-warmer. This, of course, prompted Hector to endlessly pursue her, in a lighthearted manner that Roxy found hilarious.
“What about him?” Jinx pointed at a man who looked like Fabio with neck tattoos.
Cleo made a face. “His hair is way too long. I don’t even like when I get my own in my mouth, let alone a stranger’s.”
Jinx and Roxy exchanged confused looks. “Uh, okay…” Jinx said. Cleo wasn’t normally very picky. Usually the first attractive guy they pointed out was enough for her, and Fabio definitely fit the bill. “Mind if I hit it, then?” Jinx asked, looking the man up and down. “Because damn.”
Cleo rolled her eyes. If Hector was a tomcat, Jinx was a man-eater. As she liked to put it, she was a hunter who only selected the finest prey.
Roxy reached over to nudge Jinx, nodding towards Cleo. Jinx grimaced—she was being a bad friend. This was about Cleo.
“How about that guy?” Jinx had spotted another hottie who just walked in. He had short, spiked hair with a generous amount of stubble framing his handsome square jaw.
“Too pretty,” Cleo said, shooting him down. “I don’t like guys who look like they might be prettier than me.”
Roxy sniggered. Cleo was one of the most gorgeous women she had ever seen. If there was a man prettier than her, he wasn’t from this Earth. “Stop being such a pity party,” she scolded Cleo. “This is usually fun for you.”
“Well, if there were a halfway decent man here for me, maybe I would be having more fun, if you know what I mean,” Cleo said condescendingly.
“Hey!” Jinx protested angrily. “It’s not our fault you suddenly developed a type!”
“What about Vince?” Roxy quickly suggested, trying to prevent an argument from breaking out. “I bet he’d piss off Spike quite a bit.” She looked at Jinx to see her worriedly chewing at her bottom lip, looking from Cleo to Vince and back again.
“On second thought,” Roxy said hastily, “maybe you should just avoid men tonight. Spike will never believe you went home alone. He’ll go nuts trying to figure out who you fucked.”
Cleo smiled slowly. “You’re a crafty bitch, aren’t you, Roxy? I like that idea.”
Roxy laughed uneasily, her heart slowly falling to her feet. Jinx had come into the gang less than a year ago, and while Roxy had never truly dared to hope, she could at least fantasize about the happy, colorful girl.
Who would have thought, Roxy mused, looking at the tall, dark man. Vince was a quiet guy, or an old soul, as Tiny once referred to him.
Almost as though he could sense them talking about him, Vince raised his head and waved to the trio sitting at the bar. All three waved back with dopey grins on their faces, even Roxy. Where Hector tried too hard and often scared women away, Vince had a smoothness about him that made him popular with the ladies. Of all the men in Satan’s Disciples, Vince was the only one where Roxy understood Jinx’s attraction to him.
“Alright, bitches. I’ll be over at the table. See you there,” Cleo said, grabbing her drink and taking a seat amongst the gang.
Roxy sighed and put up her hand to order a double.
“Thanks,” Jinx said quietly. Roxy nodded, her mouth tight. “How did you know?” she asked Roxy. “It’s just, we’ve tried to keep it a secret, and…” She trailed off.
“I didn’t know until a minute ago,” Roxy replied. “I saw your face when I suggested Vince, and I pretty much filled in the blanks from there.”
“Please don’t tell anyone, Rox,” Jinx begged her.
Roxy frowned, taking a large gulp from her glass. “I won’t, but why not? No one would care.”
“We really like each other,” Jinx explained. “Like, a lot. But we don’t want to ruin what we’ve got going on. I’m not Cleo, I can’t handle going back and forth like that.”
“Cleo and Spike have their own issues that don’t have anything to do with you and Vince,” Roxy pointed out.
Jinx shook her head, her long earrings jangling loudly. “Nuh-uh. Too risky.” She suddenly let out a dry laugh.
“What is it?” Roxy asked curiously.
“It’s just funny—not funny ha-ha, more like life is strange,” Jinx clarified. “But it’s like…if Cleo talked to Spike about how shitty she felt when he goes and fucks other girls, maybe she would be better off, just like maybe if Vince and I told everyone about our relationship, we might be better off. But nobody wants to do that, even if it’s better for them, it’s too risky.”
Roxy gave Jinx a wide-eyed look. “Fucking hell, Jinx. I’m not drunk enough to go there yet,” she joked uncomfortably. Her heart was pounding as she wrestled internally with herself. Jinx was right; if she didn’t say anything, she was a coward. She opened her mouth, changed her mind at the last second, and brought her glass to her lips, drinking deep.
Coward it is, then, Roxy thought.
She watched as Georgia’s friend Stacy fell off of her chair. Cleo and Tiny each grabbed an arm, helping her to her feet. Cleo adjusted the younger girl’s top so she was properly covered.
Stuffing a wad of bills into Tiny’s hand, Cleo motioned to Stacy. She was telling him to take a cab and bring the girl home safely.
“Cleo gets a bad rap sometimes, but she’s not so bad,” Roxy suddenly blurted out.
It was Jinx’s turn to shoot her friend a surprised look. “How do you mean?”
Roxy’s face turned a bright red. She didn’t know why she had said that. Maybe Jinx was rubbing off on her. “She’s got a lot going on, y’know. Stuff with Spike, stuff with the gang. But still, she looks out for others, even the people she doesn’t really like.” Roxy nodded to Cleo, who was now handing Stacy a cup of water.
“When you say ‘stuff with the gang,’ you mean Ivan, don’t you?” Jinx asked quietly, watching Vince.
Roxy didn’t say anything for a long time. “Yeah.”
“You think it’s going to be bad,” she correctly assumed.
Roxy swallowed a hard lump. “Yeah.” She nodded. She glanced over at the normally cheerful, happy-go-lucky girl. Jinx didn’t look like her face even knew how to make a smile. “But not for us,” Roxy added, forcing a bit of joy into her voice. “Ivan’s never gonna know what hit him. Cleo said she talked to Spike about it and they came up with a plan.”
“Really?” Jinx cried excitedly.
“Yup!” Roxy said confidently. “Ivan’s gonna be dust by the time Satan’s Disciples is through with him. Then things will go back to the way they were.”
Cleo had said no such thing, of course, but it was criminal for someone like Jinx to be sad, even if for only a moment.
Roxy ordered a round of drinks for the table and brought it over, enjoying the happy night while it lasted.
***
Spike held the rear entrance door open for Georgia. He smugly noticed that she hesitated, frightened to leave the bar and enter the dark back alley with him.
“Getting scared?” he taunted, whispering in her ear.
Georgia snapped her head back, immediately blushing at her reaction. “I’m fine,” she lied.
Spike led her around to the side of the building where close to four dozen motorcycles were parked. The lot was a sea of chrome and leather. Georgia followed Spike, carefully winding her way around the bikes. She had visions of tripping over a kickstand and sending them all to the ground like dominoes.
He approached a bike, pulling the helmet off of the back. Georgia looked it over. It was long, much longer than most of the normal motorcycles Georgia saw on the highway, ones Spike and his boys called “crotch-rockets”. The front wheel was huge, with red spokes. The rest of the bike was a matte black, with small red accents here and there.
Spike swung a leg over, handing Georgia a second helmet that was strapped to the backseat. “Hop on,” he told her.
Georgia took her time putting on the helmet, not wanting to ruin her hair. As she pulled it over her head, she caught a strong whiff of perfume that she recognized smelling earlier in the bar—Cleo’s.
That might be a problem, Georgia worried.
Spike was looking at her expectantly, so she hastily got on the bike, wiggling to find a comfortable spot.
“You’re going to want to hold on,” Spike warned her. If she knew him, she would have heard the humor in his voice and perhaps would have been prepared. He started the bike, and it roared to life, filling Georgia’s body with pure energy and force.
She screamed inside the helmet, but it was still loud enough for Spike to hear over the motor.
“Relax,” he said, flipping up his visor so he could talk to her. “It’ll go easier if you move with the bike, okay? Just let your body do what’s natural.” Without waiting for a response, Spike turned around and revved the engine, causing another ripple of vibrations to spread through Georgia.
She instinctively grabbed at his back, her fists tightly clenching his leather vest. She could feel his hard back underneath her hands, and she flashed back to the dingy office room they had been in only a few minutes ago. Georgia had felt a number of muscles through his thin black t-shirt, and couldn’t help but compare Spike to Rocco, finding the latter to fall seriously short in several categories—physically, anyway.
Rocco was attractive enough, in a plain sort of way. Short brown hair, brown eyes, a slight build—he was a sketch artists’ worst nightmare. There was simply nothing remarkable about him, excluding his overly-romantic tendencies, which, unfortunately, was not able to be conveyed through his appearance.
Everywhere Rocco was average, Spike was improved, if not exceptionally better. Spike had auburn hair with reddish-streaks that caught the light, his eyes were green, with flecks of gold, and he towered over Georgia, making her feel small and delicate.
Spike duck-walked the bike out to the street. He pulled up his feet, and, following Georgia’s slender, finger, peeled out in the direction she had pointed.
As he drove, he began to plan how he would force Georgia out. The key, Spike reasoned, was to make her actually enjoy being with him. A girl like Georgia would hate herself for letting a man like Spike touch her, and if she liked him touching her, well, that would just send her running for the hills, he thought.
You want her to hate herself? a voice said in Spike’s head. Why? Because you hate yourself?
“I don’t hate myself,” Spike muttered to himself, grateful for the engine that prevented him from being overheard.
If you don’t now, you will once you go through with this, the voice said.
Spike ignored the voice and revved the motor again, drowning out all thoughts.
They arrived at Georgia’s house twenty minutes later. It had been terrifying at first, but Georgia had eventually been able to relax and do as Spike suggested, and the adrenaline rush she got made it almost worth it.
Spike checked out the damage as they rolled up. Her windows had been shot out and boarded up with some cheap plywood, and what appeared to be scorch marks on her sidewalk and the road in front of her house. Had Ivan tried to smoke her and her brother out? It probably wasn’t a good time to ask, he figured.
Georgia unlocked the front door and let Spike in behind her. She looked around her place. She and Stacy had done their best to pick up the broken glass and debris, but there was only so much they could do. It was still a disaster zone.
“Sorry, about…you know,” she said, gesturing around her.
“Are you sure you feel safe staying here?” Spike asked.
She shrugged. “I work hard to afford this place. It’s the only thing I know as home. I’m not leaving,” Georgia told him firmly. “If you’re scared, you’re welcome to leave,” she offered wickedly, challenging him.
Spike whipped his head around to look at her in shock. Where had that come from? He watched as she went into a cupboard and began to rummage around, eventually coming back with a bottle of vodka that was stoppered with…a towel?
“What’s that?” he asked, chuckling. “It looks like a—”
“It was a Molotov cocktail,” Georgia said, cutting him off. “Now it’s dinner.” She pulled two glasses out of the cabinet and poured them each a drink. She didn’t wait to cheers, she just swallowed the harsh liquor, waiting for it to bring her the courage she needed to deal with the situation.
Spike raised an eyebrow at her. That explains the fire damage I saw outside, he thought, looking at the bottle. Georgia had defended her home with DIY explosives. He was maybe going to need to rethink his strategy, for she was clearly not as helpless as she seemed.
He finished his drink in one long sip, setting the glass on the counter and watching Georgia intently. She had gulped down her drink, and was pouring herself another one. Spike reached out a hand to stop her. He didn’t want her unconscious. He wanted her to be clear of mind when she begged for him.
Spike came to stand behind Georgia. He slid his hands down her arms, plucking the glass from her grip. Placing it on the table, Spike continued to put his hands all over Georgia’s body, feeling her skin grow hot under his touch. She was so incredibly responsive, it was amazing.
Georgia quivered as she felt Spike’s rough fingers lightly graze her skin. Their path was meandering and unexpected; her breath hitched every time he passed over an especially sensitive spot, her lower stomach, the inside of her elbow, just behind her ears.
She felt herself grow hot all over. It was the back office all over again. Georgia couldn’t control her body; her underwear was growing damp at his prolonged touch. She closed her eyes and her soft, rosy lips parted, letting a quiet moan escape.
Her reaction was so evocative, Spike couldn’t help but give a lustful sigh in return. He shook his head. Spike was so hot for her he was losing focus. He had a plan and he needed to stick to it, not just toss it to the wind because he had no self-restraint.
Spike told himself the reason he was so eager to take Georgia to bed was because she was so different than what he was used to, but then she instinctively began to move against him, and Spike utterly forgot what he had been thinking about.
Slipping his hands around her waist, Spike guided her hips, loving the way his hands seemed to perfectly form around her. He brought his hands up, once again feeling her tight stomach. Spike gently pressed his thumb into her bellybutton, smiling at the way Georgia’s breath hitched.
He brought his hands even higher, his fingers stealing beneath Georgia’s leather vest to tease the full, soft underside of her breasts, only the thin fabric of her bra separating their skin.
Spike was surprised—the women he normally liked had a handful and then some when it came to their bra size, but he found himself enchanted by Georgia’s smaller and thus perkier tits. They heaved underneath the too-small vest, and Spike watched his fingers begin to frantically pluck away at the buttons.
The vest finally opened after what seemed like an eternity, and Spike immediately covered Georgia’s breasts with his hand
s, feeling her nipples poke into his palms through the gauzy material. His cock throbbed in his jeans, but Georgia felt it and pulled away, pressing herself even further into Spike’s grasp.
He tweaked her left nipple through her bra, and Georgia fell back against him, her eyelids fluttering with pleasure. Delighting in her response, Spike quickly unhooked her bra clasps and came around to face her. He slid the straps over her shoulders and down her arms, kneeling to cup her tits together. He pushed his face into them, appreciating their warmth.
Georgia stood there, frozen, as Spike began to lick and suckle her breasts. Slowly, as he toyed with her, she began to melt, running her fingers through his shaggy hair. Her knees almost buckled as he worked over one pink peak for several long moments and then moved on to the next, occasionally coming back to the first.