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

by Jaci J

  I more than fucking like her.

  “No.”

  “Bailey—”

  “I’m not sorry,” she mumbles, catching a tear with her finger.

  Stripped down, no make-up, no sexy getup, no bad attitude, no distance between us, I see through her bullshit. “C’mere,” I say, my voice firm.

  She does, letting me pull her into me.

  “You’re not gonna run me off, but you can’t fuckin’ do that shit. You can’t leave like that.”

  “T—”

  “It’s not fucking safe, baby. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know where you are.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “You’re not going to tell me?” she asks, her lip between her teeth.

  With my thumb, I pull it from between her teeth before kissing, claiming her lips with a kiss that has her gasping. “You’re not gonna run me off,” I tell her again, my hand catching her jaw. “Even when you try your bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit,” she argues, biting her lip again.

  “It is bullshit. You’re not your fucking mother, and you’re not going to fucking run me off.”

  “T …”

  “Bailey,” I huff, putting her on her back under me on the bed.

  She looks up at me, her eyes soft and needy.

  “I’m still not sorry.”

  I grin; I can’t help it. Pulling her tank over her head, Bailey’s tits, heavy and round, beg for a good fucking. “Good, because I’m going to make you fucking sorry and enjoy every second if it,” I growl, palming both tits in my hands and pushing them together before going in with my teeth, tipping and sucking until her back is arching off the mattress.

  “Shit.”

  “Wrong, baby. What I want to hear is, ‘I’m sorry, T,’” I tell her, pulling her sweats and her panties down her legs before pushing between them, my cock in my hand.

  “Fuck you,” she moans, wiggling under me.

  Pushing the head of my cock into her wet cunt, I smile when she groans. “Yeah, baby. I am fucked.”

  So fucking fucked over her.

  BAILEY

  “Pack a bag.” T’s standing at the foot of my bed, pulling on his jeans, his chest still slick with sweat.

  Whiplash.

  Lying in my bed, naked, I look up at him.

  “Don’t make me tell you again, Bailey,” he growls, swatting my ass with a solid palm.

  “T...” I say for what feels like the hundredth time in a twenty-four-hour period.

  “You can either pack your own shit or I can pack it for you.”

  I flick my hand in the direction of my closet. “Go ahead.”

  “Pack a goddamn bag. This isn’t a negotiation, and I’m not playing with you. Not after earlier.”

  “You’re right, because I’m not packing a damn thing.”

  I feel the bed dip near my body and T leans into me. His chest presses against my back and he puts his mouth near my ear, making me shiver. “You were being so fucking sweet ten minutes ago. Do I need to fuck you again, baby? That the fucking issue, not enough dick?”

  A strangled moan slips past my lips.

  Goddamn him.

  “That’s what I fucking thought. Get up. Pack a bag. I’ll reward you with more orgasms later.”

  Taking T’s hand, I let him pull me from my warm sheets. I walk butt naked through the room to get my robe from the back of the bathroom door and slide it on as T watches, his shirt still in his hand.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t have time to fuck you again right now.”

  “No?” I tease, slipping the robe down my shoulders, exposing my chest.

  T groans.

  I love the sound.

  “No, baby. We’ve got somewhere to be. We had somewhere to be hours ago, before you pulled your bullshit.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “There’s another one,” he snorts, pointing his long, calloused finger at me. “Get fucking dressed and pack a fucking bag before I cash in on all those goddamn eye rolls, because baby, you fucking owe me after earlier.”

  _______________

  Dressed in warm layers, I hold onto T as he roars down the deserted highway, his bike vibrating under us.

  Early in the morning, we’re the only people on the highway.

  Not a soul for miles.

  The sky is inky black, gray clouds clinging to the bright moon, casting shadows on the highway in front of us as it threatens to rain.

  I can’t feel my nose or my lips. Burying my face in T’s back, I inhale the smell of his leather cut mixed with the chilled night air and the spray from the ocean around us.

  There’s nothing like being on the back of his bike.

  Nothing like my arms wrapped around his strong body.

  Nothing like his large body controlling the powerful machine under us.

  Nothing like leaving everything, all the bullshit, behind us.

  Nothing like forgetting everything and just being in the moment.

  Nothing compares.

  T doesn’t ask me if I’m okay.

  He knows I am.

  I enjoy the ride, falling a little more in love with T the farther we ride, because while on the back of his bike, there’s nothing but the two of us, none of the bullshit.

  T pulls into the empty club lot. The lights are off and the property is dead. He cuts the engine and takes my hands from around his waist, helping me off the back of his bike.

  Getting off, he grabs my bag from the saddlebags on his bike and takes my hand, pulling me through the club and out back, toward his room.

  The rooms are old, rundown, and rusted, but for some weird, fucked-up reason, I feel at home in the small motel room. I feel even more at home in it with T.

  Tossing my bag on the mustard colored crushed velvet chair in the corner, T shrugs out of his cut and kicks off his boots.

  “Get comfortable, baby, we’re gonna be here for a while.”

  “How long’s a while?” I ask, pulling off my own sweatshirt. The rest of that statement, because I have a life to get back to, sits on my tongue, a tongue I bite to keep from letting it slip. After earlier, I can’t find it in me to say a damn thing.

  “Until shit with the Russians dies down.”

  “What does that mean?” Sitting at the edge of the bed, I pull my boots off.

  “Means shit’s about to get a little fucking messy, and the less you’re out there alone,”—he nods toward the door and outside the room—“the safer you’ll be.”

  “I can’t be alone?”

  “You can be alone here at the club, not out there. Out there, you’re with me. Shit’s not safe, like I was telling you earlier, ya know, before you pulled your shit.”

  Mid-eyeroll, I stop and look at T. He’s staring at me, his dark brow quirked.

  “You gonna pull some more shit?”

  “No, but how unsafe is it?”

  Dragging a hand down his face, he shrugs. “Bad enough that I’m not willing to leave you out there unprotected.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, not sure if I believe what I’m saying.

  “I told you this shit wouldn’t touch you again, and I meant it.”

  “So what? I hide here?”

  “You’re not hiding.”

  “I’m not?” Laughing, I look around. “I’m locked deep inside your club compound, gun-toting bikers everywhere. What would you call it?”

  “I call it you not out there doing your bullshit.”

  “T…” I groan.

  “It’s for your safety and my sanity.”

  “Your sanity?”

  “Yeah, baby, my fucking sanity.”

  25

  T

  BAILEY LOOKS UP at me, her head cocked. “Your sanity?”

  Yeah, my fucking sanity.

  The idea of something happening to her, even something small and in-fucking-significant, makes it hard to get any goddamn thing done. Having her her
e, where I can see her, makes dealing with this fucking mess a little easier.

  She slipped out on me earlier. It won’t happen again.

  “Yeah, baby, my fucking sanity.”

  I know she doesn’t get it, probably won’t since this shit is new, but lockdowns happen. They happen for a lot of reasons, but with the Russian deal dead in the water, I know there’s a good chance of retaliation, and I don’t want Bailey anywhere near it.

  “How long am I here for?”

  “How long you wanna be here?”

  My question catches her off-guard.

  “I have a choice?”

  “Depends on your answer.”

  She rolls her eyes, getting off the bed.

  “That’s another one,” I grunt, pointing at her pretty brown eyes.

  She rolls her eyes again, turning away from me.

  I want to fucking strangle her.

  I watch her move to the window, pulling back the curtain to look out. I don’t know what she’s looking at. Everyone is either asleep or at home, so there’s not a goddamn thing to look at other than the rain outside the window. “How far do you think I’ll get before you wake up and come for me if I sneak out while you’re asleep this time?”

  “Not very.”

  A few feet at fucking best, because from here on out, I’ll be sleeping with my goddamn eyes open.

  Sighing, she drops the curtain and comes back toward me, pulling off her jacket.

  “I think you like to be chased, Doll,” I tell her, sitting on the edge of the bed, tired.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Made me chase you for a year before I even got you here, and I’ve been chasing your ass since,” I grunt, reaching for her, but she stays just out of reach. “You spew your bullshit and run, and I chase. You fucking enjoy it.”

  She doesn’t run this time, but she wants to.

  I watch her fight with herself to stay rooted to the floor.

  She’s trying to prove me wrong.

  “You scared of me, or are you scared of how much you want me?” I ask her, getting my hands on her when she steps between my legs.

  I had her only an hour ago, but I want more.

  I need more.

  “I’m scared of how much my life is changing,” she admits, crawling onto my lap, thighs wrapped around my waist, knees on either side of me.

  “You like working at the Pink Cat? I’ll buy you a fucking club and you can dance there.”

  “You can’t just throw money at things, T. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “In my world, it does, baby.”

  “I gave you your money back. We owe each other nothing.”

  “Not my money,” I tell her, meaning that shit. It’s hers. “But this,”—I nod down at her body—“is mine. Every fucking inch of it. You don’t want to call it ownership? That’s fine with me, call it what you want. But let’s be real fucking clear—you’re mine.”

  I watch something in her expression change.

  Maybe it’s realization. Maybe she’s finally understanding what I’ve been saying all along. Or maybe it’s sheer determination to do exactly the opposite. But there’s something there, something in those dark eyes.

  “What about you?” she questions, draping her arms over my shoulders.

  “What about me?”

  “You own me, but I don’t own you?”

  “Baby, you’ve owned me far longer than I’ve owned you.”

  She smiles, her pink tongue teasing her lower lip. She loves that shit.

  BAILEY

  Sitting on a stool at the bar counter, I sip my coffee, a big man named Tiny sitting next to me sipping his own. He’s a giant—a bear of a man.

  “More coffee?”

  I nod yes.

  “Where you from, girl?” he asks, passing the coffee pot to me.

  Topping off my cup, I tell him, “All over.” Which is true. I’ve lived all over the West Coast. My mom didn’t like to stay in one place for very long. “Thanks,” I say, passing the pot back to him.

  The giant takes it from my hand and sets it on the bar top with a thump. “Yeah? Where?”

  “Lived down south, near Redding. Moved up by Portland. Over toward the border of Idaho.” I shrug. “Everywhere.”

  I woke early. T was wrapped around me, the heat of his body making it hard to sleep. I slipped out of bed, and for a moment, I contemplated leaving, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not today, not after yesterday. Instead, I left the room in search of cool air and hot coffee.

  “What brought you here? T?”

  I shake my head. “Just landed here one day. You?”

  Tiny jerks his head from side to side. “Nah. From up in Washington. Gonna have to get T to bring ya up, meet the rest of the club.”

  I smile, thinking of a road trip on the back of T’s bike. “I’d like that.”

  “The fuck you doin’, Tiny, hitting on T’s girl?” an older man hollers, walking up next to Tiny, a hand on his shoulder. “You know how T gets.”

  T’s dad.

  Tiny laughs. “No harm, yeah?” He looks at me. “Just keepin’ the girl company.”

  “He’s been a gentleman.”

  “Aye. Don’t go around ruinin’ my reputation there, girl,” Tiny scolds, offering me a fatherly smile, flicking at my nose with his meaty finger.

  “Sorry.” I laugh, holding my hands up. “He’s been a real manly pig.”

  “That’s better,” Tiny grunts, hauling off the stool next to me, his hand landing on my shoulder for support. “I better be seein’ your pretty face and T’s ugly mug up in Washington here soon, yeah?”

  I nod, smiling. “Yeah.”

  Tiny walks off and T’s dad sits down. “Figured I’d come over, meet ya properly.”

  “And?” I ask, head cocked.

  The man looks at me sideways.

  He’s a dead ringer for an older T. Gray and handsome. Long, dirty blonde hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Salt and pepper in his sideburns and beard. His face in lined with age and weathered, showing a good, long life. He’s still muscular and cut, but somehow soft in a way.

  “And what, girl?”

  “And what do you think? Am I worthy?”

  I may be new to the whole MC club thing, but I know how these men work. If one doesn’t like me, then none of them do.

  It’s all or nothing.

  T’s old man drags his eyes up and down my frame from head to toe. “Better than the garbage my son usually brings around here,” he tells me, putting his coffee cup to his mouth and taking a large drink.

  “Doesn’t have the best taste?”

  He chuckles. “What taste?”

  I cringe. “That’s promising,” I mutter, staring into my cup.

  The club is quiet this morning, the main room empty outside of five bodies scattered throughout the large room. No one is looking at us, everyone still trying to wake up.

  “Seen your face around here longer than any other faces. That promising enough for ya?”

  We’ve seen each other only a time or two. The idea is a little scary.

  “I’m getting the impression that T’s not a one-woman man.”

  “Not tryin’ to run you off, sweetheart, just tellin’ ya truths.” The man turns to me, his hand out. “Name’s Danny Boy, by the way. Figured it was high time I introduced myself since it seems my son is keepin’ ya around.”

  I take his hand, shaking it firmly. “Bailey, but I’m assuming you know that.”

  Danny Boy nods. “Yeah. Heard your name a time or two.”

  I don’t say anything else, I just drink my coffee, thinking about what T’s dad just said.

  T likes trashy girls, and he likes them for about a minute before moving on to something else.

  That doesn’t surprise me.

  It also doesn’t make me feel good.

  Maybe I should have left this morning…

  “You done down at the Pink Cat?” Danny Boy asks, looking at me
again.

  “Seems like it.”

  He nods, thoughtful. “For the best, yeah? Seems like they like to play games.”

  I shrug, not sure what he means. “I guess.”

  “My son stuck his neck out for you. Don’t make him regret it.”

  I don’t know what that means.

  “Only thing I did was show up for work and keep my mouth shut.”

  Danny Boy nods, getting off his stool. “Good. Keep it that way. You’ll get far around here like that.” Picking up his coffee cup, he turns and walks away.

  I don’t ask what he means because I know what he’s getting at. Loose lips sink ships. In other words, keep my fucking mouth closed and we’ll be good.

  Message received.

  Still at the bar, I feel a body walk up behind me. I can feel the heat and familiarity rolling off of it.

  T.

  “Woke up alone. Didn’t fucking like it, baby.”

  “You said I could be alone here.”

  “I did.”

  “So I came down here. Just getting to know your club.”

  “Yeah? What’d ya learn?”

  “Just learned you have a hard time keeping your dick in your pants and out of trash.”

  Grabbing my arm, T spins me on my stool to face him.

  Wearing nothing but a pair of loose black sweats, he makes my thighs clench.

  “Yeah? Where you hear shit like that?”

  “Around,” I smirk, loving the way he shifts uncomfortably.

  He looks over his shoulder at the few of his brothers hanging out. “I find out who’s tellin’ my girl shit they shouldn’t, they’re getting a fucking beat down,” he announces, glaring around the room.

  “Do you feel better?” I ask, laughing when he looks back at me.

  “I’d feel better if we were back in my room and you were naked in my bed.”

  I shrug, holding up my coffee cup. “Coffee. Sorry.”

  “Didn’t we establish this shit last night? I’ll make you fucking sorry.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  He smirks, jerking the cup from my hand, coffee spilling everywhere before hauling me off the stool and into his arms.

  “Yeah, baby.”

  26

  T

  BAILEY HAS TAKEN over my bed.

  She’s taken over my fucking room.

  She’s taken over my fucking life.

  We’ve been holed up in here for three days.