He shoved his flaccid penis against her and Meggie whimpered, unable to stop it. One day, he’d be sober enough to get a real erection. One day, he’d hurt her rather than just humiliate her. If she didn’t act. She trembled, her body a desert of pain and a tundra of shame, layered, hot on top of cold and cold on top of hot.
His hand fluttered across her belly and teased her pubic hair. Cutting her other wrist, Meggie closed her eyes, able to cope and pretend this was a man she wanted to make love with. The man who’d love and protect her. He’d listen to Bruno Mars and Miley Cyrus and Adele and Alicia Keys with her. He’d overlook her shame and what she couldn’t control and what she willingly did.
God, please. She would find that man. She had to.
Thomas’s fingers squeezed her clitoris and Meggie tensed, his alcohol-laced breath fanning across her cheek. She was as much a coward as her mother. If she had courage, she’d slice Thomas to pieces. She’d kill him with her bare hands, all five feet eleven inches and two-hundred fifty pounds of the mean pig.
“I’m gonna fuck you soon.”
Revulsion turned her stomach, competing with all her other emotions and aches. Dinah didn’t know how far Thomas had gone with Meggie over the past few months and she worried, if she told her mother, Dinah would be too frightened to do anything about it.
“Your stupid bitch mama refuses to put you on the pill.” He licked her ear and snickered, pulling back before slamming against her again. “I bet she will now after I kicked her ass tonight and showed her how I intend to fuck you.”
Big, overgrown tyrannosaurus rex. Under the guise of trying to free herself and knowing she couldn’t, Meggie jerked her elbow back and thunked his nose. The sharp intake of his breath made the hard slap against her belly he punished her with worth the pain.
He removed his hand from her clit. “Cold, fucking whore. Can’t even come when I’m rubbing your pussy.”
The scent of alcohol seeped through his pores. His sweat dripped onto her face, mixing with her tears. She wouldn’t allow this man to ruin her. Never. She hadn’t ever lived anywhere except with her mother, but she had to get to her father. It didn’t matter that she’d have to drop out of high school in her senior year. Neither did it matter that her father headed the Death Dwellers’ MC. He’d welcome her and he’d get her mother away. She’d call and, if he didn’t answer, she’d leave a message and tell him she’d come to him. He didn’t have to pick her up.
Thomas grunted then stiffened before shuddering and relaxing his grip on her. A moment later, he yanked her face to the side, almost breaking her neck. He planted his mouth over hers and shoved his tongue past her lips.
Thomas cupped Meggie’s sex and squeezed. “I want all that innocence between your legs. Your father will never get you. Never. You’re mine.”
Though she should’ve known better, she couldn’t help her resistance, which only infuriated Thomas more. He cuffed the side of her head and stars danced in front of her, lulling her to the darkness. She resisted, refusing to give in so completely. If she didn’t run away, he’d ruin her and, eventually, kill her. Dinah had married this pig. Meggie hadn’t and determination to get away from his sick perversions possessed her.
He leaned in and Meggie spat in his face, then threw her hands over her head to protect herself. He shoved her onto her back, ignoring the cuts she’d done because they were interspersed with bruises he’d caused. He stretched out on top of her and her body screamed in pain. Hatred flowed between them and she almost wished one of them would end it for the other.
But she didn’t want to die. Not really. She just wanted to escape and be in control of her body. She wanted someone to love her and shield her. Until she got to her daddy, though, responsibility for her well-being fell on her shoulders. She tried to gulp in air but her lungs struggled for oxygen, Thomas’s heavy weight crushing her and placing her well-being in dire jeopardy.
Mama, please, where are you?
Beaten and brutalized and in her bedroom.
Meggie brought her blade to his cheek, furious. Caught off guard, Thomas clutched his cheek and fell to her side. She scrambled over him and off her bed, just managing to evade his grasping hands.
“You little fucking slut! I’m going to kill you.”
Blood dripped from a variety of wounds on her body, so she couldn’t hide in the secret cupboard she’d found. A trail of blood would lead him straight to her. Instead, she ran into the bathroom and locked the door.
Meggie rushed to the window over the sink. She kept it unlocked for this reason, learned from almost five years of living with this. Thomas kicked at the door and she shuddered, sorry she hadn’t told her father the truth when Dinah first barred him from visiting anymore. He’d asked her.
“Talk to me, Meggie. Is there anything I should know?”
“No, Daddy. I swear, we’re fine.”
His blue eyes, so like hers, had taken in every last detail of her features, then he’d nodded. He’d seemed old in that instant, tired, and so sad Meggie wanted to cry.
“So your momma just want to cut me out like that? All because the asshole she married don’t like me.”
“I guess, Daddy,” she whispered. The truth lodged in her throat, right on the edge of her lips. Big Joe looked tall and intimidating, his blond hair reminiscent of a Berserker rather than a modern day motorcycle man. If nothing else, he’d take her with him. But, then, she’d have to leave Dinah behind and she couldn’t bear to think of her mother being alone with Thomas. “They just told me last night.” She mumbled the fib.
Big Joe crouched to her eye level. “You don’t lie good, sweetheart.”
She lowered her eyelids, embarrassed she’d been caught. Her arms throbbed from her cuts. New ones. Old ones. Partially healed ones. Her long-sleeves hid the wounds from her father, but the guilt of the injuries weighed upon her.
Another moment of silence went by before he turned on his heel and headed for his bike. Before climbing on, he shoved money into Meggie’s hands. “Go shopping. Cheer yourself up.”
Shopping sounded good. She nodded and embraced him, her world a train of dominoes collapsing at a reckless speed.
“You need me, call. I’m a phone call away. Remember, you’re my daughter. No matter what that asshole says to you, don’t believe shit. The problem is his, not yours.”
Thomas’s words weren’t the problem. It was his actions.
“If the fucker does anything,” Big Joe continued, like he’d seen her thoughts, “that’s when he’s going to have real problems. Understand, Megan?”
That had been the last time she’d seen her father and that conversation haunted her. So much could’ve been different if she’d spoken up.
Meggie climbed onto the counter and wriggled through the window, feet first. Another exercise borne of desperation. Just as the door crashed open, she landed on the ground outside. Grimacing at the pain, Meggie headed to the clearing behind the house.
“Megan! Where the fuck are you?” The call, through the open window he couldn’t fit through, resounded in the quiet night.
She reached her favorite tree, the smell of the spruce and bark and grassy earth calming her, soothing the exhaustion overtaking her. Thomas would pass out soon enough.
Meggie just had to bide her time and wait.
ONE MONTH LATER…
DARKNESS SLITHERED AROUND MEGGIE, THE ‘L’ shaped alleyway her last means of escape. She paused to hurl her ballerina flats in the direction of her pursuers. Cold pierced her feet, reminding her she no longer had a jacket or socks. If she got away, she’d freeze to death.
She stumbled past a dumpster and the scent of garbage and urine turned her stomach. Had she eaten any substantial meal recently, she would’ve puked it up. Blackness colored the sky. No moon. No stars. Just a blanket of darkness that made the buildings close in on her. Fear chilled her blood and the frigid air seeped into her pores. But nothing mattered now, except escape. Not the glass shards strewn about in the alle
yway and stabbing her bare feet or the icy weather. Her instinct of survival, the need to outrun her pursuers, made everything else seem little more than trivialities.
Her heart pumping, Meggie rounded the corner. Her lack of familiarity with the area hindered her and she skidded to a stop, air escaping her lungs in short bursts of breath. Some of them were already there, blocking her exit, waiting for her. To rape her. To kill her. She wasn’t sure, and she had no wish to find out.
Panicked, she glanced over her shoulder. The other three men were closing in on her and blood roared in her ears.
The smell of beer and sweat twisted around her as the men circled her.
Pain careened through her frozen, cut feet, most of her hope gone. But she had a mission, one to save her mother and herself. She couldn’t fail. She wouldn’t.
“Where’s the money, bitch?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rack.” Her stomach growled.
“The money, Meggie. Not only do I want my money, I might help myself to whatever other coins and bills I find on you.”
She didn’t have money. They knew that. That’s why she’d followed them into the bar and lifted the five dollar bill. Should she hand the money back or deny she had it? The money rubbed against her breast, a guilty weight inside her bra. What was the code of the street, anyway?
After a month of being a runaway, her exhaustion claimed what her stepfather hadn’t been able to, her hope and determination. She wanted to live, but she barely had the strength to hold on. Instead of sneaking away to find her father to demand he help the morning after Thomas’s latest degradation, she should’ve remained at home and allowed her stepfather to molest her and continue to watch him beat the crap out of her mother until Big Joe arrived. She’d been so sure leaving was the right thing to do. Head off Thomas’s determination to keep her away from her father while saving herself from him. She shouldn’t have left her mother’s house. She could’ve dealt with Thomas. Anything, anything rather than the animalistic way she’d been living.
A hand gripped her forearm and she looked up. Rack hacked a cough, then sent a stream of spit near her bare feet. Big ass. She couldn’t discern his features tonight. The dark alleyway swallowed his black hair and beard.
He shook her. “Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Money?”
Her body trembled. She hadn’t eaten in two days and today, her eighteenth birthday, she wanted food from McDonald’s. She shouldn’t have stolen, especially from her father’s, um, men, but he’d repay them. She just needed to find him. “I’m hungry,” she said quietly. She didn’t mention her birthday to Rack. He wouldn’t care.
“How the fuck is that my problem?” he sneered.
Meggie had met him the first night she’d gone to the compound to find her father. Rack had been locking up and refused to allow her entrance. She’d begged and pleaded for him to summon Joseph “Boss” Foy. He hadn’t listened, just told her that wouldn’t happen.
One night, not long afterwards, as she’d passed by a dive, she’d noticed several motorcycles lined up outside the establishment and decided to go in, thinking, perhaps, one of these bikers would know her father. It wasn’t a big city, but a small town in Washington State, along the Columbia River. How many other big compounds on the outskirts of town housing a notorious MC with a morbid and creepy name like the Death Dwellers were in the place?
The moment she’d entered the bar, she’d run smack dab into Rack and introductions had been made. Actually, she’d only given her nickname—Meggie. His guarded study of her had raised her suspicions and she’d decided against identifying Boss as her father. Then. Now was a different story. Unlike the night she met him, he wore his vest with the patches proclaiming him a Death Dweller.
They wouldn’t want to hurt the daughter of the club’s president. Would they?
Meggie licked her lips. “It might be your problem if you hurt me.”
He pressed his nose against hers. “Ya think? This shit should be interesting. I’m all ears.”
“Boss…Joe Foy –” She frowned at the snickers.
“Yeah?” Rack prompted. “Boss…Joe Foy…what?”
“My daddy. He’s m-my daddy,” Meggie whispered. And, this time, her voice did tremble.
OUTLAW GROWLED IN APPROVAL AT the pink flesh descending toward his hungry mouth. His tongue met wet pussy, his fingers digging into the hips of the other bitch riding his dick. The one on his mouth wiggled and he lapped her juices, satisfied at the identical squeals and moans the two were making. She hammered her pussy against his lips. He thrust his tongue into her entrance and swirled, matching the thrust of his cock and the quick swivel of his hips.
Fuck, but these bitches were good. He’d been fucking the two of them on a regular basis for six months now and saw no sign of tiring of them. Kiera and Ellen. Bitches he’d randomly picked one evening out of sheer boredom. They thought to change his mind and wanted him to pick one.
Nah, bitches. They’d be in his bed his way or no way, a point they’d quickly picked up on. After the first night of fucking, he’d left it up to them to decide. If they wanted to continue to fuck him, they’d have to tag team him. Otherwise, they could move the fuck on and so would he.
They’d chosen wisely.
In the background, Hendrix’s rendition of Voodoo Child played on repeat. Outlaw thought the song the most appropriate since these two bitches had used their pussies and mouths to put a spell on him and his dick. If truth be told, he had a soft spot for Kiera with her olive complexion and black hair long enough to cover the aureoles on her very delectable breasts.
Kiera was so easy-going. If she hadn’t fucked most of the other brothers, Outlaw might’ve considered throwing Ellen aside and making Kiera his old lady. She was twenty-five, a perfect age to his way of thinking. Still young enough not to hear the tick-tock of the internal clock women freaked over, but old enough where she’d lived a little, had her own job and her own place. She was faultless, but for her whoring. Sharing a bitch was cool, but Outlaw refused to bring said bitch to meet his mother. Most of the club knew the feel of Kiera’s pussy, so she remained just pussy to him and he’d keep it that way.
Ellen, on the other hand, was only two years younger than he was. She’d started intruding on his space and time without Kiera. Her actions and growing possessiveness just showed Outlaw the bitch had no loyalty to a girl she called a sister. Ellen smiled in Kiera’s face, fucked her when Outlaw ordered, while steadily trying to move her out of their ménage-a-trois. She also sucked good dick and did whatever shit Outlaw or any of the other boys asked of her.
Was he really fucking thinking about this shit now? With his dick in Kiera and his tongue in Ellen? Well, fuck. Maybe, the charms of their pussies were wearing away. Determined to focus on fucking, Outlaw nipped Ellen’s clit and she squealed, grinding her pussy against his mouth, starting to come. She finished with a harsh groan, then fell in a weightless heap next to him. Outlaw raised his head, met Kiera’s dark eyes and gave her a half-smile. He wrapped an arm around her waist and turned over, readjusting her long legs so her knees were on her shoulders. He sank deeper into her, his growl matching her soft sigh. He slammed into her harder and she came, crying out, pumping against him to milk his own release.
Outlaw grunted, cum shooting from him in a hot spurt. Kiera giggled, then pressed a barely-there kiss against his sweaty neck. Unable to help himself, he smiled down at her and brushed a few damp, dark strands of her hair behind her ear. Drawing in a couple more deep breaths, he withdrew from her and pulled the condom off his dick.
Fuck, he had nothing to wrap it in. He’d have to take care of the shit later. Right now, he intended to prime the girls for their next fuck. This time, Kiera would fuck his mouth while Ellen rode his dick.
A pound came on his door. “Outlaw!”
He scowled and raised his head. “Get the fuck away from my door, Rack,” he snarled. He didn’t feel like fucking with that motherfucker right now. He wanted to emp
ty his balls a little more. That door served as the dividing line between him and them. Them being the motherfuckers who were plotting his demise. He just hadn’t been able to weed out all the fuckers who refused to give him their undying loyalty.
He guided Kiera onto her back and rolled a nipple between his fingertips.
“This have to do with Boss,” Rack called. “I need you out here, now, brother.”
Boss? Fuck. Sitting up, Outlaw scrubbed a hand over his face. He stared at the bare brick wall, on the other side of the bed, praying the fucker was burning in hell. Even dead, Joseph Fucking Foy fucked with him. If he could kill the fucker again, he’d dig him up piece by piece and fuck him up just because he’d been such a motherfucker.
But Rack hadn’t mentioned Boss to him since the man’s death last year. For him to do it now, coming upon his one year anniversary, and in such an urgent voice meant something not good. He started to rise.
Kiera caught his arm. “Don’t, baby,” she whispered, her eyes huge and pleading. “Rack still got beef with you for what went down with Boss. This may be some trap or setup.”
No shit. But Outlaw hadn’t ever run from shit and wouldn’t ever run from shit. He hadn’t run from his reason for existing—the rape of his gentle mother—or the cloud that’d hung over his head for years because of that. Her parents had seen him as the reason for all the woes in his mother’s life. Not the motherfucker who’d forced him into his mother’s belly. No. Him. So, no, he didn’t run from shit. He hadn’t run from fucking Boss in life, so he sure as hell wouldn’t run from the motherfucker in death. He kissed Kiera’s temple and sat up.
“Fuck! Outlaw! Get the fuck out here, man.”
“Hold your fuckin’ fat balls,” he growled. He navigated around a relaxed Ellen, grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. He picked up his piece and shoved the barrel in his pocket. He grabbed a lighter and his smokes, then sauntered to the door and threw it open. Not bothering to look at Rack, he lit up, deciding he’d need a nicotine fix to get him through the next few minutes. He drew in, then released the smoke through his nostrils. Throughout his display, Rack remained quiet. He sucked on the cigarette again. “Boss,” he said impatiently, deciding to play the fucker’s game and break the silence first. “What about the fucker?”
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 3