Prizefight: The Hell Raiders MC Goes MMA

by Aden Lowe

  The little moan she made when I swirled my tongue over the hollow of her collarbone prompted me to rake my teeth over the side of her neck. The moan turned into a sort of whimper that promised wet panties.

  The tops of her tits looked neglected from my vantage point, so I slipped one hand around to her front to pay them some attention. Her nipples were already hard, and I rolled first one, then the other, between my thumb and finger, making her suck in a sharp breath.

  My hard-on threatened to blow out my zipper, so I stepped back long enough to get my jeans opened and shoved partway down. She pushed her dress down over her hips to reveal a perfect little ass, which she immediately rocked back against me.

  Fuck, I needed a condom. "Hold that thought, baby girl." I rummaged in the bedside table for a moment and came up with one. Back behind her, I let my cock ride up between her ass cheeks, hissing at her heat.

  She spread her legs and bent over, leaning across the bed. I needed no further invitation to drag the scrap of lace off her ass and sink one finger deep into her tight wet heat. She gasped and pushed back, seeking more.

  I ripped the condom open with my teeth and rolled it on one-handed, then worked my finger out of her pussy to slide over her clit. My cock jerked with anticipation just before I drove into her with one smooth thrust. Fuck, she was tight.

  "Rub your clit for me, baby girl." I slid my hands to her hips and guided her into rhythm as she complied.

  The pitch of her cries indicated she was right at the edge. Rather than let her come immediately, I slowed my thrusts and went deeper, then withdrew entirely to turn her to her back. She immediately wrapped her legs around my hips and pulled me close.

  I leaned over her and buried myself to the hilt and she clasped me even tighter. Over and over, I drove into her, until she gave a sharp cry and her pussy clenched. Before I knew it, my body had locked in orgasm as she drained me. I stood over her, heaving for air.

  She smiled up at me. "Can we go again?"

  I collapsed to the bed beside her, laughing. "Better let me catch my breath first."

  Chapter One

  Ryker:

  The steam from the shower soothed my aching muscles and tender skin, and I stood there letting it do its work until I grew too tired to stay any longer. Bruised knuckles howled in protest as I grabbed the knob to stop the water.

  The fight had been brutal and I would feel the effects for a few days. My opponent, though, would feel fucked up for weeks. The rep I gained in the underground fights brought me bigger and better opponents in the sanctioned fights. Tonight's legal fight made me work my ass off for the victory. That made the risk of being fined or banned for the illegal shit worth it. Nothing, not even the rules, were going to get in my way to the top.

  The soft cotton towel felt more like sandpaper, but I persisted and dried myself thoroughly before putting on my favorite pajama pants, also cotton. Synthetic stuff wasn't healthy for the body or the environment, so I kept things as natural as I could without being gung-ho about it. Nobody knew that about me, though a few might have suspected.

  In the kitchen, I grabbed a bowl and filled it with ice, then headed for the sofa. The TV came on to the twenty-four hour news channel I normally kept it on. Tonight, I needed it just for background noise for a few minutes, so I didn't bother finding something more interesting before I plunged both hands into the bowl of ice.

  The shock made my breath hiss out between my teeth but I gained control quickly. Ice might feel like sticking my hands into a beehive at the moment, but my busted up hands needed it. So I resigned myself to twenty minutes of agony.

  The damn news depressed me. More corrupt politicians insisted the government must cut whatever programs they deemed entitlements. Meanwhile, they raked it in hand over fist on the federal dime, and conspired against the only real chance our country had at digging out from the shit hole they put us in. All while Americans obsessed over which movie star fucked another's wife, and which model was too strung out to walk the runway.

  Swallowing the urge to throw something at the screen, I dried one hand on my thigh and grabbed the remote to find something less idiotic. It wasn't easy. Sports were even worse than the news, with adults getting paid millions to play children's games. Finally, I settled on a reality show about living off the grid.

  The prospect of living without electricity or modern conveniences piqued my imagination enough that the twenty minutes of ice torture passed relatively quickly. TV still on, I dumped the ice and turned to the problem of food. It wasn't a hard decision. Steak or chicken, broccoli or asparagus, kale or spinach, whole-grain rice or the twelve-grain bread I'd picked up yesterday. I settled on the chicken, asparagus, kale and bread, and quickly prepared it.

  Most people thought I obsessed over food, but that wasn't the case. Sure, I liked food as much as the next guy, but it was a tool I needed to do my job well. Both of my jobs involved smashing faces, and I was very good at it. While I loved a big greasy pizza as much as the next red-blooded male, I almost always went for the foods that helped me do my jobs better.

  Relaxing my usual routine a little, I grabbed a beer and took my plate to eat in front of the TV. Normally I drank water with meals, but after a fight, I always treated myself to a beer. And I almost never ate anywhere other than the table. Eating wasn't meant to be a passive activity and I didn't treat it as one. But this one time, fatigue pulled at my muscles hard enough that I kicked back on the couch to eat in front of the TV.

  The show held my attention until it went off and another came on about people preparing for disaster or anarchy to strike. By the time that one went off, my mind had grown as tired as my muscles and demanded I head for bed.

  My phone buzzed, signaling an incoming text, but I ignored it for the moment, cleaning up after myself instead. With everything back in its place, I finally checked.

  K. Got work 4 u 2nite. S bringing details.

  Well, hell. No reply required. And no questions tolerated. When Kellen and the Hell Raiders called, I was ready. Every fucking time. No exceptions. No matter what. Bed and rest would have to wait.

  The intercom buzzed, two short bursts, letting me know Stella had arrived with the details. I buzzed the other Hell Raider in and unlocked the door, then grabbed my weapons to check them while I waited. The slide on the .45 came back easily, revealing an empty chamber, and I remedied that automatically as Stella let himself in.

  I glanced up with a chin lift. "W'sup, Stella?"

  The quiet biker closed the door behind him and locked it, then gave a wary glance around the apartment. "You alone?"

  I grinned. "You know I don't bring anybody here, ever." Except two weeks ago, I did. Those words froze in my throat. None of my Brothers knew about the thing with Elena as a prize, and I sure as fuck had no intentions of telling them.

  "People change." Stella lifted one shoulder in a half-assed shrug, but his probing stare stayed locked on my face. "And you didn't answer."

  I shook my head. "I'm alone." The dude's fucking paranoia usually annoyed the piss out of me, but it served the Hell Raiders well. This time, though, I couldn’t help feeling he knew something I’d rather he not.

  His lazy grin seemed calculated to get under my skin, and it worked. But then he shrugged again and his face went serious, back to business. "Word is, some dickhead is trying to move in on Raider territory. Kellen wants us to look into it, all low-pro."

  "Give me a minute." I stepped into the bedroom and dressed, not wasting time. Armed to the teeth, and then some, I headed back out. "Any idea who it is?"

  "Nah, man, it ain't coming back to the usual suspects. But a truck load of electronics with a shipment of guns hidden in the crates disappeared into thin air. Then the guns magically appeared in the hands of some gang kids down in Louisville, associated with the Deuces." He paused to let that sink in.

  Hell Raiders merchandise in possession of a street gang we'd long ago shut out meant somebody else had come into play in a very deliberate way.
We were being set up. Fan-fucking-tastic. "What's the plan?" I already knew, but I had to ask anyway.

  "Me and you's heading for Louisville tonight. Dig around and see what we find buried in the Deuces' back lot."

  "A'ight. No rest for the wicked, I guess." I moved around him to grab my duffle out of the closet. "Ready when you are." The bag stayed packed and ready for just such a situation, though I stopped short of calling it a go-bag. That reminded me too much of a military, or law enforcement, operation. Not a good parallel for a man in my position to draw.

  “By the way, man, since we’re going low profile, cuts and Harleys stay put.” Stella’s announcement came as no surprise. We could hardly advertise our identities to this new rival and expect to learn anything. Besides, a Hell Raiders patch in Deuces territory served double duty as a target.

  “No problem, but we’re taking the Chevelle. I ain’t riding in that heap you call a car.” Two spaces came with the exorbitant rent I paid, and the black on black ’70 Chevelle SS 454 I’d spent the past three years restoring sat in my other space. As much as I hated the prospect of putting her in danger, the old girl provided a far better ride than Stella’s old Honda when it was brand new.

  Stella gave another grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” No doubt he’d planned it out, and I’d fallen neatly for it.

  The big block engine rumbled as I pulled her out of the space and waited for Stella to park his Harley. With our gear and weapons stowed in the back seat within easy reach, we rolled up the ramp to the exit. Less than fifteen minutes later, we were gassed up and ready to hit the road, and I gave one last regretful thought to my warm bed sitting empty. It would be a while before I had a chance to get a good rest. I fucking hated strange beds.

  The only traffic on the narrow two-lane out of town was an old pickup with only one working headlight. Away from the lights and traffic of the small town, the rural road carved through the dark night. Unseen fields of corn, hay, and soybean spread to both sides, interrupted occasionally by a house or barn. I would have loved to let all four hundred and fifty horses in the big engine loose, but the dangers posed by deer leaping into the road restrained me. I hadn’t spent all that time and money on the car to let some Bambi total her. So I kept my foot out of it, and kept the speed reasonable.

  We finally made it to I-64, and after a quick pit-stop, we had a straight shot to Louisville and Deuces territory. “We have a plan when we hit town?” The question really wasn’t necessary, but I hated going in totally blind.

  “The Deuces have a fence that gets rid of whatever they pick up. We’re going to him for some weapons, and hope he puts his new customers in touch with the source.”

  “Think it’ll work? I could do without punching anybody this time. Hands fucking hurt after tonight's fight.” The soreness in my knuckles had progressed from mild discomfort to a real distraction. I took my right hand off the wheel and worked it, trying to reduce the stiffness, then did the same with the left.

  Stella shrugged. “Who knows. It has as good a chance of working as anything else.”

  He was right. Besides, it didn’t really matter. We would adapt and work with whatever the situation gave us. That’s what Hell Raiders did. A solid plan would make the OCD part of me more comfortable, for sure, but I had to admit, skirting along the edge kept me more alert. The Deuces were a nest of vipers, so alertness was a real asset in dealing with them.

  Silence settled into the car once more, and I gave in to the temptation of open highway and no traffic. The engine responded eagerly, ready to test the limits. Adrenaline surged through my blood as the red needle hit one-ten and kept going. Just as I’d known she would, the Chevelle rose to the challenge and ate it up. Driving that car was a fucking rush I'd never get tired of.

  I didn’t let off until the signs warned of an approaching town. Headlights going East pricked the backs of my eyes, and I backed off the pedal. This time of night, cops were more likely to sit and wait for speeders near a town. A traffic stop would not go well, considering the weapons sitting on the backseat in easy reach. Neither of us had warrants, or even criminal records, in the names we currently used for official shit, but we’d learned long ago not to take unnecessary chances.

  The needle hovered at the speed limit and I forced myself to be content with that. For the next two hours, we would pass smaller towns scattered along the highway every few miles. The risks far outweighed the thrill of speed, and the challenges of keeping the big car under control.

  We neared Louisville, and Stella gave directions that took a less than direct route, and annoyance flashed over me. It meant I had to deal with downtown traffic in several towns along the way. The actual traffic should be sparse, considering the hour, but the maze of streets and alleys that always seemed to spring up out of nowhere got to me. Give me the highways and bypasses any time, if I couldn't have back roads and logging trails.

  I managed it, though, and we rolled up into the edge of Louisville as the eastern sky started to lighten with the coming sunrise. The area had declined further in the several years since I’d been there. “Shit, we should have gotten a motel in Radcliff or something. I don’t like the thought of parking my ride in front of any of these shit-holes.”

  “Don’t worry, man, I got you covered. We got reservations.”

  Leary as hell, I followed his directions. Only to find myself at a three-hundred buck a night joint that made my jaw drop. Our check-in time might have raised an eyebrow, but when Stella paid for a week’s stay, in cash, everything seemed just fine and dandy with the female clerk. Stella's outrageous flirting had nothing to do with her acceptance of us without question, of course. With everything taken care of, he palmed another two hundred and moved to shake the woman’s hand. Her eyes flared wide with surprise when he pressed the bills into her fingers and gave her a wicked wink.

  Huh. I wasn’t quite sure what to think. This side of Stella, the biker with the Polish name nobody could pronounce, was entirely new to me. Bastard acted like he checked into fancy historic hotels every fucking day, and gave college girls a week’s pay for a tip.

  The questions waited, just barely, until I closed the fancy carved door behind us and paused to take in the room. I don’t know what I expected, but this sure as hell wasn’t it. A spacious bathroom caught my eye first, just to my left, and a big closet sat opposite it. Further in, a comfortable looking sofa and two chairs were arranged with a coffee table and a big armoire with one of the doors left open to reveal a TV inside. Beyond, a dining table with four chairs looked over a pretty little courtyard, and a desk filled the corner.

  I walked into the room, wondering where the hell we were supposed to sleep. A door beyond the sitting area drew my attention, and I checked it out. Another room lay there, with two massive beds, a dresser, another closet, and another TV. All the fancy décor in the world meant absolutely nothing to me, but even I knew the rich fabrics were very good quality. While the outer room was mostly shades of gray and silver, with dark blue accents, the bedroom was a deep, rich blue with pale gray. That damned room cost more to decorate than my rent for a whole year.

  While I stared at everything like a country bumpkin, Stella got busy. I hadn’t noticed his bag earlier, but the sound of a zipper caught my attention. He opened a big garment bag, the kind rich guys carried fancy suits in, and lo and behold, the clothes he pulled out would be right at home in some rich business man’s closet. He straightened creases and brushed away non-existent lint.

  What the hell? I felt like I’d landed in an alternate universe. I cleared my throat. “So, how’d you get Kellen to come off the green to set this all up?”

  “He didn’t. This one’s on me.” Satisfied with the clothes, he grabbed a shaving kit and turned to the sink and mirror. “We won’t get shit out of the Deuces if they realize who we are. So we’re going back to my roots.” A small cordless beard trimmer cleared away most of his facial hair, leaving a neat goatee.

  “Roots?” I must have been as
dumb as I felt. It wasn’t unusual for Brothers to have a past they didn’t bring to the Raiders. We were all running from something. But this seemed like an awfully fucking big something.

  Stella sighed and dropped the trimmer, then turned toward me, leaning one hip against the vanity counter. “Yeah. Roots. Ryker, brother, I need this shit to stay between us.”

  I nodded. “Absolutely.” Seems like this might be a long story, and I was tired as fuck, so I dropped to sit on the fluffy sofa.

  “You know my family is Eastern European—not actually Polish like I let everyone think. I won’t get into all that. It gets complicated. But what you need to know is that my father came here after the Soviet Union fell. People were leaving the Eastern Bloc nations in droves, desperate for a new life. Among them, a few wolves left, eager to gain an advantage. That was my father.”

  I had a million questions, but I bit them back.

  He continued. “He left behind an empire, one his father had built. His older brother stayed there to run things, and the whole family expected my father to fall on his face in the New World. But he didn’t. He expanded and got his finger in every pie that connected the Old Country to the US. Drugs. Gambling. Prostitution. Weapons. Import-export. And a hundred other things. What he built makes the old empire look like a mom and pop shop at the corner.”

  He paused and lit a smoke, despite the clear No Smoking signs tucked discreetly all over the room. “I’m the oldest of four brothers, and all my life, I was groomed to take my father’s place.” Stella sighed. “I keep the connections, and sometimes help with business, but I can’t be in the same room as my father, or I’ll kill him.”

  The junk food I’d eaten on the road threatened to come back up. “Shit, man, I had no idea.”

  He shrugged and stubbed his cigarette out in a glass soap dish. “You weren’t supposed to. Anyway, I’m here to put out feelers for distribution. You’re my enforcer. We’ll ask whatever questions we want, demand answers, and they won’t dare think twice about it. I should have told you from the start we were coming in this way, but I had to make sure my father was on board and would back us up if anyone asked.”