by Jackson Kane
If I were being completely honest with myself, despite even having Star, I was scared to give that life up fully. It was the only thing I’d ever been any good at. I used Star as both an excuse to get out and a reason to stay in. Deep down, I knew I had been spineless. Look at what that got me—a chest full of lead at the Beaner Hotel.
All the shit I was trying to do was for the club—fighting Lorenzo’s kill team, starting a war, pretending to be a traitor—it was all for the wrong reasons. Waking up on Dr. Mengele’s steel table put a lot of things in perspective for me. Cut open, half alive, all my sins were laid bare. I finally understood, and I prayed for death. It would be easier to die than face my own cowardice.
But sitting here with my head against the wall, I was glad to be alive for the first time in so long. I had Star to thank for that. Not just because she dragged me out of the Lobos clubhouse, but because she gave me a reason to live. Through the drugs, I caught some of her conversation with Doc.
She did whatever it took to help me.
How could I possibly give up, knowing someone cared for me as much as she did? It wasn’t often that I got a second chance, and this was even better. This was a completely clean slate with a girl who meant everything to me. I would do whatever it took to do right by her. Even if that meant leaving the Steel Veins behind forever. We were alive and had each other.
Four drunks burst out of O’Malley’s, the motel bar. One stumbled to his knees and threw up all over his friend’s pants.
This was our happily ever after, all right.
“Remy?” came the tired voice as the door cracked open further. The parking lot lights lit her disheveled form. She’d picked us up some clothes from a Goodwill in the area, but still kept that goofy cartoon cat shirt to sleep in. She said it was her lucky shirt.
Who was I to argue with that?
“Are you okay?” she asked, matting down her bed-head mess of hair. Her eyes behind her askew glasses were squinting as she slowly adjusted to the outside lights, and she had lines on her face from a crease in the pillow.
She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. How did I ever get this lucky?
“Better than okay now.” I owed it to her to at least try the white picket fence thing. She’d had enough danger for one lifetime.
Star clumsily dumped herself next to me and carefully rested her half-asleep head on my good shoulder. The ground was rough and filthy, the wall was uncomfortable, chipped stone and the whole parking lot in front of us faintly reeked of old piss, but I hadn’t been as happy as I was right then in as long as I could remember. Just having her next to me made everything a little brighter. It also helped with the smell.
Which was why I was distraught to have to tell her to leave.
The drunks that had been thrown out of the bar saw us and were heading over. Nothing good was going to come from having her out here with me, and I didn’t think she could help me up and get me back inside fast enough. She protested at first but reluctantly went inside when I told her to trust me.
I think part of me needed to see how this would go. After being inactive for so long, I needed a test.
“Hey, buddy! Got a smoke?” asked the drunk with his friend’s vomit drying on his pants who also wore a button-up red flame shirt.
I handed him a cigarette. These guys were so hammered.
“That bitch at the bar was all over my nuts, bro. I’m here to see if I can get back in. You guys, you guys think....” the guy who did the vomiting said. It sounded like he’d lost interest in what he was saying or just altogether forgot about it. “Fuckin’ douchebags kickin’ us out? What? What? Our money ain’t good enough there? I thought this was fuckin’ ’Merica.”
After several muttering attempts, Flame Shirt finally lit his cigarette. He then remembered something extremely important. The cigarette fell out of his mouth as he whipped around toward the bar and screamed with all his might, “Fuckin’! Nazis! Go back to fuckin’... Fuck you! Fuckin’ assholes!”
“Why ya ain’t got… no shoes, friend?” another drunk asked me through a series of burps. “It’s outside, out here.”
“Hey! Where’d that hottie go? She was just here?” the last drunk asked.
I stayed quiet and watched them carefully. These boys were a powder keg, and with Star on the other side of that door, I wasn’t about to start throwing around any matches. I wouldn’t be throwing down with these guys either. Hell, I could barely stand without help. Between slamming into that school bus and Bones’s parting gift, just breathing hurt most of the time. I didn’t survive all that shit just to be kicked to death by drunks.
“I still wanna party. You wanna party with us, No-Shoes Guy?”
“She was hot!”
They all looked similar enough and overlapped each other in conversation that I could barely keep track of who said what. Not that it mattered. When people got this drunk, they all turned into basically the same person.
And I was familiar with dealing with that guy.
Almost on cue, Star cracked the door open behind them. She had my gun in her hand.
I subtly shook my head.
The seriousness in her eye flashed intently. She was ready if I needed her.
It struck me just how different she’d become. I cracked a grin and motioned with my head for her to go back inside. Stubbornly, she finally did, although I knew she’d be watching through the curtains to make sure I was okay. The last thing we needed right now was to have the cops come sniffing by because we killed some drunks in self-defense. There was another way to handle these assholes.
“I’m glad you guys think my brother is pretty. I’ll let him know,” I said.
Their expressions turned to horror.
“It’s cool; he’s gay. I can go get him if you still wanna party.”
“Oh fuck, dude! That’s gross!” Flame shirt jerked backward. His lip curled as if a skunk had just sprayed him.
“Don’t be racist, dude. That’s not cool.” The guy wearing blue shorts shoved Flame Shirt.
“Nah, man. It’s—” Flame Shirt put an arm around Blue Shorts like he was his bestest friend in the whole wide world. “No hate. No hate. I gotta friend who’s gay. Dude, wants ta suck dick and shit, that’s cool. Ain’t me! Ain’t me, man. You know. I fuckin’ loooooove the pussy, you know.” Flame Shirt stuck his tongue out, sloppily lapping up make-believe pussy.
“If you still wanna party, I know this bangin’ house party, like six, seven blocks that way.” I pointed up the street toward a police station. “It’s where all the college hunnies go after the bars let out.”
“Aw shit, mothafuckas!” The other kid who did the vomiting got excited and started shaking his buddies. “Let’s do this shit! Yuh! Yuh! You comin’?” He looked at me.
“Nah, I’m gonna kick it here and fuck my brother,” I said, seeing if any of them caught it.
They didn’t.
“The party is right across from the police station, so you gotta be quiet about it. It’ll look real low key, but that’s only ’cause of the cops across the street. Just go around back and knock real loud. Someone’ll let you in.” I put out my hand, and one of them helped me up.
They thanked me, trying and failing repeatedly to give me knuckle bumps, then stumbled off.
“Your brother, huh?” Star came back out with a smug smile once they were far enough away, the gun stuffed in her pajama pants. She draped her arms on my shoulders. “Funny, I don’t remember seeing you next to Grandma Olga in those god-awful family portraits we took every year.”
“They gave me a pass because of the sweater I was wearing.” I shrugged, staring into pretty hazel eyes that were much more awake. “Said they already had a Christmas tree in the shot and they didn’t need a second one.”
“Are you mocking the clothes I bought for you?” Star scoffed, feigning insult. “There wasn’t much of a selection. Nothing jumped out at me that screamed badass, bedridden biker, sorry.” She traced around the wound on my ch
eek.
I’d taken the bandage off a few days ago and saw that Doc Frankenstein had surprisingly done a decent job at patching me up. The cut was healing up nicely, but I was going to be left with a wicked scar. “Nah, I’m just bummed we couldn’t find you an Easter sweater to wear with me.” I smiled dismissively.
“I guess I’ll just have to take solace with my cartoon cat T-shirt.” Star leaned back and stretched it out so that we could both see the picture in all its glory. She then fluffed out her tangled, just-woken-up hair. “Besides, when have you ever had a nurse who looked this good that also gives you blow jobs?”
I thought about it a second then opened my mouth to reply, but she cut me off with a finger over my lips. “Don’t you dare answer that,” she warned.
I cocked my head to the side and playfully nipped at her finger until she pulled it away. I jerked her body against mine and kissed her neck. When I felt the pistol she was wearing press into me, I leaned away to check it before I snatched the gun from her pants and held it up. Just as I thought, the safety was off. The last thing I needed was another ventilation hole. “This is the safety. Always keep it on until you want something to die,” I lectured, thumbing the safety back on. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir!” She mock-saluted me.
“I don’t think you do.” I slipped a finger beneath her belly button to the elastic waistband of her panties and slowly pulled them forward to steal a peek inside at her clean-shaven pussy. It piqued my appetite. I dragged the flat of my tongue along the gun’s slide and lowered it back into her pants.
I had to teach this girl a lesson.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Remy
She quivered at the coldness of the wet steel as the gun traveled down into her panties against her soft skin. The corners of her mouth peeled her lips back, revealing two rows of clenched teeth. I twisted the gun so that the corner of the long metal slide and ejection port rubbed her clit as it passed.
When the tip of the barrel pushed into the bottom of her panties, I angled the handle toward me, which pulled the whole length of the pistol between her tender crease.
Star arched her eyebrows and quickly scanned to make sure no one else was around. Satisfied, she let her head loll back and closed her eyes.
I dragged the handful of fabric down to touch her with more steel. I could tell that Star’s juices were flowing when the metal slid back and forth easier. I pumped the gun with a disjointed rhythm. Long, slow grind, stop, then quick, smooth drag.
I teased her with the tip of the barrel. The blunted front sight and muzzle threatened to plunge in. She put her head against mine, clawed her fingers up the back of my scalp, and tensed into a low moan. I cruelly slid the tip down and away, but kept the pressure against those smooth lips.
Click. I turned the safety off.
Star gasped and jerked away slightly, and her eyes sprung open in disbelief. At this angle, she’d have been safe even if the gun went off, but I doubted she knew that for certain.
“Be a good girl and turn the safety back on,” I told her with only the ghost of a grin. She tried to pull away to get a better look at the gun, but I pulled her in closer with my free hand so she couldn’t see it. “No cheating.”
Star gently walked her fingers over my hand then down the handle. Careful to stay away from the trigger, she found and slowly flipped the lever for the safety, activating it with a click.
She sighed in relief, then bared her teeth at me. “Remy Daniels, you are such an asshol—”
The gun now safe, I turned it over and pushed the tip of it into her pussy, this time at a better angle so that it could actually slide in.
“Ugh!” Her eyes threatened to pop out of her head. “Oh, fuck!” She stared at me in excited shock but never asked me to stop, so I didn’t.
I eased it in deeper. She was so wet. Seeing her brimming with fear and yearning but with absolute trust in me was almost too hot to bear. My cock was hard enough to split my jeans and stab her. I pulled the gun out of her.
Her back hunched, and she draped herself over me, relieved but short of breath from excitement. “You fucking monster,” Star whispered in my ear. “I want you so fucking bad.”
The wet gunmetal glistened in the white floodlights from the parking lot. Locking eyes with her, I brought the tip of it to my lips and tasted it. “Mmm... much better.”
She dragged her bottom lip past her teeth as she unzipped my pants, put a hand through my boxers to grab my rigid cock, and used it as a handle to pull me into the hotel room. She slammed the door shut behind us.
Extremely turned on, she forgot how bad my injuries were and threw me onto the bed.
White hot fire streaked through my ribs and chest at the impact.
She gasped. “Oh shit, Remy are you—”
I held up a hand to stop her concern. I exhaled and let the pain die down, then smiled. I deserved that for the gun stunt.
I’d lain next to this woman for weeks and hadn’t been able to touch her the way I wanted to. Pain or no pain, that ended now.
Everything was slower than I would have liked, but I eventually got my damn shirt off. She looked me over. I was all tattoos and a patchwork of scars and stitches, making me feel a little like Frankenstein’s monster. At this point, my body was a roadmap of a life with heavy consequence.
And Star was pure, smooth, soft, sexy, especially when she peeled off that silly cat shirt. I yearned for her. My dick couldn’t have been any harder.
Her body screamed for my touch.
She dropped her bottoms and walked around to the side of the bed near my head.
“You got me all revved up. You sure you’re up for this? I don’t want to hurt you,” Star teased, standing there, touching herself. Flicking, pressing, rubbing.... “Why don’t you just watch me instead?”
Star’s pussy was so close that I could taste her scent. It was torture. “Fuck that.” My eyes burned for her. When I couldn’t refrain any longer, I grabbed her and pulled her over me onto the bed. My chest screamed at the torquing motion, but her soft, tight pussy beckoned for me.
Everything else I pushed out of my head.
I had her arms pinned. My legs on the outside of hers with my raging cock pressed over her pussy. Slowly, I attacked her inviting puffy nipples first. I bit down on the hard nub and craned back, stretching her tit toward me while rolling my tongue around the tip. I studied her face to find the line between delight and discomfort, and right when she wanted more, I released her. I put one of her legs on my good shoulder, spreading her wide before me. I squeezed her thighs, and sank my teeth into her calf.
Star propped herself up so that she could get at me better. She licked her palms and furiously stroked my cock. My mind swam as she squeezed my shaft tighter. Her every digit worked up to and over the ridge of my sensitive head, then down and back again. Both hands milked me, moving in tandem—one at the top and the other at the base. Incredible sensations flooded through every inch of my dick.
She was unraveling me.
“Please,” she moaned.
I wanted to toy with her more, but after wanting her like this for so long, I couldn’t stop myself. I jerked my cock out of her hands, slapped her pussy with it, then dragged the tip along every one of her slippery bumps and folds. When neither of us could bear to be apart any longer, I thrust into her.
Star cut off an escaping scream, which became a lips-pressed moan. She was soaked, open, and ready for me. I didn’t ease in. I wasn’t gentle. Fuck foreplay, this was sweaty, pent-up obsession that demanded release.
I wanted my cock to cut her in half.
Every thrust contorted me, racking a new part of my body with aches or sharp discomfort. My body was an orchestra. It played pain like a symphony. The agony in my ribs was the brass section. My chest wounds pulsed like the beating of drums. My shoulder and spine ricocheted pain like a set of goddamn symbols.
My body was on fire.
But behind the agony was the fuck.
This unbridled lust for the most amazing woman I’d ever known. It lit me up, and that only made me want her more. Pain was nothing compared to how much I needed her.
Star was my rib-shaking bass line, that rhythmic thrumming that rattled my soul. It reverberated outward through each limb. It drowned out every other screaming instrument. Her pussy was the note that kept me grounded in ecstasy.
Only between her thighs was I truly alive.
Star’s smooth curves, the softness of her skin... I was infatuated, rocked with pleasure. I ravished her. I buried my cock into her as deeply as I could, and she crushed me from the inside.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!” she cried out, frantically rubbing her clit and watching along as I slid in and pulled out of her over and over with thunderous rhythm. If anything, I only rammed my cock into her swollen pussy faster, harder.
The pain made my eyes water, but it felt too amazing to stop.
“Remy!” she managed to blurt in between breathy gasps. “Your chest….”
I was bleeding. I had felt the skin tear and one of the wounds reopen a while ago, but I didn’t care. The blood ran down my chest like lava, and I was so close.
“Remy!” she repeated again.
I came like a cannon, coating her stomach as I pulled out. The release and exhaustion physically dropped me to the bed beside her. Everything that was muted before roared up with a vengeance. I didn’t cry out or grunt, but Star could sense my anguish.
“Oh shit! How bad is it?” Star was worried but calm, as she’d seen far worse by now. She immediately rolled out of bed and turned on a light.
“Just the one.” The stitches on the wound closest to my heart ripped out. It had been a few months and every few weeks those stitches tore, reopening the wound. It didn’t matter how careful I was, that part of me just didn’t want to heal for some reason. I took the casing off a pillow and applied it as pressure to stem the bleeding.
“What can I do?”
“Take the car, hit up that TSC store out on the highway. Go to their veterinary afterward and grab a few suture kits, gauze, tape, and betadine—that ugly brown stuff that stains like fuck.” I scanned around me. The place was filthy to begin with, and fucking the way we did didn’t do it any favors. I was covered in blood, becoming an advertisement for any opportunistic infection. “Pick up something to clean all this shit up. We tend to make a mess of things.”