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

by Jaci J

  Bailey doesn’t look like she believes that shit. “Is it because she’s not biker babe enough?”

  That gives me pause.

  I’m not exactly sure what she’s trying to ask. “Biker babe? The fuck does that even mean? Are you asking me if I’m into those tired ass, worn-out muffler bunnies that hang around the club wearing tight leather and faded tattoos?”

  She shrugs. “I mean, the type of women who wear leather and shoot guns, and carries brass knuckles in her cool leather tasseled purse.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “What the fuck?” I laugh. “Your imagination is getting a little out of control there, don’t ya think?”

  “Seriously. I like make-up and pretty things. I mean, I can shoot a gun, but I don’t think I’m much of a biker babe.”

  I don’t even know what the fuck a biker babe is other than a bitch that hangs around the club. “I couldn’t give a shit less if you’re biker babe enough,” I scoff, dropping my towel and pulling on a pair of old sweats, her eyes directly on my cock.

  “You sure?” she asks my dick.

  “Bailey?”

  “Huh?”

  “You talking to my cock or me?”

  Rolling her eyes, she looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine. “I’m talking about how I think I might not be the type of girl you usually date.”

  “You’re right, you’re not. And that’s another fucking eye roll.”

  That shocks the shit out of her. “Really?”

  “Yeah, baby, because I don’t fucking date. I fuck. I get my dick sucked. I get my dick wet. I might buy a bitch a beer, but that’s about it.”

  I don’t do that normal dating bullshit. I don’t text and call. I don’t knock on your door and walk you to my car. I don’t buy you flowers or dinner. I fuck you in an alley. I get my cock sucked at a party. I kick you out of my bed when I’m done with you.

  “But you bought me coffee and a muffin,” she counters, arms crossed like she’s caught me up in a lie.

  “And I’ll buy you more shit. You. I’ll do the shit I don’t do with anyone else for you. But I don’t date, Bailey. I didn’t until I met you.”

  She smirks, clearly enjoying the shit out of my answer. “Good.”

  “Getting a big head, baby.”

  “Will you buy me make-up and purses?”

  I know she’s joking, but I’m not when I tell her, “Yes.”

  Bailey isn’t the type of bitch you date.

  She’s the type you marry.

  “You gonna be my old lady?”

  “That depends. What’s an old lady?”

  “My girl. My woman. My old lady.”

  “Does that title come with a benefits package?”

  “Dick twenty-four seven, and a man who’d hurt someone for ya.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I can fix shit,” I snort, getting onto the bed next to her, pushing her onto her back and settling myself between her thighs.

  “Like what? Microwaves? Be more specific.”

  “Like fixing the ache building between these thick thighs,” I tell her, sliding my palms up and down her legs.

  She laughs and flips the page in the magazine, then turning it toward me.

  “What about her?”

  “What about her?” I pull on her jeans, not worried about the bitch on the page.

  “Fuck her, marry her, kill her?”

  “What?”

  “Would you fuck her, marry her, or kill her?”

  Pulling the magazine down, I look at her over it. “The only person I’m fucking, marrying, or killing is you, baby.”

  “You want to kill me?”

  BAILEY

  “You want the sweet answer or the real answer,” T questions, jerking the magazine from my hand and chucking it onto the floor.

  On my back, T looming over the top of me, I look at him, studying this face. “Real. Always real.”

  I’ve had lies. I don’t want them. From T, I want real.

  “Yeah, baby. Some days, I wanna throttle the fuck out of ya.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  His hands at the waist of my jeans and deft fingers, he pops all four buttons before shoving his thumbs on either side of the denim and pulling them down, his eyes on what he’s doing.

  I watch his face.

  His stoic, handsome, and scary.

  There’s a scar through his eyebrow. A thick, rough, five o’clock shadow covering his chin and cheeks. And that hard, unforgiving stare.

  He’s intimidating.

  He’s menacing.

  He’s hot as hell.

  “You’re starin’, baby,” he says, glancing up at me while dragging my jeans down my legs.

  “I know.”

  “Like what you see?” Pushing his rough hands up my stomach and under my tee, his palms rub against my achingly hard nipples.

  “Yeah,” I whisper, fighting a soft moan when he rolls a nipple between his thumb and finger.

  So good.

  Too good.

  “Good. Gonna be seeing a lot of it.”

  “I like your club too,” I murmur, shivering when he drags my shirt over my chest, my tits springing free. “Everyone seems nice.”

  “Gonna be seein’ a lot of that too.” Grabbing both of my tits in his rough hands, he pushes them together, kneading them with his fingers. His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking and biting, before paying the other the same attention, alternating between each.

  My back arches, causing him to chuckle.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  “Already there, baby.”

  “T…”

  “You can keep fighting me, but it’s not gonna do ya any good,” he growls, nipping the underside of my boob.

  “T…”

  “It’s cute, though, you tryin’ to keep me away from what’s mine.”

  A shiver races up my spine.

  What’s his.

  I’m his.

  “I’m not yours.”

  “You in my bed?”

  “You know I am.”

  “You on the back of my bike?”

  I nod, biting my lip.

  I know where he’s going with this.

  “You got my hands, my mouth on you?”

  “T…”

  “Keep sayin’ my name like that, you’re gonna get more than just my hands and mouth.”

  I smile, despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t. It only encourages him.

  “I should get some sleep. I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Only thing you’re gonna be workin’ is that pussy on my dick.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Fucking serious, Bailey. No work tomorrow.”

  “I got bills,” I moan, his hand sliding into my panties, his fingers dipping into my wetness, teasing me.

  “I got needs, woman.”

  I quirk a brow at him. “Needs?”

  “Yeah. Needs to spend fucking time with you.”

  My chest tightens, my heart thumping wildly. “You want to spend time with me?”

  “In and out of this bed. Surprise you?”

  “A little.”

  “Blow off work tomorrow. You’re staying with me.”

  “Why tomorrow?” I mumble, caught up in the sight of T sliding between my legs, shouldering his way between my thighs.

  “Club party,” he murmurs, looking at me from between my legs.

  “I don’t do fun.”

  “Fine with me, Doll. We can have no fucking fun together.”

  I laugh, the sound dying on my lips and fading into a gasp when T pulls my panties to the side, his fingers pushing into my body.

  “You’re here tomorrow. With me.”

  “I have to—”

  “With me. Tomorrow.”

  I can only nod when his tongue licks my clit.

  In this moment, I’d agree to anything.

  Anything.

  14

  T

  BAILEY IS IN
awe. Eyes big, pretty lips parted, her head on a swivel. She’s looking around me, watching everything, taking it all in.

  “How many people are here?” she asks, trying to take the beer from my hand, her fingers bumping into the bottle, too busy gawking to grab it from me.

  “Couple hundred,” I answer, putting the beer in her hand.

  “All for a birthday?”

  “Not every day my old man turns sixty.”

  She finally meets my eyes. “It’s your dad’s birthday?”

  I nod. The cranky motherfucker is sixty, and still kicking ass and taking names. Swear to fuck, the old man gets more pussy than I do.

  “Your dad must be one popular dude.”

  “They’re just here for the free booze.”

  “Are all these people part of your club?”

  Standing outside the back of the club, I look around at all our friends and family, and think about all the parties we’ve had here over my lifetime. Birthdays, deaths, holidays, and some just for the fuck of it.

  There ain’t no party like a Hell’s Disciples party.

  “Yeah. Chapters from different states, support clubs, friends and family.”

  “I’ve been to parties, but none like this.”

  “Just wait until it gets dark.”

  “What happens when it gets dark?”

  “You’ll have to hang around and see.”

  Bailey frowns up at me, her lips pursed. “You know, I should be going to work.”

  “You should, but you won’t.” When those pretty eyes of hers roll, I warn, “That’s another one.”

  Shaking her head, she walks off and I follow, my balls in her fucking hand.

  _______________

  “You have a twin?” Bailey shouts at me, her hands flying all over the place, grabbing my cut and jerking on it, pointing at Trace like I don’t fucking see him.

  She’s been drinking.

  A lot.

  She called into work and now she’s mine for the night.

  I fucking won that one.

  I knew I would.

  “Yeah,” I grouse, tipping my beer toward Trace over her shoulder. He’s standing next to our pops, talking with a group of brothers.

  Blood is the only thing my brother and me have in common. A house in the suburbs and a corporate job, Trace is everything I never fucking wanted to be.

  But he’s blood—my brother.

  “He looks just like you,” she chirps, like she’s the first person to bring that shit to my attention. I’ve heard it all my life, but I don’t see it.

  “Yeah, baby, twin. Ya know, shared DNA and all that.”

  She smacks my arm. “I know, but it’s crazy.” Getting up from her chair, she steps away from me, staring at my brother. “I want to meet him.”

  Jesus.

  I nod her on. “Go ahead, Doll Face. See if he can resist you, something I can’t seem to do.”

  She gives me a wicked smile. “Challenge accepted.”

  I watch her walk her fine ass across the yard toward my brother.

  The motherfucker is wearing khakis, a pink fucking tee, and gelled hair. I chuckle, looking down at myself in old faded jeans, a white tee, boots, and my cut. I rolled out of bed, no shower, no shave, no nothing.

  We couldn’t be any more different.

  But that doesn’t stop Bailey from standing in front of him, hands on her round hips with wide smile on her pretty plump lips.

  She says something and he smiles in return.

  The bitch wins him over in a matter of seconds.

  My brother tosses his arm over her shoulders and guides her toward the keg, and she tosses a look over her shoulder at me, a smug smile on her face.

  She wins.

  She was always going to win.

  “You must’ve learned your game from your brother,” Rock snorts, coming to stand next to me, looking at Bailey.

  I put my beer to my lips. “Must have,” I scoff, taking a swig.

  “Mr. Steal Your Girl is lookin’ pretty preppy these days, yeah?”

  “Yeah. He’s some bigwig downtown now.”

  “Think he’ll let me take his Jag for a spin?”

  “Think you got a better shot at gettin’ him in a cut than your ass in the driver’s seat of that Jag.”

  Laughing, he says, “Maybe your girl could get it for me.”

  “I’m sure she could. The woman could charm a fucking charmer.”

  “I’m a happily taken motherfucker, but even I would have a hard time resisting her.”

  “You better try harder, then,” I growl, cutting a quick look at him. I wouldn’t think twice about putting a fist through his skull.

  “Not gonna fuck her. El isn’t into that shit anyway.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “It wasn’t so long ago that we were sharing bitches. You forget that shit, you sensitive ass motherfucker?”

  “You tell your old lady those stories while in bed at night?”

  “Wouldn’t be standing here if I did.”

  “Yeah? And where is El?”

  “Bros before hoes and all that shit, yeah?”

  “I don’t know, man. This woman might be before all you fuckers.”

  Whistling, he looks at me sideways. “Yeah? Someone finally tame your whoring ways?”

  “Only bitch I want to fuck is flirting with my brother right now and I haven’t dropped him, so what’s that tell you?” I ask, watching Bailey take a beer from my Trace. Sitting on the top of a wooden spool, my brother leaning against it next to her, they laugh at some shit I can’t hear.

  “How the fuck does it feel to be owned?”

  “Feels like doing a line of coke. Feels like riding for the first time. Feels like fucking free falling right into a concrete slab.”

  “Females are like that. High highs and low fucking lows.” Rock smacks me on the back. “Welcome to the fucking club, brother. You’re fucked.”

  BAILEY

  “I might be drunk enough to accidently fuck your brother instead of you,” I tell T, laughing when he growls.

  I’m still thrown that T has a twin.

  They’re damn near identical.

  But T’s hotter.

  Snatching the red cup from my hand, he chucks it into the fire. “You’re cut off, baby.”

  I laugh, taking the beer from his other hand while I get up and walk away from him, putting the beer to my lips and taking a sip, smiling at him from over the rim.

  T is sitting in a lawn chair, his large frame stretched out and relaxed.

  He’s so damn handsome.

  I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips.

  I wish I didn’t want to be with him so damn bad, but the man makes it hard to say no.

  “Either c’mere or quit staring at me,” he huffs, his eyes locked on mine.

  “What are you going to do if I don’t do either?”

  He pushes out of the chair, slowly and methodically, a wicked quirk to his full mouth. “You gonna run, baby?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “How fast you are,” I giggle, backing up slowly.

  Taking a couple of steps back, I bump into something solid, and a pair of muscular arms wrap around me, holding me hostage.

  “What do you want me to do with her?”

  T licks his lips, his eyes dragging up my body, lingering on my mouth. “Let her go. I love a good chase.”

  “T,” I giggle, slipping from Bish’s arms and stepping back.

  “Bailey,” he retorts, his tone mocking.

  T prowls toward me, his steps measured, swallowing up the distance between us quicker than I can get away.

  I’m laughing, and so is he.

  I can’t remember a time in my life that I’ve felt this happy, this free—this reckless.

  There are people everywhere, and every single one of them are happy, having a good time.

  I’m happy.

  “C’mere, you little shit. You made me chase y
ou for a fucking year. I’m done chasing your ass.”

  “Don’t want you to get bored,” I smart back, squealing like a girl when he lunges for me.

  I’m not fast enough.

  I dodge a big body a few feet in front of me, running for my life and laughing like a deranged mental patient.

  Catching me easily, his arms wrap around my waist and he flips me over his shoulder, upside down, my legs in the air.

  “Tyler!”

  “Bailey.”

  My stomach hurts from laughing so much.

  He makes his way through the partygoers, back toward the old motel. No one bats an eye at us. T walks us over to his sister and her husband, Rock and his girl, and a few other people, not even slowing when Rocks asks, “She bein’ bad?”

  Landing a hard slap on my ass, he grunts a simple, “Always,” before jumping into the pool.

  My body lands in the cold water with a loud splash, T’s arms still locked around my body.

  I come up from air, my face inches from T’s.

  “You done runnin’?” His eyes are hard on mine, water dripping down his face.

  “A little chase won’t hurt you,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss his lips, snaking my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as he treads water, keeping me afloat.

  I kiss him once, twice, three times before he returns it, and when he does, he kisses me.

  It’s not a peck or a quick kiss.

  It’s deep.

  It’s demanding.

  It’s damaging.

  There goes my heart.

  “No, but it might hurt you,” he claims, biting my lower lip.

  “Me?” I question, wiping the drops of water from around his eyes.

  “Yeah.” He squeezes me tightly. “You.”

  I smile at him. It’s involuntary.

  I knew this would happen.

  With T, there’s no one else around, nothing existing outside of us. Not his club. Not mine. Not my hustle. Not his past.

  Nothing.

  And that scares me.

  15

  T

  “I’VE HAD THAT shirt since high school,” I blurt out, watching Bailey destroy it with a pair of scissors and sheer determination.

  The little shit is just hacking away at the fucking piece of fabric.

  She’s standing in my room at the club, hair soaked from the pool and make-up free, in nothing but those sexy as fuck boy short panties, tearing away at a band tee I’ve had for fifteen fucking years like the motherfucker owes her money.