"Time to go," Doug growled, making me sigh out my breath before turning to Joey, brushing her hair back, pressing my lips to her temple.
"Love you, kiddo."
"A thousand yellow daffodils," she told me, making my lips curve up.
"No, a million," I corrected, getting off the bed, following Doug out of the room.
She hadn't acknowledged my goodbyes in a long time.
I felt this meant something.
It was progress.
I forced thoughts of her away, though, as we got back into the common area, choosing instead to try to remember every last possible detail from how many men were there to what the guns and pills on the table looked like, planning to get it on paper as soon as I got back home.
Luckily for my libido, when I got back to my apartment, Thayer was there with Hatcher, and both of them wanted to get down to business. I spent the next hour tossing piece of paper after piece of paper toward them as soon as I got them done.
"These are the right colors of the pills?" Hatcher asked.
"She does the art shit for a living," was his brother's response.
It was silly, but it made my belly flip-flop a bit, having someone defend me. I'd spent a fair chunk of my life having to do that for myself. It was nice not to have to.
"Alright," he said after having looked over all the papers then shuffling them into a neat pile. "This was a good start. Same time next week?"
"Yep," I agreed, finding myself a little disappointed when he followed Hatcher out of the door.
As if sensing the train of my thoughts, he turned his head back over his shoulder, lips curving up.
"Maybe next week I'll catch you in your bra and panties."
And, damn him, I actually considered it on and off for the whole next week.
SIX
Sera
As if he knew that my visit the week before had brought about some feelings on Joey's part, some longing, some desire to have parts of her old life back, Doug didn't have her actively detoxing when I visited again.
No.
She was high.
While she wasn't miserable and sick and sad, somehow the frantic euphoria, the nonstop talking, the unnatural surge of energy was worse.
Maybe because it was chemical, because none of it was real.
At least when she was detoxing, I could see bits and pieces of the girl I knew. High, she was someone else entirely. I couldn't see anything of my sister in the woman who was charging around the room, frantically folding clothes, making the bed, scrubbing and then re-scrubbing (because she forgot she had done it the first time) the surfaces of the nightstands and dressers while she talked about how nice the men were, how doting Doug was. Even though he was under so much stress and sometimes was in a grumpy mood.
I bit my tongue on the comment about how Doug was always in a bad mood, knowing that would get me nowhere. Because while she was bubbly and frenzied when she was high, she was also quick to having a positively volatile temper. Which was nothing like her. And therefore something I actively tried not to have to witness again.
Instead of even trying to remind her of our old apartment, about the classes she had been enjoying going to, about the coffeehouse job she adored even if it was very part-time, I decided to sit there and let her prattle on while I tried to listen to snippets of conversation going on in the loud common room where, from the sounds of things, the clubwhores had finally shown up, whipping the men into even more of a frenzy.
Before too long - and certainly before I could catch anything of interest aside from talk about tit size and who sucked dick better - Doug was at the door.
She didn't shrink away from him like she had the week before.
No.
She plastered herself to him.
Gushing about how good of care he took of her.
I bit my lower lip to keep from asking why he wasn't feeding her enough to keep flesh on her bones then. Or why there were often hand and finger-sized bruises on her thighs or shoulders or even neck.
Doug let her lay it on thick - his ego likely lapping it all up - as his arm went around her. Tight. Too tight. It wasn't sweet, either. It was possessive. His eyes were hard on me as he did. As if he was reminding me that she belonged to him now, not me.
The scary thing was, that was becoming more and more true each day. As the drugs ate away at her desire to be with me, to get back to her old life.
I was wondering if he saw what I was seeing, if he was going to use it, if he was going to keep her as high as possible to keep her right where he wanted her.
I knew Thayer and his brothers were just trying to be careful, could and would bide their time until it was right.
But I was starting to wonder if Joey had that time.
The more time that went on, the more chances there were for Doug - or one of the other guys - to give her a little too much, to send her too-slight body into overdose.
Then what?
Would they bother to bring her to the hospital?
If she died, would they even call me?
Or just dig a ditch in the woods surrounding their clubhouse, then pretend like she ran off?
I had to get her out of there.
I wasn't one prone to low moods.
Anger, frustration, sure.
But not just sadness and depression.
To me, they seemed like luxuries I couldn't afford.
I had too much shit to handle to fall into a low mood.
Yet that was how I was feeling the whole drive back to my apartment. In my car with two working headlights and tires that suddenly weren't so bald and my ever-present check-engine light suddenly off.
Thayer never mentioned the fixes. For some reason, I never asked. Or offered my gratitude. I couldn't exactly explain why. Maybe I just wasn't great at accepting help, never having had experience with receiving it, always having needed to rely on myself.
Still, despite that, I had to admit that it felt nice. To have someone do things for me. To, in a small way, help take care of me. It was an utterly new - and not unwelcome - sensation. Sure, he was likely only doing it to keep me from having a tire blow out, crashing into a tree, and killing myself before he could get exactly what he wanted from me. But still, it was nice. New. Interesting.
Not even the warm and fuzzy I usually felt with regard to his hard work on my car could seem to touch the sinking, muddy feeling of my mood. It was weighty, oppressive. It made my steps heavy, my shoulders slump.
"Babe," Thayer's voice called, sounding a little loud, a bit curious. Like maybe he had called more than once without a response. "You alright?" he added, moving in at my side as I unlocked my door, pushing it open, stepping numbly inside.
"No."
"Your sister alright?" he went on, surprising me a little. I hadn't exactly known men who gave a shit about my mood, let alone wanted to know why I was in such a mood.
"No."
"Detoxing again?"
"High as a fucking kite," I corrected, going into my freezer, pulling out the vodka, pouring it into two glasses, mixing mine with a splash of flat soda from the fridge.
"No," he said when I offered it to him, coming closer, taking the glass plain, throwing back the contents with a wince. "Hate vodka," he admitted. "Got sick as fuck off of screwdrivers when I was a teen. It has never agreed with me since."
"Well, that's okay. You only get one anyway. The rest of this is for me," I told him, taking the bottle of vodka and the liter of soda over to the living room, plopping them down on the coffee table as I cradled the glass in my hand while starting to jot down some of the new things I had caught this week. About the outside of the clubhouse.
"You knew she was using," Thayer commented when I finished one round and started to pour myself another.
"Yeah."
"Have you never seen her high before?"
"No. At least, not like this. I've seen her nodding."
"So a little more on the downslide of it."
"Ye
ah. I don't know. I think Doug thought maybe he was hiding it from me? Like I was so fucking stupid that I wouldn't see track marks. But in the beginning, he could have been more worried that I would do something to get her away from him. Involve the cops or something."
"And now that he thinks he's getting away with it, he's rubbing it in your face."
"Yeah."
"He's not getting away with it, though, babe," he reminded me, reaching over to close a hand around my knee, giving it a squeeze.
"The sooner you can get your club back, the better."
"Trust me, I know."
"Do you even have a plan?" I heard myself ask, not caring about the cynicism in my voice because I knew he could take it.
"Yeah, babe, we have a plan. And now that we know that the security cameras and the fucking flood lighting hasn't been working, we can sit down and hammer out the final details. I don't plan on sitting on my hands for much longer. He's had my club for years now. He's not getting to keep it for a minute longer than I can help. Alright, ease up on that," he demanded, pulling the bottle from my hands, placing it down on the table.
"The outlaw, drug-dealing biker who owns a strip club is going to lecture me on alcohol consumption?" I grumbled, throwing back what was left it my cup, watching as he took it from my hands, placing it down on the coffee table.
"Nah, just want to try something tonight, and your ass can't be bombed, or it won't work."
"What do you need to do that would dictate how much vodka I can drink?"
He didn't answer me. Not in words at least.
As soon as I finished speaking, his hand was curling around the back of my neck, pulling me toward him several inches as he swallowed up the rest of the space, golden eyes holding mine for a second before his lips sealed over mine.
I had mostly been able to focus through a kiss. Hell, I'd once written a grocery list in my head while having sex.
But the second his lips touched to mine, everything that had been in my head about my sister, my life, bills, work, the future, the past, it all just fell away. There was nothing save for the pressure of his lips on mine - hard, demanding - and the feel of his hand at my neck, tight, possessive. Never before had the idea of being possessed been quite as appealing as it was right in that moment.
Before I could get fully immersed in it, though, he was pulling backward, chuckling a little at how long it took for my eyes to flutter open.
"Something like that," he told me, hand sliding from the back of my neck toward the side just under my ear. "That's why I..."
"Shut up," I demanded, framing his jaw in my hands, holding him in place as I sealed my lips over his, feeling the world fall away in an instant.
It was a quiet like I had never known.
Yet also full of its own kind of noise.
The thundering of my pulse in my temples, throat, wrists, the heavy hiss of my breath out my nose, the throaty whimper that escaped me as I, a bit awkwardly, got up on a knee, pushing him back against the cushions, going over to straddle him. All without breaking the kiss, too drunk off the new sensation to risk losing it, even for a second.
Thayer's wide hands moved down my back, pulling my upper body more flush with his, before sinking in hard to my ass, staying there as my mouth got hungrier, my tongue moving inside to claim his.
A deep, rumbling growl moved through his chest, vibrating into my body, as his teeth snagged my lower lip, biting to the point of pain, dragging a ragged moan out of me.
My hips were under direct orders to grind down against him, his hard cock pressing against my sex, sending a shiver through my body, something that made his hands grab my ass harder, dragging me against him again.
Filled with the promise of more, my lips ripped from his, my upper body straightening, looking down at him, finding his breathing just as labored as my own, his eyes heavy-lidded, his muscles tense with the need of release.
My arms rose up over my head, giving permission, waiting for him to take advantage of it. There was only the briefest of pauses before his hands left my ass, sliding up, around my hips, snagging the material of my tee, pulling it upward, knuckles whispering over my stomach, ribs, the sides of my breasts, before he lifted the tee all the way off, tossing it to the ground somewhere behind me, leaving me in nothing but a plain black bra, nothing overly tantalizing or even of the push-up variety. Yet his eyes feasted like a man starved for too long.
And as I watched him watching, I realized that was exactly what he was.
He'd had his freedom snatched away, had been locked behind bars for years with no physical contact, certainly no sex. Unless special time with his own hand counted. Everyone would agree it did not.
I'd never given much thought - let alone a damn - about a man's history, his partners, how long it had been since hands that were touching me had touched someone else. Life had far too many other pressing things to think about than something as inconsequential as that.
But there was no mistaking the strange surge of pleasure in my system at the idea of being the one to break his fast, to be the recipient of years of pent-up frustrations, to see what kind of animal he would unleash on me.
Finding him fixated, my hands moved up and cocked backward, working my clasps free, feeling the cups loosen, but not letting the material fall until I had worked my arms free, until there were no distractions in the way that would make me miss the impact when I finally tossed my bra to the side.
His head tilted back as his breath hissed out from between his teeth.
"Fuck."
"Thayer."
It was his name, but also a plead, a demand.
For more.
For anything he had to offer.
The sound seemed to pry loose the control he had been holding over himself, his hands leaving my hips, closing over my breasts, thumbs and forefingers rolling my nipples into tighter peaks, sending a spark of need from the contact to between my thighs, the strength almost overpowering, something that made my hips do another glide, needing the friction, the promise of fulfillment.
One hand squeezed my breast as Thayer folded forward, lips closing over the other nipple, sucking it deep, something that made my vision go white for a short, hot moment.
His teeth nipped, the sensation searing, delicious.
He moved across my chest to even out the torment before releasing me.
My hands were greedy, going down his sides to snag the material of his tee, dragging it upward, tossing it to the side impatiently, wanting to finally get a good look at him.
It had been worth the wait, had surpassed the nighttime - and let's face it, daily shower - fantasies I had been tormented with since meeting him.
His tattoos - in the gray, black, and blue style his arms and neck had boasted - curved down over his strong chest, his ribs, hips, and from the looks of things, trailed down his back. But did not obscure the view of his perfect core, the dips of his abdominal muscles that, while I couldn't tell in this position, I would bet good money on tapering down into that deep, delicious V of his Adonis belt.
But before I could even run my fingers between the indents of his muscles, his arm was anchoring around my back, forcing my breasts to crush to his chest, the feeling overtaking me so much that I missed his intention until I felt our bodies lifting, twisting, found myself pressed down against the couch cushions, his body coming down on top of mine.
Sometimes the things you missed most about the opposite sex were the strange, small things you never thought to remember.
Like the weight of a man on top of you.
The strength in their hands.
The slight trace of their soap or deodorant or cologne.
Even as my system was trying to absorb and record all these sensations at once, Thayer's hips ground down between my thighs, making a moan rip from somewhere deep inside as his lips pulled from mine once again, going out toward my jaw, over my earlobe, down my neck, leaving a delicious burn from his beard in his wake.
His lips
sealed over my nipple again for a short moment before continuing his path downward over my belly while his hands worked my button and zip down. Going back on his heels, he grabbed the material of my shorts and panties, yanking down over my hips, then pressing my knees into my stomach to work my knees and then ankles free. There wasn't even a second of hesitation after the last barriers were gone before he grabbed my knees, pressed them wide, lowered himself down, and lashed his tongue over my aching clit.
There was no uncertainty in him, no awkward fumbling.
He knew exactly what to do.
And he did it with precision and determination.
One arm braced over my hip and pushed down on my belly as two fingers thrust inside me, turning, curling, scraping perfectly over my G-spot.
He was exacting and unrelenting, making my hips move against him, my back to arch off the cushions, my hands to curl into his hair, refusing to let him go even though he had no intentions of pulling away until the goal was accomplished. My air was caught in my chest, making the sounds coming out of me high and airy.
My muscles tightened as his tongue did another swirl, as his fingers did another swipe. And the entire world fell away as the orgasm crashed through my system.
It wasn't one of those little ones, though, those little blips that were enough to get you by, but didn't make your mind go to mush.
No.
This was one of the big ones, maybe the biggest one I had known, making all my muscles tense and release at the same time, my hands and my thighs shaking, the pleasure starting at the base of my spine and shooting outward until it overtook every inch of me, leaving me a boneless, lifeless, whimpering mess when it finally released its hold on my system.
I couldn't even begrudge Thayer the self-satisfied smirk on his face when my eyes opened again. He'd earned it and he knew it.
"I see prison hasn't messed with your head game, huh?" I asked when words finally found their way to my lips again.
"Wanna find out what else I am still good at?" he asked, eyes bright.
"In a minute," I agreed, keeping my eyes on his as I folded upward, scooting forward, pressing my hands into his shoulders until he was sitting back against the cushions again, my body straddling his, my lips claiming his once again.
Revenge - Reckless Renegades 1 Page 8
