The Hostage Sister: Blades and Red Skulls (Hellriders Book 2)

by Amy Law

  Her plan had been to simply get as cozy as she could with whichever biker came through the door. After that? Probably do the same with one or both of the others if the chance came. Tell them each that it would only be him, swear that she wouldn’t tell the others. Whatever.

  That way, maybe she could win one biker, or maybe all of them a little way towards her side, in case a crunch came. Maybe also have something that could make a wedge between them? A dangerous game, but those were all the cards and chips that she had.

  If she had to appeal to one or more of them for protection, it would only improve her odds, surely.

  Her plan hadn’t involved her feelings whirling up into a storm inside her.

  It had all changed now. Everything had changed. She felt so different, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Only that deep in her body she wanted him again.

  The voices in the next room rumbled and Tiffany couldn’t make out a word. She didn’t have the energy to creep back to the door again, and if one of the bikers opened the door, they’d catch her for sure.

  She curled up under the comforter, breathing in the warm scent of them. Of him. She wished she had a name for him. A name other than one from a TV show. Something that wasn’t just fiction. Against her will, sleep snuggled round her, draped over her and enveloped her.

  Chapter 6

  Tiffany had no idea what the time was when the door cracked open. The one she’d called ‘Max’ brought in more beer and cold pizza. He took his time crossing the room, putting the food and beer on the little table, watching her the whole time, squinting, quiet and sly. Was this one Mace?

  Then she realized through her groggy, half-awake eyes and mind; she could see his hazel eyes sparkle. He wasn’t wearing shades, and his bandana was loose around his chin.

  Tiffany tried to make a smile for him, but she knew she wasn’t awake enough to control her face properly. She thought of throwing the cover off to give him a view of her legs, but she remembered that she wasn’t wearing her panties.

  He stopped at the door to look at her as she peered over the comforter. A leer spread slowly across his face and he nodded slowly before he turned to leave the room.

  She said, “Can I have a clock, or a watch, please?”

  As he turned back, the bell outside struck seven times in the distance.

  “See?” His voice was low and hard, “You don’t need one.” He licked his lips looking at her before he left and shut the door again behind him. From the scrape of a chair she knew there was someone else in the other room, too.

  Was it him? Was it her biker? Her ‘Jax’? Oh, god, she was so confused. She realized that, isolated and with a constant threat of danger in this situation, an attachment could be forming in her mind out of nothing but need.

  Her psych classes had taught her nothing useful on this one. All she knew were some symptoms and how to suppress them with drugs. She should try to keep her feelings out of the mix. They wouldn’t help her to survive and that was all that mattered right now.

  She drifted back to sleep. She dreamed of Daddy standing up in a big courtroom. He was arguing for the defendant. Then it changed and he was prosecuting. Then he rose in his black gown from behind the bench. The defendant was her biker and Daddy was about to sentence him. When she took the biker’s hand, she realized that she was stood in the dock with him.

  Chapter 7

  Her pillow was damp. The room was dark. Tiffany opened her eyes cautiously. A crack of light fanned out to a wedge and passed over her as it disappeared as the door clicked. She heard breathing.

  Someone had come into the room. Quietly. She wanted it to be her biker, her ‘Jax.’ She knew that it wasn’t. Sneaking in wasn’t his style. She didn’t want to move and let on that she was awake, but she really wanted to know who was there, in the room with her.

  The decision was made for her when a weight landed on the bed behind her and a hand clamped over her mouth. Was this Mace?

  It felt exactly like the hand that had grabbed her in the parking lot. A growling whisper rasped in her ear, “Now we’re going to have some fun.” Her breath froze. Yes, it was Mace. Tiffany was certain that his was the voice she’d overheard.

  His hot breath beat on the back of her neck. The other bikers must have been away, surely. This one wouldn’t dare come in like this if the other two were there. Not if her Jax was there. They must be taking shifts, meaning there was nobody to call out to.

  His hand was hard, his fingers fat and horny. They slid under the cover, up inside her top. He grabbed her breast.

  “Oh, I been watching these.” He squeezed her hard, kneaded her breast roughly. Painfully.

  His voice rasped in her ear, “Your big, round titties bouncing under your thin shirt, I watched your hard little nipples pointing out.”

  A tear formed in her eye. Her lips pulled between her teeth as he pinched her nipple. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to force her, but as he shoved her onto her back she realized that was what he wanted. As he rolled her, she saw his face.

  His thick lips curled in a menacing grin and his dark brown eyes bored into her. His cheekbones were hard and his long, wide jaw was framed with a short, thin beard and mustache. Under his left eye was a tattoo of a teardrop.

  He wasn’t wearing shades, or a bandana. And he was talking. He didn’t care that she would be able to identify him.

  He pulled her panties aside and drove his fingers into her. Her hip bucked in a reflex. He held her down with the flat of his hand on her pubic bone as his fingers pressed and dragged in her flower.

  Her eyes were wide and wet and her mouth opened as she shook her head from side to side. Alarm flooded her and electrified her when she noticed how wet she was. You want this, said a voice in her head. She screwed her eyes and clenched her teeth against it.

  He grabbed her shoulders to turn her again, roughly, onto her front. He stuck his thumb into her and lifted her hips, pulling her up to her knees. Tiffany sobbed silently as his other hand forced her ass open. He drooled spit onto her ass as he drove one finger, then two into her smooth, tight little star.

  Then he was behind her. He whacked his heavy cock against the cleft in her buttocks. When he forced himself in, Tiffany didn’t restrain her high gasp.

  There was relish in his voice. “I been watching this little tush too long. Watching your sassy little hips swing.”

  The pain seared though her like a fire and she pressed her face into the pillow with her eyes screwed tight shut. He gripped Tiffany by her hips to pull her against his fat shaft and he reamed mercilessly into her. A huge, dull ache rose behind the rasping sting. She felt like a doll in his grasp, his weight and strength overwhelmed her with ease.

  “Shout and scream if you want, girly. No-one’s going to hear you. No-one that would take a lick of notice.”

  Tiffany writhed and sobbed beneath him as he plowed deeper into her. She pulled her thighs as wide as she could to try and reduce the pain.

  He breathed heavily. “I seen you, swinging from side to side when you walk. Walking like nobody can touch you. Telling everyone what you need.”

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head up. His words followed his rhythm, “Now you going to get it, girl. I’m going to make sure that you get it. Could be your last chance. Never know, do you? Couldn’t let you miss out, not when I got exactly what you need, little girl. Oh, yeah.”

  He slammed harder, his coarse denim beating against the soft backs of her thighs. He yanked on her hair as he started to pant. Drops of sweat fell from his face and bounced on her ass.

  His weight pressed down on her as his hands came to grab her breasts. He squeezed them and pulled on her nipples. The pain and the horrible, intense, dark pleasure washed through her in sickening waves.

  His breathing became harsh. “I seen your big, round titties bouncing under your thin shirt, hard little nipples pointing out.” He grabbed her stomach.

  He slapped her ass cheeks hard. “You’ve
been making me hard, girly. Making me want you.” He was pumping fast. “This tight little butt, your jeans tight around your tight little cunt. Oh, yeah.” He reached down to stick his fingers in her puss. Pulled her wide.

  She didn’t hear his ranting anymore. She was plunged into a long, dark, swirling cascade of orgasm. She felt her juices squirt onto his hand. He was on top of her, his voice scraping low in her ear.

  She didn’t hear a word. She barely even heard her own voice as she moaned and cried out and sobbed.

  Then he pulled her by her hair and dragged her face to his pulsing red erection. He held her by her hair and her jaw, and she almost gagged as he plunged his thick shaft into her mouth.

  Her lips ran with a river of saliva as his hot bolts of acrid, salty jizz spurted into her throat. He fucked her face over and over until he began to soften.

  Even then, he held her face pulled right up to his pubes. He panted as his fingers twisted in her hair.

  He shouted, “Woo-hoo!” as he pulled her off him and held her with her face upwards, looking up his hard, rippled body and into his cruel eyes.

  “Now, you can’t say that weren’t good fucking.”

  He straightened himself up, buttoned his pants and let her into the bathroom to clean up. While he stood by the door, he wasn’t paying much attention to Tiffany, so she took her time and tried to recover.

  The shattering orgasm had left her knees trembling. To distract herself she studied the panel nailed over the window. Her legs quivered and her hands and arms shook so that it was hard even to wash.

  Her concentration wouldn’t settle. There were four or five nails holding the panel on each side, so about twenty in all. They weren’t driven all the way in, and so they could be bent back or pried out. It wouldn’t be easy and it couldn’t be done without a metal tool.

  Why did her body react the way that it did? Count the nails again, Tiff she told herself. Stay calm and for once the voice in her head was strong and reassuring.

  The window itself was screwed to the frame, so the only way out would be through the glass, and she had no idea what would be on the other side. So far, fucking the bikers seemed like a more solid plan, although this one wasn’t likely to melt with gratitude.

  As Tiffany splashed herself in the cool water she felt strong, as though she really had washed something away. She still ached and stung all over and heat burned raw in her ass. When she slipped back into the room, still wearing only her top and panties, she felt in some ways more exposed than before.

  The biker had a spliff lit. He took a draw and offered it to her. She hesitated.

  “If I were you? I’d take all the fun I could get right now.”

  She took the joint and drew deeply on it, letting the smoke curl up over her face. She watched him. His was the first face that she’d seen in more than a day. The only face she’d seen since she left the mall.

  After she held the smoke in for a while and then let go she said, “Good weed,” through her teeth. Tiffany heard the quiver in her voice. She was shaken to the core. She had planned to submit to any of the bikers, all of them if necessary, but she hadn’t been at all prepared for what had just happened.

  The fact that he had made no attempt to hide his face made her fearful. Still she wanted to show herself calm and strong, and hope that the brute would feel something, some kind of allegiance to her.

  The biker smiled as he took the joint back. “Courtesy of your considerate captor.” Surely this man must be a psychopath. Whatever the implications, though, at least she should try and talk to him. His male brain was should still be at least a little loose with endorphines and hormonal release.

  “Have you given the demands to my daddy yet?

  A grin stretched his mouth, “Your old man’s going to play ball, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  He acted as though they were buddies sharing a spliff. Was he really that delusional, or was he just putting up an act—was this just a callous front? Was he planning to kill her even as he smiled at her, having just taken her by force?

  He handed her the spliff and headed for the door, saying, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

  “I might save some of this. Lend me a lighter?”

  He smiled and handed her a plastic disposable.

  As he closed the door behind him, Tiffany’s jangled nerves overcame her and she shook uncontrollably. She buried her head in the pillow and her teeth clattered together as she sobbed.

  She allowed herself the release of tears, but not for too long. She knew that she needed to stay strong. She had met something and the awful depth of that encounter, something she had known was there. Something she hated. But it was her.

  The pent-up anguish made her want to howl, to cry out for her daddy, for her sister Jesska. For her momma, even. It felt good to let the dam break, even though she guided the flow. She would only let herself go so deep, and she had to keep it in a channel. She couldn’t have it spilling out all over or she would be lost, but she would allow that torrent to flow as long as it needed.

  She shook and sobbed. Her quaking breaths into the wet pillow made her face hot and the rhythm of her shaking chest took her to a place she didn’t want to be. She accepted it, took it as part of the tide, allowed all the old images to flash by. Just as long as they kept moving.

  It felt like forever. It felt like forever since she’d seen her bed, her room, her stupid soft toys. She felt like an awful chasm had opened between her and everything that she knew, every thing that was part of her life. She shook as she sobbed. Would she ever get out of this?

  That became her turning point. Yes, dammit. Her eyes opened and the shaking stopped. Yes. Fuck you, you sleazy fucker. I would have given you what you wanted, but you had to get off by taking it from me. Well you know what that makes you?

  Her fists clenched and her eyes hardened. That makes you small, boy. Small and stupid. A boy who can’t be on a level with a woman. A boy who hasn’t got enough man in him.

  Yes. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, Mace. I WILL get out of this, and I’ll get out intact. Whatever it takes. Tiffany’s jaw set firm. If I have to, she thought, I will burn you down. That thought grew in her and filled her. It straightened her up and she felt its power.

  All the wretched feeling she had, she simply pinned on Mace. If I get the chance, she thought, I will kill you, Mace. And I will be looking for that chance.

  Her sobs and shaking had stopped. The wet pillow had absorbed all that she was going to give.

  Back in control, Tiffany reminded herself of the two real gains that she had made. By getting him to give her the lighter she had made Mace make a gift to her, to do something for her with nothing in return. That was important.

  Perhaps even more important, she now had a weapon.

  Chapter 8

  He touched her shoulder, left his hand there while he looked at her. She put her hand on his. She could feel it. He knew. He knew and he cared. She saw his jaw working.

  His voice was gentle, “You okay?”

  She didn’t know how to play it. She had what she wanted. Tenderness from this man who had made her feel so wonderful and alive. Human feeling from her kidnapper. Also, she had the possibility of a rift between him and the others, or between him and Mace, at least.

  Tiffany pressed her lips together tight and nodded. Her eyes were wet but she closed them. Could this be the wedge between her captors, the break that she needed? More likely this would be the point where everything started to go wrong and people got killed.

  If she became the source of the rift, though, she saw how easily she could be the target. It hadn’t looked like such a great plan to start with. Now it seemed that it could turn into a disaster. Tiffany was tired and she ached all over.

  More than anything, she wished that she could just curl up in this strong biker’s arms and rest. When he put his arms around her, she wanted so much to sob into his strong chest, to soften and melt into his hardness, to have him take care of her.<
br />
  With all the will she had, Tiffany resisted the urge. She relaxed and drew what comfort she could. Less than he was willing to give, she felt sure. And that thought built her strength. He wanted to give her more, and she held back. She was going to get through this.

  His voice was soft and warm, “It’s going to be okay.”

  She gripped his shoulder. She said into his chest, “Tell me how.” He felt so strong. Don’t go there, Tiff, she reminded herself, Take his strength, draw from his strength, but stay sharp. Don’t lose yourself in it.

  And the rumble of his voice made it even harder, “We’re asking your daddy for something, something that’s easy to give. It’s not money, not even something that will compromise him.”