by Nicole Snow
We sat down at the kitchen table with Harlow. He brought out his camera for the third time, and I repeated my story verbatim.
Kidnapped. Forced. Abused. Escaped.
No bikers. No handsome, dangerous men named Skin. No accomplices for the dead pimp from the Deadhands MC. No devils who'd murder the man I'd fallen for if I didn't get him his cold, hard cash.
For a detective, he didn't hide his frustration well. “I'm going to review the files again, Miss Wilder. If I find any discrepancies, rest assured our next chat will be taking place down at the station, rather than in the comfort of your own home.”
Daddy shot up like a bolt of lightning. “Are you really threatening my daughter with a prison interrogation in my own house? Sir, I'll remind you who was the top contributor to the Senior Senator from the great state of Tennessee last year – you're looking at him. Don't make me get some calls flying back and forth between Washington and FBI headquarters. We wouldn't want to soil the nice, professional relationship here. But I'll do what I need to, if you leave me no choice.”
Harlow looked genuinely disturbed. I tried not to laugh, loving how my father brought the hammer down when it really mattered.
Of course, I felt even worse about the lies I'd just told.
Had Skin already dragged me too deep into his world, away from the normal, law abiding life I'd known before? Or had Ricky damaged me forever before the biker even got his hands on me?
I didn't know, but one thing was clear – I'd never settle for a quiet, normal life again. I'd plunge into the darkness and navigate the lesser evils if it brought me closer to him.
Therapy in a Georgia spa wouldn't do anything for me. Nothing would, except feeling Skin's powerful, tattooed arms around me, pressing my face into his rock hard chest, inhaling his earthy, masculine scent.
“We'll talk again when she's back from her retreat. Good day.” Harlow packed up his things and scuttled like a scorned cat.
“The nerve of that man...” Dad walked to the small liquor cabinet in our kitchen and poured himself a drink, ripping off his spectacles.
I felt bad. But I felt worse about my plans to sneak out later with the cash in hand, right after I used the burner phone hidden in my dresser to call Skin to the gate.
“Daddy, don't worry about him. Seriously. I'm going to be okay, no matter what happens. He has to give up sometime. I don't know why he's so adamant about tying what happened to me to these dead bikers in North Carolina.”
“He says it's important, something about drug and terrorism laws. I really don't care, Megan.” I watched him knock straight bourbon down his throat and slam the glass on the counter. “You're home, you're going to get some help, and that's all that matters. If there was more to your escape like the good detective thinks, I don't care. You're here. You're safe. And one day, you'll open up and tell me, won't you?”
My heart skipped a beat. Shit.
He knew. Somehow, Dad knew I wasn't being completely honest. My stomach turned to lead, and I wanted to crawl into the kudzu tangled forest out back and die.
“We'll just see about that,” I told him. “I promise I'm going to be okay. Don't worry about me, whatever happens. I'm going to get well again, and you're right, whatever happens from here is going to be between family. Not this nosy detective who won't let me get on with my life.”
He stared at me for about a minute, piercing me with his bright blue eyes, the same ones I saw staring back at me in the mirror every day. He hoped I'd give him more, but I couldn't.
If I told him about Skin, about the club, all about how I wouldn't be standing here alive if it wasn't for the hardened biker and his Pistols...I'd never get away tonight.
Dad broke and looked out the window while I grabbed a drink of water and slipped away upstairs. Someday, I'd tell him the truth. He deserved it.
I needed to face it all, open and honest, the truth about myself and the last six brutal months of my life.
I was ready. I had to be if Skin decided to make me his. And that was one thing I was ready to discover, no matter the price.
VIII: Made Whole (Skin)
Four days. Almost an entire fucking week since I'd dropped her off at her parents' door, never to be seen again.
I didn't give a shit about the money. I missed her, and I couldn't stop, not even among all the brotherly backslapping and celebrations for our coming windfall.
Dust put my down payment to good use, working on plans for the new strip joint and holding nightly bashes to raise moral.
Girls threw themselves at me, just like they always had. I shoved them the fuck away.
I didn't want to do anything but drink. We finally had Jack and Jim flowing by the gallon again. I took bottles to my room and sauced myself to sleep, usually after long rides into the mountains. I always stopped when I came near the half-covered path leading down to the hollow where I'd dismembered the pimp.
His rotting flesh and bones were stuffed into a hole where nobody but the black bears would ever find him. They'd gnaw his bones 'til it was like the fuck never existed. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Good fucking riddance. I'd saved her several times over. I'd killed for that chick. And I just had one regret.
What I regretted was letting go. I never should've taken her home without one more kiss, asking her to be my old lady.
I didn't think she'd actually accept. Shit, the girl was from another world, a rich family who'd probably sweat a little bit and pull over if they saw us coming down the highway next to them. She'd been beaten, used, and abused by the bastard I'd killed and the scum who gave him money.
She'd need a good shrink and a lot of fucking money to get her life on track. Fortunately, thanks to her rich folks, she had both of those.
I was the worst kinda medicine she could swallow, bitter and wrong. I wasn't blind, but it didn't make me wanna lay off her any less. Damn if I didn't want to pour every drop of myself down her system. I wanted to overload her with desire, make her crave me, flatten her against the cracked wall out back, rip her panties off, and fuck her 'til she screamed my name.
I was completely, irreversibly screwed, and the rest of the guys knew it too.
They kept their distance during the wild nights when the girls came flooding in. Sixty and Crawl gave me nothing more than a wink and a brotherly nod when I threw my unwanted women their way.
A lot of the familiar faces who'd sucked me off before wanted another crack at my dick. The other boys were plenty easy on women's eyes too, but they liked the silent, brooding type, I guess. I'd always fit the bill, second only to the Prez himself and Joker.
Unfortunately for the girls, the Prez was too damned busy to spend time fucking them. And Joker – if he still had any marbles at all, they were all below the belt. He fucked like no tomorrow, and sometimes the bitches in his room screamed like he was taking 'em apart.
The crazy bastard had lost his mind a long time ago, turned into a dead-eyed killer. Fuck if he'd lost his wild oats, and everybody was surprised he didn't have a few dozen bastards running around town by now at the rate he pounded pussy.
I walked through the clubhouse after sunset, having the bar almost to myself. Firefly was over in the corner, a hot little blonde on his lap, playing games with her lips and the dark wings tattooed around his neck. He always did the same shit with his girls, and they were all over him as soon as they had their legs around his waist.
I fished out a fresh bottle of whiskey and popped the cap, ready to head for my room after a few swigs. Loud country blasted on the old jukebox, the kinda shit my old man used to listen to, back when the club's biggest worry was throwing bonfires. It was ancient history now, before any brother realized the danger settling in, before they figured out how big and aggressive the bastards outside Tennessee had grown, how they were dead set on making a run for our territory.
“Hey, what the fuck, Skin?” Firefly called to me, tugging at Goldie's locks as she giggled on his lap. “Lighten up and have a l
ittle fun. You look like you're gonna pass the fuck out if you don't whip that bottle at the wall first. Don't get any bright ideas. Just because I'm partying doesn't mean I'm not on the job.”
I rolled my eyes. He took the Enforcer role deadly serious, playing hall monitor when he wasn't breaking up fights between brothers or drilling us to see how fast we could get our guns.
“Here, your majesty, have another drink so you can relax,” I growled, sloshing whiskey sloppily into his glass, and then hers. “One for the lady, too. It's the least I can do to take the edge off this blowhard, yeah?”
She looked at me and giggled, slapping Firefly's shoulders. “Oh my God, fireball! Why didn't you tell me your friends were so hilarious?”
“It's Firefly, baby, and don't you fucking forget it.” He shot her a stern look. “Here, looks like you need something to remember me by.”
I snorted as he jerked her hair tight and gave her a long, hard kiss.
Fuck if I didn't think about Meg, though, having her beautiful chestnut locks tangled around my fingers again, the other hand on the small of her back, pumping her hips up and down on my cock.
So many ways I hadn't taken her yet. So many ways I wanted to the second I got her sweet ass back here.
“Shit, Skinny Boy, don't you have some numbers to punch on a computer or something?” He looked away from me at his ditzy date for the night. “I've never been shy about having an audience 'round these parts, but it's kinda creepy if it's just you.”
Christ. That meant he was going to fuck her behind the bar, if he didn't just shove his cock into her right here. He wasn't wrong – I didn't need to see that shit.
Watching Firefly fuck a girl barely old enough to drink wasn't my kinda porn. I had plenty of that shit waiting in my room, but even the perfect Dixie girls on the screen with their ruby red lips and fake tits didn't hold a goddamned candle to the woman turning my crank.
“I'm not gonna cramp you, brother,” I told him, deciding to leave the whiskey with them. “You're right. I've got more important biz to settle. Somebody's gotta keep this club from going up in flames, after all.”
Firefly gave me a sharp look, but he decided to let it go, too obsessed with Blondie wiggling on his lap. I was halfway to my room when I heard her hit the counter and cry out as he sank into her.
Irony was an absolute bitch tonight. Before Meg, getting my dick wet was the only motivation I had to bring the club more cash. Now, there was pussy galore, and it still felt like being stranded in the desert because none of those hot, pink holes were the ones I really wanted.
They only belonged to one woman. Not even the buxom young redhead I found stretched out in my bed, naked from the waist down.
The used condom on my floor told the full story, as did the bright red hand prints left all over her ass. Snarling, I grabbed her by both hands and whirled her around, shaking her outta her stupor.
“Okay, who the fuck was in here and left their trash in my fucking room?” She yelped and looked at me like I'd just jumped out of her nightmares.
What the shit? I noticed the handcuffs hanging off her plump wrist for the first time, dangling between her legs as she blushed and fought to cover up her pussy.
“Um, I'm really sorry, Skin. I'm not supposed to say. Joker told me we'd be okay in here, and he'd just gone out for a smoke or something...”
“Joker?”
Fuck me with a cactus. I'd heard enough. The Veep was outta control, dragging his shit through my gutter. With a growl, I grabbed her wrists and led her to the corner, where I found her half shredded panties. She got the message when I pointed, picking them up and struggling into what was left of them while I watched.
The chick's ass wasn't half bad, but she had nothing on Meg. That woman was perfect, raised to perfection because she was a damned aristocrat, rather than a blue collar baby or a farm bumpkin like most of our casual fucks.
“Get that condom off my floor on your way out, too, woman. And if you see him, tell the Veep my room's not his personal landfill. Don't care if he's an officer or not.”
She nodded and flashed me a nervous smile one more time before she backed out, Joker's bloated condom in her hand, and closed the door behind me.
If there was ever a sign I needed to move the hell outta here and get my own place, now that we had a big paycheck coming in...
I rolled into bed and dozed. It wasn't easy after I'd ridden in the cold all day, scoping out the places in Knoxville for the Prez, all the sites where he wanted our girls to shake tail and bring the club more money.
Of course, it'd be a drop in the bucket, and not even good for laundering much money if we ever got the real cash pipeline going. But that wasn't gonna happen overnight. Dust's grand schemes meant clearing our way to the sea first, the path the Deads and other thugs were blocking through the Carolinas and Georgia.
The yanks in the Prairie Devils or the Grizzlies wouldn't even sit down with us 'til we had something to offer 'em. I dreamed like a goddamned geek, numbers and logistics, the only distraction my brain knew when I wasn't thinking about Meg's perfect little lips wrapped around every inch of me.
The heat of her mouth was still burning up my brain when my burner phone screamed to life. I jumped up and grabbed it, doing a double take when I saw her number.
Thank fuck. It's gotta be about the cash.
“Yeah? Where should I meet you?” I growled into the receiver, the instant I heard her soft little breathing on the line.
“Wow, so much for hello.” She paused, and my dick swelled as I imagined her smiling. “You can pick me up right outside my house. Just after eleven, maybe? Will that work?”
“See you then, babe.”
I snapped the phone shut and checked the clock. I had about an hour, maybe a little more, just enough time to shower off the stink of motor oil and sweat from my pussy withdrawal.
I grinned, thankful I was sober. Just when I'd started missing the booze too. Good thing I'd decided to dump the whiskey off with Firefly and his whore for the night after all...
I had something better coming. And I was gonna fuck her so hard she'd never go anywhere else again.
* * * *
“It's all there,” she whispered quietly, stuffing the big duffel bag in my trunk. “Every last dollar. You can count it when we get to the clubhouse and –“
“Enough. The first thing I'm doing once we're back there's the last thing we did before I took you home. Fuck, I've missed these lips.”
Somehow, I kept it polite. I managed not to rip her clothes off right there, or tell her how bad I wanted to shove my tongue up her pussy 'til she cried.
But there was nothing nice about the way I threw my arms around her, pulled her into me, smashed my lips down on hers. My tongue sucked at hers hungrily, a prelude to where my hands were going. They went down, stopped on her ass cheeks, and squeezed.
The moan she hissed into my mouth told me we were on the same page. Shit, she knew my hunger too. Her nipples poked through her bra and the thin autumn sweater she was wearing, an outfit so conservative I couldn't wait to shred it to tatters.
“Let's get the hell home, babe. Plenty of drinks waiting if you're in the mood. The boys are celebrating.”
“No,” she whispered softly, staring up at me while I sat her on the bike and fixed her helmet. “All I need is right here.”
Her arms hooked around me. The embrace blew my mind, and threatened to do the same to the nuke hammering in my pants.
Christ. How the fuck could a woman feel so perfect riding with me?
It was like she'd been made for the back of my bike, made for my bed. I'd never bought into that soul mate horseshit before, but every second with this chick was making me wonder if I'd been wrong about it for nearly thirty years.
I loved how she rode pressed up against me while we roared down the highway, taking the mountain bends beneath the moonlight, dipping up and down the valleys filled with Smoky Mountain mist.
Dew prickled at our
skin. Even the land itself was wet and teasing. If this wasn't a night to lay a woman down and fuck, then I didn't know one.
Hell, this was a night for more than that. I'd claim her, damn it, and do it good and proper. We'd have a proper reunion at this little mountain bungalow I had about twenty miles from the clubhouse, right on the edge of the big national park.
I'd never brought a girl out there before. It was the place my old man used to go to think, and sometimes he brought Mama and me along for the ride. I'd inherited it after she passed, but I kept it locked up tight, except for the times I wanted to reflect, all alone, away from the brothers and the violence.
I'd never been ready to share that shit with anybody 'til her. Not 'til tonight.
We got to the clubhouse in record time. I parked my bike and grabbed her hand, leading her inside. Loud classic rock bounced through the air, the latest tempo the brothers inside were drinking and fucking to.
A loud moan greeted us behind the bar. My eyes darted to the spot where Firefly had his bitch for the night bent over, slamming his cock into her and growling every time he went deep. The Enforcer never stopped being a hothead even when he fucked, taking his girls out in the open, and hanging 'em out wet to dry the next day.
The bastard looked up, his eyes dark with sex. I gave him a knowing stare. He snorted, never skipping a beat with the slut under him.
“Wow, you weren't kidding about the party!” Meg smiled, so excited and seductive I wanted to drag her out back right there, behind the trees, and put my mouth on hers 'til she couldn't show any teeth the rest of the night.
I didn't like the way Firefly was looking at her. The fuck had a taste for threesomes sometimes – who among us didn't? – but there was no way in hell I'd let him ask my girl.
“Something like that,” I growled, leading her toward the hall hand-in-hand. “We're just here for business. I've got a better place for us to go after this. Let's get this over with.”
The cash stuffed bag sagged in my hand. I carried it in and headed for the Prez's office, hoping he hadn't gone home yet. I sure as hell didn't want to deal with Joker after he'd borrowed my bed for his nasty fun.