The Rush: The Hell's Disciples MC (The Hell's Disciples MC Series)

by Jaci J

  “I get that you can’t tell me about your club business, and I don’t expect you to. But don’t use club business as your excuse to leave me out of the loop. I know it really hasn’t happened yet, but I know it will. I’ve got trust issues, so lies aren’t going to work for me, T.”

  He’s silent for a moment before he says, “I was in jail.”

  His words throw me. I wasn’t expecting them, not really.

  Sitting up in bed, I look at him. “Seriously?”

  “When I was gone for those few weeks, I was down in Texas, up to my fucking ass in the illegal gun trade.”

  I’m shook.

  In the back of my mind, I knew he wasn’t a good guy living on the straight and narrow. I knew he wasn’t a used car salesman by day and hobbyist biker by night.

  What he’s telling me is important.

  “None of this shit leaves this room, yeah? This is Disciples business.”

  I nod.

  “Need to hear the words, Bailey.”

  “Nothing you’re telling me leaves this room.”

  “Ever.”

  “Ever.”

  T sighs. “Good.”

  “You were in jail?”

  “Yeah, Doll Face. While I should’ve been here, pounding you into the fucking mattress, I was in eight by eight cell, mad as hell at myself for not showing up for you when I said I would.”

  “It’s not a big deal.” I brush it off like I always do because he seems so sincere, and for some reason I believe him, and that’s why T is so damn dangerous. I’m mad at him one minute, and then the next I’m forgiving him.

  “It fucking is. I don’t have a lot, but what I do have is my word, and I fucked that shit up with you already.”

  Crawling out from under the comforter, I get on my knees and press my front to his back, draping my arms over his shoulders. “I’ll get over it.”

  He chuckles. “Doubt that. Figure this night will come back to bite me in the ass in about three years when we’re fighting about something that has fuck all to do with this.”

  Three years?

  He’s looking toward the future.

  Way into the future.

  “Probably.”

  10

  T

  “C’MERE.”

  “Why?” she asks softly, a smile playing on her lips. She might say she forgives me, but I’m not sure I believe that shit. Not fully anyway.

  I don’t mince words. I want her to hear what I’m saying and understand me. “So I can fuck you. Finish what we started yesterday.”

  Licking her lips, her tongue lingers there.

  I want to suck on that tongue.

  I want to feel that tongue tease the head of my cock.

  Wearing a tight white tank top, I can see her nipples poking through the material. She drags a hand up her thigh, rubbing her smooth skin, seeming nervous.

  She fucking should be.

  This shit has been a long time coming.

  Too fucking long.

  “T…”

  “Not gonna ask you again.”

  “Aren’t you going to seduce me?”

  “I put my hand in your panties and my fingers in your cunt, I’m gonna find it wet, just like I did yesterday. I don’t have to do a goddamn thing, baby, but if that’s what you want…”

  Rolling her eyes, I see past the bullshit and see the heat rising up to her neck to her cheeks. She’s wet for me, we both know it, just how she should always be.

  “There’s that eye roll again.”

  “You love it.”

  “Gonna love fucking that look off your face. Now c’mere.”

  She shakes her head again, smirking.

  She wants me to put in the work.

  That’s fine. I’ll fucking work for it.

  Getting off the edge of the bed, I walk around to the foot and lean down, grabbing her leg and dragging her down to the edge, making her fall onto her back.

  She laughs softly. “It’s four in the morning.”

  “What the fuck’s your point?”

  Grabbing her panties, I pull them down her hips and legs. She doesn’t stop me, but she doesn’t help me either. “Really, T?” hisses, putting her feet on the bed, her knees up, but her thighs pressed together when I get them off her body.

  She’s really going make me work for this shit, and that’s all right with me. I’m a hard-working motherfucker.

  “You don’t want my face between your thighs and my tongue in your cunt again?” I ask, grabbing both legs and tugging her farther down the bed.

  “You know I do.”

  “Then why the fuck you fightin’ me?”

  “I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

  “That’s fine, Doll Face. Be mad at me while I eat you out.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I want your cock.”

  That surprises me.

  “Yeah?”

  Her tongue glides along her bottom lip, teasing it with the tip. “Yeah. You keep promising me big things when you get me alone in that VIP room. It’s time to cash in.”

  Chuckling, I pull my shirt over my head and work on my boots and jeans next while she watches me, waiting for me.

  “You gonna play with yourself for me? Warm that pussy up for me?”

  “You think I won’t?” Reaching down her body, her hand sliding down her stomach to the apex of her thick thighs, she stops, her fingers rubbing small circles on her skin, teasing me, taunting me.

  “Maybe, maybe not. You like to play games. You like to tease me.”

  Her lips spread into a slow smile. “What can I say? You’re fun to play with,” she giggles, letting her legs fall apart.

  Her hand slips between her legs, her fingers teasing her wet cunt.

  I watch as she rubs slow, lazy circles around her clit, her thighs quivering.

  She’s fucking perfect.

  I watch her body move, transfixed, as she plays with herself.

  She moves like she dances, like a fucking goddess.

  That shit is hypnotizing.

  I put a knee on her bed, leaning forward to reach a hand out, pushing her legs farther apart for me.

  “Put on quite a show, Doll Face.”

  Her face is flush, her lips swollen, her body shaking.

  She’s close.

  But that orgasm is mine, and I earn that shit, tenfold.

  Bailey delivers beautifully.

  BAILEY

  “T…” I hear myself say. My voice is soft, his name floating from my lips in a breathy plea. A plea for him to stop or to stay, I’m not fucking sure.

  He can’t keep his hands to himself.

  His hands are strong and rough, his touch reverent and demanding.

  I love the way they feel on my skin, but I love them best when they’re between my thighs, playing with me until I can’t catch my breath or see straight.

  “Bailey.”

  “I just…” I fight for the right words to say, coming down from my high.

  “Don’t wanna hear you tell me no, Bailey,” he murmurs, his voice rough, coarse, like the feeling of his beard on my chest where he kisses his way to the top of my tank top, stopping only to strip it off of me, his fingers slick with my juices.

  On top of me, his arms supporting his weight, I want to feel him on me. I want more of him, every inch of him on me.

  “What do you want to hear me say?” I question, wrapping my arms around him.

  His face in my neck, his tongue teasing the skin below my ear, he says, “I wanna hear my name come from your mouth, to hear you say ‘yes’ over and fucking over again.”

  The only thing between us now are his black boxer briefs and the ‘yes’ sitting on the tip of my tongue.

  “You hear me, Bailey?” he growls, bringing one big hand between us, palming my breast.

  I shiver on contact.

  “I hear you,” I whisper.

  “Good.”

  Reaching down and into his jeans, he pull
s out a packet and rips it open with his teeth. With a skilled hand, he shoves his boxers down his legs and rolls the condom down his length with ease.

  This is the furthest I’ve ever gotten with T, and although there’s a part of me, a part that’s buried down deep right now screaming for me to stop, there’s a bigger, more predominate and bossy part of me that’s begging for this, screaming at me to keep going, not to stop.

  Everything has been building up to this moment.

  Every look.

  Every touch.

  Every word.

  All of it fucking foreplay when it comes to this man.

  I remember spending nights wishing I could be here like this with T, fantasizing about his hands, his mouth, his muscles. I’d imagine his mouth on my skin, his hands on my hips, and his body between my thighs.

  Once he’s ready, he dips his head to latch onto my nipple, his mouth warm and soft, but eager and hungry. “Now give me that yes, Doll Face.”

  The man is starved—for me.

  My back arches, coming off the bed when his tongue flicks against my nipple.

  His hand leaves my chest and glides down my stomach, stopping at my hip before dipping between my thighs again.

  I’m consumed in the best and worst way by T.

  I know I should stop this.

  I know I should tell him no.

  I know I should run the other way.

  The only thing I know for sure is that I’m going to let him do whatever the fuck he wants to do to me.

  His big hand between us, I feel the head of his dick pressing into me, the feeling so damn satisfying I almost sigh.

  This is what I’ve been craving for so long.

  “Jesus Christ,” he growls, his voice dropping to a thick whisper. “You’re tight.”

  He slides into me, big and thick, stretching me to the point of satisfying pain.

  Clinging to him, I beg for more, whispering it over and over, desperate for it.

  I’ve lost my fucking mind.

  “Yeah, I know,” he groans, understanding exactly how I’m feeling. “Shit,” he breathes as he begins pounding into me.

  Legs wrapped around his hips, he pulls back, grabbing me around the waist.

  I watch his face, the way he looks at me, and it’s fucking heady.

  T works my body right, fucking me like it’s his sole purpose in life.

  I feel him to my toes, my body shaking as he fucks me at an angle that has an orgasm tearing though me.

  Throwing my head back, I let go, coming so hard my nails leave bloody moon shapes in his forearms.

  “Fuck, Bailey. Fuck!”

  He picks up speed, fucking me into the bed and I come again, T coming with me.

  _______________

  We don’t leave my bed until the next evening when I have to get ready for work and T has to head back to his club. He leaves me with a chaste kiss and a promise to see me again, warning me not to run off. I watch him go, a feeling in my chest I can’t remember ever having— hope mixed with regret, twisted around excitement and laced with uncertainty.

  11

  T

  “YOU READY?” BISH asks, looking at me.

  “Ready for what?” I chuckle, cracking my knuckles. “Ready to knock some heads together?”

  “You need to chill the fuck out. You’re about to go in there and start a damn war.”

  I won’t lie, I’m fucking amped.

  I’m hungry, and it’s not for Bailey. I’m craving blood. “Chill? You gonna tell your VP to chill?”

  Rocky nods, getting off his bike. “Tellin’ my brother to chill.”

  “You tellin’ me El was cool with you spending the night in a cell?”

  Sighing, he rubs at his chin. “You know she wasn’t.”

  “You ride the couch last night?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Then I’m gonna ask you again, you ready to knock some skulls if shit gets out of hand?”

  Rocky nods his head in agreement.

  Bish mutters, “Fuck,” as he follows us into the building.

  _______________

  “The fuck was that shit?” I bellow, the heavy shop door hitting the tin siding with a loud bang.

  Men in suits turn, a couple of them pulling their guns, ready to blow me into next week.

  Victor, standing in the middle, holds his hand up to his men, stopping them.

  They lower their guns, but they don’t remove their fingers from the triggers.

  Doesn’t matter. I haul off and hit one of his men standing closest to me. My fist meets flesh, and I feel the pent-up anger drain from my body.

  Feels damn good.

  Victor shakes his head, his lip curled, but he doesn’t open his mouth to say a goddamn thing.

  He knows better.

  “Left here last night after the drop, and guess who we happened to run into?” I drawl, walking farther into the room, Bish and Rock at my back. “Let me save you the brain power. The fucking cops.”

  Victor’s eyes widen. It’s the only way I know he heard me, because the motherfucker is stone otherwise.

  Cold bastard.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  So fucking diplomatic.

  “Are you? Sorry enough to cut me a check for my time and trouble?” I walk right up to the large metal table they’re standing around where the guns are laid out, money in stacks right next to the ammo.

  Assault rifles.

  Grabbing one, no one stops me. They only watch, cautious, expecting me to start shooting. “Middle Eastern, yeah?” I ask, looking one over.

  It’s a crude rifle, parts and pieces from other rifles welded and stuck together.

  Victor nods.

  “Could use a crate of these.”

  “For your trouble.” He nods again, cutting a look at a man standing a few feet behind us. The man is lingering between two giant crates and a rusted-out truck, a fucking shotgun slung over his chest, ready for war.

  “My time isn’t cheap, Russian.”

  Victor smiles. “Nor is mine. Is there a reason you’re here?”

  “Not being very nice, Victor. I’m a fucking guest,” I growl, dropping the gun onto the table in front of me. “I’m here to let you know if something like last night happens again, we’re going to have issues. And before you try to pin being pulled over on me, let me fill you in. That box van we were driving? It was fucking stolen, and guess who didn’t steal it?”

  “The ball was dropped.”

  “Seems to always be that way when working with you. Happened last time, and here it is, happening again. My old man might be quick to let that shit slide, but I won’t. Don’t make me regret dealing with you.”

  I walk to the door, but before I walk through it, I turn around. “I expect a crate of those at the club, and I’m expecting our next transport to go a lot smoother, Russian. Wouldn’t want to piss me off, yeah?”

  Victor doesn’t answer, giving me his back.

  He’s done with me.

  I smile, knowing he understands what I’m saying.

  The asshole will think twice about fuckin up next time.

  _______________

  “Jesus, you’ve got a way with words,” Bish grumbles, following me back outside, a couple of Victor’s men watching us leave.

  It’s dark out, the sky pitch-black when the heavy metal door slams shut behind us.

  “Smooth, yeah?” I laugh, standing in the abandoned warehouse lot the Russians have been using as a distribution center the last few weeks.

  Bish shakes his head.

  “Like a fucking professor,” Rock chuckles, leaning back against his bike and pulling out a smoke.

  “Still smoking? Won’t your old lady kill you if she smells that shit on you?”

  “Probably.”

  “Living life on the edge?”

  “What can I say? I like to tempt fate.”

  “Walk on the fucking wild side, pissing off your old lady like that,” Bish adds, snor
ting as he tosses a leg over his bike.

  “Got a death wish,” he agrees, getting on his bike. “Comin’ back to the club?”

  “Nah. Got shit to do.”

  “She five nothin’ with a big rack?”

  Laughing, I get on my bike. Firing it up, I pull out of the lot, leaving Bish and Rock laughing as they head back toward the club.

  BAILEY

  “Where are we going?” I ask T as he walks me outside to his bike. “Because it feels like you’re always dragging me off to somewhere.” He walks around me and gets on his bike, not answering me.

  T showed up at my house ten minutes ago. He didn’t knock on my door, just walked right in, telling me to get some shoes on and to hurry up.

  “I’m not getting on unless you tell me where you’re taking me.”

  “My sex dungeon,” he deadpans, taking my hand when I get close to him.

  “Sounds dirty.”

  He tugs me close. “Really fucking dirty. Now, get the fuck on so we can go.”

  “Are you going tie me up me when we get there?”

  He smirks. “And then gag you and spank your ass, so hurry the fuck up so we can get going. My hand’s itching to turn that pretty skin red.”

  “Seriously, where are we going?” I toss back, holding fast.

  “To the club.”

  “Are we trying for a repeat of the last time we were there?” I ask, thinking about to that night and to my leaving in a hurry, like I was being chased by a monster.

  “Yeah, because that was fun for me,” he grumbles, eyes narrowed.

  Giving in, he helps me onto the back of his bike, which is a new thing for me. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” I tell him, looking it over. It’s flat black with touches of red and gray, also flat in color, but the chrome is shiny.

  It’s a beautiful beast of a machine.

  “Good.”

  “Why is that good?”

  “Means I don’t have to kill the motherfucker that took you on your first ride.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  My words don’t even faze him. “You keep telling me that.”

  Taking my hands from behind his back, he pulls them around to wrap around his waist. The seat I’m on is small but comfortable. It’s even more comfortable when he tugs me closer to him, pulling me against his back and taking my weight. “Wrap your hands around me, lean into me, and hold on.”

  “What if I fall off?” I ask, speaking up when he starts it up, the engine roaring loudly to life and drowning out my words. The bike vibrates, making me shiver against his back.