by V. Theia
******
Shit. He yanked in a gulp of air on a staggered inhale, scraping a hand to the back of his neck. Strides taking him along one of the corridors heading towards the church and all he could taste was her.
Zara occupying all his mind.
Rider had never felt so stressed out with one light conversation before. Maybe because it meant so fucking much. His Icy-old lady wanted to date him. Funny.
When all he could think about was sinking deep into heaven with his cock, but he’d do this for her ‘cause he could see a future with her, something past a fast fuck when the itch wore off. This had to be the longest time he'd waited to fuck a woman in his history of first wetting his dick. Strung tight, he was gonna have blue balls until he died.
“Why we the first ones at the table these days, Prez, we needta buy you a watch?”
“Bossman has better things to do with his time than spend it looking at your undesirable face, Snake.” Offered Texas in his smooth polished voice.
The others laughed while Rider strode across the church to take his seat at the head of the table. At his right sat, Hawk and at his wrist was the famous Renegade Souls’ dark oak gavel that had been passed down from president to president. A sacred part of church.
“Yeah, he does. “Smirked Snake rubbing his mouth, eyes sparked amusement. Rider arched his brow at him but otherwise stayed silent. His brothers were in a mood, he found when another piped in.
“And she’s so big with blonde hair.” grinned Pretty-boy. "And has a thing for the Prez if her moon-eyes are anything to go by."
"Moon-eyes. Who the fuck are you and what pussy did you just crawl out of?" Snake stuck his tongue into the side of his mouth, goading Pretty-boy who didn't bite.
“Good cook, too,” interjected Tiny. “And she beat me at Sudoku. Smart.”
“That ain’t hard, Tiny. Can you even count to ten?” The quick-fire question came from Snake again, the jester of the hour.
Rider let the conversation slide on by him. Occupied with thoughts of what he'd do on this date with Zara. All he came up with was sex. One track fucking mind and he liked it that way.
“I’m not hung up on numbers, but I do like giving multiple orgasms.”
Barks of laughter peeled, even Rider smiled casting his gaze around the table at each of his men, his brothers, deciding to give them a minute of normal before the meeting got under way. They all needed it, it felt as though they’d been at war for a long fucking time and even though the matter of Hades still loomed, Rider wasn’t worried, they’d track him down and right now harmony was good for his club.
Tiny’s declaration got him a round of guffaws and slurs of you fucking wish, bro.
“Are we sure we want him patched in the gang, Prez?” Joked Pretty-boy.
Snake whipped back. "It's not a gang. It's a loose association of rugged outdoorsmen."
“You young-uns with the bragging, while me, I sit here confident in my dick abilities without saying a word, boys.” Announced a cocky Preacher.
Jokes bantered back and forth. It felt right and good. Rider sat back in his chair and observed his club brothers.
The day he’d put his Prez patch on the leather cut, that was it. There was no going back and unless he got dead sometime soon, or a freak vote happened and his brothers ousted him, then Rider had been all in, all the time day one, this was the place he loved and sweated blood for. He led his men, he ruled, he said what went and when.
He’d put his club first before anything many times because it was the right thing to do. When he butted heads with his own father, spending an inordinate amount of time on useless arguments, his father who had so many outdated concepts Rider got fucking sick of talking to him, the man didn’t have a forward-thinking bone in his body.
Unlike Rider. Who didn’t relent. Who didn’t walk away from his club. It wasn’t just a hobby as outsiders saw it to be, something to fuck around with on motorcycles, nah, this was a way of life, he was judge and jury, he was fucking executioner when he had to be.
Did it mean he couldn’t have a life of his own, too? Cause that’s what he’d thought for a long time and he’d been fine with it, until now.
Now he was going to change that, make a slice of his MC life that was just his. Zara.
Thinking about his old man put Rider in a sour mood, happened all the time. He could just hear what he’d say if he knew Zara was in the picture. And that was about as far as he allowed his thoughts to get, because he was his own man, own president and no one was going to get in the way of what he wanted.
He finally brought the noise to a halt.
Before any club business was even put on the table Preacher whipped out his long arm and pulled the plate of fresh baked cookies and their vanilla sweet scent towards him hogging the whole damn dish, one motored into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed, another soon followed.
"Couldn't you have waited to feed your face? We're not having a tea party, brother."
Another cookie disappeared between Preacher's smiling lips, he winked at his accuser, running his fingers down his meticulously styled beard.
Preacher didn’t fuck around when it came to grooming. With his head shaved close to the skin around the sides, chocolate brown hair long on top, always caught up in a stubbed tail. His dark facial hair, as he liked to say, was a reflection on the kind of man he was, bad to the bone but stylish with it, was trimmed close to his jawline, around his lips, the beard growing down in a perfect three-inch point, he played with it when he was tense and Rider took note his brother was doing just that as he fed his face with more of the cookies laid out.
Far as he knew none of the boys baked fancy shit, the clubhouse was mostly a meat and potatoes kinda flop for grub. Had his girl been whipping up sweet shit in the kitchen for everyone?
"I'm a growing boy, I gotta eat. I can still listen to Rider. It’s called multitasking, Tex, you wanna learn it."
"You're thirty-fucking-two, I think you already stopped growing!"
The President in question cocked his head and pinned Preacher with a look, passed it across to Texas before another wise-ass remark came from him.
It was like corralling toddlers sometimes.
"Preach, just ‘cause you fuck two women at once doesn’t mean you got any multi-task skills going on.” Rider felt the need to advertise with a wide smirk and everyone guffawed banging hands on the table top. This table had seen a lotta shit over the years. Good times, bad times. Hopefully, Rider thought, they were coming out the other end and finally gonna see some good again.
Preacher sent a filthy grin down the table at Rider. Finished off the last cookie, his fingers coasting down his beard and back up again, and replied deadpanned, green eyes amused. “Look who’s talking, boss-man, getting yourself all jacked-up over one pretty chick. Just warn us if you’re ‘bout to throw the wedding bouquet, I wanna get out the way of these girlies diving for it."
Rider laughed. “Fuck you.” Fired his middle finger, “Now if you ladies finished with the gossipin'. Let’s get this wrapped up quick. I have a date to get fuckin’ ready for.” He said it with a smile and waited for the jokes that would inevitably come.
All his brothers barked out laughing, didn’t let him wait long, one fired after the other about how he was pussy-whipped.
A Souls outlaw dating. Even Rider could see the joke.
New times were happening around the Renegade Souls.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Sweet love…” - Hades
A few weeks back.
The woman had tended to the man’s open wound for five days as he drifted in and out of consciousness. She cleaned it with peroxide and packed it with cotton. She wanted to use her two-way radio to call for help.
He needed a doctor quite badly for his injury, the gaping hole was infected. Way past her capabilities of first aid.
He'd begged her not to before she'd helped him to her cabin. His voice rough with sincerity telling her bad men were following h
im, he just needed time.
He promised he wasn't a criminal. Wrong place wrong time.
She didn't know why she believed him. Maybe she was stupid.
Her yearly hiking retreat was proving to be different. God, she’d needed this vacation more than ever. It was going to be a long tough year ahead. She’d needed this trip.
She treated him with the antibiotics she carried with her.
Watched over him.
Chased away his fever with cold compresses and bed baths.
Tried not to look at his all over tattooed body or how large he was. She did body art once upon a time long ago, she admired the work.
All over.
She was human. She looked.
And on days when he roused from his fever, she fed him broth, watched his deep-set gray eyes watching her silently.
His wound became serious, she again told him he needed help.
It was in that moment when he bared his teeth, growled low issuing to never call any authority that she began to suspect she may be in danger from him.
He would leave as soon as he could walk, he told her.
The fifth night his fever became critical she paced the small cabin she rented every year with money she shouldn’t be spending, the fire blazing in the hearth, she couldn't build it higher, or fear burning the place to the ground and her deposit wouldn't cover it. Not like she could afford to lose it.
Instead, an idea came to her, she'd seen it on a Christmas movie once. The useless information became beneficial.
She stripped her clothes, and crawled beneath the pile of covers she had over the man.
He was trembling hard though he slept deeply, sweat beading on his forehead.
His face masked by a beard.
Handsome. She'd thought. What trouble was he in and with who?
Naked skin.
After an hour of rubbing his back, soothing his shivers, he quietened. She worried he was dead at first, he inhaled and never let it out. A dead body, that would be the cherry on her shitty year.
The man rolled suddenly, pinning her heavily under him.
Air left her lungs.
Shock and heat encased her.
Huge and powerful. She was all too aware of him.
Fear. He was hard and grinding against her bare core.
It was worthless fighting him, though he seemed to be still deeply asleep, no matter what she said to wake him, or how she pushed at his shoulders, the man was far too heavy for her to move him.
The tip of his cock nudged as if seeking.
Oh fuck no. This was not happening. She screamed for him to move.
This couldn't be happening. Not to her. She'd taken five anti-rape self-defence classes because of her job. She thought she knew how to protect herself.
She tasted the horror in her throat as he sought out her private place.
Wake up, she implored. He weighed a ton crushing her chest.
Though he made grunting raw noises, nothing stirred the man.
He was monstrously large poking between her legs, seeking.
And when the tip of him thrust in, her heart stopped.
No. No. No. No. No.
He didn't stop. He didn't stop. He’s not stopping! He’s not waking!
Went in and in and in.
Her body stretched against her will. Her mind splitting off from her body.
Her mind screamed. This was wrong. Stop!
Survival instincts roared to the surface.
She was damp. Under his grunts, she heard the wet slap. Deeper, deeper, hard.
The out of body experience went on for a long time. He was lustful and driving vigorously. Pinning her arms down. A churning unmoveable mountain.
Was it rape, she asked no one in particular, if she was going to come?
This was wrong. Stop. Please.
Left panting for air, with the hardness still inside her, his eyes blinked open, the man finally awoke.
No good deed goes unpunished her Uncle Silas would say. He was a born again Christian and believed in hell damnation.
"Did you like that, sweet love?"
She blinked. His smile was dazzling. Unnatural and normal.
"Who are you?" Her throat constricted with fear.
He'd already began to shove inside her again. Grunting sexual noises.
She went away in her mind, her body failed to listen. Stretching supple to accept him.
Surviving. Let him do what he wants so I can get the fuck out of here. He was relentless shoving into her.
Already the orgasm forced upon her once more against her will and screaming mind.
Wrong wrong wrong. Stop. I don’t want this.
She never made a sound.
But she heard him rasp "Kyle."
Kyle. A normal name for a devil.
A day or nightmare. The woman didn't know anymore.
But she knew he’d been sent from Hell.
She just hoped she survived long enough to get out of there.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“One day I’m gonna get out of here and marry him…“- Angela
"Sweetheart, you have to stay there, you know that." Zara had been on the phone to Angela for the last ten minutes trying without success, it was seeming, to talk her out of running away from her foster home. It was T-minus one hour until her dinner date with Rider. Already her belly was in knots, tight snakes of nerves, now dealing with teen angst.
What fun.
"How are the people looking after you?" In two weeks Zara, hadn't used the phone within the clubhouse, nor had any calls come through the club for her, why would she, no one knew she was there. So, when Uncle Jed came looking, finding her elbow deep in cheddar cheese to let her know someone was calling the shop asking for her, she'd been mildly surprised, telling the old man it must be a mistake she'd cleaned off her hands and followed him anyway.
"They suck." Characteristic teenager, Zara smiled, glad to hear she was talking typically, unlike the frightened girl she'd last seen. So much for a young girl to deal with, god, she'd only just lost her parents, was there an investigation to search for them, even? Not wanting to upset Angela, she didn't ask. So far nothing had appeared in the local newspaper which she found odd. Not even a report of two missing people, though Zara knew different, if the Raging Rebels were involved, those parents were likely dead in a shallow grave somewhere and not lost in the forest.
"They can't be that bad, why do they suck?"
"Is Lawless around?" Zara's brows arched up into her hair. Angela's voice was one hundred percent casual with an underlined curiousness that had Zara speculating in a direction she didn't approve of.
Lawless had made an impression on the girl, not something she could figure out because as far as she could ascertain there was nothing likable about the guy, nor friendly in the slightest. And far too old for a little girl to be enquiring about him.
"No, he's not. What about the folks, Angela?"
"UUgh. They expect me to sit with them at dinner time, and lunch on weekends and I must do all my homework! can you believe that? I don't want new parents, they're so clingy always asking how I am. I think I'm going to split any day now. I'm practically fifteen!” she stressed “I don't need babysitters."
"Angela." Her tone warned. "Listen, they sound like nice kind people, they care. That's what you need right now. Give them a chance."
"I could come and live with you," hope in her small voice hurt Zara's throat. She stopped her pacing and leaned against one of the work benches within the bike shop. The five-port area was immaculately tidy, every tool in its rightful home, the workspaces cleaned off, and even the floor was cleared of debris. Rider ran a nice ship, she mused.
Stop creating reasons to think of Rider.
Her belly turned over in a slow roll again, only thirty minutes to go before they tried their first date.
What it really was; a prelude to sex.
Sex with Rider.
Lord, have mercy on my girl-bits. Suddenly,
she was finding it hard to concentrate of anything else, just that sharp hard thrust of him inside her. Forcing her mind back on the conversation, she was glad there were no insightful bikers around who could quite easily translate her every blush.
"Sweetheart, you know you can't do that. I don't even have anywhere to permanently live, I'm only here temporarily. Ask your social worker if I can come and visit you, we could make a day of shopping."
It was strange she felt an attachment to the kid, she'd only known her the better part of a couple of days, but in that place of monsters they'd bonded instantly, Zara becoming her protector, days there could have felt like a lifetime.
She felt responsible for her, but even if it had been possible, there was no way she could be responsible for a growing young adult dealing with her own mess, as selfish as it was, Zara needed to fix herself, first, but she wouldn't abandon Angela, either. "How does that sound?"
"I suppose it'd be okay." she heard the girl sigh. Then add. "Would we go back to the biker gang place. Maybe Lawless would be there. He played cards with me. I won three times, though, I think he let me. Which is kinda cool isn’t it?"
"It's a club, sweetie." she reminded gently. "And I'm not sure if that would be allowed."
"Can I ... if you want me to, that is if you don't that's fine ..."
"What is it, Angela?"
"Can I call you tomorrow? Bill, that's the guy, said they're taking us all out for ice cream, or whatever." Poor kid being treated to dessert. What a torture. Zara grinned.
"Sure, you can, I look forward to it. Soon as I get a cell I'll give you the number and you can call or text whenever you want to talk. I’m always here for you, sweetie."
"I miss my cell phone and my friends back home. They said." Zara heard Angela's voice catch. "The head jailer said I can't go home, seeing as I have no blood relatives. I told them I can look after myself!"
"Sweetheart, you are very capable." Treading careful, choosing her words carefully. "For now, those people sound super nice, let them take care of you, okay? and we'll get a day sorted I can see you."
"'’kay, Zara. Hey and ... thanks for what you did for me. I gotta go. Bye." The call disconnected before Zara could reply. Just as well, her eyes filled with tears.
