Theirs To Defy: a Reverse Harem Romance

by Stasia Black

  Bulge stood for a long, silent moment, assessing the two of them. Billy’s balls were sweating so much in a second it was gonna look like he’d fucking pissed his pants.

  But then Bulge grinned and opened his arms wide. “Fucking shit timing, man, but bring her to Papa! All these fucking whores are boring and lifeless as shit.”

  He pulled off one boot and pant leg, then kicked the woman who’d previously been giving him a blow job in the side until she skittered off the platform. He pulled off his other boot, kicked off his jeans the rest of the way, and sat back on his throne-like chair, legs spread wide, hard cock jutting up against his stomach. He gave it a tug as Drea and Billy walked forward.

  Just as they’d planned, Billy untied her when they were just halfway across the room. Drea had merely glossed over this part of the plan, so Billy wasn’t prepared when she started to swing her hips and rub her hands sensuously down her body.

  Now that he saw her moving along to the beat, he realized there was music playing, low grinding rock with a hard base.

  And fuck could Drea dance.

  She kept her head bowed as if submissive, but the way she ran her hands up and down her own body—Jesus fuck. Billy shifted uncomfortably as he made his way over to the wall like she’d told him to.

  When she dipped low, legs spread and then teased her hands up along her inner thighs before slowly standing back up again, apparently Billy wasn’t the only one reaching the breaking point.

  “Get the fuck over here and ride my cock,” Bulge demanded, “Right fucking now.” He grabbed himself and pumped his shaft up and down as Drea approached. And damn, but the guy lived up to his name. His cock was a good ten inches and thick as a damn anaconda.

  In spite of his orders, Drea still moved with a practiced ease that had Billy’s blood ringing in his ears. Holy shit, she was pushing this too far. Was she actually gonna fuck the dude? She was so crazy intense, he wouldn’t put it past her.

  At first he’d thought coming here was all about getting help for Eric, but he was quickly realizing there was a hell of a lot more going on here. She obviously had a past with the MC and he didn’t think it was just as a woman they’d trafficked at some point.

  Whatever had gone down, she was here for comeuppance.

  For revenge.

  For blood.

  Billy watched in horrified fascination as she stepped up onto the platform area. And then—holy shit, what was she—?

  Billy almost swallowed his own tongue. In one motion, she slipped the straps of the dress down her shoulders and then, before he’d even blinked, the slinky material was pooled around her waist.

  Billy was at just the perfect angle to see her gorgeous, perfect tits in all their perfect titty glory before she hiked one leg up on the tattoo’d bastard’s plush recliner.

  There wasn’t an eye in the entire fucking room that wasn’t zeroed in on her as she climbed on top of Bulge.

  So no one missed a single splatter of the blood that sprayed up his chest or the look of horror on his face as Drea—

  Cut.

  Off.

  His.

  Dick.

  With the switchblade she had hidden the only place she could—up her damn pussy.

  Chapter Seven

  DREA

  She didn’t waste a second of the shocked surprise that momentarily froze the room.

  The switchblade was sharp, but Bulge’s dick was thick. She couldn’t get through the whole damn thing without sawing at it and that was time she didn’t have. She’d sliced a little more than halfway, though, and he’d bleed out soon.

  It was a more dignified death than the bastard deserved anyway.

  No time to dwell. In about two seconds, it was gonna sink in that she’d just killed their Pres and then shit was really gonna hit the fan.

  Time to do some damage.

  She leapt off Bulge’s chair and landed right beside his jeans. In the same motion, she grabbed for the two guns he kept strapped to his belt. SIG-Sauer P228s. A little too much gun for her taste but Daddy had taught her how to shoot anything that had a barrel and a trigger.

  And she knew exactly which targets to hit first.

  She’d clocked the room while Billy and Bulge did their back and forth. First she lined up on Handlebar—just for shits and giggles she lowered her aim from right between his eyes to zero in on that stupid novelty mustache he was so damn proud of.

  Bang.

  One rapist motherfucker down.

  About twenty more to go.

  She ducked behind Bulge’s chair as she aimed for Smokey. He was old as fuck but the one everyone would be looking to with their other two highest ranking members down.

  Bang.

  Down he went and she pulled back behind the chair as gunfire exploded all around her. Well. Looked like they could draw even when they were all drunk as shit. Whether they could aim and hit anything, now, that was another matter. At least the damn throne Bulge sat on was thick. None of the rounds got through it.

  “Give yourself up, you crazy bitch,” someone yelled when the fire died down, “or I kill him.”

  Drea jerked her head up and her chest cinched when she peeked around the chair and saw Budweiser with his gun against Billy’s temple.

  Fuck.

  She’d told Billy to get to the side of the room and then slip out the back as soon as shit started to go down.

  Best laid plans…

  She glanced at her watch and then took one more peek at the room.

  Screw it. It was now or never.

  She stood up, both guns extended, aimed at the next highest-ranking members. With a shake of her head, she jarred the hat she was wearing loose, veil and all. As soon as her face was revealed, she heard several holy shits around the room along with other, more colorful curses.

  Others, she knew, were still too busy staring at her tits, in spite of the fact that she’d just murdered three of their own.

  “Bella?” asked a man, standing up from a table on the left of the room, not too far from where the bastard had the gun to Billy’s head. “Belladonna? Is that really you?”

  Drea only allowed her eyes to flick briefly in his direction.

  It was Garrett. Road name Peewee. Damn. She hadn’t counted on him being here. He was a giant of a man with a biker’s beard and a trunk so wide he was the definition of the term barrel-chested.

  She thought for sure he’d be with the riders sent out to help defend the northern border. It was usually only the highest-ranking bastards who stayed behind while the lackeys were sent out. And to become a high-ranking Skull, you had to do shit you could never clean off your soul.

  She and Garrett had been good friends once, a lifetime ago. He’d grown up in the club, same as her.

  But she’d just killed his dad.

  Handlebar.

  She’d just killed his dad right in front of him. So somehow she didn’t think he’d be feeling too friendly toward her at the moment.

  But she couldn’t let that get her off track. She was on a mission.

  “I’m here to reclaim my birthright,” she said, looking out on the seventeen men still left standing, including Garrett and Budweiser, the fucker holding the gun to Billy’s head.

  “My father was the President of this chapter and he was unjustly murdered. But I can forgive and forget. I’ll deal with his murderer in time, you count on that. All I ask for is my rightful position in my father’s place as President of this chapter.”

  “Ain’t no girl can be Pres,” scoffed Tex Mex, one of the old-timers. His gray beard was so long it laid over his huge beer gut almost all the way down to his belt.

  “Why not?” Drea said, eyes mapping out the room and everyone’s positions in it. She’d have to be careful of the women. Internally, she kept up the count that had been going on ever since she’d last glanced at her watch. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten.

  “Fuck this,” Budweiser said, cocking his gun.

  “Wait!” Drea cried. She
didn’t have a clean shot. Billy was in the way. And it wasn’t time yet—

  But then, as if her thoughts had conjured it, Budwieser’s head exploded. Drea’s head snapped toward the sound of the gunshot. Only to see Garrett with his gun out, pointed in the direction where Budweiser had just dropped to the floor.

  Garrett shot Budweiser.

  Garrett’s on your side.

  She barely had a second to register the thought before the lights cut out and the room went pitch black.

  Shit!

  She forced herself to breathe and focus. And to fire.

  She’d had her gun trained on Biscuit and Hat Trick, knowing the lights would go any second. They hadn’t had women on them so she took the shots. She and Billy had set a timed charge on the main power feed line, set for six minutes, so she’d known the lights were gonna go.

  The girls screamed all around the room at the chaos, but they didn’t need to be afraid.

  See, Drea had a plan.

  She dropped down and felt for her hat. As soon as her hand closed over it, she pulled out the sleek night-vision goggles she’d taped into the top lining, slipping them on and immediately taking aim at two Black Skulls closest to her.

  She took kill shots. Bang. Bang. And they were down.

  They’d lost all rights to compassion when they’d signed up to be part of this murdering, rapist, slave trading MC.

  Except Garrett. He never had a choice, did he? Handlebar was a mean bastard. She knew for a fact he used to beat Garrett. Sometimes within an inch of his life. One time when Garrett was a teenager, Handlebar took a bat to him and shattered his shoulder.

  Another man stumbled in the darkness, hands out like he was trying to find the wall.

  Bang.

  Three more, huddled together behind one of the couches. She checked their faces first. None of them were Garrett.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Drea had begged Garrett to run away. But he said no. He said he didn’t have a future apart from the MC. He thought he was nobody without it and wouldn’t listen to her arguments to the contrary. When he wouldn’t, she’d begged her dad to do something about Garrett’s home life.

  He was the MC President, wasn’t he? How could he look the other way when something like that was happening on his watch? But Dad just said other folks family matters were their own private affairs. She should have known then that Dad wasn’t the shining hero she thought he was.

  Drea had been prepared to run away with Garrett because she knew it might be the only way to get him to go. She wasn’t an idiot. She saw the way he looked at her. She didn’t know if she felt the same way. Garrett was two years younger than her so she’d always seen him as more of a little brother. But maybe in time…? If it meant getting him away from his monster father?

  But then Thomas and his dad showed up and Garrett and his problems fell by the wayside. Everything paled when Thomas Tillerman walked into the room. His dad had a little of the same magnetism. Enough that Dad promoted him to Sergeant at Arms within just a couple years. They’d come from a sister chapter of the Skulls, but still, that was almost unheard of.

  Thinking of Thomas made Drea’s blood boil so much that when she came across two more bastards who’d actually made it to the door she slipped on her brass knuckles. Especially when she saw them dragging women with them to use as shields.

  She aimed and fired at the one furthest away, pausing to be sure of her shot. Bang. He dropped and the woman he’d been holding jumped back, arms flailing in fright. But she quickly found the wall and hurried away.

  The closer biker, though, he was holding his female shield too tight to get a good shot. So Drea grabbed him by the elbow, swung him around, and slammed his face with her brass-knuckle-covered fist. The crunch of bones was fucking satisfying.

  She put the barrel of the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  With her goggles, she saw the look of excitement cross the man’s face. He thought he’d escaped the executioner. Oh how cute.

  He reached for his waist and the piece he kept there. He had to drop hold of the woman to do it. Bonus. She skittered backwards away from him.

  “Looking for this?” Drea asked sweetly.

  Bang.

  She dropped him. “Dead by your own hardware. Damn. That’s gotta sting.”

  She shook her head as she stood up and looked around.

  Women crouched down to the floor all over the room. There were still a few bikers scrambling for doors and windows but one man stood in the center of the room, unmoving, hands at his side. He wasn’t trying to run or and he wasn’t reaching for his gun.

  Drea pulled her dress back up her torso and lifted the straps on over her shoulders, then she walked closer with her gun out in front of her.

  As she came around his side, she saw his face.

  Garrett.

  His face was absolutely blank. Drea frowned. Did he have that much trust in her? That she wouldn’t shoot him?

  “It’s okay,” he called out loudly. She ducked and took a step back. He must not know how close she was because he continued talking at an almost yell.

  “I’m ready, Belladonna.”

  She cringed at his use of her middle name. Belladonna. It was what they all used to call her. Who named their child after a poisonous plant?

  You poison everything you touch. I should send you back to where you came from!

  “I’m ready to meet my maker and face judgement for my crimes.”

  Drea shook her head and reached out. Garrett jerked at her touch like she’d just shocked him with electricity.

  “Garrett. Garrett, it’s me. It’s okay.”

  Right then, the lights came back on, blinding her. She jerked back, scrambling to get her goggles off.

  She managed to a moment later and Garrett was exactly where she’d left him. He’d had time to get the upper hand on her if he’d wanted to. His own gun was holstered at his waist, though. He could have easily pulled it and shot her. He hadn’t.

  “Bells,” he whispered, and that one word was so full of sorrow and devastation. “I’m so sorry, Bells.”

  She shook her head and tried to smile, reaching again for his hand. She realized at the same time how ludicrous the action was. She was still in the slutastic dress, covered in blood from the men she’d just slaughtered. She quickly moved her eyes around the room.

  “It’s not safe,” she said when Garrett went to pull her into a hug.

  “Shit.” He swiped at his eyes. Was he crying? “You’re right. Of course.”

  He did pull out his gun then, but only to step up side by side with her. They went first to where Billy had crawled underneath the pool table, his entire body shaking, arms over his head.

  Then Drea went around to the women while Garrett went to make sure the rest of the clubhouse was clear and there weren’t any more bikers hiding out. “You’re safe now. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  They all scrambled back away from her. All except one.

  She’d pulled a throw from one of the couches over herself to cover her nakedness but it was still clear she was rail thin. She had brown hair that had a slight wave to it and intelligent, brown eyes.

  “There’s more of us downstairs. If you’re really here to help us, go down and free the rest.” She held out a large keyring—the old fashioned kind, little pieces of metal instead of keycards. No doubt she’d picked it up off one of the men Drea had shot.

  Drea took the keys. “How do I get downstairs? And what’s your name?”

  “Gisela,” she said as she led them back to the hallway they’d come through from the garage.

  There was a door but Drea was confused, because it did have a keycard reader. Gisela held out a keycard and it opened.

  She flipped a light switch as she, Billy, and Gisela climbed down the concrete steps. Right away, they were met with soft, feminine cries in response.

  Drea ran down the rest of the stairs as fast as possible. An
d when she got to the bottom—

  “No!” she cried, sprinting forward.

  Lining the dank, barely lit basement, stuffed in every available crevice, around water heaters, exposed pipes, and other large equipment were… cages.

  Cages.

  Inside each one huddled a naked, shivering woman. The cages weren’t even big enough for the women to stand up in. They could only sit or stand at a crouch.

  Drea ran to the closest one and fumbled with the keys on the keyring she’d grabbed from Gisela.

  “I’m getting you out of here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” It was all she could say. Over and over as she tried key after key.

  “Fuck,” she cried when none of them worked. She’d been working so fast and frantically, she wasn’t sure if she’d missed some, maybe the one fucking key that would open the cage lock. There were about fifty damn keys on the fucking keyring.

  Finally she let out a growl and pulled out the Glock she’d picked up off one of the bastards upstairs. “Move back. Can you move back, sweetie?”

  The woman inside the cage nodded and cemented her body to the back of the cage. Drea breathed out and aimed with more care and precision than she ever had in her life.

  Bang.

  But this time, instead of taking life, she was giving it.

  The woman inside the cage let out just a small scream but then Drea wrenched the door open and helped her crawl out to freedom.

  Joyous cries sounded all throughout the basement, echoing off the concrete walls. The woman Drea had just freed began sobbing and threw her arms around Drea as she helped her to her feet.

  “Oh thank you. Thank you, thank you!!”

  Drea couldn’t tell if her hair was blonde or brown, it was so greasy, and from the way she smelled, it was obvious showers weren’t common.

  As she moved to the next cage, she saw another reason for the stench. Each girl had a bucket in the corner of their cages. A fucking bucket.

  This is your father’s legacy.

  Drea hardened her jaw and raised her gun. The woman had already flattened herself against the back of the cage, ready for Drea.