Savage Ride_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Chained Angels MC

by Lena Pierce

  Guys are running around like crazy, some pulling on bulletproof vests, some loading weapons. A car flies down the gravel path toward the garage. Shortly behind it, a medical vehicle kicks up dust behind it.

  Paddling to the edge of the pool, I peer at the commotion. From the black car, two guys pull a body. A … dead body? No, he’s shaking his head. I climb out of the pool and grab a towel, padding over toward the action. At the last minute, I dive behind the garage, thinking maybe it’s best if I’m not seen during all this business.

  As I peer out for a look, I see it’s Spike who’s injured, a huge blood stain spreading across his upper thigh. He’s pale, doesn’t look good. I hear him saying something about an ambush as someone from the medical vehicle hops out and advises him that he should go to the hospital. As a crowd gathers, Griz appears, hands in fists at his sides, jaw clenched, eyes hard and furious.

  “What the fuck is this?” he demands.

  One of his guys, an older, burly-bearded guy, says, “Fuckin’ GR was there at the pickup. They demanded restitution for the girl. The Oberovs tried to get out of the middle of it but one of the GR shot off a weapon. It was mayhem.”

  Griz stomps over to where Spike’s pants are being cut off by a paramedic. “He gonna live?”

  The paramedic says, “He will. Looks like the bullet path has an entrance and an exit. No major arterial damage. We’ll patch him up but he should probably go to the hospital.”

  “Fuck that,” Spike growls, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’ve had worse.”

  “You’re gonna have worse when I get finished with you, you arrogant piece of shit.” Griz says. “I specifically ordered you off of club business. You disobeyed a direct order.”

  “A little bloodshed ain’t never hurt nobody,” Spike says, trying to smile.

  “Really.” Griz says flatly. “Well, it hurts our business. What happened to the deal?”

  Spike doesn’t have anything to say about this. He turns his head away as the paramedic continues cleaning and stitching the wound.

  Another club member says, “Oberov says he’ll go find another club for this round. He’s spooked. And Spike shot a Robber. Guy’s dead.”

  “Fuck!” Griz yells. “You fucking blew the deal and got yourselves shot up, and now you’re adding the little detail that you killed someone? What the fuck kind of business do we run here? You think we’re just some gang, all random and picking fights every day? No. We’re motherfucking professionals and you all walked right into that bullshit. Fucking idiots.”

  Some of the guys hang their heads. From the ground, Spike says, “The guys believe we need to take more risks to get more rewards. We need to be pillaging some shit, taking what we want. We want more territory? Take it. We want more women? Take ’em. Fuck being professional. We need to be fucking pirates.”

  Griz looks like he might blow a gasket. His tan face goes red, his teeth bared like an animal as he gets into Spike’s face.

  “We are not—not—pirates. We are a goddamned motorcycle club. We all pay dues. We all have a job to do. That job is not to get in a street fight with a rival gang in a residential neighborhood in the middle of the goddamn, motherfucking day!”

  The paramedic finishes, looking uncomfortable. He stands and two club members help Griz’ vice president to his feet. A second paramedic brings a pair of crutches to Spike before turning to Griz.

  “How do you want to handle this?” he asks.

  Griz looks at him. “Go find Lenny and have him get you some cash for the follow. Have the official bill sent to the PO Box as usual. And thank you for your discretion, as always.”

  As the medical vehicle pulls away, Griz turns to the large group of club members gathered. He says, “You all got something to say?”

  At first, no one speaks. But then the burly guy says, “Boss, I ain’t meanin’ no disrespect, but do you think maybe you ought to step down? Just for a bit?”

  Griz narrows his eyes and the guy steps back from whatever he sees there.

  “Who built this club, Hank?” he asks, deadly calm, like a pit viper waiting to strike.

  “You did, boss,” he says quietly, shifting on his feet.

  “What’s that?” Griz asks, stepping closer, too close.

  “You did, sir,” Hank says, looking at his feet.

  Griz grabs him by the neck and pushes him up off of his feet. “I built this fucking club. It is mine. Not Spike’s. Not yours. Mine. I make the fucking rules of engagement. You follow them. You pay your dues; you do your work; you get paid. That is it.”

  He tosses the guy like he’s weightless and turns to the rest of the group, making eye contact with as many as he can. “Anyone else got something to say?”

  “You’re wrapped up in personal shit,” Spike announces. Your kid. Your sister. You’re hardly here. And now, you’re wrapped up in that little Grave Robbers cunt. We’re left to do the work on our own and we want to do it differently.”

  “We,” Griz says, his voice lifeless. “Well, here’s the deal. I don’t give a royal fuck who agrees or doesn’t agree with the way I work. This is still my fucking club and my fucking rules. So the ‘we’ you speak of can turn its colors in right now, or get the fuck in line.”

  “You’ve done nothing with the gift I gave you,” Spike says. “You in love with that little bitch? That why you’re not using her to get more out of the Robbers? They shot us up today, ran our partner away. You ain’t gonna do nothing about that?”

  “It’s just sex,” Griz says. “You gave her to me to claim; I claimed her.”

  “Well, then, you won’t mind if I have a taste, then. I’d like to have those long legs around my fat waist,” Spike challenges.

  Griz is in his face faster than if he’d been on wheels. He jams his fist into Spike’s wounded leg, sending his second to the ground with a howl.

  “Don’t fuck with my stuff,” he says to Spike. “ The rest of you can turn your shit in, if you think like this asshole. Otherwise, get the fuck back to work.”

  That’s the end of it. Griz leaves Spike on the ground, looking every bit like he’s about to pass out. The guys mostly dissipate, headed off to follow orders. A few mill around in pairs or small groups, talking. I think he might lose some guys today, based on the way they hang back and look at him as he walks away. And though Griz acts like he doesn’t care, I know that seeing guys leave based on how he leads will cut him.

  I take the cue to leave, sneaking away quietly, finding my way back to Griz’ bedroom where I lock the door and crawl into the tub, ready to soak away the tension I felt watching all of that go down. Griz makes good on his offer to send someone to give me a massage, and I spend more than an hour getting kneaded and pounded into a total state of relaxation. At this point, I’m wondering if being a prisoner isn’t so bad after all.

  Around dinnertime, I expect to see Griz but he doesn’t return. I unlock the door to head down to the dining room, only to be immediately intercepted by Spike, who shoves me back into the room, a knife pointed at my throat. He kicks the door shut and forces me backward until my back is against the wall. The knifepoint digs into my skin.

  I refuse to cry or beg. This jerk gets off on that stuff. Instead, I spit in his face.

  He smirks. “That’s cute. Bring it on, you little slut.”

  I try kneeing him between the legs but he blocks. It does knock him off balance, though, since he’s injured. I get enough of a window to get away from him, but as I run for the door he manages to get ahold of the back of the flowy dress I’m wearing. I trip, scrambling, as he drops, still holding onto my clothing. Somehow I end up on my back, one of his hands underneath me, one leg across my belly, a dead log pinning me in drowning waters.

  I can’t breathe as he frees his hand and puts it on my windpipe, squeezing, the knife high above my head in his other hand.

  “Griz ain’t gonna do nothin’ useful with you; you might as well be one of our regular whores. Open for business,” he says, looking over
my face with curiosity.

  I fight against him but he’s holding me pretty good for a dude who’s gotten his ass kicked like three times this week.

  “Hey now,” he says, tossing the knife aside and petting my hair. I cringe. “Hey, hey. Griz had his fun with you. Time for all of us to have a sample. You’ll like it. I’ll make it real good for you, princess.”

  He’s got sweatpants on and his hard-on is obvious against the forgiving fabric, bumping like an insistent finger against my thigh. I gag.

  He uses his free hand to pull his pants down, freeing his dick, shoving my dress up, exposing my pussy, left bare for Griz’ pleasure.

  “Easy access,” he says. “Gotta love it.”

  Everything’s a little fuzzy, as he’s still got pressure on my windpipe. I try to struggle but I feel like I’m stuck in a mud pit, not fully in control of my limbs. When I feel him enter me, I try to scream, but it’s a hoarse, laryngitic sound. It’s like one of those dreams we all have, where we try to scream but nothing comes out. A nightmare.

  My vision goes fuzzy as he groans, but then, suddenly, he’s gone. My vision starts to clear, my heart picks up pace. I struggle to breathe, my throat raw as I cough and sputter. To one side of me, Griz has Spike against the wall with one hand while the other punches him repeatedly. I manage to roll to my side, pushing the knife toward him.

  He ignores it, continuing to pummel Spike until he’s bloody and nearly unconscious. Griz tows him to the door and tosses him into the hallway. I hear him yell for someone, ordering them to lock him in a holding cell and not let him out, no matter what.

  I’m picked up, taken to the shower. The water is warm and comforting as my senses return. Griz takes a washcloth and gently cleans between my legs.

  It’s a long time before he speaks. It seems obvious that he’s furious but I see something else there, too. Sadness? Longing? Caring? I’m not sure, but it hurts my heart.

  “Thank you,” I say, my voice scratchy. “You saved me.”

  He cringes at the sound.

  “Don’t talk,” he orders, gruff. “I’m sorry he … that’s not something I condone. Ever.”

  “He only just …”

  “No,” he interrupts. “His cock was inside of you. I don’t care if it was half a second. I don’t want to think about it or I’ll go kill him now.”

  He bites his bottom lip and lets out a huge sigh, looking everywhere but at me. I reach up and touch his face, forcing him to see me. I need him to see me, to see that I’m okay, that I’m stronger than he thinks.

  # # #

  Griz

  “You saved me,” she says for the second time, this time more slowly.

  I meet her gaze. “He would have killed you,” I say. “He was killing you.”

  She nods, her eyes wet with tears. “But he didn’t. Because of you.”

  I bark out a vicious laugh. “Tanner, I’m not some fucking hero. I’m just not. I try to run as clean a business as I can but shit gets messy sometimes. I have to get my hands dirty sometimes. Please don’t make me into this tragic hero that you can fix or love or whatever.”

  “Don’t push me away,” she says, her hands finding their way to my chest. I realize I’m still in my shirt and jeans. She’s still in her dress.

  “There is no pushing away. I don’t want you for anything other than sex. And now you’re just a liability. There’s no reason for you to even be here.”

  She looks stricken, her eyebrows creasing in the middle, lips turning down. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. What? You think you sleep in my bed a couple nights, wet my dick a few times, and I’ll be head over heels for you? Doesn’t work that way, honey. Sorry to tell you,” I say.

  She pulls her wet dress over her head. Naked, she’s a wet goddess awaiting a human slave. I’d gladly drop to my knees and pledge fealty, but I need her to believe I don’t care. It’s easier for both of us. We can get over whatever this is. I’ll send her home. She’ll move on. I’ll get shit sorted here. We’ll both be better for it.

  Her fingers tug at my shirt buttons onebyone until she’s got it open, pulling it from my shoulders. She follows with my pants, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding them down. Pulling my soaking boots from my feet.

  I’m totally bare to her, cock hard and proud, too proud to just mind its own business and feign disinterest, the traitor.

  “I know you feel something,” she says.

  “I feel like you need to leave,” I say, though it’s not as convincing as it sounded in my head.

  “I won’t,” she says, stubborn.

  “Tanner, I …” I bite my tongue, hard, and turn away. “Please listen to me. This is not a good place for you. I’m not a good person for you. You need to go.”

  Her hands snake around my waist, splay across my stomach. “I don’t have much experience with sex, I know that. But I do know how I feel when I’m with you. And it’s different, much different, than it’s ever been with anyone else.”

  “You’re young,” I say. “You don’t have any idea what’s out there, how things can feel.”

  “I’m not a child,” she says, anger biting at her words. “I’m a woman. I have a brain. I have a heart. Stop telling me what to feel or not to feel. I’m not property.”

  I spin back around and pick her up in one, swift motion, pulling her onto my cock. She gasps.

  “You are my property,” I snarl, pushing her back against the shower wall, pounding in and out of her. “You are claimed. You are Chained Angels property and I am the original Chained Angel.”

  She moans at the pace I set, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Yesss,” she hisses. “More. Yes. Fuck me.”

  I set her down, lip curling with disgust. Here I am, making a power play after she’s been raped. I push my way out of the shower, letting the glass door slam behind me. When the water turns off immediately, I know she’s not going to let this go. She grabs me roughly by the shoulder and barely moves me. I turn around anyway, my shoulders set, ready to argue.

  She pushes me but I’m a brick wall to her. She hits me in the chest several times. I just let her get it all out of her system, including kicking me in the shin like a four year old.

  “You done?” I ask after the hitting and kicking slows down.

  “What is wrong with you?” she cries.

  “That’s a good question. I don’t have an answer,” I say.

  She steps up in my face. We’re both still naked and I still want her, my body and my head at war. She starts to reach out to grab me, use sex to communicate with me, but I put my hands on her shoulders, pushing her gently but firmly away.

  “Talk to me,” she begs. “Just … be a human for once. You’re not some emotionless robot; I know it. Just talk to me.”

  I’m clenching my jaw so tightly my head hurts. I sit down on the chaise lounge and pinch my nose between my fingers. Tanner sits on the floor in front of me, giving zero fucks that she’s still totally naked and wet. I really believe she has no idea what effect she has on me, which is good, I guess, since my goal is to get her somewhere safe—somewhere the hell away from me, even though all I really want, for the first time in a long time, is to shut out the world and take her to bed.

  “I haven’t … wanted … to feel things since Giselle died,” I finally say. “It hurts to even say her name, so I sure as hell don’t really want to think about her.”

  Tanner’s eyes go wide. I don’t think she was expecting me to be so honest about my feelings. “Tell me about her?” she asks softly.

  I shrug. “She was a prostitute.”

  “That’s demeaning to her as a woman,” Tanner scolds. “And you know it’s the least important part about her, especially to you.”

  Christ. How does this little girl, a virgin until very recently, know just how to get to me? I lie back, rubbing my head, closing my eyes.

  “She was really funny and smart. Sassy. She was patient and compassionate. She encouraged me to build the kind of club I
wanted to belong to. She would’ve been a great mom, whereas I’m a totally shit dad,” I say.

  “I’m sure you’re not …”

  “I missed Shannon’s first day of school today, because of all this garbage,” I interrupt. “She has to live with my sister because this life I live is too dangerous for her. Pretty sure that doesn’t qualify me for Dad of the Year.”

  “That doesn’t make you shit,” she says. “It doesn’t. My father was too controlling, too protective, my whole life. He tried to keep me out of everything and I still knew a little, heard a lot. And I do love my dad. He was doing what he thought was best. Shannon is young; she’ll understand better someday.”