by Nicole Fox
“So you’re Griz’, um …” Dex seems not to know what to call me.
“Prisoner?” I finish, raising my eyebrows and giving him a closed-mouth smile.
“Well, I guess, maybe, if you wanna call it that,” he says with a shrug. “Seems like you have a lot of freedom for a prisoner, though.”
“I suppose,” I say, buttering a piece of bread. “I don’t mind it here. There is a pool bar and the drinks are pretty tasty.”
Anna pipes in as a waitress comes over to fill our glasses with white wine. “Dex says Spike nabbed you and brought you here.”
“Yes,” I say. “He sure did. Wasn’t nice about it, either.”
“I’m sorry,” Dex says, looking genuinely apologetic. “He’s a little …”
“Crazy?” Anna asks.
“Hey now, we talked about this,” he says. “We don’t talk bad about club leadership in front of other people.”
Anna rolls her eyes. “Spike is an addict and way crazy to boot. He used to be just a little crazy, which was mostly tolerable. Now …”
Dex gives a rueful smile. “He’s a fixer. Griz is the business mind. He needs a guy like Spike, a guy who’s not afraid to do the dirty work.”
“I don’t get the impression that Griz is afraid to get his hands dirty,” I say. “I mean, from what I’ve experienced so far.”
Anna says, “He’s not. He beat the ever-loving shit out of Spike two days in a row. He’s killed people. He’s taken a bullet.”
Dex gives her a warning look. “That was a long time ago.”
I lean forward. “What was?”
“Griz took a bullet for a friend about four years back. He was still a mess over Giselle and he was drinking a lot. The club was kind of chaotic because it was still new and he was still so young …”
“Giselle?” I ask.
“Griz’ old lady,” Dex explains. “He was just a pup when they met, paid her for all manner of fun and then fell in love with her. Paid to get her out when he found out she was pregnant, but they barely got a few months together because she died having Shannon.”
“Now who’s talking too much?” Anna asks jokingly. She looks at me. “Griz does not talk about his daughter.”
“I knew he had one,” I say. “I mean, he told me. Not a lot, but that he had her and her mom had died.”
“Oh, good,” Dex says. “Then it probably won’t surprise you that he hasn’t had a serious thing since. He loved her a good long time.”
“Sad,” I say, my heart feeling a little constricted in my chest. I decide to change the subject. “So, do you two live here?”
Anna laughs. “No, we have an apartment a few blocks away. I’m a nurse at Mercy with Griz’s sister, Cary. Dex works part time at a garage, part time here at the club.”
“Do you like it?” I ask
Dex shrugs and makes a “meh” face. “I like being in the club. I’d ride over a cliff for Griz. Some of the other stuff, I could do without.”
“You’re that loyal to him?” I ask, intrigued.
“He’s a good man. Built a good club. It’s hard to keep a bunch of testosterone-fueled idiots in line and when one goes rogue, others tend to fall off the wall, too. I’ll stick it out because I like his leadership better than other clubs I’ve ridden with.”
“Why do you like being in a club?” I ask.
Dex thinks about this. “Well,” he says, “I like the ride, obviously. But also the brotherhood. Most of these guys would step in front of a bullet for you. It’s exciting to get in a pack and get on the highway toward some deal. I like staring down another crew and walking away with whatever we went for. It’s exciting, I guess.”
“Dangerous,” Anna says. “But it is nice to feel like you have a place where you belong. This is like a second home, and most of the guys are really good at heart.”
“I hear you on that. I grew up in a club and my dad always called members his brothers, too. Do you know my dad?” I ask. “Draven Williams?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” he confirms through a bite of hamburger. “Good guy.”
“Griz reminds me of what my dad must have been like when he was younger.”
“I can see that,” Dex says. “Your dad’s club’s too big for me, but I’ve always thought he was a fair dude.”
“Have you spoken to him since you …” Anna starts the question but doesn’t finish it.
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, I only saw Kit when he was here.”
“Maybe Griz would let you call him?” Anna asks.
Dex snorts. “That’s not likely.”
“Why?” Anna asks.
“Because why the fuck not just send her home, then? He’s got her; he plans to use her. My guess is territory, but he could have other things in mind. He didn’t ask for her, but now that he’s got her? He won’t just pass up an opportunity to get something out of it.”
“I’m not some piece of property,” I say, not for the first time since I’ve been here.
“No?” Dex says.
“No!” I yelp. Heads turn and I feel my face go hot.
Anna smacks Dex’s arm. He shrugs again and goes back to his sandwich.
Conversation turns to other subjects and I find myself enjoying the company of Dex and Anna. They’re not too much older than me, I gather. I imagine I could be friends with them if I stayed here with the Chained Angels.
Eventually, they excuse themselves and say they need to head home.
I finish my glass of wine and order another, wandering out and down the hallway with it.
My intent is to find my way back to the room but I take a wrong turn and end up outside of a set of offices. I realize my directional mistake and turn, only to run into a hard body. It’s Spike, stocky and muscular, long-haired. His pupils are huge in his brown eyes.
“Lookin’ for the boss, then, little slut?” he asks, his big body blocking me from passing. I back up, finding myself with my back against the wall. He cages me in with his arms, his face just a few inches from mine.
“No, just got turned around after dinner,” I say, refusing to project anything resembling fear. I chug the rest of my wine, ready to smash my glass over his head if I have to.
His face looks terrible, one eye swollen, nose crooked, two black eyes, lacerations all over. So Anna wasn’t joking. Now I know why Griz’s knuckles were so bruised.
“Well, it’s good to see you. And I mean, I’m really enjoying seeing you,” he says, looking me up and down. “Nice outfit.”
I’m not sure what to say to this guy, so I duck out from under his arms, taking a few quick steps to get away from him. He catches up quickly, grabbing the string of my bathing suit top so that it unties, the black fabric falling down, exposing my breasts. He lets out a hooting sound.
“Knew it would be worth a look-see,” he says, grinning like a maniac. “Them are some lovely little titties. Pair that with that gorgeous mouth that looked so comfortable around boss’s cock and it’s no wonder that fucking uptight bastard wants to keep you all locked up in his room like his personal cunt.”
I stand firm, trying not to be afraid or intimidated. “You touch me and you know Griz will kill you.”
“Yeah, I s’pose he would,” Spike says, frowning. He shakes his head. “Guess I’ll just have to dream of your sexy little ass, then.”
He smacks my ass. “Get gone, then.”
I don’t waste time getting gone, retying my suit as I scurry away, thankful for whatever fear Griz instilled in his VP the past two days.
Chapter Eight
Griz
Giselle must be looking down on me, thinking what a colossal piece of shit I turned out to be as a father. Fuck. I am fucking up. Not just with Shannon, but with Cary, too.
My sister is not wrong. We are it for the Grisham family and I know what my death would mean for her, for Shannon. I remember how it felt to see Dad, bleeding, dying, and know that it never would’ve happened if he hadn’t been in the club in the first place. I rem
ember how it felt to lose our mom, too, and thinking there’s literally no fucking God. I was just a teenager. I could’ve turned out a million different ways.
I thought it a million times. I should get out. Go to college. Get a normal job. Get a wife and a white picket fence. But the allure of metal and rubber and adventure was too strong. And I was literally a child, not even out of high school, when a dark-haired beauty took my virginity for fifty dollars. I knew she wouldn’t ever love me. I was paying her to act like she found me even remotely interesting in bed.
And then, suddenly, she did find me interesting. We started fucking because we wanted to. We started talking. And like that, my little teenage heart was hers and I was all in hero mode and there was no fucking way that I’d ever make enough money as some fucking accountant or whatever to get her free so we could be together.
I did whatever I could to make money. Ran errands for club bosses, washed bikes, buried bodies. Eventually, I found myself hearing things, stashing away details, learning from others’ mistakes. People started paying me for secrets and suddenly, I had enough to get her out, and thank fuck, because she was pregnant with my kid.
I hope someone’s learning from my mistakes now. Because I’m making them.
I find a bottle of liquor and guzzle about a fourth of it, the liquid burning down the back of my throat. I look at the room around me, all full of pictures that Giselle picked out.
I’m fucking furious. Giselle is gone, and my daughter will never know her mom. Angry that I feel connected to this little waif of a girl who has no idea how fucking sexy she is. Little virginal girl. I want to devour her and I’m angry about that, too, because …
Fuck.
I slam my fist into one of the framed pictures. The glass shatters and it feels satisfying so I do it again. I swig some more alcohol and take aim at another, and another, then grab the lamp and throw it against the wall.
I just drink and drink, and rage and rage. I’m fucking angry and I hate feeling out of control. And I hate this fucking club and I hate fucking Spike and I swear I will rip that motherfucker’s head from his shoulders the next time he shows his fucking face. I’ve had enough and I want him gone and I’ll put the bullet in his head my goddamn self if I have to.
In the meantime, another swig never hurt a goddamn anyone.
# # #
Tanner
When I wander back to the room, I find Griz and a whole heap of mess. Broken lamps, pictures thrown from the wall, clothing shredded to bits. It’s like a hurricane ripped through the room, leaving nothing but broken memories in its wake.
And Griz is in the center of it with a bottle of Wild Turkey, nearly three-quarters empty.
“What the?” I ask. If I wasn’t sober after my interaction with Spike, I sure as hell am now.
He stands, his gaze intense as he approaches me. The bottle of liquor dangles from his fingertips. He’s got a cut on the other hand, bleeding red. He looks like walking despair.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“I’m a fucking failure,” he says. “But I guess I’m fine.”
“Why are you a failure?”
“I’m here, right? At this miserable fucking club instead of living with my daughter, giving her a normal life. Can’t even show up for the first day of school.”
He hones in on the pink tie in my hair. Wanders over and reaches out, running his hand over it. He undoes it, letting my hair fall around my shoulders.
He looks at the hair tie and says, “This is Shannon’s.”
“I figured,” I say.
“I need to … stop things,” he says. “I need to get things in order so I can be with her. Give her some kind of life. Things are so out of control right now.”
“You are, literally, the most controlled person I’ve ever met,” I say. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Feeling sorry for myself?” he asks with a bitter laugh. “I don’t get a second to piss most days, let alone feel sorry for myself. There are a hundred guys working for me, probably fifty spouses. Some of these guys have families, other jobs, but they show up every job, every ride. They ride with me. For me. And I’m responsible for every single thing that happens to them.”
“And you’re here, taking care of business. What else can they ask from you?” I ask.
“They want blood. They want money. They want excitement. They want me to take more risks,” he says. “I just want to run my business, be a father.”
“It’s your business to run,” I say. “You built this. I think more of them are in your corner than you know.”
“What the fuck do you know?” he sneers. “You’ve been here like three days. You don’t know a fucking thing.”
“You know less,” I argue. “I talk to people. I don’t just boss them around. You walk around like you’ve got a fucking mile-high wall around you. You think your guys ride with you because they just like taking orders? Fuck, no. They believe in what you built here.”
“They’re off cutting deals on the side, making me look like an asshole,” he scoffs.
“Some, maybe,” I concede. “But most still follow you and if you made a mess, you can clean it up. Send those fuckers packing. Keep the guys you want. Rebuild if you need to. Make it what you want it to be.”
“You are a woman,” he says, his upper lip curling. “A little girl, mostly. What the fuck do you think you’re doing telling me how to run my shop?”
“Telling you the truth, you asshole,” I say. “I’ve got nothing to lose. Nothing. I don’t work for you, and I won’t shut up just because you don’t want to listen.”
“So you talk to people, do you?”
I give him a look to let him know that I do, in fact, talk to people. “You want me to think you’re this hard ass with no feelings. You lost your dad. You lost your mom. You lost your girlfriend. You took a bullet for a friend once. You love your daughter. Those are good reasons— damn good reasons—to be afraid to show anyone anything. I get it. But it doesn’t make you a better leader. It just makes people look to others for something real. Even if it’s bad.”
“Those fucking assholes talk too much. Christ,” he says, shaking his head.
I watch a million emotions pass over his face. After anger comes frustration, then sadness. He looks me in the eye, as bare as I’ve yet seen him, and says, “My sister is worried I’ll end up like my father. Maybe I should cut my losses. Send you back to your father. Ask his forgiveness. Cede territory, join the clubs. Walk away.”
“You don’t want that,” I say. Then, quieter, “I don’t want that.”
“Your father is a good man. He runs a good club,” he says, stepping closer.
“He is,” I say, biting my lip, tears burning in my eyes. “Yes.”
“But?” he asks.
“But I think you need to fight for what you want sometimes. You have to fight and claw and kick. And take it. Just take what you want.” I can’t breathe and my heart is in my throat. “Fight for it. Whatever it is, you can have it. You can have it all.”
And that’s it. That’s the end, because the bottle hits the ground and he’s right there, so close, and his lips are on mine. His tongue runs along my bottom lip tasting of sweet, burning liquor, his teeth nip at my neck. My hands are in his hair, my leg wrapped around him. We’re up against the door, then my head hits the wood and his hands are under my ass, under the thin material of the bikini I’m wearing.
Oh my god, I want him so bad. So bad. I want him on my skin and in my mouth and inside my cunt. I want him.
I writhe against him as he holds me against the door, his jeans blocking me from accessing his thick cock, so frustratingly concealed. He bites at me, my clavicle, chest, ears, lips. His tongue circles close behind, soothing each bite, adding layer upon layer to this frenzy we’re in. I pull at his hair and he growls, shoving his tongue in my mouth. We battle, angry, frustrated, pissed off.
He moves, and I’m only vaguely aware until he tosses me to the bed, te
aring away my bikini bottoms, shoving his bearded face right into the apex between my thighs, that wicked tongue finding my folds, my clit, and finally, that virginal hole. I buck up off the bed when he adds his fingers to the mix, working my buttons, laving me, creating a torrent of sensation that builds and builds.
When he inserts a finger, I move to the rhythm. He inserts a second, and it’s so tight. He slows his assault, but only slightly, only to allow me time to adjust. When my pussy is once again slick with want, he picks up the pace once more. I claw at the bed like an animal, thrashing side to side as the wave builds, a tsunami approaching. When it crashes, I cry out. It’s a lost, incoherent sound, not human, because I swear I’ve left my own body.
