Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance

by Carter Steele

  “Fuck! You're goddamn evil, you know that?” Wreck slammed a palm down on the table.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and flicked my eyebrows up in a gesture that said, Yeah I know. I was something of an expert at sex, if I wanted him to come quickly he would have.

  “You're the kind of evil I need more of in my life.” Wreck led me back up to my feet and gently laid me onto the table.

  “You won't get tired of me?” I signed, cursing myself for the moment of weakness.

  “Tired?” he scoffed, lowering himself on top of me. Between kisses along my collarbone and further below the purple fabric around my neck he added, “It's getting harder and harder to imagine my life without you in it.”

  I wanted so desperately to believe that.

  It was rare, but I'd had a few regular clients in the past that vowed to take me away from it all...right up to the point where they disappeared back to their spouses. Wreck was different, I knew that. We'd shared so much with each other that I'd never told anyone. If it were ever going to be true it would be with Wreck. Still though, that hot cinder of doubt smoldered deep in my chest.

  What would happen if this all fell apart?

  Fuck the future. The rocks will fall how they may. Letting the passion of the moment overwhelm my anxious mind, I filled all the empty spaces with kisses. Reaching down I fisted his cock and started pumping. His renewed moans filled my ears and spurred my pace on slightly faster.

  The table groaned softly under the shifting weight as our bodies began to writhe next to each other, drawing us impossibly closer. Palming my pussy, Wreck let his lips and occasionally dragging teeth tour my shoulders, chest, nipples, rib cage and stomach. He teased, whispered, kissed and bit me, edging me closer to a much deeper form of ecstasy than I'd ever been able to guide myself to with my hands or any toys.

  All thoughts of anything but him and what I was feeling faded away like smoke on a cloudy day.

  My breathing came in fits and spurts as he explored my body with reverent zeal of a musician testing out a new instrument – sometimes meandering, sometimes direct, but always with intention and care. His fingers, mouth and even shifting weight sent new sensations through me that had long gone disregarded. Despite all the sex I had I couldn't remember a time when a man ran his tongue along my ribs.

  When Wreck's cock eventually flirted too close to my pussy I shied away, offering a curt head shake. Wreck groaned in immediate understanding, letting his head drop for a moment before sliding off the table and making his way toward his bunk.

  That was the only thing Patrick ever enforced with his clients. They could beat us all they wanted but they had to wear protection. Every time without exception. During one of our regular routine tests by a nurse on Patrick's payroll it'd been revealed that one client had broke that rule and a girl had contracted an STD and become pregnant. Patrick had her killed and stuffed in the man's trunk. Patrick's cop friends stopped the man, arrested him and charged him with rape and murder.

  Word quickly got around and we never had to worry about someone trying to skip out on using a condom again.

  I watched Wreck walk naked, confident and strong. With his long hair cutting a dark line down his broad shoulders, faded tattoos running down large arms ending in so many metal bracelets and rings that he was basically wearing brass knuckles all the time, Wreck was handsome in a severe way. Instead of the motel room we stayed in casting hard shadows and highlighting his chiseled muscles and rough biker demeanor, the warm strip lighting and the recessed spot lights of the clubhouse he called home gave his whole body a beautiful glow, somehow humanizing him even more.

  A swelling of gratitude washed over me. There was no one else in the world like him and he chose me.

  I exhaled softly when I saw him turn around. Sitting up on the table, I captured his eyes, which slowed him to a stop, and began pulling away the scarf around my neck. It was my last bit of armor and as it fell away completely I felt truly naked before him.

  That was my choice, and I chose him.

  Wreck smiled wide and accepting as he rushed over and kissed me.

  With the last obstacle between us removed I gave myself fully into my lust. I grabbed the condom and with an embarrassing amount of skill opened the package and unrolled it down the length of his hard cock. Any real thoughts were muddy and sluggish and quickly replaced by raw urges. I needed him, all of him.

  Wreck fisted his cock and dragged it mercilessly along my soaked lower lips. The anticipation made me bite my lip almost to the point of drawing blood. My pulse beat like war drums in my ears. His scent of oil, metal and fresh sweat made my head swim. Then he slowly pushed into me. Easy at first, just the tip, then undulating out and in, getting deeper each time. I exhaled through gritted teeth, slowly feeling stretched in all the right ways.

  It was both gentle and deliberate.

  “You feel fucking incredible,” he growled the words out with his forehead pressed against mine.

  I wanted to reply, say anything, but what would it matter? Even if I could speak, words paled in comparison to the volumes our bodies said to one another. It was primal communication between our grinding hips and searching hands. I could feel our heartbeats mingle when he lowered his to mine. Slick with sweat, fire, and lust, we moved and writhed as one person. It was the most intimate experience I'd ever felt, and one I knew I could never again live without.

  My feet straightened and toed pointed off the edge of the table as his hips built up speed and his cock pumped like a throbbing piston. Missionary position never felt so full, or so heart-stoppingly good before. I let my fingernails run shallow lines down his beefy back as I struggled to hold on to nothing in particular.

  Wreck slammed a balled fist down onto the table to steady himself, his rings rapping with authority against the hardwood. The sound was so loud that it echoed off the wall but somehow despite it being near my head I barely heard it. His sliding cock, heavy breathing and oh so much good pressure from his whole body ushered me along to climax at a rapid pace.

  And then he whispered, “You are beautiful,” and kissed my naked, scarred neck and I lost it.

  Orgasm ripped through me, tensing my entire body. My scream was an ugly ragged breathy thing but neither of us cared.

  “Fuck,” Wreck grunted, his hips bucked once then immediately slowed to a stop. He crushed against me, grabbing my thigh, trying to slow things. My pussy tightened around him, our aftershocks feeding into each other like a live electrical current. For a fleeting moment neither of us dared to even breathe.

  When breath and reality returned I reached up and pulled him down on top of me. I just needed to feel his weight for a moment to truly know it was all real. We stayed like that, hugging, letting the cool air wick the sweat from our naked bodies. Then Wreck rolled onto his back next to me on the hard wooden table and all that was left was to enjoy the afterglow. Sliding an arm beneath me to support my head, he let his gaze wash over me.

  “Wonder what Machu Picchu is like?” he finally asked with a slowly creasing smirk.

  “Let's go find out. I'll bring my sketchbook,” I signed, playing along at what would have felt unimaginable before Wreck arrived.

  “Good. Have your bags packed by tomorrow, I'll book us a red-eye. You have your passport right?” He nodded thoughtfully as if working out the logistics in his head, then paused and furrowed his forehead. “Shit I don't think I have mine. Alright, that's step one...”

  We both chuckled.

  As the laughter died down and a moment of comfortable, satiated silence followed a lingering apprehension came to the forefront of my heart. I still hadn't been completely honest with him and it was going to eat me alive until I was.

  “Wreck,” I said, pushing through the hesitant fear and all the worst case scenarios that seemed to be building up steam in my head. When he turned and gave me his full attention I froze for a moment not sure if I could actually get the words across. I've been lying to you everyday.
It wasn't just today with the cellphone GPS on, Patrick has had me spying on you, recording your conversations with the club, gathering any information at all that might destroy you and everything you care about. It was awful and I suddenly felt sick, not just at having to admit what I'd done but at having done it in the first place. “I have something to tell you...”

  A sudden loud noise outside startled me and launched Wreck into a sitting position on the table as he tried to figure out where it had come from. A second later the side door to the trailer swung open. I rolled off the table, dressed faster than I'd ever had in my life. I felt like a teenager fooling around with her boyfriend when her parents burst in!

  “Get your shit, Wreck!” Mac hollered, showing his age as he slowly climbed into the trailer. He didn't acknowledge me and what we'd obviously done with everyone else away. The look on his face was one of dark determination, the look of a hardened war vet rallying troops to go fight without much hope of things working out.

  “What do I need for fire power? Am I just cleaning up strays or do the boys need heavy cavalry?” Wreck asked, pulling on his jeans.

  “Bring every fucking gun we have!” Mac growled through fits of catching his breath. He looked as if he hadn't moved faster or more urgently in a long time. He threw Wreck a set of car keys. “Dunk is dead.”

  18

  Wreck

  Mac had to be wrong. That motherfucker was half deaf. Mac must've misheard Dreamer, that's probably what happened. Dunk is ex-special forces. It'd take a goddamn army to kill him. Buck and I used to joke that when the bombs all dropped the only thing left would be cockroaches and Dunk ordering them around.

  The steering wheel of the GMC Yukon strained under my white knuckles as I took a hard turn. All the guns I'd grabbed were loaded and ready to grab and go...and also loose and rolling around the back seat with the exception of a sawed-off shotty I had seat-belted into the passenger seat. I wish I had the time to give more of a shit about securing the rest of the guns when I left, but I couldn't think about that now. The safetys were on all the ones that had them so I forced my hands to relax a little, if I squeezed any tighter I might rip the fucking wheel off the steering column. I didn't know where Mac found this twenty year old fucking monstrosity, but it handled like a boat carrying shipping containers. At this hour in the early morning no one was on the road, which was good because with these bald-ass tires I needed all the lanes I could get for maneuvering.

  Mac had to be wrong about Dunk.

  It was a simple plan, similar to shit we'd done a dozen times. Show up super early, ambush Billy Bones’ crew and torch a mechanic shop. Except Mac told me there was a last minute change in plans and now the guys were trapped in a Thai restaurant down the street named My Thai. I didn't know what the fuck went wrong, but as I turned the last corner between me and them and heard the assault rifles going off I was about to find out.

  Half a dozen jeeps were at the front entrance, My Thai just tearing the building apart with semi automatic weapons fire. Broken glass and discharged bullet casings carpeted the pavement and twinkled in the streetlights. Anything that wasn't brick or steel was being turned into powder. Between the dirty blue-collar clothes and the beater Jeeps they drove, I could tell immediately these new guys weren't Billy Bones’ bougie crew. Had to be Mikhail, the Russian's guys. Despite the eventual double-cross by us or Billy, the operation was to kill that motherfucker and torch his shop.

  How'd Mikhail get the jump on both us and Billy Bones?

  Driving head-on against that firing squad was suicide so I took a hard right down a side street a block before the restaurant. I didn't need to see it, the sound of the carnage kept me company through the several turns that brought me toward the back entrance of the building. Dread sank in my stomach like a bowling ball and immediately I knew Mac didn't mishear. No one could survive that kinda firepower for long. I didn't need to see his body to know Dunk was dead. Whoever these motherfuckers were, they brought an army.

  The guards posted at the back entrance meant that Mikhail wasn't stupid either. This plan of theirs had all the basses covered. They only thing they didn't count on was someone being stupid enough to crash such a one-sided party.

  “Fuck it,” I growled to myself. I threw the truck in reverse, slammed on the gas pedal and used it as a battering ram. The gunshots masked most of my approach. When the group of five or six men began turning from the building to me I'd fully ran over one of them and clipped at least two more. The Yukon XL didn't give a fuck that the Russians had barred the back exit trapping my brothers inside, at nearly forty-five miles an hour I blasted through the whole back wall.

  The impact sucked, but going backward meant I was pulled into the large seat instead of away from it. I wasn't even dazed when my driver's side window exploded from the incoming fire of the two guys that were lucky enough to have been out of the way when I crashed. I leaned over hard until the Russians emptied their clips then came up with the unbuckled sawed-off shotgun. The fuckers didn't even have time to swear at me before I put them down like rabid dogs.

  The rear end of the truck was as obliterated as the wall was. It probably wouldn't be getting it's inspection sticker this time around but the engine and transmission were fine. I tossed my empty shotty onto the passenger-side floor, put it into four-wheel drive and pulled right out of the rubble like it was barely even there.

  In the one mirror I had left I saw men start to stagger out of the hole I'd just made. Yoga had an arm around Buck and one of Billy's Giorgio Armani-clad enforcers, helping both wounded men out of the rubble. A common enemy made strange bedfellows. The few surviving guys left in Billy Bones crew scattered like rats from a house fire. Dreamer carefully walked backwards out of the restaurant expertly laying down cover fire for everyone's retreat. When Buck was loaded into the Yukon Yoga called out for Dreamer who dropped the rifle and dove into the back seat.

  “Dunk?” I asked, already knowing the answer deep down, but desperately hoping I was wrong. I'd been wrong before... maybe...

  A full second of silence passed with no screaming or gunfire. Everyone behind the restaurant was either dead, retreating or already in the SUV. I turned to look at Dreamer, about to repeat my question.

  “Go,” Dreamer replied, then sucked in a deep breath and turned away. His voice was as cold as antarctic rock, but the red-rims around his eyes betrayed the pain he masked.

  “God-fucking-dammit.” I reluctantly pulled the Yukon away. The fact that no one could even retrieve the body was heart-wrenching. Dunk was the hardest of us. He was our leader, our iron will. With all the scrapes he'd gotten us out of... He didn't deserve to be left in the rubble with the rest of the trash! “What the fuck happened?!”

  The SUV was hardy enough to still drive, the muffler was gone, the fender dragged off the pavement and one of the back tires was completely destroyed. So much metal and bullshit was scraping the ground as I drove that it sounded like I was dragging half the fucking building behind me. We'd never make it to the clubhouse like this, but fortunately we didn't have to. The first thing we did before we started doing jobs whenever we came to a new area was to buy a few burner cars and stash them in case of emergencies. One of those stashes was in a parking lot about a mile away.

  “We don't fucking know!” Buck snapped, sneering at the pain from multiple gunshots. Despite bleeding in at least two places that I could tell he hoisted one of the assault rifles scattered across the back seat and set up a firing position out the back window.

  “Stay still, you stupid fuck!” Yoga tore strips off his shirt to field dress his brother as best he could. Glancing back I could see the worry in Yoga's face. Buck was losing a lot of blood. If we didn't get him back to Mac soon... Squeezing the wheel tight enough to make my knuckles crack, I gritted my teeth and stomped on the gas pedal.

  We were going to fucking make it.

  “Patrick triple crossed us,” Dreamer said softly with intense focus. The look on his face was definitely anger, b
ut knowing him as long as I had I could tell he was more angry with himself for not seeing it coming than at the betrayal itself. He loaded my sawed off, laying it across my lap then began reloading both his pistols.

  “Triple cross? The fuck does that mean?” I demanded, not nearly as in control as Dreamer.

  “It means Patrick outplayed us,” Dreamer replied. His face was focused, cool and determined, but there was a slight shake to his hands as he holstered one of his pistols.

  “No shit,” I said, taking a turn too wide and wiping out a yield sign. Not today. Despite having the gas pedal floored, the destroyed back wheel robbed the Yukon of most of its speed.

  “He's working with Mikhail. Probably from the beginning,” Dreamer said, twisting in his seat, getting ready for the inevitable chase.

  “That doesn't make any sense. Those two have been enemies since we got here,” I said

  “It was either all a fucking show or Patrick's playing the long game like we've never seen before,” Yoga called out, tying off the last of his brother's wounds.

  “Or one of them gives a really good hand job. Can't stay mad at a bitch with magic hands,” Buck chuckled weakly. Passing under a street light I could see how slick the back seat was with blood in my mirror. Buck was in rough shape...

  Sarah warned us and we didn't listen and now Dunk was dead and Buck was bleeding out. It was all coming down around us. Regardless of what else happened tonight our MC was done in Baltimore. There's no way we'd be able to lay low after the fire fight at the restaurant. There would be no big payday. Our only job now was to survive the night and get the fuck out of this shit city.

  Three fully loaded jeeps rounded the corner and began picking up speed.

  It'd only taken a few minutes for the Russians to rally up their guys and catch up with us. If anything I was surprised it took them as long as it did. Between the trail of debris in our wake, the noise off all the shit that was still dragging behind us and the fact that there was absolutely no one else on the road at this hour this SUV was easier to spot than blood on snow. We were going to have to deal with Russians before switching vehicles. The SUV was a mess but it at least provided a little cover.