Fighter: The Devil's Highwaymen Nomads #4

by Claire C. Riley

  “You like that?” I growled. “Tell me.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, shame coloring her features.

  I could see it killed her to say that one word, to admit that she didn’t want me to stop, but instead bring her to the brink and send her tumbling over into bliss and oblivion. I saw how much it pained her, and my dick hardened beneath her for attention.

  I slid another finger in, and three thick fingers deep she ground against me, needing more, needing my dick inside her, fucking the pleasure into her body, though there wasn’t any way she was going to ask for that.

  “Penny?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, her muscles contracting around me as I pulled my fingers out and flipped her over so that she was lying on her back on the bed. Her legs automatically, and brazenly, opened for me. I leaned over her body, my hard dick pressing against her center as she warred with herself and her body. I ground myself against her and she threw back her head until I gripped her jaw toughly in my hand, dragging her face back to me.

  I pressed one of my fingers into her mouth so she could taste herself on them, and she sucked greedily, her nostrils flaring.

  My balls tightened as she sucked, her tongue sliding over my hard knuckles. I reached down and gripped her throat, squeezing just hard enough to restrict her airway and make her eyes widen. God she looked beautiful like that; a rag doll beneath me and completely at my mercy.

  “Where are you?” I asked, my voice thick and dark, like black velvet tightening around her.

  She looked confused for a moment before squeezing the words out, her throat bobbing against my palm as I tightened my grip on her. “Hell. I’m in hell,” she gasped.

  I thrust against her, the ridge of my dick pressing against her core, and she gasped again. “Hell ain’t so bad, is it, Penny?”

  She shook her head no, one leg hooking around the back of my leg to hold me against her as she tried to find the friction she needed to make herself come.

  “But the thing with hell is that’s where the Devil lives. And the Devil likes to hurt people. He takes pleasure in someone else’s pain and suffering.” I squeezed a little more and she gasped for air, her back arching to bring us closer. “Do you know who I am?” I asked, my eyes boring into hers, my nose barely an inch away as I leaned down and inhaled her scent. So full of fear and desire, silently begging me, hating that she needed me.

  She shook her head sullenly, and I abruptly let go of her, climbing off and standing up. Her eyes went to the ridge in my jeans where my dick was straining to get out. She greedily licked her lips, her breath coming out heavily.

  “Sure you do,” I drolled, grabbing a joint from my back pocket and lighting it. “I’m the motherfucking Devil, Penny, and I’m here to hurt you, not pleasure you. Got it?”

  ~ 12 ~

  Penny

  I hated him.

  I hated him more than I’d ever hated anyone or anything in my whole damned life.

  I hated him more than I hated my daddy’s friends, and I really hated them.

  More than I hated my daddy. And I really really hated my daddy.

  More than I hated my life. And I really really really hated my life.

  Not that it was even really my life. Other people controlled everything I did or didn’t do. I had no say in any of it. Not in the school I attended, or what I studied. Not in who were my friends. Not even in whose old lady I would end up as.

  I was a pawn being handed over to whoever my daddy wanted to when the time came.

  And yet I still hated him more.

  That was twice now that he’d gotten me to lower my guard and let him in, both figuratively and literally. He’d gotten past my defenses and broken me down, letting me surrender my innocence over to him. I’d been ten seconds from asking him to fuck my virginity away when he’d gotten up, declaring he wasn’t there to service me, and walked away.

  What kind of person did that?

  What kind of man was he?

  No, not man, Devil.

  That was what he’d called himself and he was right.

  He was the Devil.

  He seduced me, let me drop my guard, and then hurt me in ways unintelligible.

  What he was doing was worse than torture. It was sadistic and sick. It was so painful it brought me to my knees begging for more. With every encounter he brought me closer to the edge. Closer to surrendering completely. To forgetting who I was.

  And yet still, despite that knowledge, despite my hate for him, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Couldn’t stop imagining his touch, desiring his hands on me. Spanking me, fucking me, feeding me.

  God, what was happening to me?

  I squeezed my thighs together, a flash of pleasure snaking through me.

  I couldn’t…

  I wouldn’t…

  But oh god, he’d left me right there…again!

  Right on the edge of pleasure.

  After days and days of pain and loneliness he’d allowed me to feel warmth, desire, pleasure. And then he’d walked away. This feeling was worse, because this feeling showed me what I’d been so close to getting. What I’d lost.

  I whimpered, rubbing my thighs together and closing my eyes, needing the release he’d promised and then stolen away so cruelly. My ass stung painfully from his hard slaps against my skin, but there was no denying that I’d liked it; that sting of his palm against my flesh, the way he’d soothed the tender skin afterwards. But none of it was anything compared to the throbbing within my core or the tightening in my belly.

  My chest heaved as I continued to squeeze my thighs together tightly, increasing the pressure as much as I dared, knowing that the camera was trained on me.

  I could just imagine him now, staring at a screen somewhere in the house, pleasuring myself. Completing the job he had left unfinished. My mouth dropped open, a sigh leaving my lips as my pussy ached and throbbed. I closed my eyes, the blinking of the camera in the corner unnerving.

  I should stop.

  I needed to stop.

  But instead of stopping, I reached down and pressed my own fingers to my pussy, feeling the dampness trailing down between my heated lips.

  It was wrong.

  It was disgusting.

  He was probably watching.

  “Oh god,” I gasped as I slipped a finger inside myself, knowing I was still right there, on the edge of orgasm. I pressed a finger against my clit and opened my eyes, staring up at the blinking red dot on the camera, imagining him with his hand down his pants, his hard cock in hand as he pumped himself while watching me, my fingers playing across my pussy, rubbing against my clit, and dragging the dampness that was pooling there across my lips.

  He wanted me.

  He was as hard as steel, wanting to fuck me, penetrate me and dirty me in ways that hadn’t been done before.

  He wanted me—my pussy, my body, my mouth.

  I remembered the feel of his fingers in my mouth, my own juices running down them as he ground against me.

  “Oh!” I gasped again, pleasure surging through me so suddenly that my toes curled and I threw my head back, finally, thankfully, gloriously letting go as I called out into the air something unintelligible.

  I ignored the shame of it all and just let go, giving myself over to the dark side finally.

  ~ 13 ~

  Fighter

  I brought the bottle to my lips and swallowed down the fiery whiskey. It warmed my belly like there was a fire burning inside of it and made my mind numb to all the rapid thoughts that ran rampant inside my head.

  I stubbed out my joint and dragged a hand through my hair, knowing that I needed to sleep but also knowing I wouldn’t be able to. How could a man sleep when a woman like that was in his house? How could he ever need to dream when a wild woman with wolf eyes lay naked and vulnerable on his bed? I took another swig of the whiskey, my drunken gaze on the small screen that showed her sleeping form. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her when she’d made herself come. H
adn’t been able to stop thinking about it since either.

  Flushed cheeks, open mouth, long fingers playing her pussy like it was a fucking harp. She’d taken me by surprise, that was for damn sure. My nostrils flared at the memory again, my dick throbbing in my jeans.

  “Fuck,” I grumbled, dragging another joint out from the drawer and lighting it up. I inhaled, letting the smoke fill my lungs. I held it there until my chest burned and then I slowly let it out, feeling dizzy, sick, and calm as the mixture of weed and whiskey saturated my body. “Fuck,” I grumbled again.

  The sooner I got her back to her club, the better.

  My cell rang in my cut and I plucked it out and held it to my ear. “’Sup?”

  “Drop the cargo off tomorrow,” Hardy barked down the phone, “minus something important.”

  The lined clicked and the cell fell silent. My gaze was still on Penny sleeping, but my dark thoughts were on what I’d need to cut from her and how much she’d hate me afterwards. I couldn’t deny that the thought of her screams turned me on. The idea of her blood soaking my sheets and my body made my cock so hard it hurt. But the hate she’d feel for me afterwards; there’d be no coming back from that.

  Not that there’d be any coming back from any of this.

  She wasn’t mine to keep.

  To touch.

  To want.

  She wasn’t mine, and never could be.

  So why did it matter what I took from her?

  A finger? A toe? A thumb? Her prissy, too-fucking-good-for-me attitude?

  She’d never know who I was anyway, and that was for the best. She was too fucking good for me anyway. I’d done my research on her, knew all about her life. From the woman behind the fucked-up family life. The shitty father, the nonexistent mother, the controlled life, the fake friends and even faker boyfriends. And then there was the other part of her, the part that helped out at the local animal shelter, the part that wanted to be a nurse. The part that was good and pure, or at least it was until I began to defile her.

  She was good.

  Too fucking good for me, and after tonight, I’d never need to see her again.

  She’d never know the man behind the mask watched her sleep, tucked her hair back from her face and dreamt of a better life where he’d be worthy of a woman like her. She’d never know, and that was for the best.

  So what the fuck did it matter what I took from her?

  I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes.

  This woman.

  This motherfucking woman.

  I stood up suddenly and threw the almost empty bottle of whiskey across the room. It hit the wall opposite and smashed, spraying the room with glass and whiskey.

  “Fuck this shit.” I stood up and left the room before storming down the rickety stairs of the house and out the front door. I swayed on the porch as I stared into the distance.

  Bats flitted through the trees on either side of the ramshackle house in the middle of nowhere, and the only light came from the lights that burned inside and the moon that burned down on me. Blackness filled my soul, swallowing me until I thought I might combust.

  I felt angry. Irrationally angry. Like I needed to tear something or someone apart to soothe myself. Blood and pain were the only things that ever calmed me. Until her. Until Penny.

  She calmed me without even trying.

  Woman had no idea the kind of power she had. And she never fucking would.

  Storming toward my bike, I climbed on before starting the engine. I was drunk, way too fucking drunk to be riding, but I needed the cool air in my face and the feel of the road beneath me so I could breathe again. I tore out of the grounds of the house and out onto the gravel road, hitting fifty before I’d even hit the main road. Stones flew up all around me, spraying up either side of me as I watched the speedometer hit sixty, then seventy, then eighty.

  The world flew past me in a blur of colors and shapes, the rumbling between my thighs and heat burning from the bike keeping me grounded to it. I sped through a sharp bend, the front tire slipping and nearly sending me flying, but I caught it and straightened myself back up. The speed climbed again, sixty, seventy, seventy-five, eighty. My Harley roared like the ferocious bitch that she was as I pushed her even harder, coming into another bend too fast.

  Only this time when she slid, I couldn’t correct her.

  Or maybe I didn’t try.

  Maybe I wanted to feel the pain of something else besides the knowledge that I was a piece of shit that would never deserve a woman as good as Penny.

  My Harley threw me from her like a bull bucking off her rider and I flew through the air before I landed on my side in the grass on the side of the road. I rolled several times before coming to a stop. And from somewhere else I heard the crash of my bike.

  I lay there as pain ripped down my arms and chest, the world swimming in and out of focus, and I stared up at the trees, watching the bats above me again, wondering if I was dying. I didn’t fear death. Hadn’t ever since I’d witnessed my first death at six years old.

  But right then as the world blurred and ebbed in and out of focus, I felt something grow in my chest worse than the pain from the crash. It was fear.

  Because if I was dying—if I died there tonight—who would save Penny?

  Hardy’s orders were to hurt her. To draw blood. And no other man would hesitate on one of Hardy’s orders. They’d hurt her, cut her, take a part of her, and mail it to Razuuk in a cardboard box without hesitation.

  I pushed myself to get the fuck up, pain ricocheting through my brain as I tried to move. I managed to get to my knees before dropping back down to the ground. Blood dripped from a gash somewhere on my head. I climbed up to my hands and knees, but I couldn’t bear any weight on my left shoulder. I moved my hand across it, hoping not to find any bones protruding from my skin, and was blessed to find it was only a dislocation.

  I moved my hand over the area, gently feeling it out before finding the right part and pushing with all my might. I howled out in pain as the bone popped back in and fresh pain flushed my system. I retched, bringing up the whiskey I’d been drinking all night, before dragging my hand across my mouth and pushing myself upward. I stood up on my feet, swaying from side to side, barely able to focus on my surroundings as the darkness enclosed on me.

  “Penny,” I gasped before falling back down.

  I lay on the ground, willing myself not to die. Not to fall asleep.

  “I’m coming,” I mumbled as I slid into the darkness that lived inside me.

  ~ 14 ~

  Penny

  I opened my eyes to the smell of coffee, blinking sluggishly into the dimly lit room. The Devil stood by the window. The piece of material that normally hung there was pulled to one side and he stared out at the world beyond.

  He looked different, standing at a strange angle, his head cocked to one side as he smoked a cigarette. I blinked, clearing the sleep from my eyes, realizing that he was covered in blood.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, my voice piercing the silence.

  “Yeah,” he grunted without turning around.

  “Are you sure?”

  He didn’t reply, and even though I wanted to say more, I wasn’t sure what. Clearly he wasn’t okay. Something had happened, something bad, but if he refused to talk about it I could only hope that he wouldn’t take his pain out on me.

  I heard him swallow and realized he was drinking coffee. I hadn’t had coffee in over a week and I longed for one. Even a mouthful. All thoughts of what had happened to make him like that went out the window at the scent of that coffee, until all my thoughts were consumed with the need for it.

  In fact, the sight of him drinking coffee was probably the most normal thing I’d seen him do. The realization made him seem less scary.

  “Can I have some?” I asked, tentatively. I knew he’d say no, but I had to ask regardless.

  He didn’t move or reply to me, and I wondered if I’d said anything at all or if it had all
been in my head.

  “Hey, I said can I have some?” I asked again, louder that time.

  He stubbed out his cigarette and pulled his mask back in place before turning around to look at me. I gasped, loudly, as my gaze landed on him. Blood was smeared across his forehead, and dark purple bruises were forming on his skin. He held his arm at a strange angle, and when he walked toward me, I noticed he was limping.

  He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, propping the cushions up behind my head, and then he brought the coffee mug to my lips. I sipped on it, letting the hot liquid slide down my throat, but my gaze never left him.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Nothin’,” he grunted.

  “Something must have happened.”

  “Drink your coffee.” He brought the mug to my lips again and I took another sip. Some of it spilled over my lips as he pulled the mug away too soon. He frowned, watching the coffee spill over my chin and down my throat before putting the mug down and using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the drip from my skin.

  He brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked it clean while he watched me.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked. “You look hurt.”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  My gaze traveled over his body, finding bumps and scrapes everywhere. None looked too serious, apart from the gash to his forehead and the fact that he was holding his arm awkwardly.

  “You look it.”

  “I’m not,” he snarled like a beast caged.

  “That needs stitches,” I said, nodding toward his forehead. “I can do them for you.”

  He frowned. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not.”

  “I said it’s fine,” he said, louder and angrier that time.

  Asshole.

  I pursed my lips and scowled at him and he chuckled. “I can handle a couple a cuts and scrapes.”

  “I’m training to be a nurse,” I said. “I can do the stitches if you have the right stuff.”

  He tutted and shook his finger at me. “You’re trainin’ in business and accounts so you can help with daddies business,” he replied, his deep voice rumbling over me. He tapped the side of his head. “You think I didn’t do my research on you?” He shook his head at me trying to trick him, like he was a disappointed father.