by Forgy, M. N.
“Too bad I don’t fuck cops,” he jeers, taking me from my lust filled state. I shove him, needing him away from me so I can think clearly.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I seethe. Angry with myself, pissed that I am getting lost in the broken beauty of this man. I’ve let my guard down and now look where I am.
“What is going on in here?” The familiar voice of Jillian echoes down the hall. She steps into the room wearing a black robe, her hair wet and eyes wide. She cuts Felix a look that speaks volumes.
“He’s locking me in here!” I inform her.
“I asked you to look after her, not keep her prisoner!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have missed that in the handbook of protecting a fucking cop!” he smarts.
Rolling her eyes, she pushes Felix out of the room and slams the door shut.
“I can’t stay here Jillian. I have a job, I have my mother, a dog for Christ’s sake!” I feel the urge to cry but resist.
She grabs my hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “I will make sure they are all taken care of, Zeek will. I just, I need you to try and let them do what they need to do. Trust me, you don’t know what lays in the underbelly of Vegas, and from what I’ve overheard Zeek and the men saying… we are the target for every criminal in the three-state area. They’re refusing the mafia’s protection I think.”
My eyes widen with this news, but with Zeek’s Uncle Frank dead, and his right-hand man, Cross disappearing without a trace, it doesn’t surprise me. Every club and gang around will want to take the Outlaws out and take their turf.
Looking at Jillian I want to slap her for putting me in this mess, but at the same time, she really is trying to keep me safe.
Guilt flares in my chest that I am crossing the enemy line and I have to look away from Jillian. I swallow that shit down and lift my chin confidently. Nothing is getting in my way of me and my family, especially my fucking conscious. I need to know what happened to my dad, and I will.
“I’ll try and play nice,” I whisper. And by ‘try’ I mean I’ll try and not shoot Felix in the dick.
Felix
I rub at my chin, eyeing the door that contains a fucking cop in my club. I cannot believe Zeek put me on this shit. Zeek is obviously trying to put our club on a different path than what his old man had us on, and I’m trying to see it. I’m trying to trust him and know that our brotherhood can withstand the repercussions that may fall in its wake getting to that path Zeek is looking for. But even with me having Zeek’s back, keeping Alessandra safe is going to be nearly impossible around here. Jillian might be safe from people trying to kill her, but that’s because she is Zeek’s ol’ lady. Alessandra isn’t owned by anyone. She’s fair game and is playing with wolves being here unclaimed. Zeek’s order to leave her alone, be damned.
I’m completely shocked she wants in our pocket. The balls on her are bigger than some of our own members and that draws me to her. She’s not weak, and the outlaw in me wants to make her weak. I want to break her, make her mine.
Growling I slam my hand into the wall, making Machete eye me warily.
I’m fucking losing my mind.
Jillian steps out of the room pulling her robe tighter, her eyes glaring at me like I’m the asshole.
“She tried to shoot me,” I inform her, and Jillian rolls her eyes.
“She’s a handful, but you have two hands. You’ll live…maybe.” She winks, before entering her and Zeek’s room.
“Bitch,” I mutter, flexing my fists.
Zeek strides out of the room with a beer in his hand and glances at Alessandra’s door.
“So I know you didn’t bring her here, why’d she show up?” he asks.
“She’s a dirty little bird,” I smile wolfishly, and Zeek raises his brows in curiosity. “Call the boys, it’s time to retaliate,” I pull my bandana from my back pocket and wrap it around my forehead. Needing to take this aggression out on someone for I fear if I don’t, a pretty little deputy is going to be taking the wrath of this outlaw.
Alessandra
Sitting back on the bed I glance around the room. It’s not clean and is basic. Bed, dresser, chair, pornographic posters. Glancing at the door I think about sneaking out, about going home to my comfortable bed, but I don’t. Something deep inside me tells me to actually listen to what I’m told for once. Sighing deeply, I nose around the room. Opening the old dresser drawer, I find folded shirts, jeans, and spare bullets. I close it, and head into the adjacent bathroom.
It smells of grease and aftershave.
Running my hand over the fake marble counter I reach for the toothbrush. Eyeing it, I wonder if it’s Felix’s. If I knew it was, I’d scrub the toilet with it, but because I don’t, I put it back in its place.
Feeling exhausted I go back into the room and open the closet, finding a bunch of shirts with the club’s logo on it. I grab one and let the hanger drop to the floor.
I pull my shirt off, and then my bra before sliding the worn fabric over my head. That’s when I notice the sleeves have been ripped off and I have major side-boob going on.
I shrug. Oh well. At least it’s comfortable.
Unbuttoning my jeans, I kick off my shoes and shimmy out of them. My knife falls to the floor catching my attention. I’m sleeping with this knife like a fucking teddy bear tonight.
Turning the light off, I head to the bed and nestle under the worn sheets. They smell of a man, spicy and clean. My thighs clench together in an attempt to smother the ache smoldering between them. It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten laid, and my body has a mind of its own.
Clutching the knife, I close my eyes, my heart beating heavy. How the hell I’m supposed to sleep in a place full of murderers, drug dealers, and possible rapists is a joke.
I could kill Jillian for doing this to me. Then again it is getting me closer to the Outlaws.
Felix
“The Lost Bastards?” Machete asks surprised after I tell the patched in members the information Alessandra gave me.
“That’s what she said,” I clarify. The Lost Bastards are a small little bitch club.
“Tomorrow, we retaliate. Make a statement to the surrounding clubs that we are not fucking going anywhere, and we are not taking this shit!” Zeek sneers, his face turning red with the disrespect.
“You,” he points at me. “Alessandra is your responsibility, so find out what you can about her pops. Surely someone in our pocket can lead us to something,” Zeek orders.
Leaning back in my chair, a cigarette hanging from my mouth, I nod in acceptance.
Looks like I’ve claimed this bitch without my consent. She’s going to hate me until it burns, and then thirst for me until she realizes she starving.
I’m going to enjoy this.
“I don’t mind the parties at night, but if you wake up my kids I’m going to put a lug in one of your fucking legs!” He eyes the table. “Also, if you see any of the bitches giving my ol’ lady a hard time you better stop that shit in a hurry. I told them if they even looked in her direction they were banned. She is the club’s queen now, and everyone better just fucking accept that.”
Everyone gives a silent nod, including me.
Zeek slams the gavel down, declaring the meeting over and snapping me back to my memory.
“Oh, and unless you’re sleeping in one of the chairs, you’ll have to share a room with Alessandra, Felix,” Zeek informs last minute, and the rest of the men laugh at my expense as they exit the chapel. I’m not laughing. Not at fucking all.
“I’ll take the goddamn chair,” I grit.
* * *
Not being able to sleep, I sit up. A crick in my neck throbbing down my back. My bare back sweaty and sticking to the leather. Resting my elbows on my knees, I run my hands through my long hair exhausted.
“You okay, baby?” A voice coos from the corner. Glancing up I notice Gia sitting in an adjacent chair with a flannel blanket covering her. The room smells like stale cigarettes and cheap perfume,
it’s giving me a damn headache.
“Can’t sleep,” I mutter.
She tosses the blanket off her lap and slides to her knees, sauntering over with hooded eyes. A black Harley shirt hanging off one shoulder, and her hair tossed in a hot mess of a ponytail.
Rubbing her hands up and down my legs she runs her tongue along her bottom lip sexually.
“Want me to help you with that?” she asks huskily, lust thick in her eyes.
Leaning back in the chair, I raise a challenging brow. Why not?
Unzipping my jeans, she shoves her hand into my pants and pulls out my cock. Using both hands, she pumps it from the base to tip. Flicking the tip with her tongue, my cock pulses with the temptation. She giggles and runs her tongue along the shaft and my balls squeeze as I grow in her hands. Done with the seductive, flirty act. I grip her by her hair and shove her tonsils first onto my cock. She gags, but gets the point, and starts sucking and slurping. Spit slips down onto my balls as she sucks me like a vise. Leaning my head back on the chair I close my eyes and sigh through gritted teeth. My hand still in her hair I guide her up and down, her hot mouth licks and sucks me into bliss.
Her tits bounce and hit against my knees with every bob, her nipples skipping across them. Using my free hand, I cup her neck, the flesh not as silky as I would like. It’s more leathery and worn. Much like the rest of her body.
Blue Bird’s strong eyes flash behind my closed eyes from when I had my hand around her throat, ready to squeeze the life out of her.
I shake my head, trying to void her fucking face in this moment. It’s no use. My throat bobs, my body tensing as I think about her.
That mouth Blue Bird possesses, that temper, that fucking body. I blow my load into the back of Gia’s throat without warning. My dick pulsing with pleasure, my balls squeezing so hard it hurts. Gia chokes, her head flying off my cock.
Opening my eyes, I find her on her hands and knees trying to catch her breath as my cum drips from her lips.
Rage riddles up my spine as I acknowledge I just came to a fucking cop - of all bitches.
Standing I shove my junk back in my pants and strut to my room.
“Where are you going?” Gia asks with a hoarse voice.
I don’t answer her because I’m not entirely sure what the fuck I’m doing and it’s none of her fucking business.
Opening the door to my room, I close it quietly. My back to the door, I slide my ass to the floor, elbows to my knees as I watch the woman I just blew my load to sleeping in my bed.
She has one of my shirts on, her brown hair all over my pillow as she sleeps peacefully. There’s more to this woman than just a cop, I can tell when I look deep in her eyes. The Devil is dancing in those angelic eyes. She’s full of temptation and charm and she knows it. I want to know her story, I need to know it. Because right now I’m a fucking hypocrite; busting Zeek’s balls for screwing a law enforcement, and I’m over here eye fucking her best friend.
I recognize sin when I look it in the eye. I’m drawn to it, and I’m drawn to Alessandra like a reaper is to an angel. I want to drag her into my world and tear her apart. I hate that I’m like that, but it’s what I was raised to do. Destroy, kill, and take no mercy. There is no light in my life, but looking at Alessandra I can see that may be the closest thing I’ll ever get to it.
Digging in my pocket, I pull out that joint I rolled earlier and light it. The green herb filling my lungs, and relaxing my racing thoughts instantly.
Alessandra’s foot slides up her leg, scratching her bare calf and my dick jumps to attention as if I didn’t just get sucked off moments ago. She’s awake. My eyes fall on a scar on her lower back, I can’t tell what is it. An X maybe.
“Where’d you get the scar?” I ask.
Her shoulders rise.
“First bike ride,” she mumbles sleepily. Narrowing my eyes, I find it hard to believe falling off a bike makes that kind of scar. It’s so exact and deep. It lures me into her world wanting to know more.
Pulling the blunt away from my mouth I eye the burning cherry, blowing smoke into the dark air.
“What’s your dad’s name? Give me details,” I question with a husky voice. Seconds pass before she rolls over and hits me with those beautiful lost eyes. Her nipples are hard, poking through my shirt. I’ve seen a lot of posers wear our gear before, but fuck if Alessandra doesn’t pull it off perfectly. Biting my lip, I have to restrain myself from thinking about her grinding on my lap wearing nothing but that shirt. Music from Machete’s room can be heard, “Tainted Love” by Marilyn Manson is not helping my sexual need right now.
“His name was Officer Brock Lucas, he was thirty-eight years old when he was killed on the job. They said he was shot before the suspect took his own life. His partner, Officer Kelly, lost it to PTSD and retired. I have no idea where he is, but he reached out recently giving me a dog in the blood line of the department.”
Taking another hit, I eye her through the smoke rolling from my blunt.
“And you think there’s more to his death why, princess?” I taunt. His demise seems legit to me. Why is she digging up old graves? Boredom? Is she trying to sue the department for money? Wouldn’t surprise me, by the looks of her she seems like an uppity bitch.
Her brows furrow, her lip curling with anger. Seems I struck a nerve. She tosses the blankets off her and slides off the mattress. Her long, tanned silky legs catch my attention first. I have a thing for a woman with long tanned legs, it’s what attracts me first. Black lace panties play peekaboo with my ripped up shirt and I have to contain the feral growl wanting to escape my mouth.
Taking me by surprise she straddles my lap, plucking the joint from my fingertips she wraps her plush pink lips around the end and inhales a breath so big the joint lights up the small space between us. Her eyes never leave mine, and my heart pounds in my chest. My hands having a mind of their own I can’t help but touch the sides of her thighs. God, they’re so fucking soft and smooth. She’s a vixen hiding behind a toxic badge. She exhales, the smoke dancing upward into the sky and painting the perfect picture, the perfect woman. Dark tangled hair, brown lost eyes, and she’s wearing nothing but my shirt as she straddles my lap in black lace panties. She’s the good girl gone bad. My kryptonite.
Her brown hair falls in her face, her lips parting as smoke rolls out of her mouth drifting around her like the devil just granted me a wish in return for my soul.
I grip her by the shirt, the sides of her tits showing from the sleeves being ripped off my shirt and pull her close. She’s temptation with a price, one I want so fucking badly. She seems unfazed by my aggressive pull as she places the blunt between my lips.
“You know nothing about me,” she replies smoothly before sliding off my lap. Making sure to rock against my length before breaking contact fully. “We had a deal, just fucking hold your end up, yeah?” she sasses before climbing back into my bed.
Holy fuck. Placing the blunt back between my lips I inhale a large breath. Watching the bitch that is wearing my shirt, and sleeping in my bed. Pretending to be the good guy when I know for a fact, she’s a badass bitch.
I’ve just met my match.
Chapter 4
Alessandra
“Brown 5, you will train harder, fight harder do you understand?” The man scolds as a jet of cold water pelts against my back. Blood and dirt slip off my raw skin and into a rusty drain as I cling to the wall, crying as the pins and needles of the shower head spray into me merciless.
“I tried!” I wail.
“No, you didn’t. You showed mercy and backed down, and that kindness will be smothered from you, or I will tear it from you!” he threatens, pounding the water in my face. I gasp, trying to turn my head every which way, my hair matting to my face, I lose where I’m positioned and slip and fall onto the hard tiled floor. My body biting into the cool hardness.
“Stop!” I scream, waking up to the smell of coffee and leather.
It takes me a second to remember
where I am as I come to. Then it all replays like a bad movie. My mouth is dry and tastes of bad weed as I climb out of bed and go into the bathroom. I grab the tube of toothpaste off the counter and dab some on my finger and slide it across my teeth, using the pad of my finger as a pretend toothbrush.
I toss the shirt on the unmade bed and dress in the clothes I had on yesterday before stepping out of the room. Machete and his gun aren’t standing guard, thank God, so I head into the main area. I smell coffee and hear babies crying. It looks tamer today than what I remember seeing last night.
“Good morning!” Jillian beams from the bar, a cup of coffee sitting in front of her as she soothes a baby in her lap. I look around the club curious how everyone is accepting her being in here but nobody seems to be bothered by it. They are on their phones or watching TV.
A woman with dark long hair is wearing a sling with Layken in her hold. She’s more dressed than some of the girls I saw around here last night. An ol’ lady perhaps? She’s wearing a red flannel shirt tied in the front and dark jeans claiming her thick thighs.
“Want some coffee?” the lady asks, and I realize I’ve been staring longer than acceptable.
“No thank you. I’ll grab a cup at the station,” I inform softly. A tight-lipped smile spreads across her aged face and she begins to wipe the counter. I look around again, curious where the girls were from last night that gave me a hard time.
“Where is everyone?” I ask curiously.
“By everyone do you mean the guys or the woman’s nose you broke last night?” the woman asks with a snarky tone. My eyes widen, and I suck in a tight breath as Jillian hits me with a surprised look. The lady hits me with warm eyes, a smile pulling at her wrinkled lips. “I’m Carola, I take care of the boys, and I say boys because that’s exactly what they are,” she smirks, her Italian accent thick. “The skanks that prance around here won’t be around during the day out of respect for the ol’ ladies,” she informs me.
