HIS PROPERTY: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Iron Bandits MC)

by Zoey Parker

  Harbaugh got up and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Panzer felt like he'd just had a piano dropped on his head. He picked up the remote control and hit the Play button, watching the security camera footage from the gas station.

  Yes, that was definitely Billie. Even with her mask on, Panzer had known her too long not to recognize the way she stood and moved.

  And he didn't want to admit it—not even to himself—but yes, based on the way she was acting, it was clear to him that she wasn't a hostage anymore.

  On the screen, the ten-year-old approached Carter, but Panzer wasn't watching him this time. He was watching Billie, studying the way she ignored the kid. Behind the holes in her mask, Panzer could clearly see that her eyes were lovesick and locked on the biker.

  Same old Billie, he thought. Always going for the bad boys.

  He hated the idea of her giving herself to yet another wild and reckless man who was no good for her. He hated her for ignoring common sense and spitting in the face of danger, while the people who really cared about her were worried sick.

  But more than that, he hated the thought of her being hurt or worse just because this federal shitbird happened to have a hard-on for the goon she'd hooked up with this time. Maybe she'd made a mistake by laughing off Panzer's love for her all these years. Maybe it was a mistake she'd never make right or apologize for, no matter how much it broke his heart. But it wasn't a mistake she deserved to die for.

  Billie, he pleaded silently, I hope you and that biker of yours have a trick or two up your sleeves.

  Chapter 34

  Billie

  The next day, Carter and Billie walked to a big box store that was close to the motel and stole another car. Billie teased him about choosing a hot pink Corvette that would have been about as subtle as a fishing lure, but in the end, they decided on an older Mercedes.

  Billie unscrewed the license plates from a few other cars so they could switch them up and keep the cops off-balance, and when she was done, Carter showed her how he hotwired the car so she could do it herself if it came to that.

  “This'll be a pretty useful skill in Mexico,” Carter told her with a wink. “The cartel boys are always willing to fork over a few bucks for stolen cars. We probably won't need to, though. Once we meet up with Hazmat and Oiler to split up the shares from all our jobs, we should be able to live pretty well down there.”

  They rode for most of the day, singing along to the radio. They only stopped twice—once to get gas and switch out the license plate again, and once to grab some fast food from a drive-through.

  As the small towns and highways gave way to desert roads, Billie daydreamed about what it might be like to live in Mexico. She imagined the cool blue waters of the Gulf, Spanish-built cathedrals, adobe homes and haciendas, and dusty street markets filled with colorful characters.

  And how long would they be there? Certainly long enough to rub elbows with some of the cartel people, based on what Carter had told her. Probably long enough for her to get a decent tan and pick up some of the language.

  Finally, Carter took the car down a narrow side road and drove for another hour until they found a rusty chain-link fence. It seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon.

  Carter parked the car next to the fence, cutting the engine. “We'll have to walk from here,” he said. “Don't worry, it shouldn't take more than twenty minutes to get there.”

  “Is it safe to leave the car here?” Billie asked.

  “Sure. No one ever drives out this way, since most people don't even know there's anything out here. And planes and helicopters tend to steer clear of the air around here, too. Something, uh, tends to fuck with their instruments when they do, ha,” he said with a strange smile.

  They walked across a rocky patch of desert for almost half an hour until Billie saw something metal glinting in the distance. “Is that what we're looking for?”

  Carter shaded his eyes with his hand, following her gaze. “Yeah, that's it.”

  But as they got closer, Billie kept rubbing her eyes, convinced she must be seeing some kind of mirage. The structure they were approaching was a corrugated metal shed that looked roughly the size of a port-a-john.

  “You're kidding, right?” she asked. “That thing barely looks like it'll fit both of us inside. Are you sure someone actually lives there?”

  “Trust me,” Carter said. “It's a lot bigger than it looks.”

  Billie rolled her eyes. “If I had a nickel for every time a guy's told me that before...”

  Carter laughed. “Come on. You'll love this.”

  They walked up to the tiny building, and Billie saw that the door looked like reinforced steel, with no handle to open it from the outside. There was a small intercom next to it, and a security camera was mounted above it.

  Carter blew a thick layer of dust off the intercom, then pushed the button.

  “Is this the part where the little guy with the funny mustache pops out and tells us that no one gets in to see the Wizard?” she asked.

  “You're not far off,” he replied.

  A moment later, there was a blast of static from the intercom, followed by a quaking, raspy voice.

  “Well, is that Hazmat there with you, or is it Oiler? Either way, they're a damn sight prettier than you let on when you described 'em.”

  Carter chuckled. “I had to split off from the other two. This is Billie. You'll like her.”

  “And you brought it?” the voice crackled.

  “You really think I'd show up empty-handed, old man?”

  A creaky laugh emanated from the intercom. “I guess you'd better be comin' in, then,” the voice said. There was an odd metallic clanking and grinding sound on the other side of the door that lasted about twenty seconds, and then Billie heard a series of locks clicking and rattling.

  Then the door opened, revealing a man who looked like he was in his seventies. He had a pair of goggles pushed up over his thinning white hair, and his beard was long and scraggly. He wore a set of long underwear and a pair of threadbare bunny slippers.

  “Pleased to meet'cha, Billie,” he said, extending a liver-spotted hand. “My name's Buzzard Malloy. Reckon you oughtta hurry up an' come inside—there's a coyote that prowls 'round out here. I calls 'im Beauregard. He likes me 'cause I feed 'im, but he ain't been properly introduced to y'all yet, hah!”

  Chapter 35

  Billie

  Buzzard led them into the metal shed, closing the heavy door behind them. It was cramped with the three of them inside, and the old man's body odor hung heavy in the air. Billie was glad she and Carter had showered in the motel that morning, so they weren't contributing to the smell.

  “That's one hell of a getup you got there, Carter,” Buzzard said, surveying Carter's clothes and haircut. “Was you plannin' to go door to door later, askin' folks if they've heard the good news 'bout Christ?”

  “Like I'm going to take that shit from someone dressed like you,” Carter chuckled. “Shouldn't you be in a saloon somewhere, jumping up and down and yelling about how 'there's gold in them thar hills,' or something?”

  “Ahh, you always was fulla piss an' vinegar,” Buzzard laughed.

  A light came on, and Billie saw that they were actually standing inside a crudely-constructed elevator. Buzzard turned the crank and the platform they were on slowly sank into the floor, coming out into a cozy-looking living area. There was a small kitchen and dining space, plus a couch and an easy chair. The shelves on the walls were overflowing with thousands of books on every subject imaginable, from the complete works of Charles Dickens to manuals on how to install plumbing. There were three doors leading to other rooms.

  “That 'un leads to the generator, the pantry, an' the cold storage room,” Buzzard said, pointing to one of the doors. “Got me enough food, tobacco, an' gasoline in there to stay alive down here fer 'nother forty years. Not that I expect I'll live that long, heh.” He pointed to the second door. “That 'un is th
e crapper. No need to ask permission 'fore usin' it—we don't much stand on ceremony here. An' that third 'un is my bedroom, though I reckon y'all can use it tonight if'n you want to. I've gotten pretty good at passin' out on the couch with a book an' a whiskey bottle.”

  “This is a lovely place you have,” Billie said.

  “'Only why did I build it,' right? That's the question you're fixin' to ask, ain't it?” Buzzard let out a long, wheezing laugh. “Saw the writin' on the wall 'bout, oh, ten years back. I'd been workin' at that damn bank in Cactus Hollow fer nigh-on thirty years, when suddenly, in comes that pole-greaser Coop Scanlon with his 'cost-cutting' this an' 'overhead' that. Mind you, it was all just an excuse for the prick to fill his own pockets without anyone knowin'.”

  “You used to work at the McMurtry bank?” Billie asked.

  “'Course I did,” Buzzard cackled. “Used to see your momma in there 'bout once every week or two, as I recall. Yer Sharon Rosewood's daughter, ain'tcha? Sure y'are. I can see her in yer eyes, y'know? The eyes never lie.

  “Anyways,” Buzzard continued, “once Coop figured out that I was onto him, that rancid sack of goat piss set things up so it looked like I was the one stealin'! Can you beat that? Well, that right there was when I had my moment of clarity, like God's own truth shinin' down on my brain. I knew that humans were such a greedy, stupid, arrogant species that it's only a matter of time 'fore the nukes start flyin' an' everythin' gets burned to a goddamn fritter. I built this little hole in the ground so I can spend my last few years safe, comfortable, an' most of all, alone.”

  “How will you know if something like a nuclear war happens?” Billie asked. “It doesn't look like you have a TV around here to watch the news.”

  Buzzard looked at her as though she must be stupid. “Girl, don't you know them idiot boxes don't never do nothin' but lie?”

  “Speaking of the bank, this is for you,” Carter said. He unzipped his saddlebag and produced several stacks of bills, handing them over to Buzzard. “Your share from McMurtry. Twelve grand.”

  The old man laughed triumphantly, slapping his knee. “Well, dip me in honey an' throw me to the fuckin' bears. You peckerwoods actually came through!”

  “A promise is a promise,” said Carter.

  “But you said you've already got everything you need down here,” Billie observed. “So what are you going to do with twelve thousand dollars?”

  “Glad you asked,” Buzzard said, grinning. He opened the door to the bathroom and set the stacks of cash next to the toilet. “I'm gonna spend the next few years wipin' my fuckin' old, wrinkled ass with it an' flushin' it down. It'll knock the hell outta my hemorrhoids, but it'll be worth it knowin' that I prob'ly got that sonuvabitch Coop fired. Revenge is a beautiful bitch, ain't she? Come on, I'll make you somethin' to eat.”

  Buzzard cooked a delicious meal of pork chops with gravy, spinach, and instant mashed potatoes, and served ice cream for dessert. As they ate, they traded jokes and stories from the road. When Buzzard was clearing the dishes from the table, the tale of the failed gas station robbery made him laugh so hard that his face turned beet red and he almost dropped everything.

  After that, Buzzard prepared the bedroom for them and gave them some fresh towels so they could shower in the morning. Then he wished them both goodnight and retreated to the living room to read.

  “He's a lot of fun,” Billie said as they kicked off their shoes and curled up on the bed together. “How did you meet him?”

  “That's a long story,” Carter said. “And I'll bet we can find something better to do with our time.”

  He kissed her and she folded her arms around him, running her hands up and down his powerful back. Her fingertips found the edge of his t-shirt and she pulled it up over his head, tossing it aside. His eyes gleamed down at her mischievously as he took off her shirt, then reached behind her back and undid her bra.

  As they continued to kiss, Billie pressed her body against his fervently, like a drowning woman clinging to a life preserver. It felt right, since he'd saved her from a stagnant life of being ordinary and miserable. There was no more need for teasing, no more uncertainty about how far he'd let her go with him. Now that Billie knew their destinies were entwined, she threw herself into Carter with total abandon—not knowing what tomorrow would bring, but knowing that no matter what came, they'd still be together.

  Billie sat up and firmly pushed Carter onto his back. She got on top of him, moving her hips up and down slowly. The crotch of her jeans was grinding against his, and she felt how hard he was for her.

  “Do you need me, baby?” Billie whispered, planting kisses on Carter's neck and chest.

  “God, yes, Billie,” Carter murmured. He stroked her left nipple, and she felt goosebumps cascade over her breast. “I love having you with me.”

  “And you're sure you want me to come with you to Mexico?” Billie's lips kept caressing Carter's skin, sinking lower and lower until she was kissing him just below his navel.

  “I can't think of anyone I'd rather have with me down there,” he breathed. His fingers stroked the back of Billie's head, tousling her hair.

  “Not even Hazmat and Oiler?” she joked, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

  He laughed, his eyes meeting hers. Since they'd been together, Billie had seen many emotions in his eyes—anger, mistrust, excitement. But this was the first time she saw joy in them, and she was ecstatic at the thought that she was the reason for it.

  “Even them,” Carter said. “But to be fair, neither of them ever did that to me before.”

  “You ain't seen nothing yet,” Billie said. She grinned and undid the button on his jeans, taking the tongue of his zipper between her thumb and forefinger. She slid it down slowly, relishing the lust and delight in his eyes as she did. When his fly was fully open, she reached inside, feeling his large cock throb warmly in her hand.

  She released it from its confinement, gently stroking the quivering shaft with her fingertips. She marveled at its shape as it continued to extend in her grasp, pointing toward the ceiling.

  Billie moistened her lips with her tongue and took him in her mouth. He let out a low moan, his hands tightening on her head.

  Billie cradled Carter's cock on her tongue, keeping her hand wrapped around the base of his shaft. She could feel trembles rippling through his body as she sucked him tenderly, moving her head up and down. Up and down over and over.

  His musk was intoxicating. Eventually she was able to take him all the way to the back of her throat, and she did so eagerly.

  “Your mouth is so fucking sweet,” Carter whispered.

  “Mmmm-hmmmmm,” she hummed, drawing it out so the vibration on his skin would drive him crazy. Sure enough, he spasmed as he reached his climax, his back arching as she felt him gush inside her mouth.

  As Billie raised her head, Carter sat up. It was his turn to shove her down on the bed. He undid her jeans, putting his hand inside them.

  “That got you pretty wet, huh?” he asked, smiling.

  “Damn right,” she replied. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Carter pulled off Billie's jeans and spread her legs, lowering himself between them. She felt his tongue lapping at her, his warm breath cascading exquisitely down the lips of her pussy.

  She gasped, a hand clutching the sheets next to her reflexively.

  “Nice technique,” she sighed happily, the other hand stroking the back of his neck.

  But minutes later, when he slid two fingers inside of her as he continued to lick her clit, she was unable to speak in anything but sharp, urgent, broken syllables—breathless shards of speech that couldn't begin to hint at the way he was making her feel.

  Sucking on him had already brought her close to the edge.

  Now a dam broke inside of her, and she felt an ocean of bliss rush through her entire body.

  Soon after that, they were asleep in each other's arms.

  Chapter 36

  Billie

&nbs
p; A few hours before dawn, Billie got up to use the bathroom. As she passed through the living room on her way back, she saw that Buzzard was awake and sitting on the couch with a photo album open on his lap.

  “I'm so sorry,” Billie said. “I hope I didn't wake you.”

  “Nah, I'm usually up around this time anyways,” Buzzard answered. “This bladder've mine insists on wakin' me, an' then what? I stand over the pot fer damn near twenty minutes, with nothin' but drips an' dribbles.” He shook his head. “Never get old if'n you c'n help it, young lady.”