HAMMER: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 1)

by Faith Winslow

  “Tony Ink,” ZZ answered.

  “Oh, good,” Tall Boy replied. “I thought you mighta been talking about me.”

  “Well, you are one filthy fucker,” I asserted.

  “I ain’t denying it,” Tall Boy said, “but what’s up? Why you doggin’ Tony Ink? I mean, I know why, but why now? He up to something?”

  “He’s always up to something,” I answered. “But we were just talking about him ‘cause I gotta go out to his place later today.”

  “Oh,” Tall Boy said. He hesitated for a moment, then added, “Do me a big while you’re out there? I heard Tony got some killer Orange Cush—mind bringin’ me back some?”

  Before I could reply and remind Tall Boy that I didn’t really like to buy drugs unless I absolutely had to, ZZ slammed his hand against the bar and shouted something.

  “What the fuck’s the deal with this Orange Cush shit?” he exclaimed. “Cush ain’t that much better than Widow, but dang, everyone wants to get their hands on it these days… or at least today.

  “I was down at The Castle before I came here and some hot ticket was asking where she could score some… In fact, that’s why I came down here. She seemed a little fishy, didn’t know what the fuck she was talkin’ about—and I didn’t wanna stick around to see why. She was either a narc or an idiot.”

  Hmm…

  “What was her name?” I asked ZZ, intrigued for good reason.

  “Damned if I know,” he replied.

  “What’d she look like?” I asked. “Why’d she seem fishy?”

  “What’s up with the questions?” ZZ asked, tossing his head to the side vehemently. “You want to me to set you up on a blind date or somethin’?”

  “Just answer the question, fuck-face,” I said. “You know I wouldn’t waste my time on this shit if I didn’t have a reason.”

  “Alright, dick-breath,” ZZ replied. “She was a cute young thing, around 25, maybe a little older. Short brown hair, light blue eyes, and a tight little body. I was totally down and would’ve loved to fuck her, but like I said, she didn’t know what the fuck she was talkin’ about.

  “She asked me where she could score some Orange Cush, and I told her I had some White Widow back at my pad. Then she goes, ‘I don’t want White Widow… I’m not a junkie.’ And I’m thinking, ‘What the fuck!’ So I got the hell out of there and came here.”

  “She asked for Orange Cush specifically?” I asked, trying to piece things together. “She asked for it by name?”

  “Yeah, Hammer,” ZZ said in a melodramatic, girl-like manner. “That’s what I said. She asked for Orange Cush by name and had no idea what White Widow was.”

  “How long ago was this?” I asked.

  “Dunno,” ZZ replied. “I only got here about five minutes before you did. So—what? Forty-five minutes?”

  I was still trying to piece things together, but the bigger picture was coming together, and it was becoming clearer.

  “I’ve gotta go look into this,” I told my brothers. The looked back at me and nodded.

  I stood up, tossed a few bucks on the bar, and left Pinky’s, headed toward The Castle to see if the little princess ZZ had described was still there, or if anyone else had any info on her.

  The girl that ZZ had described sounded nothing like Rachel, yet at the same time, sounded exactly like her. Their physical descriptions didn’t match at all, but their innocence, ignorance, and persistence seemed identical.

  If there was any chance that the princess at The Castle was Rachel, I had to get there and get to her as quickly as possible. I had to make sure she didn’t try to do something stupid, like go to Tony Ink’s party house. It was a disgusting, dangerous place that shouldn’t have even existed, and women definitely weren’t treated very well there… especially innocent, ignorant, persistent women like Rachel.

  And given who Rachel was, specifically, she would fare even worse than every other woman like her. The Wolves, the Seraphs, and everybody who was anybody in our world knew who Rachel was, and we’d all been warned that she was nosy and likely to cause trouble.

  Rumors about Rachel had spread around L.A.’s underbelly like thrush on a fat man, and it was common knowledge that she was out to vindicate Terry. Orders were issued from all over the place, telling the masses to ignore her or divert her questions and “report to their superiors” if she came around looking for information.

  When there’s this much chatter and concern centered on one person in our world, it’s not a good thing. And there are some—like Tony Ink—who are sometimes willing to exploit it.

  Telling the masses to ignore Rachel, divert her questions, and keep tabs on her—calling her “nosy” and “likely to cause trouble”—meant that she was unwanted in our world. She was an obstacle. And when an obstacle stands in your way, there are only two ways you can get past it. You either work your way around it, or you remove it completely—and when the obstacle you’re talking about is a person, I don’t have to tell you what the latter way implies.

  The Wolves don’t order hits or take care of business that way, but other gangs and other people do. For all I knew, there was already a price tag on Rachel’s head—and if there was, Tony Ink would be one of the first in line to snatch it up and cash it.

  I hadn’t even realized it, but I’d been running, not walking, and I didn’t slow down until I was inside The Castle.

  There were only a few people in The Castle, so it didn’t take me long to find a familiar face. And the face I found would have been familiar to me even if the bar had been packed.

  Nobody forgets a face like Piper’s. He’s the palest white dude you’ll ever meet, and he sports the thickest, longest, most matted dreads you’ll find on any man—black or white—this side of Jamaica—and he’s always smiling.

  “Did you see a girl in here earlier?” I asked Piper, cutting straight to the chase. I had no time for greetings, pleasantries, or other conversational formalities. “A girl asking about Orange Cush?”

  “Oh yeah, Hammer,” Piper replied, twirling around in his seat. “I saw that pretty lady.”

  Piper was one of the nicest, most sincere people I knew in all of L.A., but he was always high as a kite, which made him difficult to talk to at times.

  “And?” I asked.

  “And I talked to her, too,” Piper said, smiling and nodding her head.

  “What did you talk about? What did you tell her?” I asked. “Did Tony Ink’s name come up?”

  “Matter of fact, it did,” Piper said, twirling again. “She wanted to know where she could find Tony.”

  “And what did you tell her?” I asked, milking the stoner.

  “I told the pretty lady where to find Tony Ink,” Piper replied.

  “Why the fuck would you do that, Piper?” I snarled. “You know what kind of guy Tony Ink is, and what kind of shit goes down at his house. Why would you tell anyone—especially a female—how to find him?”

  “I warned her, man,” Piper explained. “I told her about how Tony is, and I told her that his world is like Scarface and all those other movies… But she seemed so determined, and she told me this really fucked up, sad story. I just had to tell her, man. I felt bad for her. Her brother went to prison for killing someone, then he got killed. But she knew—”

  That was it. That was all I needed to hear.

  “Thanks, Piper,” I interrupted. I darted out the door, and in less than a minute, I was on my Harley, headed west, toward Culver City.

  Chapter 21

  ~ Sam ~

  I managed to get to Tony Ink’s neighborhood just in time to see a girl who matched ZZ’s description cautiously approach the party house. I’d taken a shortcut there and broken about seventeen traffic laws, while she’d, obviously, taken the longer route, as mapped out for her by a pothead.

  I parked my bike in the first suitable spot I found, then walked the remaining distance to Tony Ink’s ranch-styled house, which had probably been a nice home for some other people at some
other point in time.

  When I saw a blue Chevy near the house, I had the final piece of proof I needed. The girl who’d I just seen cautiously approaching the house was, indeed, Rachel. But damn, even from a distance, she looked totally different.

  Just like ZZ had described, she had short brown hair—and to my surprise, it was completely straight, with a little rock n’ roll pizzazz to it. Those dirty-blonde, lamb-like locks were now a thing of the past—and I wondered for a split-second if she’d been thorough enough in her personal renovations to make sure that the carpet matched the drapes.

  As per the rest of her, I hadn’t been close enough to see or gauge it yet, but from what I’d seen already, her tight little body looked the same, though it was clad in much sexier, sleeker clothing and a pair of calf-high suede boots that made my cock hard.

  By the time I made it to the porch, Rachel had already made it inside, but she hadn’t made it past the living room yet. My boner had gone away, but it was starting to come back as I stood at the doorway, examining Rachel’s new appearance more closely.

  She was only a few yards away from me, near the hallway, and she looked absolutely amazing. Apparently, she’d taken some of the advice I’d offered her yesterday and changed her appearance—and the mere thought of that, too, made my dick throb. It turned me on to no end to think that I’d said something that was able to move a woman as seemingly immovable as Rachel Cramer.

  But even though I’d clearly moved her, Rachel was immovable again at this point—or at least immobile. She just stood where she was, silently gawking at something in the main area of the house, and I had a pretty good idea what that something was.

  Tony Ink was a pot dealer, a pimp, and most of all, a big lowlife. His “parties” weren’t like other parties, and sometimes they involved gruesome acts and public fucking. It wasn’t beyond Tony Ink—or any of his friends, girls, customers, or clients—to strip down naked and get their rocks off in front of an audience. And it wasn’t beyond his audience to watch and—on frequent occasion—join in or take turns getting “in” on the action.

  When I heard Rachel talking to someone, it wrangled me back to reality.

  “Tony Ink,” was the first thing I heard her say with any clarity—and it was all I needed to hear. I figured that was her way of asking for him, or saying why she was there—which meant that I’d soon have to spring into action… and given how my cock had already been springing up and down, repeatedly, since I saw the new and improved Rachel, I was coming up with a great spur-of-the-moment plan to do so.

  I stood by and listened for a moment longer and heard some ridiculous things, from talk of “work” and an “audition” and muffled laughter to groans and the unmistakable sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Then, in a flash, I jumped forward, went over to Rachel, and put my plan into action.

  I pretended that I was there to meet her, and pretended not to care that Tony Ink had a sweet cowgirl on top of him, riding him, hard, like a horse. I did everything I could not to stare at his playmate’s plump, pumping pussy as he and I exchanged pleasantries, which was very, very difficult to do—until I did what I did next.

  I turned to Rachel, took her into my arms, and kissed her. It was my way of greeting her as per my ruse, and I’d only planned on giving her a medium-sized smooch. But once my lips touched hers, I was overwhelmed by her taste and texture, and I couldn’t help but get a little greedy. I couldn’t control myself, and I even moaned a bit.

  I’d caught Rachel off guard, that’s for sure. I’m surprised she didn’t push me away or slap me. But I figured she knew that I was probably doing what I was doing for a reason, because she was letting me do it… and I was really letting her have it.

  I slid my tongue into Rachel’s mouth and kissed her as hard as I could and grabbed at her round ass. It wasn’t shaped like a heart, but I loved how it felt, and I had to do everything I could to resist the urge to drop my pants, turn Rachel around, and get behind her.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said, reluctantly peeling mouth away from Rachel’s and moving my lips to her neck. In the quietest whisper I could muster, I advised her to keep her face turned away from Tony, and to go along with everything I said and did, no matter what. It was a soft, but urgent message, which Rachel obviously received. She didn’t say anything in response, but she replied with her body no less. She nuzzled into me and rested her head against my right shoulder, right out of Tony Ink’s line of sight.

  After a little more discussion, and a lot more PDA, both mostly on Tony Ink’s part, Rachel and I excused ourselves to go to another room. On our way to our destination, Tony called out to me and apologized for thinking “my girl” was a “hooker,” and I flippantly replied.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Happens all the time.”

  I expected Rachel to give me a dirty look or say something sarcastic about the way I’d just mocked her with my remark. But she didn’t—and I realized that her appearance wasn’t the only thing that had changed significantly since the last time I saw her. She’d also taken my advice about changing her attitude, and she’d obviously paid mind to what I said about not being a hassle to those who stepped up to help her.

  Now I just had to see if she’d changed her behavior too—and if she’d learned how to be more appreciative…

  I took Rachel back to one of Tony Ink’s “fuck rooms,” and it took me a little while to convince her to join me on the nasty mattress on the floor. I had to remind her of the instructions I’d given her out in the hallway—and once she followed them, I thought of several more I wanted to give her, though those were of a different ilk.

  It’s important that I clarify something here. I didn’t take Rachel to the room to take advantage of her, nor had I done what I’d done in the hallway for that reason. Quite the opposite, really. I did all of it to protect her—and hey, you can’t blame me for enjoying it in the process.

  We were in a “fuck room” at Tony Ink’s “party house”—and lest you forget, I am “The Hammer.” There were certain expectations that came with all of that, and if we didn’t want to raise suspicions or get our asses kicked all the way outta Culver, we had to do our best to meet them.

  “Now kiss me,” I told Rachel, leaning back against the mattress. I had to tell her again—and meet her halfway—before she did. But, when she did, it was worth it. We licked at each other’s mouths and tongues, and fuck, it felt like heaven on earth.

  As we continued to kiss, Rachel and I whispered back and forth about Tony Ink, and I found myself uncontrollably, effortlessly groping her body and bringing her closer to me. Like I’d advised her in the hallway, she went along with each and every of my movements, leaning into me, pressing against me, and falling back onto the bed so that I could hoist myself atop her and grind my swollen, stiff cock against her body.

  Was this willingness? Acquiescence? Or part of the ruse?

  Whatever it was, I’d take it. It felt way too good to do otherwise.

  Rachel and I spent the next ten or fifteen minutes doing whatever it was that we were doing, and it was both incredibly exhilarating and excruciating. We used our time in each other’s arms to communicate covertly—but there was something else, something more, to it, and I was certain that Rachel felt it as much as I did.

  Rachel had me so hard that I couldn’t think or talk straight, and I wanted more than anything to forget about Tony Ink, Crete’s orders, and everything else in the world so that I could just enjoy the moment and bury my balls as deep as I could between her quivering thighs.

  “I listened to what you said yesterday,” she murmured to me at one point. Evidently, she, too, was having trouble talking straight. She stumbled on her words as she explained how she’d changed one of the three things I told her she needed to change, and I, in turn, stumbled on mine as I told her it looked like she changed all three.

  I moved my lips all over Rachel’s neck and chest, and had my target set on those luscious tits. Fuck, how I wanted to suck them! H
er shirt dipped down just low enough that I could have easily eased one out and latched onto it. But, unfortunately, something else—other than principles and hard feelings—was getting in the way.

  As I dug my mouth into Rachel’s cleavage and licked upward, I had to work around the scarf she was wearing. In my opinion, it was an uncalled-for, potentially dangerous accessory that had no legitimate purpose other than kink—and, I told her as much before removing it and taunting her with tiny tidbits of the torrid thoughts that were racing through my head.

  I tossed the scarf to the side and went to town on Rachel’s titties. She moaned, groaned, and clawed at the back of my head as I licked every inch of naked skin I could find, and she wriggled her sweet little pussy against me from beneath. I felt like I could have busted a nut at any moment… but then, something about whatever we were doing suddenly changed.

  “Sam,” Rachel whispered a little louder than she’d been whispering before. “I have to ask you something.” I was still hard as a rock, but I wasn’t too excited by the way she’d said it, and I was just about to say something in response when, lo and behold, someone else did.

  “I got something to ask you, too,” Tony Ink said from the doorway. He couldn’t have been there more than a few seconds, and I was sure he hadn’t overheard any of the more “secret” parts of our conversation.

  “What’s that, Tony?” I asked, still on top of Rachel.

  “You gonna actually fuck that pussy, or just get it all hot and bothered?” he chortled.

  I turned around and gave Tony a dirty look. He was still completely naked and was tugging at his limp cock.

  “Kelly may look like a hooker,” I said, assigning Rachel an ad hoc codename, “but she’s a lady… So get the fuck out of here, give me a minute, and I’ll come out when I’m ready.”

  “Alright, Hammer,” Tony replied with another laugh. “But if you’re gonna fuck her, I hope it takes more than a minute.”