by K. L. Savage
I pace the cage like a wild animal, snarling and watching the elevator open for my next opponent. Reaper talks to Maximo, and I’m not sure what is being said, but Maximo hurries over to the microphone and grabs it from the air.
“The night is over. Leave at once. No questions.” Maximo’s statement has the crowd dispersing quickly, like sheep listening to their handler.
All too soon the crowd is gone, and the buzzing in my mind gets louder. I’m surrounded by my brothers, and Dawn stares at me with absolute terror in her big green eyes that make my knees weak. I shake my head to clear the haze, the need to keep fighting, but as Reaper climbs the fence, takes a knife from Tongue, and jumps down in front of me, what I’ve done hits me like a ton of bricks.
“You want to fight, Skirt? Fight me,” Reaper says, circling me like a shark. He digs the knife into the cut on my back, and a shout of pain rips from my lips. “I said fight me!” He shoves. “You want to prove you’re a god? Fight your President.”
“I’m sorry, Reaper. I don’t know what got into me. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Heat radiates off him, his anger, and he whispers so only I can hear, “You do not disrespect me like that. Do I make myself clear?”
“Aye,” I say, knowing what’s coming.
No matter what state of mind I’m in, I will never fight Reaper. He’s the one man I will not go up against because I know he’ll kill me.
“We have company,” Maximo says as a few men crawl in under the large garage door.
“Table this shit for later. I’m nowhere near done with you.” Reaper slashes the blade across my back, and my knees give out. That knife hurts more than the damn sword that etched my skin earlier.
The men are in leather cuts too. They aren’t armed, but that doesn’t mean anything. The guy up front has a patch on his cut that says VP, so Tool pushes off the side and charges at the stranger to take him out, screwdriver in hand.
“Stand down,” Reaper orders, and Tool doesn’t take another step.
“We aren’t here for trouble. We heard about the fight and knew this would be one of the ways we could meet you all. Word around town is you’ve been looking for someone. I have information.”
“Introduce yourself,” Reaper says, his voice echoing off the underground cage.
“I’m Whistler, VP of Demons Fury. We just moved in on the outskirts of town near the dam.”
It isn’t our territory, so they have every right to claim it. Still, I can see how much Reaper doesn’t like another MC encroaching like this.
“We want to be allies. My President isn’t trying to make enemies.”
“Then, where is he?” Tool spits, flicking his screwdriver over his knuckles.
“Home, with his ol’ lady. She’s on her death bed, and he ain’t ever going to leave her side.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Reaper climbs up the fence and jumps down to stand in front of the strange biker.
I level the cage, ignoring the stinging pain in my back that is close to my spine and sail through the air, landing on two feet.
Barely.
“This is One, my Sargent at Arms.” Whistler points to the man to his left.
“One?” Reaper and I say together. What the fuck kind of road name is that?
“Yeah, he only ever needs one bullet,” Whistler explains.
“This is Skirt,” Reaper points to me with Tongue’s knife. “That’s Tool, the one with the screwdriver. And that’s enough pleasantries. What do you want?”
“You’re looking for a kid, right? And that Cohen guy? He came to us for help, but we denied him.”
“You saw him? You saw my son? And you did nothing?” Dawn screams from behind me and when I look back, she rips out of Bullseye’s hold and marches up to us with a look of hatred in her eyes, swirling like emeralds on fire. She doesn’t hold back. She swings and punches Whistler in the face. “You fucking bastard!” She lifts her fist again, and Reaper catches it mid-air.
Reaper doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. He’s fucking furious. At me. At her. And when he cuts his eyes to me, I know what he wants to say.
I need to get a better hold on my ol’ lady if I know what’s good for her.
“Emotions are running high, fellas. I apologize. This is the mother of the kid you saw, and the man who has him is on our shit list.”
“That’s what we heard from Maximo,” Whistler says.
Reaper lifts a brow at Maximo. “Someone has loose lips. I don’t like that,” Prez sneers.
“I have a job. I’m on the strip in Vegas. I need to know who is worthy around me and who isn’t. They are. I told you about them earlier.” Maximo rolls his eyes, annoyed from Prez’s outburst.
“We want to help with this. We are new to the area, and we don’t want to start on a bad foot. We didn’t realize who the guy was at the time, or we would have stopped him. We think he went to the other MC when he ran out of options. The Hellhounds MC. They’re no good. They have their hands in some fucked-up shit.”
“What kind of shit?” Reaper asks, losing his patience.
Whistler wipes his lip with his tongue and grins. “Your ol’ lady packs a punch. You taught her well.”
“She taught herself,” I say with pride. I like that my woman knows how to protect herself.
Whistler ignores my comment and stares Reaper straight on. “The kind of shit where they are putting pretty price tags on things that shouldn’t have price tags.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Dawn gags and runs to the side of the cage, retching her guts up.
“You help us get this kid back, you’ll forever have allies with Ruthless and all its chapters.”
Whistler’s brows shoot up so far, I thought they were about to leave his forehead. “Fuck yeah, Prez.” He holds out his hand and Reaper grips it, hard. Reaper pulls the man forward until he’s staring him down. Whistler isn’t a short man at all, Reaper is just that fucking big, and being at the end of that stare, I fucking hate it. Whistler probably wants to piss his boots.
I don’t blame him.
“Let me get one thing straight to you, Demons Fury. If you are fucking with me, if you are lying to me, if you are thinking about double crossing me, I will rip your fucking hearts out and then shove them down your throat, and then I’ll have my craziest fucking member cut all your tongues out. Do not fucking ruin this, or I will bring so much death to you, so much pain, not even the fury you demons possess can save you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Whistler says, a slight shake in his voice.
“Good. I want a meeting with your Prez. He comes to me. There is no negotiation on that.”
“He won’t come until she passes.”
Reaper nods and lets go of Whistler’s hand and turns toward the Ruthless Kings. “Let’s roll.” Reaper turns around and then stabs the knife in the wood of the cage floor. Tongue runs to the knife’s side and yanks it out, kisses it, then sheaths it again.
“That’s the guy who cuts tongues,” I say. One’s eyes go wide when Tongue slides his thumb along his neck, smiling at the promise of spilling the Demons Fury blood.
“Look at us, making new friends.” Maximo claps his hands together and slaps me on the back. I hiss, almost punching him in the face with my knuckles, but I catch myself in time. “I need everyone to get the fuck out, okay?” He smiles, and the twists and turns of his attitude give me whiplash.
“Hope yer smart and really consider siding with us. Ye have no idea how fucked up we are.” I head toward Dawn just as she wipes her mouth. She’s in damn tears again over the idea that her son might already be sold.
I lay my arm around her shoulder and guide her toward the exit. Once we’re alone, she stops in front of me. “You killed a man tonight,” she says with a wobbly lip.
“Aye.”
“You liked it.”
“Aye.” No need to lie about it.
“You’re a killer.”
“Aye.”
“
Stop fucking agreeing with me!” she screams.
“Aye,” I say again, but she pushes against my chest until my back is against the wall of the casino. The rough stucco digs into the open wound of my back.
I’ve put a few things together when it comes to Dawn, my sweet lips. When she’s emotional, she needs an outlet. It’s like me with fighting.
“Stop it! Stop. You killed a man. You liked it. You wanted more! Do you want to do that to me? Do you want to hurt me?”
“No, Lips. I never want to hurt ye.”
“Seeing you fight like that did,” she says. “Seeing you become that man…” She trails off and stares at the ground, crossing her arms over her chest. “Skirt was gone.”
“Aye.”
She rears back and slaps me across the face. It’s the first time all night I’ve been hit by someone else’s hand, and since it’s hers, my cock rolls beneath my kilt and comes to life. “Stop agreeing with me.”
“Do it again,” I say.
She backhands me next until my cheek is on fire. I should not be turned on right now, neither should she, but she and I both are running high on emotion, and this is how we take it out.
On each other.
“Again.”
“No.”
I flip us around until it’s her back digging into the rough concrete. I push her shorts to the side and slide my fingers through her wet cunt. “I said again.”
“I said no! I won’t hit you again.”
“Yer defiant…” I shudder, loving how much she fights me.
“I can’t get the thought of you killing that man out of my head.”
I shove my hand over her mouth, lift my kilt up, and plunge my cock into her heat. “Get used to it, Lips. I’d kill again for ye.” I thrust in and out, rocking furiously. I can’t believe we’re fucking right now, but adrenaline is high, and it needs an escape. “And again.” I take all my anger and frustrations of the night out on her, plundering her deep, wet crevice. “And again.” My back burns, stings, and I can feel fresh beads of blood swelling up and flowing down my back.
Dawn screams into my palm and her inner walls massage me, forcing cum from my sack. It’s the quickest, dirtiest fuck I can imagine us doing. I spill my seed inside her and smash my mouth against hers, spearing my tongue between her lips. She sucks my red muscle, and my eyes roll back, and another wave of cum leaves me as her cunt strangles me from her orgasm.
“We’re fucked up,” she whispers against my mouth as the humid air swirls.
“Aye, but we can be fucked up together.”
Dawn knows what I need without me saying it, and the same goes for her. We are fucked up. I don’t know another couple that loves to rough house like we do. I like the slapping she gives me when she wants my cock and doesn’t just come out and say it. It’s a soft punishment that I’ve longed for. It isn’t often I get hit, and I need to feel it, fucking need. It’s an aphrodisiac.
“Hey! Tuck your cock in. You can fuck pussy when we get back. We aren’t waiting around for you forever!” Poodle yells down the alley, and his voice reminds me that the Prez is waiting, and I’m getting lower on his list by making him stand around.
I slip out of her heat and push her panties and shorts back in place.
Here I am, knowing I’m about to get carved more than a piece of wood, and all I can think about is how my cum is pooling in her underwear and slicking up her folds for me to use later.
Yeah, I’m fucked.
Chapter Fifteen
DAWN
Waylon Jennings blares from the jukebox in the main room. Everyone is going on with their lives, drinking and having a good time, but I know what’s really going on. The music is turned up, people are drinking, but in the next room, Skirt is getting a heart carved in his chest.
“Tool has one,” a beautiful brunette woman sits next to me, green eyes like mine, but a tad lighter. She has two dogs next to her, Yeti and Tyrant if I remember correctly. Yeti is the reason why Poodle’s dog, Lady, got pregnant and had puppies. Skirt bought one, but he hasn’t had time to care for it yet, but maybe I can for him. With all the shit going on, he’ll never have time for a dog.
“One what?” I take a swig of beer.
“A heart on his chest. Tool got it for disobeying Reaper about staying away from me.”
My eyes linger on her curvy frame. She’s wearing a leather cut too, and as she bends down to pet the dogs, I see “Property of Tool” on the back. I want one of those. Unless Skirt doesn’t really view me as his ol’ lady. “They have their own laws around here. It’s just how it is. It might not seem like a big deal, but not listening to Reaper is one of the biggest crimes a brother can commit.”
“You act like Reaper is God.” I tilt the beer to my lips and take a few greedy swallows. My eyes land on Jasmine, who’s giving me the evil-eye along with Candy, the slut I throat punched. I’ll happily do it again if they don’t get their damn eyes off me.
“Here, he is, and you’ll be smart not to question that,” Juliette advises, and another woman sits to my left. Sarah, if I remember right.
“She’s right. Reaper can be brutal, but he has to be for the club to take him seriously,” the blonde says, and then catches thing one and thing two looking at us. “What the hell is their problem?”
“Me. Jasmine is mad that I fuck Skirt, and Candy is mad that I throat punched her when she tried to attack me because I said the guys had no standards.” I shrug, guzzling the rest of my drink until I’m fresh out. How long does it take to carve a damn heart?
Juliette and Sarah howl with laughter, slapping their knees as if it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Sarah’s cheeks are red, and Juliette snorts since she can’t control her breathing.
“That’s great. I love it. I like you.” Sarah wiggles a finger at me, and Yeti jumps up and licks it.
Jasmine struts over to me, swaying her hips in her red mini skirt and cheap pink lipstick. She’s only wearing a black leather bra, and her belly button is pierced. Candy is next to her as back up, and her tits are so big, she can’t even cross her arms over her chest. Her lips are just as fake as her blonde hair, along with her lashes. Is anything real on her?
“How can I help you skanks?” I ask as nicely as I can. I’m not really in the mood. I’ve had a hell of a night. I’m somewhat closer to getting my kid, saw Skirt kill a man, fucked next to a dumpster because apparently I have no class where I drop my panties for Skirt, and now he’s getting his chest scarred for life because of me.
I mean, if you think about it, all of this is because of me. If I’d never showed up, if he’d never found me on the road, none of this would be happening to them.
“We have been here a lot longer than you,” Jasmine slurs, her fruity drink splashing over the rim of the plastic cup as she teeters on her heels that are three inches too high. “We deserve them. Not you.”
“Well, none of them picked you, did they?” Juliette spouts, flicking her thick brown hair over her shoulder.
“They fucked us.” Candy has a satisfied grin on her lips as if that is supposed to make me jealous.
I laugh because I know my man hasn’t fucked any one of them. Only me. Only ever. I’m not about to tell them that, but I know the truth. “You think that makes you special? Sweetie, you were another pair of legs to help get on with the day, but you don’t have their hearts. You will always be a cut-slut. Now, why don’t you go spread them for a brother who isn’t taken?”
“Fucking bitch.” Jasmine tosses her drink on me, right in my fucking face. All I taste is vodka and punch, staining the white shirt Sarah let me borrow.
Candy takes a step back, the first time in her life that she’s probably ever been smart, as I stand. I don’t know why I can defend myself here and I couldn’t with Cohen; maybe it’s because of Aidan. I had to take the abuse so my son never got it, but Cohen isn’t here, and Aidan is missing, and the only thing keeping me somewhat levelheaded is Skirt.
And I’m not about to
let these women ruin that for me.
The song on the jukebox is turned down, but lightly plays in the background. Conversation comes to a halt as everyone stares at us.
Without thinking, I snag her by the extensions in her hair and push her to the ground, then drag her to the front door. I’m so sick of people thinking they can walk all over me. I’m done with that. It’s time to show people who’s boss, who’s in control, and it’s not some whore who had Skirt’s cock in her mouth for less than a minute.
When we get outside into the cold night, my breath can be seen, and the bonfire that Braveheart, Tank, and Doc are sitting around is warm and inviting. When Doc sees what’s happening, he stands on his feet from the stump on the ground.
I slam Jasmine’s head against the porch, and she whines, “You bitch!”
“Yeah, you’ve been saying that a lot lately.” I kick her down the steps, and she cries when she hits the ground. I mean, ugly sobs as she tries to get to her feet. I hurry to her side and push her, and if Doc wasn’t in the way, Jasmine would have been set on fire. “Let me get something straight to you—Skirt is mine. You might have had a taste of him for a moment, but I get it for a lifetime. I fuck him. You don’t. You don’t like it? Leave. I have other things to worry about than a selfish whore who thinks she has any say over the men here because she waves her ass in the air for an easy ride. Leave me alone, and I promise I won’t take Skirt’s brass knuckles and fucking beat you with them. Are we clear?”
“Yes.” She stares at the ground, not even able to look me in the eyes.
“You owe Sarah an apology for ruining her shirt. Reaper will deal with you later for it, I assume. Isn’t Sarah the one thing you aren’t supposed to fuck with? Her or her belongings?” Her eyes widen, and her face turns ashen; even with the glow of the fire, she’s terrified. Why can’t Reaper carve a heart in her chest? Why the hell does the MC have sluts hanging around all the time? It isn’t like they can’t go to Vegas and get a piece of ass whenever they want.
