The three of them could probably take me, despite the fact that I’ve got more muscle mass in my big toe than all of them put together. My biceps are huge now. But the gun is on their side, and the alcohol.
And there’s a certain code of male conduct - that you don’t overstep a guy getting his meat beat.
“Sorry Dude.” They continue to mutter as they stumble back the way they came. “We didn’t know she was taken.”
I keep my gaze fixed on them, not moving off the girl who lies still, pinned between me and the tree trunk, until they’re out of sight and I hear the sound of their bikes kick-starting in the lot.
“Like you’re a goddamned piece of property.” I mutter to myself in disgust.
“What else is new?” She whispers, drawing my gaze back to her face.
Now I see that she’s hurt. A trickle of blood is running from her mouth down her chin and a black eye seems to have sprouted since I first set eyes on her, meaning it’s a fresh hit. I forget my self-absorbed anger - because that last comment was directed toward my situation as much as hers - and focus on her.
“Douchebags.” I grit out between pinched lips while thinking far more ferocious labels in my head, that I wouldn’t say out loud in front of a woman.
I trail my finger across the line of blood in an attempt to wipe her face clean, but it’s already dried so it has to stay put, unless I use spit on her which doesn’t seem quite right in the present moment.
Her face is even prettier than I first thought, with a softness under the mask of armor she’s wearing over top. She’s almost like a little bird - why would anyone want to harm her? I can’t stomach a man that needs to abuse the fragile sex.
What sort of man are you if you need to take advantage of a frightened woman? This one is not much more than a girl.
And she’s looking up at me with huge wide eyes. I notice now that her fingertips are grinding into the back of my biceps, where they meet solid resistance thanks to my daily workout at the gym.
“It’s okay now.” I inform her. “They won’t hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you.” I add, reaching down to yank my jeans back into place.
Strangely, it isn’t fear I read in her round eyes. But I can’t make out exactly what it is going through her mind. And even more strangely, she doesn’t release her fingertip grip on me even though the danger has receded.
If anything she’s clinging on harder, even pulling me toward her unwilling to release out clinch. Her breathing is ragged. But that must be my very fertile imagination. Fertile and drought-stricken. It’s been way too long. A small correction I intend to make as soon as I get back to the clubhouse.
I hitch my pants up with a little difficulty as she’s clearly not going to let me go. Her small hands on my upper arms are making the blood rush through my veins. How the fuck long has it been since I’ve felt a woman’s hands on my skin let alone my Johnson?
All my previous irritation toward her recedes - at how she brought down problems, not only on herself but on me too by running around in the middle of the night with hardly any clothes on. I notice how she’s wearing just the flimsiest tee shirt and clearly no bra underneath judging by the perky nipples poking at the fabric.
I can’t take it.
My body wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this sort of torture tonight. I assumed I’d get back to the clubhouse before dawn and have a whiskey chaser in one hand and a butt-naked Pass Around in the other.
But I’m still waiting and judging by the light it isn’t much more than a half hour ’til the sun rises. And when it does, expect the shit to hit the fan.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” I say and, after buckling up my belt, on a tighter hole these days I notice, take the girl by the hand to lead her out of the trees.
When we get to the edge where the trees meet the lot, I pull her up short. I forgot how light a woman is, not to mention my newly increased strength - I’m all muscle now, not a single ounce of excess flesh, not like before when life was all sedentary on the bike and too much booze.
My power brings her tumbling into my body and immediately that sets off another firestorm from the contact with her sweet flesh. I grit my jaw and lower my eyelids, again, forcing the hunger to possess her body out of mine.
“What is it?” She hisses, immediately on alert.
If I didn’t know better I’d think she was on the run from something.
“We’ll stay hidden for now.” I tell her.
I don’t want to admit that I need to remain under cover in a place where I can continue to watch and wait, as I was before she showed up bringing all the drama with her.
And of course I won’t admit that I want to bury myself inside her more, almost more, than I want to watch out for the arrival of my guys.
I expected some back chat but she just ducks in beside me, taking orders without any defiance. I like a woman that can be obedient to a man.
I look down at her and again notice how pretty her face is, eyes and hair black as the night, those perky little tits. My back bristles at the injuries she’s sustained somewhere along the way but I tell myself it’s not my business.
“What’s your name?” I ask her softly, so as not to get her running scared.
“Raven.”
“Like the vulture?” Making a kind of lame attempt at humor.
Because even I know a raven isn’t a vulture. In fact it’s a smart and playful bird that mates for life. You might notice I’ve read a helluva lot of books recently so my knowledge base has increased massively even though most of it may be useless to me now.
“Yes exactly like the vulture.” She snaps, showing a blaze of fire. “What’s yours?”
“Crew.”
“Like the shirt?” She quips. See - playful as well.
“Like the motorcycle gang.” I laugh.
She’s feisty even when nervous and I respect that no end.
“My father was President of an MC and when I was born all his crew wanted the honor of me being named for them. So he decided to name me for all of them. The Crew.”
“So you’re a gangster…” She murmurs.
It seemed that she was about to say something like ‘as well.’ I wonder whether she’s some rival’s Old Lady. For some reason the thought makes my insides push against my skin. I can’t stomach the idea that she belongs to someone else.
“I’m a biker.” I correct her. “Sargent-at-Arms for the IronClaws.” My chest expands with pride, much wider than it ever used to.
Of course I don’t know for sure whether my position will be returned to me. All this shit has to be sorted out - if they ever get here to pick me up.
Right as that irritation of my club’s tardiness flashes in my brain, the roar of Harleys fills the small lot. Thank fuck, I say to myself, with relief flooding my veins.
I pick up Raven’s small hand and lead her with me across the lot toward the bikes.
There’s Pythin and Rocco, and a pair of guys I don’t recognize, presumably prospects, bringing up the rear. Py turns to face me with a welcoming grin at seeing me again that slips off his face when he sees the girl at my side.
“Who’s this?” He barks.
“This - is Raven.” I inform him, letting him know by my tone that I don’t need any opposition from the likes of him.
“Well you sure the hell didn’t waste any time.” Rocco smirks.
“She can’t come with us, she hasn’t been cleared.” Pythin tells me
“Cleared for what?” I snarl.
Since when do Pass Arounds need to be tested for loyalty.
“New rule. Quite a lot has changed since you’ve been….gone.”
“I don’t care about that.” I inform him. “I’ll take care of it with Stinger when we get home.”
He opens his mouth to give me pushback and I can already tell that this is going to be a pissing contest between us. He’s no doubt stepped up into a role that he thinks permits him to challenge me. Well, that’s gonna ch
ange.
“I’m Sarge now.” He informs me. “Seeing as we had no idea how long you’d be away. So I’m telling you…”
He’s cut off by the eardrum-shattering sound of a siren coming from the other side of the tree stand. The air pierces with the noise. I shout at one of the prospects to get off his bike but he doesn’t hear me above the din.
So I pull him off, then climb on and indicate to Raven to get on behind me.
She waits less than two seconds before doing as I said.
The prospect climbs on behind the other hanger on and we all kick back and roar out of the lot.
3
Raven
My sense of relief is total as I swing a leg over the back of the bike behind Crew.
I’ve escaped the three drunks planning something repulsive as well as the equally disgusting man who’s kept me as a slave for the past two years.
I slip my arms around Crew’s waist and can’t resist playing my fingers lightly across his stomach, feeling out some raked abs. A little thrill rushes through me as I detect the impossibly solid peaks and valleys lining his stomach.
As he wrenches the machine under us, out of the lot and around a bend in the road, his amazing muscle strains and pulls but never comes close to relaxing.
I’m definitely impressed. A more intense thrill runs up my legs and connects at my clit. Which is even more excited now that my legs are spread wide with a man like Crew between them.
This is a definite first in my usual lineup of criminals and losers. My panties are still damp from his playacting at nailing me to the tree, which was a smart idea to throw those disgusting pig-men off my trail. I was actually disappointed when they lumbered off, leaving us to it and Crew didn’t take his chance.
I’m sure he wanted to. I could have sworn I felt a hard bulge in his pants that grazed over my tummy as he turned to look at the men and ensure they really were departing.
As the bike takes that bend and Crew’s amazing abs contract to keep the huge engine under control, I can’t help but flex my thighs around his, hugging him tight between them so that ripples of lust spread through my flesh. I’m sure I detect a little chuckle move over his torso but I could be imagining things, I’m so out of my depth.
I’ve never ridden a big Harley and I’ve definitely never ridden a delicious man like Crew in the palms of my hands.
The noise of that loud siren is diminishing as we ride off, but still deafening.
“What is that alarm for, do you know?” I mouth against his ear, but my words must fly off into the wind because he doesn’t respond or give any indication that he heard me.
The three other bikes pull up behind us in a moon on its side formation that leaves our bike riding up front with them on shotgun. My hair blows back and I shuffle myself closer until my pussy nestles against Crew’s curved cheeks and my nipples graze his solid back. This guy is hard all over.
My mind goes out of my control, lurching toward images of the part of him I’d like to have in my hands most of all. I can only imagine how rock solid that would be. Tingles fly through me the more I think about it.
We glide down the ramp onto a highway. I glance up at the digital signs placed at intervals overhead, trying to figure out where we are. Trev picked me up in Tennessee but we’ve moved a couple of times since then and every time, he had me gagged and blindfolded and tossed in the back of a dark van with the other enslaved women.
We could be anywhere in the Union now, although it’s warm so that makes me think we must still be in the south.
We approach one of the signs and I strain my neck against the pressure of the bike’s speed to read the red flickering lights, glowing in the dark. I make out the word ‘Escaped’ then Crew flicks his wrist and the bike accelerates with a burst, almost throwing me back.
“Did you read that sign?” I shout. Again my words are lost in the backdraft.
After about a half hour we come to a lot, way too soon for me as I’d be happy to stay in my position with Crew between my legs and my arms wrapping his incredible torso and journey right across the continent. To the ends of the Earth if he wanted.
But he pulls through a set of gates with two buildings and a shop inside then parks the bike.
He waits for me to dismount before following. Again he takes my hand in his and this time my heart skips and jumps. The hairs down my arms lift and sway.
He leads me a short distance toward a single story building with red double doors. As Crew reaches to pull one open, he looks back at me and grins. “Ready?” He asks.
I nod my head but my teeth go to bite down on my lower lip. Suddenly I’m nervous. I have no idea what to expect. What are we heading into? Where the heck will I sleep tonight?
Inside consists of one big room, with chairs and tables strewn around, a Wurlitzer in one corner playing some Bruce, a bar across from it with a pair of blonds standing behind. They eye me with an aggressive stare.
Everyone else ignores me as all attention is on Crew. The older men, wearing leather or denim vests covered with patches, get up out of their seats, even pushing the women off their knees to come clap Crew across the shoulder and fisttap.
“You made it, Dude.”
“What took you so long?”
“Been working with a plastic spoon?”
The laughter is raucous and I have no idea what half the comments mean. At least I can shrink out of the limelight. My nerves are still shaking at my edges.
“Where’s The Stinger?” Crew looks around the room, expectantly.
“He’s just taking care of some urgent business.” A stocky older man tells him. “He’ll be right out.”
“Haven’t you got a greeting for me, Crew?”
My eyes are instantly drawn to the woman standing at the end of the bar whose face is a picture of loathing directed at me. Why is she giving me the eye? I didn’t put the moves on her man if he is her man which, judging by the fact that he hasn’t dropped his grasp on my hand, I have serious doubts about.
But women always blame the other woman. I noticed that even among the repressed groups of women forced to work in the human slave industry, as petty criminals during the day sent out to steal from big box stores and sex toys at night. They always got into jealous fights with each other instead of directing their rage where it rightfully belonged - at the men who had enslaved them.
“Yeah Dude, Tiffany’s been waiting patiently for you since the day you went away.” The stocky biker tells him with a smirk in my direction.
I snatch my hand out of Crew’s. And instantly shake my head with an ironic smile at myself. I’m misdirecting the blame myself here - pouring all my rage at Trev onto Crew when of course he doesn’t deserve it.
I’d like to put my hand back inside his safe warm grip but Tiffany’s angry stare holds me back. I know I’ve made an instant enemy after being here barely two minutes.
“That’s right, Baby. I’ve been waiting all alone for you to come out, I haven’t been with any other man in all those years.” She pokes out her lower lip in a pout that is nothing short of a guilt-trip manipulation.
My eyes slide over to Crew. I can’t help but question whether he’s going to fall for it. I know this is all wrong. I hardly know the guy and if he’s got a girlfriend, I don’t want to be the one to try to wreck things.
But despite all that, I can’t help pleading inside myself that he turns out to be a free entity. My body leans towards him like he’s exerting a solar eclipse style pull.
But wait - what did she mean she’s been waiting for years? Where has he been? Had he disappeared on her and the club and not even been in touch with her? That’s a pretty good sign that they haven’t got as solid a relationship as she imagines. My hopes start to lift and I know it’s wrong.
My best option is to keep my head down and make every effort not to score enemies here. I don’t even know if I’m safe - whether they’ll let me stay.
“And who is that?” She asks with a headjerk in my
direction, like she finds me too disgusting to so much as cast a gaze upon.
“And how many fights has she been in?” Stocky laughs.
“This is Raven.” Crew announces.
“She your Old Lady?”
“No of course not. Where would I have kept an Old Lady?’” Crew laughs, although I note how he still avoids looking in Tiffany’s direction.
Not much romance going on there if you ask me, although what do I know about romance? I feel a stab of pain that he denies me even though he’s only telling the facts.
Then he heads toward the bar and my heart sinks lower. He’s going to kiss his woman after all - you can see by the way her face lights up.
But he walks right past her, behind the bar to the sink. Then he returns holding a damp white bar towel. He places his fingers under my chin and tips my face up toward him while he gently wipes my mouth. He shows me the dried blood.
“Oh.” I squeak, still stunned by the gentleness of his touch coming from a man as big and hard as Crew. My fingers fly to my mouth in a vain attempt to cover my wounds.
“Wanna share what happened?” He asks, looking down into my eyes as though we’re the only two people in the room, on the entire planet.
I shake my head ‘no’ and look down to the floor. Crew lifts my head back up with the fingers still under my chin and forces me to engage with his intense stare. He searches through every corner of me, or that’s how it feels, the way his eyes delve deep into mine.
I can feel all the eyes in the barroom on us, on me, judging. Especially Tiffany’s.
What do I tell him?
That I’ve been a sex slave since I was a teen? That I escaped my ‘master’ and even now he’s for sure got his men out looking for me, ready to make good on his promise to kill me this time.
Crew and definitely these other members of his gang will only find me more trouble than I’m worth. Tiffany will lead the cry to get rid of me.
Still the question burns inside me, what are those two to each other now?
But everything is up in the air. I’m like a juggler’s ball and I could be out on my ass if I make waves between long time club members. I need them to accept me.
Biker Escape Page 2