Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  Part of Abby’s beauty was that she didn’t conceal her faults. She handed them to me on a silver platter, giving me the freedom to inspect them thoroughly. Knowing Abby allowed me to accept her for who she truly was. I respected her for being genuine, and true to herself.

  For several moments’ time, I admired her as she lay at my side, smiling. Meeting her had changed my life completely. We now had an open book ahead of us, limited by nothing more than our imaginations and the sixty years of time we were sure to spend together.

  While she continued to slowly stroke me while she was focused on the television, I reached over the edge of the bed and fumbled to find my jeans. It was the perfect time for me to propose. Later, when we were asked when and where the proposal came, we wouldn’t be able to tell the truth.

  We’d have to make up something, all the while knowing when and where it really happened. It would be the imperfect proposal for two imperfectly perfect people.

  My jeans were six inches out of my reach. I stretched as far as I could, nearly reaching them, only to have Abby respond by yanking on my root and reminding me of my obligations.

  “What the F are you doing?” she asked.

  “I was--”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Relax. I want to ride my little friend and show him how much I love him.”

  We embraced in a passionate kiss. Kissing Abby took my mind to a place where only we existed, and it was there that we remained until long after the kissing stopped.

  When our mouths parted, she looked at me and smiled. “I’m going to climb you like a tree, ” she said in a playfully sultry voice.

  I found the remark out of context. “I’m flat on my back,” I argued. “You’re not going to climb--”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll ride you like a pony.”

  “Horse,” I said. “I’m not a pony, I’m a horse.”

  “Pogo stick.” She straddled me and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m going to ride this dick like a pogo stick.”

  With her back facing me, she positioned herself over my rigid shaft. After a few test runs of grinding her wet mound all over the tip, I was ready to explode. I placed my hand on the small of her back, gripping her lightly as she slowly guided me into her.

  Exercising caution, she gyrated her hips, taking a little more of my length with each careful stroke. My eyes fell closed, relishing in the satisfaction of having our bodies become one.

  Her wetness rose and fell along the length of my shaft in perfect timing, like that of an expertly crafted Swiss watch’s movement. After a few strokes, I felt her tightness encompass me fully.

  I opened my eyes.

  Like a dancer who was performing in perfect timing with a song, Abby pumped her hips fore and aft, to music only she could hear. My eyes became fixed on the valley between the cheeks of her perfectly shaped ass. As she rose, revealing the length of my pleasure, my heart took pause.

  When she reached the tip, she hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. I drew a quick breath. Her body was perfectly proportioned, and her skin silky smooth. Watching her devour me, inch by inch, was a pleasure in itself.

  With our eyes locked, she ground herself against me, taking my entire shaft in one thrust of her hips. There, with me buried inside of her, she remained, smiling at her accomplishment. In a moment she began to contract.

  Proving we were connected by much more than our touching flesh, her climax brought on mine. She milked me of my juices without moving a single muscle of her body.

  As she wailed out her satisfaction, I, too, groaned in satisfaction.

  With her work done, she collapsed against my body, laying her back against my chest. Still inside of her, I wrapped my arms around her and held her against me.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Magical,” she responded.

  “Stomach?”

  “Better.”

  “Wrist? How’s the tattoo.”

  “Don’t even know it’s there,” she breathed.

  I kissed her neck. “That was incredible.”

  “You’re incredible.”

  “You want to shower?”

  “Not right now,” she said. “I want to lay here and rest for a minute. I like your skin.”

  I laughed. “I like your skin, too.”

  “I love you, Porter.”

  “I love you, too.”

  The minute she spoke never expired from the clock. Within seconds, she was snoring, dead asleep.

  I chose to let her sleep for a few minutes. She needed the rest. Since the seafood incident, she’d been exhausted.

  I thought of Connecticut in the fall. The leaves. The cool air. Abby’s laughter. Her parent’s joy. The pride she’d wear on her face when she showed them the ring.

  The pride I’d feel when she explained how I gave her the ring. How she learned, on that day, to accept some surprises as being a good thing.

  In that moment of slumber, I decided I’d waited long enough. When she awoke, I’d give her the ring.

  No exceptions.

  I closed my eyes and nestled myself in the relief of knowing our proposal was on the horizon. I clutched her body tight to mine, hoping for another moment of feeling our skins become one.

  And, it was there that I fell asleep.

  113

  GHOST

  I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Confused as to what had happened, I glanced at the television. The Samsung screen saver bounced from one corner of the television to the other.

  I rolled to the side to wake Abby up. “Abby,” I tapped her on the shoulder. “Abby, wake up. We fell asleep.”

  I pressed my hand against her arm and immediately yanked it away.

  Her skin was hot to the touch.

  Not warm.

  Hot.

  I leaned over her, gripped her shoulders, and shook her. “Abby, wake up. We need to get you in the bath, you’ve got a fever.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Fuck.

  I shook her again. “Abby!”

  She was limp in my hands.

  I took her pulse. It was faint, but she was alive. I scrambled to find my phone, found it in my jeans pocket, and then dialed 911.

  “Nine-one-one, state your emergency.”

  Racing against a clock I couldn’t see, I stumbled across the floor as I tried to get into my jeans. Panic-stricken and afraid, I responded.

  “This is Porter Reeves. She’s non-responsive. She’s hot to the touch. She won’t.” I glanced in her direction. Her hair was matted and stuck to her face. “She’s got a horrible fever. I need an ambulance.”

  “Slow down,” she said. “Who is she?”

  “Abby Northrop. Uptown Abby. My fiancé. She’s. She’s passed out.”

  “Has she taken any drugs that you know of?”

  I placed my hand on her cheek. If I didn’t do something quickly, she was going to die.

  “Listen lady, I don’t have time for this shit. I’m headed to Mercy. Tell whoever you’ve got to tell I’m in a sixty-seven Mustang. Gray. License plate reads ELEANOR. Don’t try and pull me over, because I won’t. I’m taking her in there now.”

  I rested the phone between my shoulder and my cheek, picked up her naked body, and lifted her from the bed.

  “Tell them to get ready.”

  “Sir, I’m sending an ambulance. Will you verify the address? You’re on Mission Boulevard?”

  “I’m headed out the door right now.”

  “Sir, stay where you are. I’m dispatching an ambulance.”

  It would take fifteen minutes for an ambulance to navigate traffic, and an additional fifteen minutes for it to get back to Mercy. I knew alternate routes. I was a better driver than any ambulance attendant.

  If things went to hell, I’d have her there in ten minutes, tops.

  “No!” I shouted. “There’s no time. I’m headed in your direction. Tell them I’m coming. Have people ready at the emergency room.”


  “Sir, please. Stay—”

  “I’m headed down the steps now,” I mumbled. “Forget the ambulance.”

  “Does she have a pulse?” she asked.

  With Abby in my arms, I took the steps two at a time. “It’s faint.”

  “Sir, stay on the line. I’ll have a response team in wait at the entrance. Can you answer a few questions?”

  When I landed on the bottom step, the phone slipped from between my shoulder and cheek, and landed on the driveway. After trying to bend over and get it, I gave up.

  There wasn’t time.

  I carefully placed her in the passenger seat, strapped her harness in place, and ran around the car.

  I hopped in the driver’s seat, not bothering with my harness. “Hold on, Baby.” I said. “We’re going for a little ride.”

  I shoved the shifter in reverse, did a one-eighty maneuver, and shifted into first gear before the car came to a stop. After releasing the clutch, I hammered the gas.

  We shot out of the driveway and into the street. I fishtailed for sixty feet, then hit second gear. Then third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

  In triple-digit speeds, I flew up Mission Boulevard, then onto West Mission Bay Drive.

  “Don’t worry, Baby. I’ll get you there in time,” I assured her. “Almost there.”

  I took the entrance to the eight at one hundred and forty miles an hour, speeding onto the highway between a truck and a minivan, and then taking the middle lane, which was empty.

  In and out of cars I swerved, keeping an open lane ahead. “Five minutes, Sweetheart. Five minutes. Hold on.”

  In five minutes we were at the one sixty-three exit. “Hard right, Baby. Hold on.”

  With my heart in my throat, I took the exit sideways, but in control. Scripps Mercy was only minutes away, and every minute counted.

  I simply needed her to hold on.

  “Baby. I bought you a ring. It’s in my pocket. After they get you to a room, guess what? I’m going to propose to you. We’re going to have kids and play on the beach and I’m going to walk away from the club and we’re never going to have to worry about anything ever stopping us from living life. I love you so much, Baby.”

  “Baby?” I looked at her. “Baby? Did you hear me?”

  I took the Washington exit and flew toward fifth. As smoke poured from the back tires, I blasted up fifth toward the hospital’s entrance.

  “It’s right here, Baby,” I blubbered. “We made it.”

  No less than ten men were standing in front of the emergency room entrance. I hoped like hell they were there for Abby. As I slid to a stop right at their side, I realized she was completely naked.

  I yanked my door open.

  “Abby Northrop?” someone asked.

  I pulled the passenger door open. “Yes. She needs a blanket,” I shouted, lifting her from the seat. “She’s naked.”

  I turned around. “Where do I--”

  “Sir,” a doctor said. “We’ll take her.”

  A rolling bed was between me and the door. People came from every direction. Monitors, wires, and hoses were being attached to her faster than I could comprehend what was going on. Then, as they began to rush her into the hospital, it dawned on me that there was nothing I could do.

  Nothing.

  “Is she alive?” I shouted.

  A man glanced over his shoulder as they ran toward the double door. “Yes,” he responded. Yes, she is.”

  114

  GHOST

  I’d been pacing the waiting room floor for five hours. George sat at the end of a row of chairs with his head in his hands, in and out of sleep.

  Andy stared out the window as she held Kimberly’s hand. The remaining members, short of Baker had fallen asleep. Baker paced the floor at the opposite side of the room.

  I couldn’t sleep. Hell, I couldn’t relax. Not until I saw Abby.

  We’d received two updates, both of which gave us no useful information, only that she was alive and fighting to stay alive. They had no idea what was wrong with her. I feared that lack of knowledge wasn’t in my – or in Abby’s – favor.

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  “No, thank you.” George looked up. “I’ve had so much I’m on the verge of a heart attack.”

  I sat down beside him. “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “I’ve prayed so much I don’t know what else to say,” he said. “It’s in His hands now.”

  I spit out a laugh, and then regretted it. I didn’t want to be disrespectful to George, but praying seemed a little far-fetched. Abby didn’t need a prayer, she needed a competent doctor. I second-guessed my decision to drive to Scripps and wondered if I should have taken her elsewhere.

  “Her parents are on their way,” George said. “Terrible this is how you’re going to meet them.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful about you praying. I just…”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Believe me, I understand.”

  “If it works for you, keep it up.”

  He offered a crumpled smile. “I will.”

  I wondered about food poisoning, some type of parasite, or even if she might have had an allergic reaction but guessed the hospital’s staff would have already checked such things. We’d given them all the information we thought they could use about her recent health, and nothing seemed to help.

  I wondered if she might have ingested something from the ocean on the day we surfed. While I continued to grasp at straws, George lowered his head into his cupped hands.

  I didn’t need her in perfect health. I didn’t care if she had a fever. I just needed to see her. I wanted to give her the ring, lift her spirits, and have her pull out of the funk she was in. She was a fighter. She’d proven it at least once in her life, when she beat cancer.

  I felt guilty for having recovered from my brain tumor. I would trade brain cancer for her health any day, and it sickened me that I couldn’t. That there wasn’t a way that I could fix her. It was my duty to fix her. I was her protector, and I couldn’t do my job.

  With my eyes fixed on a flickering lamp in the distant parking lot, I sat with our engagement ring in my pocket and my heart in my throat. The pain of not being able to change anything enveloped me.

  I wadded into a ball. Feeling small and incapable, I began to softly cry. After a moment, I closed my eyes. I needed to look rested when she saw me. I needed to be strong.

  “Mister Reeves?”

  “Mister Reeves?”

  “Mister Reeves!”

  I jumped from my seat. A doctor I didn’t recognize stood in front of us. I nudged George. “Someone’s here.”

  He crossed his arms and raised his brows slightly. “Mister Reeves?”

  “Porter Reeves, yes, Sir.” I shoved my hand into my left pocket and squeezed the ring in my hand. “What’s the latest, Doc?”

  “Mister Reeves, we’ve done everything we can,” His gaze dropped. “I’m sorry--”

  My face flashed hot with anger. “Everything you can?” I scoffed. “Do we need to take her somewhere else? What? You’re giving up? Where is she? I’ll take her somewhere else.”

  “Mister Reeves.” He lifted his chin. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”

  “Gone?” I shouted. “What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

  He cleared his throat. “She’s passed.”

  “Heaven help me,” George blubbered.

  “Dead?” The word came out as a whisper. “You’re telling me she’s dead?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “She can’t be,” I cried. “I just brought her in here. We were in bed together, sleeping.” I shook my head. He was mistaken. He had the wrong patient in mind. “I’m talking about Abby Northrop. Five-two. Pale skin. Dark hair.”

  I reached for him, but a hand stopped me. I yanked my arm free. “She came in with a fucking fever,” I bellowed. “A fever. You’ve got the wrong--”

  He reached shoulder. “I’m sorry
.”

  A lump rocketed into my throat. I began to shake. Someone touched me. I fell into one of the chairs. I looked up at the doctor.

  I swallowed hard. “Is she…she’s…dead?”

  “Yes, Mister Reeves,” he said. “We’ve lost her. Again, I’m sorry.”

  I was in an all too familiar place. This time, it was so very much worse. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. There had to be a misunderstanding.

  His mouth moved, but I heard nothing. A dull pain took one limb at a time, until my entire body went numb.

  George placed his hand on my shoulder, but I felt nothing. He wept. The light denim of my jeans became dark with tears that dripped from my chin. I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t reason. I was elsewhere.

  Somewhere quiet. Where pain didn’t exist. Voices couldn’t be heard.

  The doctor touched my shoulder again, and then turned away.

  I stood over the gurney they’d placed her on. I wanted to take her hospital gown off, and replace it with one of her dresses, and her Converse sneakers.

  Her skin was too pale. Much more so than normal.

  I took her cold hand in mine. “I’m sorry, Baby,” I said, my voice quivering as I spoke. “I tried. I got here as fast as I could. I just…”

  My legs turned to rubber.

  George pulled me to my feet. As he steadied me, I continued. “I love you. With all my heart,” I sobbed. “I just…I love you.”

  I traced my finger along her ring finger, where I’d failed to place the ring. I’d forever regret not having the courage to follow through with the proposal. Filled with regret, anger, and sorrow, I held her hand in mine.

  “Mister Reeves,” A voice said. “We need to take her now. I’m sorry.”

  I raised my right hand to silence him.

  Then, I leaned over her, kissed her on the lips, and said my final words.

  “Goodnight, Sweetheart. I love you.”

  I shuffled toward the door, holding onto George’s arm for support. We stepped into the hallway and paused. As we both shed another tear for our loss, the doctor pushed the gurney past us.

  My vision narrowed until all I could see was the doctor as he pushed Abby away. He reached the double doors at the end of the hallway, paused, and pushed a button on the wall. As he passed through the opening, going completely out of sight, what little faith I had in love vanished right along with him.