Rough & Raw (Notorious Devils Book 2)

by Hayley Faiman

  I decide to shoot a text back, even though it’s late and she probably won’t see it until the morning— the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

  I shed my clothes and fall into the shitty, little bed they have set up and sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll collect what I’m here for and we’ll be gone again. On our way home, back to my girls. I can’t wait.

  Brentlee

  It’s been one week since I have seen Bates. He texts me at least once a day. I try not to be that clingy, crazy girlfriend and get upset when I don’t hear from him, but it’s a struggle. I wish that he would call me while he’s away, but I’ll take the one text I do get happily.

  Tonight, they’re supposed to be back, and Fury is having a big party for their return. Then tomorrow, the Canadian charter is going to leave, and the whole club is going to have a family BBQ. Kentlee is so excited to spend some time with the other Old Lady’s and enjoy the evening later, kid less. I’m excited to be on the arm of Bates at the family day. I would be lying if I said any differently.

  I have to work at the party tonight, but I want to look sexy for Bates’ return. I put on my shortest shorts; they’re black, skin tight, and low waisted. On top, I pull on a black leather bustier, tight bralette crop top, and then slide into my bright red high heels. I curl my hair, making it big and fluffy, before I apply my makeup, dark and sultry with bright red lips.

  I want him to drool at the sight of me—fall to his knees and declare his undying love for me. Okay. That’s not going to happen, but I want to make him hard in an instant and for him to fuck me like he missed me—for hours.

  “Ready?” Fury asks. I nod.

  I give Tammy a hug goodbye and kiss Stella on the cheek before following Fury out of the front door. I’m nervous. I don’t know why; it isn’t as though a week is a terribly long time. Maybe I’m not sure how he handled us being apart? Did he give in to temptation and screw around? Did he think about Stella and me and decide that we’re too much trouble to keep around? I have made a mess of things in my head, and until I see his face, until I look into his haunted eyes, I won’t feel settled.

  Luckily, Fury doesn’t talk on the way to the clubhouse. He wordlessly parks the SUV, and I follow him inside of the building. The music is thumping and smoke is already filling the air. I make my way behind the bar. A place I have discovered is the absolute safest place for me to stay.

  Earlier in the week, I ventured out into the floor area to pick up discarded bottles of beer, and one of the Canadian members mistook me for a clubwhore. Johnny had to beat the shit out of him for grabbing me and refusing to let go. It had to have been one of the scariest things in my life. Granted, the things Scotty did to me were horrendous and terrifying, but this man was a stranger. I shiver just thinking about his hands on me.

  I spend the entire evening watching the door, waiting for Bates to breeze on through. When two in the morning rolls around, I give up. He’s not coming. I tell the prospect helping me serve the men, that I’m going to the restroom, and I leave the bar. The hall to the restrooms is dark, as all bathroom hallways seem to be. I wonder offhandedly why that is.

  The bathroom smells, even though I just cleaned it the day before. The women in this club are a bunch of dirty bitches. I should show the guys just how truly disgusting their whores are. If I were a guy, I wouldn’t put my dick in women that are as dirty as these chicks. I giggle to myself as I wash my hands, wondering how many of them have crabs. I always hover over the seat, just in case. I’d rather have a little pee splash on my thigh then some incurable disease.

  “Always knew you were a whore,” the cool calculated voice of my husband says as he walks through the door and flips the lock behind him. I look up and freeze, my eyes completely focused on him.

  “You need to leave,” I say shakily.

  “I don’t think I will, wife,” he snarls.

  “Not for long,” I say squaring my shoulders.

  “But you still are, very much, my wife,” he says, approaching me. I shiver in disgust when his finger trails my shoulder and down my arm.

  “Bates will be looking for me,” I say, using all of the false bravado I can muster.

  “No, I don’t think that he will. You see, he walked in after your bathroom trip, and right around that time, one of their whores began giving the heathens a show,” he chuckles, letting his hand wrap around me and travel up my spine.

  He’s too close. I can smell his aftershave, his cologne, his detergent. It’s too much. Too painful and too debilitating. A whimper escapes me, but my eyes are locked in on his cold, dead blue ones.

  “You could have been such a good wife, Brentlee. Why couldn’t you just accept everything? I gave you a nice place to live, the finest clothes, and a child to keep you entertained during the day. I gave you everything, but you took it all for granted. You’re such a selfish, little bitch. And now you’re nothing but a slut. I should have whored you out all those years. I had men asking after you, you know?” he announces.

  I press my lips together, trying to keep from crying out, sobbing, and showing any true emotion. He feeds off of my reactions.

  “Speak,” he shouts in my face. I blink, keeping my cool, trying not to freak out.

  “What would you like me to say?” I ask quietly.

  I don’t realize what’s happened before I feel the pain radiating off of my cheek. With one hand tangled in my hair, the other makes a fist and he punches my cheek.

  “Suck my cock like the whore you are,” he demands as he pushes me down to my knees. I reluctantly have no choice but to land on the concrete floor. My bare knees connecting hard with the dirty, ground.

  “No,” I say. He doesn’t own me anymore. Bates does. I’m a whore for no man. I’m Bates’ woman, his tigritsa. I am no longer Scotty’s punching bag.

  “You don’t suck me off, Brentlee, I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill that little fucking brat you pushed out of your dry as fuck pussy,” he grinds out.

  I close my eyes and think of Stella. He’d do it, too. The sick fuck would kill his own daughter. He had no qualms beating the shit out of me until I lost our first baby.

  “The only dick that comes near me is Bates’. I’m not your whore, Scotty,” I say, staying firm, standing my ground—on my knees.

  His arm comes out and he backhands me. I can feel blood trickling from my lip. The whole left side of my face aches, but I don’t care. He’s not going to torture me, not without me giving him a fucking fight.

  “I should mutilate you. He wouldn’t want you if you were hideous. Nobody would,” he laughs. It comes off as maniacal and completely creepy. How I ever fell for him, how I ever married him, is beyond me. Looking at him now, all I see is a disturbed and disgusting individual.

  I hear something behind him, but the music is so loud I’m not sure what it is. I don’t want to alert him in case it’s nothing. I can only pray that somebody has found us.

  “Do it,” I challenge.

  Fuck him.

  Scotty opens his mouth to surely spew more shit, but there’s a loud sound. I cover my mouth with my hands, finding my face completely covered in blood. Scotty’s blood, and brains, and everything that goes along with it.

  When his body falls to the ground, I look past him and see Bates standing stoically. His eyes are transfixed on Scotty’s lifeless body. I let out a sound that’s only described as a mix between a cry, a sob, and a shout. Bates’ eyes leave Scotty and come to me. I’m sure I look scary, covered in blood and brain, bruises forming on my cheek.

  “Tigritsa,” he says. It sounds animalistic, guttural.

  “Bates,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t come for me. He doesn’t console me or pick me up and tell me everything is going to be okay. Instead, he turns from me. He leaves. He walks away, leaving me on my knees surrounded by my husband’s blood.

  Immediately, tears fill my eyes—not because Scotty has died, but because Bates has left me. I’m under no illusion that he needs a moment to collect his though
ts. No, I saw the light dim; the horrors return in his eyes. He’s gone.

  “Come on, babe,” Paxton says, crouching down next to me. I watch as a Prospect and Johnny drag my husband out of the dirty bathroom. I look up to Paxton with tears in my eyes.

  “He’s gone,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, babe, and he ain’t never comin’ back,” he grunts.

  “No, not Scotty. Bates,” I mutter.

  “He’ll come around,” he says. The look on his face is telling me what I already know.

  Bates is gone. Done. Out.

  I let Paxton guide me toward the bedroom’s when Fury stops in front of us.

  “Take my room, it has a bathroom attached, you can clean up there,” he mutters, handing Paxton the key.

  I turn around to thank him and see Bates leaning against the wall, a joint in his hand and his eyes focused on me. They aren’t dead, heated, or full of horror, no he looks—bored. I turn back around, unable to look at him another second.

  How did this happen?

  Why did this happen?

  Haven’t I suffered enough?

  I finally find my happiness and now it’s all fucked up. All fucked up because of Scotty, because Bates had to kill for me. I hate that it happened, and I wish he would talk to me, hold me, assure me that everything is going to be okay, instead of staring at me with that bored expression on his face.

  Paxton locks us inside of Fury’s room and I’m glad for it. I don’t want to be around anybody, but I need this fucking blood off of me—now.

  “Will you, can you…” I begin.

  Thankfully, he understands and nods. I stand against the locked door as he checks out the bathroom.

  “All clear,” he says softly.

  I nod once and make my way toward the bathroom. Once I step past him, he takes the door handle and starts to close it. I put my hand up, stopping his movement.

  “Please, leave it open. I just can’t. Can you stay in here? I don’t care if you see me, I just can’t be alone,” I murmur.

  “I’ll do whatever you want me to, Brentlee,” he whispers. I have a feeling he means more than just helping me right now. I don’t care, though. Right now, I can’t think.

  I quickly strip out of my bloodied clothes and completely disrobe. I look in the mirror, but avoid my face. Instead, my eyes focus on the reflection of my Bates tattoo. My fingers trace his name when I hear Pax clear his throat.

  “He’ll get his head outta his ass, babe,” he states.

  “I don’t think he will,” I murmur. “Not unless I fight for him.”

  Paxton doesn’t say another word as I step into the hot stream of water that he started for me. I use Fury’s soap and what appears to be Kentlee’s fruity shampoo. I let the clean smell envelope me. I close my eyes and wash away the blood and the hurt from my marriage with Scotty.

  After this shower, I never want to think of him again. I’ll tell Stella about him when she’s old enough. For now, she knows enough, more than enough. I want to move on with my life. I want my daughter to live in a world where she isn’t afraid of anything—ever.

  “Babe,” Paxton’s voice floats through the shower.

  “Yeah,” I call out.

  “I need to get you home,” he murmurs. I turn the shower off and he thrusts a towel through the curtain. I dry off and wrap it around myself.

  “I need something to wear,” I say, standing in front of him, fresh faced and wrapped in a towel. I feel better. At least my body does. My mind, however, is a completely different story. I’m a jumbled up mess.

  “Come on, I’ll take you to my room, get you some clothes,” he murmurs. I bend down to grab my bloodied clothes and he presses his hand against my back. I look up into his coffee colored eyes and he shakes his head.

  “I’ll take care of all that later tonight. Let me get you outta here, babe,” he says, his voice soft, sweet, and even. I nod and allow him to guide me toward his room, his hand on the small of my back.

  When we arrive at Paxton’s room, I look up and tears immediately well in my eyes. Standing with his back against the wall is Bates. His dazed eyes are on me, completely focused on me. When I trail the length of his body, there’s Star.

  On her knees, sucking his cock.

  My stomach turns at the sight. He’s mine. His dick is mine. I look back up to him and my eyes connect with his. A smirk tugs on his lips, but his eyes, they’re still dazed and bored. I don’t see his fire. I don’t see anything of the Bates I know and love. It makes my heart ache. It pisses me off.

  What a fucking asshole.

  Sniper

  I wrap my hand in Star’s hair and pull her off of my dick. She looks up at me with wide eyes, hopeful eyes, and it makes me sick. I release her and slide away from the wall, tucking my semi-hard cock in my pants. I’m surprised it’s even a semi. I’m not in the least bit turned on.

  “Sniper,” Star whines from her place on her knees.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” I grunt.

  Star opens her mouth to say something else, but I can’t muster a fuck to give. I turn and walk away from her, straight to my room. I slam and lock the door behind me before I walk over to the bed. I sink down and reach between my legs for a bottle of Jack. I say a silent thanks when I find a completely brand-new, unopened bottle.

  I open it and take a long drink of the amber liquor. I’m such a fucking fuck-up. I lean against the headboard and I continue to drink.

  One pull after the other.

  I close my eyes and think back to earlier tonight. I was so fuckin’ excited to see my woman, my Brentlee. A week being away from her was excruciating. I didn’t want to ever do it again. I missed her, not just her pussy, but her. I missed her smell, the way she smiled up at me, the way she looked at me.

  I walked into the clubhouse and asked the prospect behind the bar where she was. When he told me the bathroom, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to get my dick wet before she went back to work. When I tried the handle and the door was locked, I knew something was wrong. Hearing a man’s voice on the other side sent a shiver down my spine. I pulled my gun out of my shoulder holster and kicked the flimsy as fuck door down.

  He had her on her knees. Scotty had my woman on her knees for him. I pulled the trigger. One shot was all I needed, and I took it. I added another soul to the notch on my belt in hell. I killed another human. I didn’t want to think about what that made my number. The devil is keeping a tally; I don’t need to.

  The look of shock on her face, I’ll never forget it. I ruined her. I sullied her. I killed in front of her.

  Brentlee was covered in blood because of me.

  I’m not good for her.

  I’m not good for her daughter.

  I’ll keep making her dirty.

  I’ll continue to ruin her.

  I ruin everything.

  There’s no way around it, she’s seen a portion of the evil I can inflict on another person without batting an eyelash. No way in fuck is she going to want me anywhere near her or her innocent child. I’m the piece of shit my dad always said I was, useless and fucking dumb.

  I close my eyes and all I can see is her face covered in another person’s blood, as a result of me. I’m not sad I killed Scotty. I should have done it earlier. I’m pissed at myself for doing it in front of her. For giving her more brutality in her life. She should be living easy now, I should be making her shit easy, not fucking her up even more.

  I wake the next morning and take a sip from the Jack, swishing it around my mouth before I spit it out on the floor. No reason to keep my room clean. I could live in my own filth, because that’s what I am—filthy.

  I look off into the empty space and think back to the night before. Brentlee is gone. I made sure she wouldn’t come back and fight for me, too. I would give in to her pretty honey colored eyes in a heartbeat.

  I spend the day in solitary. Alone. Drinking. I don’t want to see another person. I don’t want to see the look of pity in their eyes, an
d I don’t want to give in to my own temptations and go to Brentlee. I need to be alone.

  Brentlee

  I wake up, my eyes swollen, my head hurting like hell. I roll over and crash into a hard body. For a split second, I think it’s Bates, that he’s come home, but when my hand flies to his chest I discover it’s covered in a shirt. Bates doesn’t sleep next to me with clothes on. I open my eyes and see Paxton Hill looking down on me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. He shrugs sitting up.

  “For what, Brent?” he asks as if he hasn’t a care in the world. How nice that must be. I couldn’t remember a time I was carefree.

  “Everything. Making you stay,” I sigh, standing. I look down and realize that I’m in Paxton’s shirt and gym shorts. I’m surprised I didn’t catch fire wearing another man’s clothes in Bates’ bed.

  “I’ll always be here for you, babe,” he murmurs.

  “Pax…” I start. He puts his hand up.

  “I know you’re in love with him, Brent. But he ain’t here. I’ll help you anyway you’ll let me, but I ain’t gonna slide into his bed, babe. That ain’t me. You’re a good woman and you need a man that’s gonna take care of you,” he says.

  I nod, unable to say another word. All I can think about is the fact that Scotty’s dead and Bates doesn’t want me anymore, or he’s just fucked up about what’s happened. I don’t know what he’s thinking. He killed for me and then went to the arms of another woman. Who does that?

  “Go take a hot shower. I’ll get Stella some breakfast started,” he murmurs.

  I’m so fucking thankful for him right now, I don’t question his motives for helping; instead, I nod and practically run into the bathroom.

  Once I am finally under the spray of the warm water, I cry, again. Everything is shit. Bates is gone. I can’t even think about Scotty and what almost happened. All I can focus on is Bates and how he doesn’t want me anymore. God, I’m so fucking pathetic and needy. I shake off the doom, the pain, and the feelings of desperation.