Kick

by Carmen Jenner

  “Time for round fuckin’ two, bitch.” Prez throws his arms wide, looking gleeful at the panic he’s seeing in her. I wanna empty my clip into his dick but I glare at him instead, wishing I had the balls to do something to save her from him.

  I’m not under any illusions; I’m no fuckin’ hero. I’m the antihero here because I didn’t fight harder, because I watched and I got off on it, but that doesn’t mean I wanna see him do it again. She’s so fucking strong, and he might hold her down and use up her body until she’s physically broken and bloody, but she still won’t break, not mentally. I know that as inherently as I know I deserve to burn in hell for the things I’ve done, and the things I’ll no doubt do before I’m dead. I know that as well as I know that my prez won’t give up. And I know that she’ll die screaming because of it.

  I rise to my feet and glance at Tank as Prez advances on the girl. Tank’s face is stoic—no surprise there—but he won’t meet my eyes, an action so at odds with everything I know about the man. I dart my eyes back to the girl just as Prez backhands her across the cheek. She’s corralled into a corner, trying to fend off Prez’s greedy fuckin’ hands. He pokes at her, the way you’d poke a stick at a dead animal.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” he says, lunging for her. He wraps his hand around her throat, lifting her from the floor as she struggles against him, her face contorted in pain, the wall at her back. “That sweet little pussy ready for me, yet?”

  “Fuck you.” She grits out the words around the fingers clasping her throat.

  “No, sweet thing.” I can’t see his face but I know he’s grinning like a homicidal maniac. “Fuck you.”

  Her eyes meet mine over his shoulder. They’re not pleading for me to make him stop, but challenging. The bitch is fucking daring me to watch as he breaks her body. I can’t do this again. I bend double and glare a hole into the floor. “Kick, get over here.”

  I take a deep, shuddering breath, my chest squeezing tight. My head doesn’t want any part of this, but my cock is already straining against my jeans. I straighten. Do I see a way out of raping this girl? Yeah. I could stab my prez in the kidneys, the way I would have done if Tank hadn’t been here to stop me yesterday. I could beat the shit out of Prez, take the girl and run, but would Tank let me? Not fuckin’ likely. If any brother but Ethan ever had my back it’s Tank, but even he’s not dumb enough to let me get away with that shit.

  Prez turns to face me. “Sometime to-fuckin’-day, son.”

  Hatred burns my gaze as it bores into him. I take a step forward, my body going through the motions, but my mind is flailing around like a fish out of water, not knowing what to do. If I kill Prez and take the girl, I betray the brotherhood—assuming I can get past Tank, that is. If I go through with Prez’s orders, then I’m as fucked up as him. I want this girl, but I want her on my terms, not his. If it were any other bitch, I might not bat an eyelid. I’d do what I had to, because it meant I didn’t wind up with a bullet in my skull.

  I stalk forward, knowing without having to make the decision what I will do because there’s only one option here … to follow orders.

  Prez smiles. He pats me on the back as I stand next to him. The girl begins thrashing; he has her pinned to the wall with one hand. He laughs as she strikes him. “Fuckin’ feral bitch, this one. Wanna watch your cock doesn’t get chewed up by that vicious little cooter of hers.”

  I step between them, forcing Prez’s arm away, and I trap her against the wall with my lower body. She throws out her fist and strikes me across the side of the face with it. It isn’t some half-arsed girly attempt; this bitch knows how to hit, and she’s not pulling punches. The blow hurts like a motherfucker, my cheek throbs, and pain radiates through my skull. I catch her wrists up in mine before she can deal another blow and force them up above her head, slamming her into the wall.

  I lean in and whisper close to her ear, “This will go much better for you if you stop struggling.”

  I hate that I’m forced to take her like this. If I could just tell her that I have every intention of making this as pleasurable as it can be for her, she may be less inclined to fight, resulting in less damage. But rape is still rape and admitting that I don’t want to hurt her, that I’m forced to follow orders, in front of my prez is as good as a bullet to the brain. Gripping her wrists with one hand and undoing her pants with the other, I slip my hand inside, cringing inwardly when I feel the crusted blood over her swollen pussy. She bucks her hips, pressing herself further into the wall to escape my touch. That only aids me though, giving me a better grasp on her cunt, and the second she realises this, she begins twisting and writhing against me—no, not writhing against me, trying to get away from me. Though both my mind and body want her, I have to see this for what it is: rape. That’s all it can be, because as much as I might want to slide my fingers, and my cock inside her, she doesn’t want that, and this is the decision I made. This is the choice that keeps me alive—albeit a shitty one—but it is what it is, and I am who I am. I don’t make any excuses for that.

  “Stop. Fucking. Struggling,” I whisper.

  “Fuck you.” She rears her head back in an attempt to head-butt me but I snap my head back out of reach. My fingers shift inside her pants, spreading swollen lips and searching for that sweet spot. I know the second I find it because she quits struggling, at least for a beat, and then she’s back to bucking like a wild animal. I rub furiously at her clit until I feel her body jerk involuntarily. Her legs tremble, her flat stomach quivers against the heel of my hand, as her muscles war with her head. She lets out a whimpering cry, half torment, half pleasure. I slow my tempo, stroking in long, sure caresses, soothing her, coaxing her pleasure from her slowly, despite the anguish she feels, despite the fact that I’m the one forcing her to feel it.

  Her eyes lock onto mine, and in that moment everything slips away. Prez, Tank, her pain, the room she’s held captive in—all of it. There’s only her eyes on mine, and her body succumbing to pleasure under my deft hands. Tears stream down her face and her eyelids fall closed as her body jerks with orgasm. I continue stroking, petting, playing, even as she tries to squeeze me from between her legs by clamping them shut. I stroke until I feel the violence of another release rip through her, and then I pull my hand free and lick my fingers clean, savouring the taste of her arousal tinged with the tang of blood that dances across my tongue as she slides down the wall and curls into herself, her eyes synched tightly closed and her mouth open with a silent, sobbing scream.

  My prez brutalised her and she may have screamed and cried for help, but even bruised and bloody and in more pain than I imagine she was letting on, she remained strong, resilient, defiant. He couldn’t break her, but I just accomplished that feat in a matter of seconds. I knew the second her eyes met mine. I felt it, and I forged ahead anyway when I should have walked away. Sometimes kindness is a far worse weapon than brutality

  Fury wells within me. Fury at him, at her, at myself. I take a step back. Prez laughs. It’s a fake, obnoxious sound, and it makes me want to rip his fuckin’ face off. He slaps me on the back. “Jesus, son, those are some magic bloody fingers.”

  I shrug out of his hold and put some distance between me and the girl. I don’t trust myself with the taste of her on my tongue. I don’t look at her but at Tank instead, who’s been all too fuckin’ quiet since he walked in. He returns my glare and gives me an imperceptible nod. Is he fuckin’ congratulating me for not attacking our prez? I’ve never wanted to beat the shit out of Tank before, but these last two days have shown me a different side to my brother. A side I badly want to eradicate.

  Prez pulls the girl up by her hair. I expect her to scream or cry out, but she does nothing—she just allows him to move her body wherever the fuck he wants. He spins her around to face me, positioning himself behind her as he takes hold of her throat, and his other arm snakes around her waist. Her eyes are red rimmed, glazed and vacant. The rent in her lip has opened up again and blood slowly pools on the surfa
ce. Her eye, where Prez beat on her yesterday, is still swollen shut. Jesus Christ. “Take off her pants. You’re not done yet, son.”

  I glower at him, ready to tell him to go fuck himself, because I can’t rape this girl, and I know that still makes me scum because with anyone else, if it were the choice between staying alive and following orders, I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t falter. You do what you have to in order to stay alive, regardless of whether it helps you sleep at night. But not with this girl. Not her. I slide my hand to the knife holstered at my waist and open my mouth to speak when Prez’s phone rings in his pocket. And then Tank’s phone rings, too. Prez tips his chin in Tank’s direction, signalling for him to answer it.

  Tank pulls out the phone and his deep baritone fills the room. “What?”

  His brow creases–that’s about the only expression you’ll ever get out of the man, unless you make him really mad.

  “Fuck.” He hangs up and pockets the phone. “Cops are at the gate, Prez.”

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ? Can’t a man get fucked in peace?”

  “What do we do with the girl? Can’t leave her here. Frogger says they’ve been out there for the last thirty minutes. Can’t come in without a warrant, but that doesn’t mean they’re not getting one.”

  “FUCK!” he bellows and releases the girl, throwing her towards me. He stalks to the door, and then turns back to me, pointing. “Get her into the shower, you keep her in there until they pry you two apart. You don’t know nothin’ about no raid, you’re just fucking your old lady on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Got it?”

  I nod.

  “And you.” He turns his attention on the girl. “You make a fuckin’ sound that isn’t like he’s just fucked the shit outta you, and once those little piggies are gone, I’m gonna let every single one of my boys bury their cock in every fuckin’ hole you have to offer, bitch.”

  She doesn’t say anything in response. She doesn’t even flinch. She just continues to stare at the floor as I take hold of her arm and push her forward towards the exit. Prez and Tank are already running ahead of us. There’s shit to hide, incriminating evidence to get rid of, and drugs to flush.

  “Don’t try anything stupid. It won’t get you rescued; it’ll only get you dead,” I say to her as we clear the stairs. I open the door leading to the outside, and the light blinds us both. I throw my free hand up to block the sun and the girl takes that opportunity to elbow me in the guts. My reflexes kick in. I let go, because being punched in the gut always feels like someone just shattered your balls with the turn of a vice. She begins screaming for help as she runs, but she’s injured and definitely not quick enough.

  I bolt after her, collecting her up by the waist and slamming us onto the asphalt. It hurts like a mother fucker, winds us both, but I recover before her and climb on top of her, holding her arms above her head as she struggles. “I told you not to fuckin’ run, bitch.”

  She spits in my face. “Go fuck yourself, you filthy fucking pig.”

  “If I didn’t do that shit back there, it would have been so much worse. You want my dick inside you, bitch?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “We’re both still alive enough to feel the adrenaline runnin’ through our fucking veins because of what I did in that room. You should be fuckin’ thankin’ me.”

  “Thanking you? For molesting me? I should be driving that god damn knife at your belt into your heart.”

  “This knife?” I ask, unsheathing it. Her eyes dart around wildly, looking for an exit. I take the wickedly sharp blade and slide it down the front of my jeans. “By all means, take it, Princess.”

  She glowers at me. I push up off her and pull the knife from my pants. Wouldn’t help to cut off my cock, now would it? That might make our story a little hard to believe. I lean over and grab her arm, and half-walk, half-drag her to the door leading to the clubhouse. Her skin is scraped to hell from our roll on the asphalt. “Run again, and I will slit your throat.”

  She struggles, digging her bare feet into the ground. She tries yanking her arm from my grasp, desperate for escape. I tighten my hold and drag her forward. She gasps as the ground scrapes her feet. She might be tall but she’s a little thing, and despite her inner strength, she’s not strong enough to fend me off. I can’t see the gate from this side of the compound, so they sure as shit can’t see or hear us, but I still need to get her inside before the boys in blue are bangin’ down our door.

  I open the door to the clubhouse and shove her inside, wedging her up against the wall with my body. I deadbolt the door from the inside, then I drag her, kicking and screaming down the hall to my room before I unlock it and throw her inside.

  “Get undressed,” I command. I don’t bother locking the door because the bastards will just kick it down, and then I’ll have to buy a new lock. Instead I grab her by the wrist and lead her to the shower. I shut the bathroom door behind us. The girl stares at me. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

  “No.”

  “Bitch, I’m getting real tired of you fightin’ me,” I say. “Take your fucking clothes off, or I’ll do it for you.”

  She doesn’t move and even though she’s bein’ an obstinate little bitch, under different circumstances I’d fuckin’ love the idea of having to rip the clothes from her body.

  I throw her into the shower and turn on the spray, and then I strip her bare while she howls, and kicks, and scratches, and yeah, even bites. She sobs as I push her back under the water. I strip off my shirt and throw it to the floor, and then I unbutton my jeans and shove them down my hips. My cock springs free, jutting upwards, hard for this beautiful mess of a woman with her bruised body and her face all jacked up, as if she just got out of federal prison. I step out of my jeans and throw them in a sopping heap on the floor.

  She’s turned her body into the wall, huddling against the wet tile. A part of me wants to leave her there, but that’s not part of the plan. “In order for you to get out of here wearin’ somethin’ other than a body bag, you’re gonna need to make this believable.”

  I take hold of her shoulder and spin her around to face me. I push her back against the tile and spread her legs apart by wedging my knee between them. She resists, but I give her an impatient glare and drive my leg between hers until she has no choice but to open, or suffer even more bruises. “Open for me, Princess. I swear I’ll be gentle.”

  I use the distraction of my words to slip between her legs. Her body is pressed to mine and my cock rests against her belly. I take hold of it and slide it into the hollow V created by her thighs, her smooth pussy skimming my dick. I can feel her wetness, her arousal left over from the two orgasms I wrought from her with my hands. That might have broken her, but if anything it’s only made me want her more. I rock against her body and promise silently that one day she will let me inside her. It won’t be because my Prez has commanded it, or because she thinks things might go easier for her if she plays nice. It will be because she wants me there. Because she craves it—needs it. And when that time comes she won’t just be a princess of an MC, she’ll be a motherfuckin’ queen. My motherfuckin’ queen.

  “When are you going to get it through that fuckin’ thick skull of yours? You’re going to die unless you go along with this. You got me, babe? You play nice and when I can I’ll help you get outta here, but if you fuck this up, if you run again, or you don’t go along with everything I say to the coppers that are about to come busting through that door there, then no one can fuckin’ help you. Not me. Not your dad. No fuckin’ one.”

  “Please don’t hurt me. Please?” she begs.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, darlin’. And I’m not going to rape you. So long as you play nice, you get to leave this bathroom with your pretty skull intact.”

  I move my hips back, unable to resist the sensation of my wet cock sliding against her slick cunt. I know this isn’t doing much for my promise not to rape her, and I wouldn’t, because I’ve had a taste of this wildcat’s surrender and it�
��s the closest thing to holy that I’ll ever get in this life, or the one after. Shoving myself inside her without permission isn’t going to get me more of that delicious submission, it’ll only make her fight, and while I may even enjoy that too, it’s not how I want her.

  I want the taste of her cunt on my tongue, I want to bury myself so deep we merge into a single being. I want her begging and pleading with me to send her over the edge, and for perhaps the first time ever, I want someone to need me, to depend on me. The arsehole, the bastard who’s left a long string of whores broken in his wake without so much as a second thought. The piece-of-shit whose life was almost snuffed out by his father, who wakes every day and looks in the mirror with enough self-loathing to detonate Times Square, if only that shit was combustible. That pathetic excuse for a man wants to be worthy of someone. The question I need to figure out now is: why?

  Out in the clubhouse sounds of protests, glass breaking and furniture being overturned ring out. I stare at the girl’s eyes; they’re wide and panicked, and I know she hears it too. I press my palm flat against her sternum, and it makes her glance down and her eyes grow wider. Her heart taps out a staccato beat against her flesh, and mine.

  “Look at me, Princess,” I say. Her wild gaze shoots up to meet my own. “I’m not going to stick my cock in you; not today, anyway. But I can make this enjoyable for you, like downstairs.”

  “Touch me again and I swear to you I will scream.”

  “Yeah, you will.” I say. Her eyes narrow with anger, her jaw clenches tight. “Face it—I know exactly where to touch you. I know exactly how to break you in, and you like it. You don’t want to, but you do. It’s written all over your face, and it’s here.” I slide my hands down between us and slip into her slick pussy lips. She jolts away, but she has nowhere to go. I have her penned in with one arm and the other is stroking her pretty cunt, coaxing more pleasure, coaxing her orgasm from her. She sobs, but it’s the sound of resignation, not pain.