Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2)

by Nikki Pink

  Furious hands yanked off my pants and underwear and I was exposed to him: hot and wet and waiting.

  My bruised and scratched body ached, but not from pain, the endorphins flowing through my body saw to that. I ached with the desire to be held down and fucked.

  And I had just the man for the job.

  “Is this what you want, huh?” he asked.

  The low and menacing voice had me shivering with excitement. I nodded.

  I was on all fours and his left hand grabbed my hair again, pulling my neck up. His right hand slapped me on the ass and I let out a moan.

  “Give it to me,” I whispered urgently.

  His only response was to slap my ass again. Then I felt him between my legs, forcing himself in and I let out a scream.

  It was exactly what I wanted and needed: To be held down and fucked by a big, bad, biker.

  If killing Dewey had been a relief, being taken like this by Bottle did something better: it made me feel like a human again. A person in control of their life. Not controlled or managed by anyone else like Dewey had done to me, and not locked up and contained like the system had done.

  I was free and I was me. Me.

  CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

  Bottle

  Is it on? Yeah it’s on. Of course it’s on. I know how to do this now.

  Well, shit. Fuck me.

  That was some fucked up shit.

  “Love will tear us apart”. Shit.

  And her and me? Oh man. Where to start. Wow.

  Man, all I know, is I don’t want to get on the wrong side of this chick. Of course, Dewey did a lot worse than just ‘get on the wrong side’ of her, but still. She don’t fuck around.

  Of course he deserved it. You can’t disrespect the club like that - the second he kidnapped Red his life was forfeit. His only chance would have been to hide really fucking well, and he certainly didn’t take that route. Hell no.

  But man. Four bikes and four ropes? Shit, I ain’t ever seen anything like that before. Got the job done though.

  Wanta know something fucked? Of course you do, because you’re me. Ain’t nobody else going to listen to this shit. Her crazy-ass ways have really been pushing my buttons. There’s plenty of fucked up chicks around these parts, but this girl really gets to me in a way that none of the others can.

  I don’t know what it is about her. Maybe it’s because she’s like me - she didn’t have a bad start in life — not until high school anyway. Most of the fuckups I meet have been that way since they were born, starting off in shitty circumstances and being molded by them since birth.

  But me and her? We started off alright. It wasn’t until we were in our teens that things really went to hell for us. That’s why I think I like her. We’ve got some kind of fucked-up-bond. She doesn’t know about my past yet though. I don’t know if I’ll tell her. She’s got enough of her own trauma to work through without hearing about mine.

  Shit.

  Thank God Red was alright. Mostly. I don’t know how many times that car got shot by T-Bone and Gauge, but somehow Red got through it all with just a minor head wound. Some bullet flew right along the side of his head, and now he’s got a six inch long bald spot. I wonder if it’ll grow back.

  Still, he and Twist have earned their patch as far as I’m concerned. When Jase gets back in a week or so I’ll be recommending their full initiation. Shit, speaking of which, I better call him and let him know what’s been going on. I tried last night but he wasn’t answering. I hope it’s all going okay on the tour.

  Oh shit, I think I hear her coming back. She was in the bathroom. She’s wearing me the fuck out...

  Bottle out.

  Day 14

  CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

  Karen

  I stood on the steps of the clubhouse, one hand in Bottle’s, watching as a convoy of motorcycles approached. They came into the parking lot, one after the other.

  “That’s Jase, the president, and his old lady,” said Bottle, indicating the first Harley Davidson.

  “And his dog,” I said. There was a young looking dog with two paws up on the handlebars and a delighted expression on its wind-whipped face.

  “Huh. That’s new,” he said. “That’s Lonnie, he’s our token-Englishman,” Bottle gestured at the next motorcycle.

  “English accents are cute,” I said.

  Bottle smacked me on the arm. “No they’re not.” He grinned, and then gestured behind at a lavish looking heavily modified chopper, “I have no fuckin’ clue whose monstrosity that is.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “Pretty garish more like.” He gestured to the next four motorcycles. “Those guys are all prospects, like Twist and Red.”

  “Will they be full members soon?” I asked.

  Bottle shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  The first couple of bikes had parked, and a few minutes later the man Bottle had indicated to be the president was striding toward us. He was younger than I had imagined. Older than me, of course, but younger than I’d have thought an outlaw motorcycle gang’s president would have been.

  “Good to see you, brother.” Bottle and Jase exchanged hugs and clapped each other on the back.

  The young looking old lady came up and kissed Bottle on the cheek.

  “Hey,” she said and gave me a smile. “Nicole.”

  “Hey,” I said back. “Karen. Nice dog.”

  The puppy had followed the couple and was sitting between Jase and Nicole, tail wagging. It was white and looked kind of like a pitbull, and kind of like a bulldog. It was obviously some kind of mix.

  “Thanks. His name’s Beefer.”

  “Beefer? Cool name. Where’s it from?”

  Jase and Nicole laughed, neither replied. I raised my eyebrows at Nicole.

  “Sorry. Long story.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t care where the name came from anyway. Not really.

  “Where’s Juicy?” asked Bottle.

  Jase gave a low chuckle.“She’s gone with the band.”

  Nicole just shook her head in a kind of accepting resignation. Who was this Juicy they were talking about, I wondered. It sure was a strange name. Like a lot of names around here for that matter.

  “Got a drink for me, brother?” asked Jase.

  “Many.”

  Jase and Bottle laughed and headed inside. I shrugged at Nicole and she grinned. We followed them in.

  I had a good feeling about her.

  CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

  Bottle

  Yo, yo, yo.

  Guess who’s the new VP. That’s right. Me, motherfucker. Me.

  Hells yeah.

  It ain’t official yet, we’re gonna vote on it next week, but it’s a done fuckin’ deal. Fuck yeah. I deserve it of course though. Ha ha.

  Shit. I’ve been talking to myself a lot lately haven’t I? Answer: No. I’m not talking to myself, I’m just keeping a journal. Well that’s my story and I’m sticking to it anyway. Of course if any bastard listens in on me doing this they’ll think I’ve gone full on cray cray. Fuck ‘em. Shouldn’t be listening anyway.

  So, the Prez came back. It seems he had quite a wild ride with those English bastards. I didn’t get the full story out of him yet, but apparently those Limey bastards are completely fucking nuts. It seems Lonnie is fuckin’ normal compared to the guitar-tards they’ve been looking after. Still, at least they came back in one piece. Mostly. With an extra man too.

  Jase reckons a couple of the prospects he took with him will be ready to be patched in after a couple more months too. That’s good. Even when Twist and Red join we’ll still only be at... what... seven full members? That shit’s weak yo. This crew still needs to grow.

  Ol’ crazy eyes is still here. She met Sweetness earlier and they seem thick as thieves already. I don’t know what the fuck is going on these days. If I’m not careful I’m going to find out I’ve got an old lady of my own. Shit, maybe I have already.

  Nah, can’t be. She’s too crazy to settle down w
ith a boring old VP like myself, isn’t she? Fuck.

  Jase brought us back a guard dog too. Well, a guard puppy. But he’ll grow up to be a tough sonofabitch by the looks of him. I tried to take a ball out of his mouth earlier. Couldn’t. Fucker is strong as a horse already. It’s called Beefer. Whatever the fuck that means. I guess it’s because he’s real beefy. Whenever we try to ask though Jase and Nicole just laugh. Fuckers. Some stupid joke they’ve got I guess.

  Shit, time to go. It sounds like things are getting rowdy outside.

  Bottle out.

  I mean, VP out.

  Shit. VP Bottle out.

  I’m done.

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

  Karen - One Year Earlier

  Cheryl and I sat on the bottom bunk together, our bare feet pulled up on the scratchy bed as our arms hugged our knees. It was cold in there. It was always cold in there.

  Cheryl was my cell mate, and the closest thing I had in the world to a friend. The trial had cost me any remaining friendships or goodwill I’d had back home. My parents were dead. I was all alone in the world.

  Like me, she’d been wronged by the world, though she had actually committed the specific crime she was locked up for - manslaughter. She wasn’t a cold blooded killer, she’d simply gotten in a fight with another woman who’d ended up dead. It turns out that sometimes a pool stick across the head is all it takes.

  “So, how are you gonna get him?” she asked me, an indignant look on her face.

  “What do you mean? It’s too late now. I’m here.” I was feeling defeated, I never thought there’d be any chance of getting my own back on him. I planned to do my time, and then I didn’t know what. Maybe kill myself.

  “Hon, don’t you burn with resentment? Don’t you want revenge?”

  I wasn’t sure. I’d been in a daze since the night of the prom, I guess I was in shock or something. My feelings were numb and I spent most of the time living and moving through a haze, as if I was in a dream. Or a nightmare.

  But Cheryl had awoken something inside me. I was getting my spunk back, something which had been lost years before to a teenage Dewey. I was feeling again.

  “I guess.”

  Then she began to give me advice and as she did so I felt dual flames burning inside me, one a cold flame of resentment and desire for revenge, the other a burning flame of hope; hope that there could be something to my life after I got out, something other than suicide, and hope that I could get my own back on Dewey, that I could put him under a car or find some other way to tear him the fuck apart.

  “I don’t know anyone out there who can help me though, Cheryl. I don’t have anyone anymore.”

  “No one?”

  I thought for a moment and felt a welling panic as I realized that there really wasn’t anyone left out there, for me. “No one.”

  She tapped her chin for a minute, as if in thought.

  “Then you need to make some friends.”

  I cocked my head.

  “I know some guys. Tough guys. Out West.”

  My heart began to beat faster. Would she hook me up with someone who could help? Why would she do that for me, a cellmate she barely knows? I gave her an expectant look.

  “Of course they ain’t hired killers or nothing. But they look after their own.”

  “But I don’t know them.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t? Why would they help me?”

  “Hon, you said you think this Dewey asshole is going to try and track you down when you get out, right?”

  I nodded. He’d sent me letters. Letters that said he was going to be there for me when I got out, that we’d finally be together, that he couldn’t bear to be without me and other bullshit. “Yeah, he doesn’t want to let me go.”

  “Well what do you think he’d do if you were with someone else?”

  I gave her a quizzical look as comprehension slowly flowed over me. “He’d go crazy. It’d drive him fucking nuts.”

  Cheryl nodded at me, grinning. “Well, maybe if you made friends with one of my friends...”

  “So trick him into attacking one of your tough guys, and then they’ll get revenge on him?”

  Cheryl patted me on the upper arm. “Now you’re beginning to think like me, think like a survivor.”

  Ideas began to flood my mind, and for the first time in years I felt alive.

  My cellmate held my upper arm again and gave me a concerned look. “You don’t think Dewey would kill the guy, right?”

  I thought about it. “I doubt it. Dad was a special case; he needed something really big to stop me going to college.” I hoped I was right.

  Cheryl and I talked about it a lot over the following months. We put a few ideas into motion. I signed Dewey up to receive the catalog for Stringtown Supplies, a company that sold all kinds of survival gear, as well as electronic devices such as spy cameras, long range listening equipment, night vision goggles and various other pieces of military grade equipment.

  We wanted to put ideas in his head. And we wanted him to be able to track me.

  I never replied to any of Dewey’s letters, except once. About a month before I was to be released I wrote him:

  Dear Dewey,

  I will be released on April 14th. Do not write to me again. Do not try and speak to me. Do not try to contact me. When I am released I am going to be moving across the country. Do not try to follow me or ever contact me again.

  Karen

  I knew he’d be angered, and there was no way he was going to let me go. He’d chase me. I wanted to give him a little time to prepare, to get ready to come after me. The date I gave him was wrong of course, I was actually released on the 9th. I wanted a bit of a head start.

  What Dewey didn’t realize though was that it wasn’t him chasing me. I may have been the bait, but the real prey was him.

  I have to thank Cheryl for saving my life. Without her assistance I wouldn’t have had any life after jail. I’d have died.

  Meeting the Sons of Mayhem, and Bottle in particular has given me a reason to live. The way they survive in this world is just what a fuckup like me needs.

  I may have been ‘using’ them initially, but after that first kiss from Bottle? It was game over. I was all in with them. I never faked a thing. I just hope he can put up with me and my temper. He said he doesn’t mind if I stick around. Maybe I’ll even become his old lady. Wouldn’t that be something?

  But when I first brought Red back I knew Dewey had been spying on me through my window. I knew he had a bug in my cell phone. The fucker thought he was so smart. And he did fuck us around a bit, I’ll give him that. The plan went off the rails and got a bit screwy. Shit, I never imagined he’d kidnap poor old Red. I hope he’ll forgive me.

  But still, that didn’t change the key point. Dewey thought he was chasing me.

  But no.

  I may have been the bait, but...

  The chaser was me.

  THE END

  If you enjoyed this novel look out for the next Sons of Mayhem novel where you can find out what happened to Jase, Nicole, Lonnie and the rock band. And just where the dog named Beefer came from and how he got his name.

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  Nikki Pink, Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2)