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

by Jaci J

  T

  BAILEY IS STANDING in front me, the only goddamn person in the room that matters. Bare faced, barefooted, and barely showing any emotion outside of mad.

  I’m sick and fucking tired of mad.

  I want something else.

  No more bullshit.

  “Doll Face,” I murmur, hitting the blunt passed to me.

  She looks at me, watching my mouth as I blow the smoke out from between my lips.

  She doesn’t say anything, but her lip curls.

  “What?” I ask, looking at the bitch next to me and back at her. “You gonna throw a fit, baby? Scream? Cry? Go a-fucking-head. Least I’ll know you’re fucking feeling something,” I fume, dragging my eyes up and down her frame, sizing her up.

  “Fuck you,” she snarls back, with something that resembles some sort of emotion on her face as she looks at me on the couch, some little muffler bunny next to me, smiling and petting my chest, oblivious to it all.

  Bailey is so goddamn guarded.

  I’m determined to fucking break her.

  “Try again, baby.”

  “I fucking hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.” I laugh, pushing the bitch away and getting off the couch.

  I’m a good head taller than her, and she shrinks back, nervous.

  “If you hated me, you wouldn’t be in here, close to tears.”

  She bites her lip. Hard. The beautiful red color in her lip drains away, fading into a pale pink when her teeth sink into the flesh.

  She’s holding back on.

  She’s biting her tongue, bottling shit up.

  “You gonna cry, pretty girl?” I growl, grabbing the back of her neck, jerking her to me. “I won’t hold it against you.”

  Because I feel the same goddamn way about her. I’m overwhelmed by her. Consumed by her.

  She doesn’t trust me yet, but she will if it’s the last goddamn thing I do.

  My lips hit hers and she moans, melting into me when I kiss her.

  “I might,” she whispers, finally letting me see something other than that bad ass attitude she carries around. “You’re ruining me.”

  “I know, Doll.”

  She’s doing the same fucking thing to me.

  Fisting her hands in my cut, she says, “Take me back to your room.”

  Done.

  _______________

  I’ve got Bailey exactly where I want her, and that’s in my bed, naked, and needing me.

  Fingers tangled in the sheets, her knuckles white, I pound into her from behind, her body bouncing back against mine, taking everything I give her.

  My hands are on every inch of her: tangled in her hair, gripping her hips, between her thighs, my rough hands dragging along the smooth skin of her back.

  Pushing back against me, she takes me deep and begs me for more.

  I’m not sure what’s better, the sweet little sounds coming from her mouth, or watching my cock slide into her pretty pink cunt.

  “Please, T. Please.”

  She’s fucking incoherent, and I’m losing my goddamn control.

  “That’s it, baby. Take it.”

  Hair thrown over her shoulder and down her back, she nods, agreeing to anything.

  I twist my hand in the long dark strands, tilting her head back, desperate to get my hands on her any way I can.

  Wrapping one hand around her throat, I tighten my grip on her.

  “Yes, yes, yes…” she chants, her voice fading into a satisfied whine when I change up the angle, taking her deeper and gripping her tighter.

  “That what you want?” I growl, reaching down and smacking her ass hard, letting her control the pace. And fuck, if she doesn’t. She bounces on my cock, taking exactly what she wants and how she wants it. Her hand snakes between her thighs, her fingers rubbing against her clit.

  I hit her again, and she jerks at the contact.

  “Oh my God, yes,” she moans, her voice quiet, lost somewhere between my heavy breathing and her loud moans.

  Fuck.

  I fuck her like a goddamn animal.

  Wild and uncontrolled.

  There is no thinking, just doing.

  Sweating. Breathing hard. Muscles aching. Neither one of us can seem to get enough, and we’ve been at this shit for an hour.

  “Fuck, Bailey.”

  “Tyler.” She says my name like a whispered fucking prayer.

  It becomes real as to how fucking much I love her when I’ve got her on her side, one of my arms wrapped under her leg and in the air, and my cock buried so deep inside her, that nothing in this moment matters more than her and what she needs. She’s chasing an orgasm, and I’m dead fucking set on her giving her another.

  What I want doesn’t matter anymore.

  I’d die to make her happy.

  Any fucking thing she wants.

  Any fucking time she wants it.

  Any fucking way she wants it.

  A year ago, the only motherfucker on this planet was me. It was all about what I wanted, what I needed. I fucked whoever whenever, and the only fucking person in that room that mattered was me. I gave orgasms if the bitch was lucky.

  Not anymore.

  The only thing in this universe that means anything is Bailey.

  She’s the goddamn sun.

  That shit is so fucking scary, and so fucking beautiful.

  I’d give it all up for her.

  Everything.

  Rolling her onto her back, I get between her thighs and slide back into her. Her back arches, her body coming off the bed.

  She’s so goddamn beautiful.

  I’m so fucking lucky.

  “Give me one more, baby.”

  “Yeah…” she whimpers. “Please, T…faster.” She’s shaking her head like she can’t. But she fucking will. For me.

  “Come on, one more. I’m not stoppin’ unless you give me one fucking more.”

  She nods her head, over and over, breathing heavily.

  I fuck her harder than I’ve ever fucked anyone.

  I give her all of me.

  BAILEY

  Sitting out on the second-floor balcony that skirts the entire front part of the old motel, I lean back into T, his arms wrapped around my middle, his hands pressed into my stomach as we stare off into the woodsy back lot of his club.

  T’s smoking, the sweet smell of weed clouding all around us, and I’m drinking, the deep flavor of gin clinging to my lips.

  It’s raining, water falling off the side of the motel in sheets and hitting the ground in puddles. The sound is so soothing.

  I’m perfectly content, something I’ve never felt but have always craved.

  Wearing one of T’s sweatshirts, I shiver, the wind picking up and blowing my messy hair around my face.

  “Cold?” he asks, brushing the hair away.

  I shake my head, knowing that if I say yes he’ll take us inside, and I’m not ready for that.

  “Lying to me, baby?”

  “Probably.”

  “A new habit or an old habit?”

  “A born trait.”

  He nods, handing me the joint. “Put this out for me, yeah?”

  Getting off his lap, I walk to the railing, dropping the joint onto the ground below before turning back to him.

  He’s fucking perfect.

  Broken and scarred.

  Big and nasty.

  Wrong and right.

  Sitting in an old lounge chair, wearing nothing but sweats, I stare at his chest. His skin covered in tattoos and stubble, and I smile.

  “Something funny?” he growls, pulling on my drink, the ice in the cup clinking against the sides.

  “Less funny and more scary.”

  “Still scared of me?” He holds his hand out for me. “Still can’t trust me?”

  Taking his rough hand in mine, I let him pull me onto him, my knees on either side of his hips, straddling his waist as I land.

  Face-to-face.

  Chest to chest.

 
; We haven’t been like this since I danced for him at my club.

  “A little, but you have nice eyes.”

  T smirks. “You have a nice ass,” he tosses back, chuckling as he grabs a handful of it, shaking both cheeks in each hand. “Like I told you, baby, the only scary thing out here is you. You start trusting me, you’ll see.”

  “Kiss me,” I demand.

  “Demanding, yeah?”

  It’s unmistakable, his voice. It’s a voice I’d know in a loud, crowded room. His voice is comfort. His voice is a feeling. His voice is part of me now.

  “Are you denying me?”

  “After everything?” he asks, watching my face. “Fuck no. Never.”

  Grabbing my chin, he pulls me in and kisses me, his lips soft and gentle, his kiss rough and demanding. “Still scared of me, Bailey?”

  “I think I’ll always be a little scared of you.”

  “Yeah, the feeling’s mutual.”

  I lean back and look into his blue eyes. “What scares you about me?” I’m scared to hear the answer as soon as I ask it.

  “What I’d be willing to do for you.” I don’t ask for more, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing. “I’d kill for you,” he says softly, tucking a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Die for you.”

  “That is scary.”

  He chuckles, the sound deep, but soft. “Yeah, no shit, baby.”

  “I’d die for you,” I say, the words out of my mouth before I can take them back.

  My words seem to catch him off-guard.

  He stares at me before shaking his head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “My life ain’t worth saving, Doll.”

  “T…”

  He smiles, dimples and all. “I’ve lived a good life. Now that I’ve had you, I can die a happy man.”

  “Are you dying on me?” I tease, hating the turn this conversation has taken.

  The idea of anything happening to T is fucking terrifying.

  “Aren’t we all? Some are just dying a little faster than others.”

  “But you’d look good with gray hair. Make it to gray hair, please.”

  “I’m not scared to die, Bailey,” he states bluntly, and the words hurt.

  “Well, I am—scared for you. Why are we even talking about this?” I rest my hand on his chest, his heart beating steadily against my palm.

  T only lifts his muscular shoulder.

  “Kiss me,” I demand of him again, desperate the change the subject.

  And he does, like always.

  He kisses me like he owns me, because he does. He owns every part of me.

  I can’t imagine my life without him.

  I fought so hard against him, and here I am, scared to death that something is going to happen, and he’s sitting right in front of me.

  “No dying on me, okay?” I laugh like it’s funny, when it’s anything but.

  “No promises, baby.” Standing up, he takes me with him. Legs wrapped around his middle, arms wrapped around his neck, he carries me inside and sets me on the bed.

  “Why are you talking like this?”

  “I want you prepared, ready.”

  “For what?”

  Walking over to the dresser, he pulls out a tee, puts it on, and then slides on his jeans before grabbing up a sweatshirt.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me, he bends over, pulling on his boots. “Everything, Bailey.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  He only nods before leaning over and kissing me.

  “You say all that and then leave?”

  “Club business,” is all he says, handing me his leather cut.

  Taking the cut, I hold it in my lap, the leather soft and warm against my fingers. “Club business?”

  “I’ll come back. Worked too hard to get you here not to, yeah?”

  I watch him walk away, my head nodding. “Yeah.”

  “Get some sleep, Doll,” he tells me before pulling the door closed behind him.

  Fat fucking chance of that happening.

  Not now.

  “I won’t be sleeping.”

  “Trust me, baby,” I hear his voice say in my head.

  “I’m trying.”

  29

  T

  “YOU’RE LATE.”

  “You’re fucking pushing it,” I smart off, pointing my baseball bat at Rock.

  Chucking his smoke on the ground, he puts it out with his boot. “Ain’t I always?”

  “Ain’t you always a fucking asshole?” I mutter, walking toward him.

  “We here to catch up or make up that money you lost us because you’re in love with some bitch?”

  “Says the motherfucker up his old lady’s ass twenty-four seven.”

  “Aren’t we just the sweetest little bitches,” Rock chuckles, pulling off his sweatshirt. “Colors?” he asks, tugging on his cut and looking at me. I’m not wearing mine.

  “No.”

  “You’ve always been an impulsive dickhead.”

  “They owe us money, and they owe me some fucking answers.”

  “Club’s gonna want a cut.”

  “Club’s gonna get its cut.”

  “Your old man’s gonna figure this shit out eventually. This is usually a club ride.”

  “Oh-fucking-well.”

  “Fuck the money. Just get your answers and get out. Let your old man come out here and collect.”

  Not happening.

  “That new ride your old lady’s driving ain’t free, is it?” I ask, knowing the answer. “He’ll know when his cut’s sitting on his desk, and he can ask all the questions he wants then because I’ll have all the fucking answers.”

  Nothing in life is free.

  Not a goddamn thing.

  The Hell’s Disciples might own real, legitimate businesses. We might do shit the right way from time to time, but we also have a lot of fucking mouths to feed, and a lot of those mouths like the finer things in life.

  We’re one-percenters, and that means doing that one percent of shit the rest of the world won’t.

  I’m not above digging in the trenches. I’m not above getting my hands dirty. I’m not above breaking the law, and I’m not above doing what I’ve got to do to get what I want in life.

  Rock raises his brow. “You know I’ve got your back, brother, always. Just telling you, this shit is gonna come back around.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  My boot connects with the door of the old clubhouse belonging to the Dawn Riders, and the prospect sitting by the door jumps to his feet.

  He goes for his piece, but Rock handles that shit before he can get his hands on it.

  “Collections!” I shout, walking into the room, my bat wiping a table clean of beer bottles and drink glasses.

  Everyone in the club turns in my direction, their eyes wide.

  The Dawn Riders like to pretend they’re one-percenters. They like to play on the outskirts of our playground, but they refuse to really get their hands dirty.

  They’re fucking worthless.

  Only good thing that comes from them is their yearly dues.

  “T! Hey, man,” Sid, their president, stammers, getting to his feet, some sweet butt on his lap sliding off as he stands.

  “Got my money?” I ask, looking Sid up and down.

  “Oh, uh…yeah,” he stutters, caught off-guard.

  “Good,” I say cheerfully, leaning against the bar. The bitch behind it is smiling at me, her lips parted, panting. “Beer, babe.”

  She smiles, handing me one. “You’re a Disciple.”

  “You can read,” I chuckle, pulling on the beer.

  “I’ve always heard about you guys.”

  “Yeah? Nothing good I hope.”

  She licks her lips.

  Six months ago, I would have fucked this bitch. Not now. Not when Bailey is in my bed waiting for me.

  Sid walks back out, in his hand a fat fucking envelope. “Here, man.”

  I nod
.

  “You still workin’ with the Russians?” he inquires, and I know he’s asking because he knows that I know he’s been working with them.

  I see everything.

  Money isn’t the only reason I’m here.

  “Not your business.”

  “Just thought you’d wanna hear they were here a few weeks back, asking if we wanted to work with them. They were looking for someone to be a trigger man.”

  I play surprised.

  “Yeah? What’d they want?”

  “Were asking around, seeing if we were in good with you guys.”

  “Your answer to that question was…?” Draining the rest of my beer, I watch him over the rim, looking for bullshit and lies.

  A genuine look of concern flashes behind his eyes. He’s scared, as he should be. “Told ’em no. No amount of money was worth it.”

  Cracking open the envelope, I pull out a couple bills. “For the loyalty. Only half next time.”

  Sid grins, taking my hand and shaking it, stuffing the bills into his pocket.

  “Thanks, T. We’ve always got your backs.”

  Nodding, I look at him. “Keep it that way, yeah?”

  “Always.”

  We take off, headed back to the club when a car comes flying up behind us on the deserted highway. The last goddamn thing I remember is a bullet ripping through my back tire and my body hitting wet pavement.

  BAILEY

  My phone ringing from somewhere on the bed wakes me up, pulling me out of a deep sleep. I listen to it ring a few times, eyes closed, before it stops. I debate on whether or not to let it go, but something in my gut tells me to get up and answer it.

  Sighing, I roll over, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Blinking my eyes slowly, waking up, I hear it start up again before ringing off.

  Sitting up, I dig around in T’s sheets and blankets, looking for it when it starts to ring again.

  I find it between the sheet and comforter near my legs at the end of the bed.

  Rubbing my eyes, I answer my phone, looking at the screen quickly before putting it to my ear.

  It’s four in the morning.

  “Hello?”

  “Bailey?”

  It’s a woman’s voice, and instantly, my defenses go up.

  “Yeah?” I reply hesitantly.

  “This is Sam, Tyler’s sister.”

  My heart stops, dropping into my stomach.

  Panic blooms inside of my chest.

  “Yeah, hi. What’s going on?” My voice comes out rushed, my words jumbled in sleep and worry.