by LS Silverii
“Welcome to the family,” taunted another one.
“Justice, please. I thought I’d be only yours.” Sheer panic trembled in her voice.
He ran a calloused hand through her tangled hair, “You are, but this family shares everything.” He tightened the grip on her bangs to jerk her head back and forth, “Everything.”
“I can’t handle all of you.”
“I’m out. Not my type.” One of the brothers mocked her pleas.
She focused on him in hopes of making an ally. His cup-shaped face darted from behind a video camera. Deep brooding expression looked as if he was contemplating a tricky arithmetic problem.
“Please help me, Fury,” she called him by the name one of the other brothers had mentioned.
“I will dah’lin. I’ll make sure to get your good side.”
He faded behind the others while holding a pose that looked like he modeled for a portrait. Breaths clutched in her chest as four other bikers closed in. Their bodies varied, but from what she could see against the dim light, their looks favored each other. She focused on each one of their faces—burned the smallest detail to memory for payback later.
Undecided whether to lay back or sit up, the decision was no longer hers. Hands pulled at her arms above the elbows and yanked her in conflicting directions. She screamed with what resolve remained. Her ass and pussy still throbbed from the fucking Justice had laid on her. More hands pried her trembling thighs apart.
Air was knocked from her as she was flipped over and thrown against the sawhorse. Her mind blanked while both arms were stretched in opposite direction until each wrist was strapped to the lower barrier legs. Frissons exploded over her ass as cold air blew directly against it. The cold caused their full-hand slaps to sting with even more intensity.
She bucked against the ropes—nothing.
Then it began.
They can have my body, but I’ll have their souls. This is for you Jack—Momma loves you.
“Justice, where are you? You see this, the least you can do is watch these animals fuck me like you couldn’t.” Abigail went for broke by trying to create a conflict between the blood brothers.
“Baby girl, daddy’s not leaving. I’m going to enjoy watching this.”
She heard the tumble of what sounded like wood pulled across tile.
The first of eight hands touched her—not softly. The donkey punch into her lower rib cage cut her wind. She coughed as phlegm drooled up the back of her tongue and between pressed lips.
“Welcome to your new family, Abigail.” His voice was soft, and much calmer than the others. He appeared before her—his cock stood higher than parallel. Her eyes fixed on the size of this biker’s dick. She glanced up. His name patch read Mercy.
Her head shook with indecision, and body tingled. Fear and anticipation flooded her with the excitement of being dominated by these bastards. Both feet stopped kicking as the pulsating from deep within her pussy sent shivers radiating outward. Their moans and grunts filled her ears with a primal chant. Four pairs of hands began to roam across every inch of her body. They touched places she’d not explored in years.
Mercy’s fingers cupped the back of her head. “Open,” he commanded.
Abigail closed her eyes while he slowly eased his long shaft between her already raw lips. The bulb of his cock quickly pressed against her uvula. Her throat constricted and jaws clenched. She gagged, but his grip never loosened. Water formed in her eyes. She inhaled through her nose—his full cock blocking any chance of air inhaled. Knees bent as she concentrated on the rhythm of his mouth fuck. Her tongue rolled and wrapped around his cock like a snow cone on a hot Las Vegas afternoon.
This ain’t so bad.
Someone rammed their cock into her ass. Suddenly, she clamped down onto Mercy’s dick with the full force of her mouth. It fucking burned like hell. Tears returned, but not from gagging, it hurt worse than anything she’d known. Moist blue eyes strained to look up to Mercy, but all she saw was his sharp angular jawline. She screamed but the sound bottled inside her throat. Fingertips clawed against the wooden surface. Splinters and friction caused them to bleed.
“Damn, go easy on the lil’ sister. We got all night, don’t destroy the property,” Mercy said.
“Fuck this bitch. I’ll ride her like I ride my HOG—hard as hell.”
Her forehead lurched into Mercy’s tight abdomen after Vengeance slammed into her anus with emphasis.
“That’s why your shit’s always laid up on the side of the road or hauled in the crash truck. You’re an asshole,” Mercy taunted him.
Her back arched when he jerked out of her. She spotted him as he moved to argue with Mercy. Abigail was relieved that her ass was getting a reprieve while the two brothers argued. Their bikes were apparently more important than a piece of ass anyway.
Vengeance pushed Mercy by the shoulder and caused him to step away. Their faces, snarled and confrontational—his cock was still stiff after being ripped from her butt. Vengeance jerked her short hair with one hand, and chin by the other.
“Why you say that about my ride? It’s clean, bro.”
He stuffed his dick in her mouth. She flinched with a wrinkled nose at the thought of his dick being ripped out of her ass. The consideration escaped, as instead, she struggled to keep from gagging as he pounded her mouth as hard as he’d fucked her ass. Oddly, she immediately hated Vengeance for treating her so rough, but she’d always enjoyed giving head. The ache in her ass faded while she zeroed in on the steady pump of his dick. She sucked harder and knew he’d cum soon.
Two hands gripped her hips. Firm, but not abusive. She dreaded another brother in her asshole, but sensed her muscular resistance had surrendered after Vengeance brutalized it. Her pussy’s lips tingled as she felt flesh massaging them. The lips parted, and she wondered what was being slipped between them. The pleasure turned to discomfort, and eventually to fear as she felt the pressure trying to breach her vagina. Was it a fist?
Abigail had taken big cocks before—she fucking loved the feeling of her walls being spread apart, and the deep invasion by a long, thick dick. But this one scared the shit out of her. Whichever of the endowed brothers had buried himself in her, was the king of all cocks. Bursts of light exploded behind her eyelids and simultaneously, she felt faint and energized.
Vengeance’s violent thrusts stopped her from the deep breaths she needed to accept the anonymous monster inside of her. Clamping her lips around his shit-covered dick, Abigail bobbed her head back and forth. Her tongue swabbed the head of his rod and licked beneath the rim of his dick’s head. She felt his torso dip over weakened knees.
I got you motherfucker.
Abigail had never been so conflicted. Ecstasy at one end, torment at the other.
“Hold her still, Sue, I’m about to blow a piston in this whore’s mouth,” Vengeance howled. She wanted to think what an asshole he was, but yet, here she was actually enjoying some of the family’s initiation.
She began to push her ass back against Sue’s giant slab. She pictured the size of an organ that would challenge her able pussy like he’d done. She ached as Vengeance craned her neck with his hands latched around her skull. Her tongue pressed flat against the bottom of her mouth to make passage for his load of salty fluid. She’d never swallowed so much semen from just one guy. Both eyes watered and slammed shut to avoid eye contact with him—Vengeance was the damn devil.
Vengeance collapsed onto the tile floor. “Damn that bitch is good. Thank you baby,” he growled as he slapped both hands against her head and shoved his tongue onto hers.
It was her first face-to-face with Vengeance. She wanted to scream as bile ripped around her gut—the scar across his hideous face. This was the motherfucker on the Vegas highway. She couldn’t take the reality of what had happened or the misguided desire for revenge. What the fuck was she thinking—that she’d march in and gun them all down like some stupid movie.
Her back bowed into a C-shape as Sue, witho
ut concern for her retaliation plan continued to push his cock into her. Her stomach wrenched from the sickness of seeing Vengeance’s scar and the pussy pressure into her abdomen that forced orgasm after orgasm despite her revulsion of her reality.
Abigail knew it was too late. What the hell, she didn’t care anymore.
“Rage, where you at?” asked Fury.
Rage? Not another one?
Abigail had forgotten about the other brother, and Fury’s videotaping her. It was just her on Sue and she loved it. She’d blocked out the freezing cold air over her body, the leather strap cuts Justice had whipped across her back, Vengeance’s anal attack and Mercy’s long dick down her throat. Sue’s giant dong made her orgasm like a whore on prom night. She could care less about the others watching—this was an unexpected pleasure in an otherwise fucked up night.
“Rage, you coming,” barked Mercy.
“I’m here,” Rage assured.
Low, his voice was ragged and hard. She tried to lift her head, but she’d creamed so many times over Sue’s dick that she didn’t have the strength. Rage stood in front of her, his zipper concealing his manhood. She unconsciously began to nibble her lips toward his dick.
“Good baby girl,” she recognized Justice’s voice. He’d never been far from her.
She felt cold plastic and metal set to rest onto her back, but she focused on Sue’s swollen penis. He was about to erupt inside of her, and Rage or not, she wanted to experience this.
“Oh momma, mom, fuck yeah mo…” his speech trailed off into non-articulable grunts and groans.
Abigail panted as her chin bucked against the sawhorse. Bliss of physical pleasure overwhelmed her and she never noticed the split skin that bled under her jawline. His fingers dug deep into her narrow hips. She felt the tops of his quadriceps press into the back of her hamstrings. His body convulsed as he continued to snarl curses. Finally, the full weight of his strong frame collapsed onto her boney, ridged spine.
Both bodies were spent, though she continued to shudder beneath Sue’s touch. His nose buried into her soggy shock of dyed black hair. “Thank you, baby.”
“You still want in?” Justice asked from his chair just outside the ring of light.
“You kidding? Think I’d go through this shit and want out,” her words slipped out. Her tummy knotted because she answered out of a twisted truth more than a desire to avenge Jack’s murder.
“Good girl—just one left. It’s Rage’s turn.”
Knees against the floor caused her back to twist in an awkward bend. The medieval-style stocks might’ve been more comfortable, but immobility was their goal. She wasn’t going anywhere. Her mind raced with wonder at what Rage might do to her. Could his cock be even bigger than the one she just creamed all over?
Her eyes lifted to watch him—the others had moved into the darkness. Anxiety swept over her. Why had the others left? Still clothed, she smelled a combination of gasoline and diesel on his jeans. Her eyes blinked back fear as they focused on the tattered black leather boots that scuffled across the tile. Sounds filled her ears, but with nothing she recognized. Rage was setting up some type of device behind her—but what?
Her right ear lifted to the faint sound, but she wasn’t able to turn far enough to see what made the noise. Her naked ass squeezed as tight as it could, considering the monsters that had abused it earlier. Without knowing what he was up to, she began to bend and jerk with fear over what Rage might fuck her with.
She screamed as the sharp sting of a tattoo needle tore into her unblemished flesh.
“Stop. What are you doing?”
Her crying eyes sought Justice, but only his crossed boot wagging in the shadows, “Baby girl. I always mark my property.”
Chapter 11
Thursday morning came early. Justice grabbed his plate of breakfast from the club’s resident old lady. He pushed through the screen door and filled his lungs with the crisp freshness of pristine air, bacon and eggs. The Rocky Mountain foothills made for perfect company while finishing breakfast on the back porch.
Perched at almost eight thousand feet in elevation, Custer County was steeped in a history of agriculture and mining. The land remained unscathed thanks to the many national parks and forests. It was a long way from Chicago, and even further away from Turtle Bayou, Louisiana.
The rocking chair’s rhythm was never interrupted as the same screen door creaked open before slamming shut.
“Mind if I sit with you?” asked James St. John.
Justice nodded toward the empty chair. “Free country.”
“Thank you, but didn’t you say that nothing’s free in this country?” St. John laughed uncomfortably.
“Hell, glad someone’s paying attention.” Justice cracked a grin while shoveling food into his mouth. “You the brother from last night, right?”
“Yes, sir. I was in church. I asked about the rift between the old and the new brothers. Why don’t you just kick out the disloyal ones?”
“Too many of them, and it’d be too easy. They were once loyal to someone before me and even before the last big boss. They can change—with the right motivation. Also, the fact that they’re so loyal to the old prez shows me they have the capacity to be loyal. I’m going to use that to my advantage.”
The younger biker lapped up his food and stopped short of licking the plate clean. A sense of connection sparked with Justice. He liked St. John, but just couldn’t put his finger on why he didn’t feel he could completely trust him. Justice also understood it was within his nature not to trust most people.
Justice tossed his empty paper plate into St. John’s lap, “How bout you clean this mess up?”
“Yes, sir.”
Justice looked twice at him. “I’ll call you Opie. You look like the kid on Andy Griffith.”
St. John grimaced, “How about you don’t. Unless I get to call you Sheriff Andy Taylor.” He tried to laugh through an awkward situation.
“Maybe not. Shit you look more like the Hulk then some dopey kid anyway. What the hell you juicing with?” Justice imitated injecting steroids into his biceps.
St. John flipped him a thumbs up sign, “Weren’t you Special Forces or something like that?”
“You writing a story on my life, or a police report?”
St. John’s expression flattened. The chair bolted backward as he shoved it across the wooden surface. The younger man jammed both paper plates into the trash and moved toward the door. His light-complexioned cheeks flushed red. He said nothing. Justice leaned forward in the rocking chair to call him back. He watched as St. John stopped to hold the door open for Abigail. They exchanged bashful glances.
“Hey boy,” he barked.
He saw the agitation in St. John’s eyes, and knew enough about leading soldiers to mold the spirit of a loyal man.
“Son, we don’t extend courtesies to pigs or properties. You’re a Savage—act like it,” he commanded—St. John and Abigail dropped their heads.
“Get over here.”
Abigail shuffled in bare feet to stand next to Justice’s chair. “What happened to calling me your baby girl?” Her aimless eyes dark, and empty.
“This is what baby girls do for daddy.” His tone became harsh, as his long, tatted arm flailed beside his chair to latch onto her. Justice also noticed St. John hadn’t left yet. It pissed him off to think he was spying on him.
“Get over here, Opie.”
St. John’s movement was stiff and reluctant. “What?”
“You want to watch me, then stand there and watch me.”
Justice snatched her by the throat and drove her onto her knees. Abigail whimpered with quivering lips that fell open. He shoved her mouth over his cock—his glare never broke from St. John.
“You want some of this pig?” His finger clawed into Abigail’s jawline and cheeks. Dull blue eyes blasted wide open as he twisted her fire-red face toward St. John. Grunts escaped her mouth—he shook her skull. “Shut up, bitch.”
St
. John looked away. “No, I don’t.”
Justice felt a flash of rage burn across his chest. Abigail was thrown down onto the oak slats of treated wood. She curled into a fetal position.
“Maybe you ought to go see Fury. He’ll suck your dick,” he spat with disdain over the escaped words.
St. John shook his head and walked away.
* * *
The paved section of trail had ended about a mile back and to the east. Not made for off road biking, the blood brothers needed the privacy more than the bike maintenance. Surrounded by blankets of pine, spruce and fir trees, the evergreen forest loomed across giant swatches of shrub covered fields.
They’d cut their massive V-Twin engines before the narrowest section of path, but wildlife scattered in every direction as their seven hundred pound Harleys coasted down a slight decline.
Justice pushed his dusty riding goggles atop his forehead. “Boys, we got to solve this shit. The Savage Nation’s still divided over leadership and word about losing a quarter million bucks has spread. If they start to organize back East, we might lose key networks for our distribution operations.” Justice’s wrinkled brow revealed a rare state of distress as his words eked between strapped lips.
“I’m working with the information from Geneti’s computer. The pilot scratched himself out with that .45 caliber through his own mouth,” Rage said. “The download and e-mail sent from Geneti’s account right before we got there is still in the hopper. My buds from old Army Intel days are trying to put a name to the e-mail account.”
“Thanks, Rage. How about you, Sue? Anything on where our cash travelled?”
“Well, our best lead was back in Las Vegas, but you killed Red without questioning him about it.”
Justice sat rigid. He didn’t take well to the insinuation that he’d fucked up. Sue had always been a calculating son of a bitch, and one of the rare people who knew how to push his buttons. He was an older brother after all—but Justice was still the president and demanded respect.
“Save your bullshit for later. We need facts, and that damn cash back in our hands. I’ll ask you again, what do you know about our money?” Justice’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed harder than usual. The Colorado sun baked his scowl—it’d been almost eight weeks since the heist and Justice felt his cash slipping away.