Devil on Your Back

by Max Henry

  “You’re a clever man, King.” Carlos smiles. “How did you know that I was after him to take him home? I could have got Eric here to blow his head off the minute he stepped out of the car.”

  “It was a gamble I chose to take.”

  “You better have an idea of how you’ll hold up your end of the bargain,” Carlos warns. “I’m not here to fuck around either.”

  “We’ll work something out,” King says.

  Carlos waves the back of his hand at us. “Of course you will.”

  Callum takes a step back as Eric passes to collect Sawyer. We watch in morbid curiosity as he loads the kid into the Dodge, and Carlos slips in after him. He hesitates before shutting the door.

  “Do your best, King,” he says. “Because you screw this up? I’ll be back to not only finish your precious Butchers, but I’ll be sure to have my men rape and mutilate every woman that they find in your clubhouse, let alone near one of your patches.”

  He shuts the door and the cars starts, soon pulling away from our three stunned expressions.

  “Why do I feel like we just sold our souls to the devil?” Callum asks.

  “Because I think he just walked in and took them without asking,” I reply.

  King shakes his head and goes for his bike. I give Callum a slap on the shoulder, and tell him we’ll see him back at the house before jogging to catch up with King.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” I ask. “How long had you been planning that for?”

  He pins me with a pointed stare as we reach the motorcycles. “I knew you’d flip if I told you the plan,” he says, “which is why I didn’t.”

  “You’re jumping into bed with Carlos,” I state, still shocked at the idea. “I never thought you’d go that way.”

  He sighs, and looks down at the tank of his bike. “There’s a lot about the club I haven’t let on to anyone, Vince. Apex left us in a pretty bad way, and if I don’t come up with a fuckload of money to pay back some loans he took out, we’re in the shit—big time.”

  “You could have talked to us about this.”

  “And what,” he says with a chuckle. “Which one of you lot would have told me to do what I have? Huh? You would have all bent over backwards trying to find another way, but there’s not. Trust me.” The man tugs his helmet on and straddles his bike, but doesn’t go anywhere. King’s eyes fixate on something in the distance, but his expression says that his focus is elsewhere . . . way elsewhere.

  “The only thing I haven’t worked out,” he finally says, “is how we’re going to do it.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I say, lying to him as well as myself.

  “We do this wrong, Lynch, and it’s everybody at that club in trouble—not just me.”

  “I know.” I shove my hands in my pockets, and try to ignore the awkwardness that crowds me at having nothing better to say.

  “That’s a huge fuckin’ weight to bear,” King states. “But there was no other way.”

  I can only imagine the stress such a responsibility places on him. Really, the guy is his own worst enemy in times like this. He’ll take the burden of ensuring every single head in that club stays unharmed as a personal goal—just look at how he shouldered the club debts. We’d follow his orders, and fight whatever shit came our way, but he’d rather find a solution and deal with the problem before getting another soul involved. His compassion is what sets him apart from the previous club presidents; he treats everyone’s well-being better than he does his own. From what I hear, most men took on the role of president knowing they had to care for those in their chapter, but never really lived up to that promise. King, on the other hand, he’d lay himself down on the tracks before he let you miss the train—he’s that kind of guy.

  King shakes his head clear, and starts the bike. I take my cue and step toward mine, put my helmet on and watch him go. As his taillights fade into a slight red glow and dip over the hill, I worry about King’s state of mind when it comes to being in control of our club. Especially if this is the path we’re going to take. Carlos was unfortunately right—sometimes King does have too much heart for this role. It’s no secret that with Apex gone and King in his place, the club had a real shot at becoming the organization it was always supposed to be—a home and a family for those who no longer have either. But if ensuring the safety of the members means aligning ourselves with Carlos’s cartel, then is it really worth it?

  I straddle the Triumph and start it up, sitting while the engine warms. Callum’s taillights disappear after King, and I take a moment to enjoy the relative quiet and solitude of the park. We’ve just struck a deal that will ensure my boy is safe—that Alice never has to watch over his back for Carlos again. But in the same breath, I know with men like Carlos, promises like that never stick. It’s only a matter of time before he re-thinks the deal he made, and by then we would have played our part in restoring the drug lord’s channel. What then? When all is said and done, who is the real winner?

  Because right now, I feel like the kid who’s just been tripped mere feet from the finish line.

  ALICE, BRONX and Ty lasted less than fifteen minutes before the three of them disappeared out to the garage to drain Alice’s beer fridge. Apparently they’d rather sit around on old tires in the cold than inside with us. I guess I can see the reasoning behind them wanting space, though; when somebody else takes care of the punishment for the person who did them wrong, a man could feel pretty jaded.

  The boys are outside less than an hour, before us three women start to also get fidgety. Jane produces a pack of cards from somewhere in the house, and we start a friendly game of poker. Ramona is winning, easily holding half the make-shift chips when I draw yet another dud hand.

  “Are you going to eat all of that?” I ask.

  She looks down at the Hershey’s Kisses on her side of the table, then back at me with a bewildered expression. “Of course.”

  “Where do you put it?” I look her slight frame over.

  “Somewhere,” she says, looking down at herself.

  “In her little toe,” Jane mutters.

  We all laugh . . . then eat a Hershey’s Kiss.

  Jane draws a card as the sound of bikes cuts through the otherwise still night. The three of us perk up as if somebody just found fresh batteries, and the table is cleared in seconds. Jane stashes the cards, and I take the empty wine glasses to the kitchen as Ramona spills the bounty of Hershey’s into the fridge.

  “Last thing we need is those conceited bastards telling us our asses will get fat.” Ramona giggles.

  “God, I know,” I say, around a mouthful of chocolate. “Vince was just asking when I’m going to start back at the gym.”

  “He didn’t,” Jane joins in.

  I nod, smiling. “It’s okay; he tried to say it nicely.”

  Jane and Ramona take one look at each other, and start laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Alice asks as he comes through the door . . . wobbling.

  “Nothing,” Jane replies in a singsong voice. She greets him and sets about distracting him as the others wander in.

  “Look what we stumbled across outside,” Bronx calls out, thumbing over his shoulder.

  King walks in, rolling his eyes, followed by Callum and then Vince. I make my way over to him, noting his distinct lack of humor as the boys tease and rib each other, obviously more than a little warmed by their session in the garage.

  “Everything go okay?” I ask.

  Vince nods tightly. “Fine.”

  I’m thrown back five years to when Mike would come home with the same blank expression and same blunt answers. Back to where women don’t ask, and they sure as shit aren’t told. I smile curtly, and walk away. Vince’s hand catches my elbow.

  Reining my anger in, I turn back to him as he tugs me into his hard frame. Vince’s breath tickles my ear while he speaks, “Not tonight, okay? I just want to forget about it all for a while.”

  Looking into those tired eyes, I’m p
ut in my place, reminded that there’s a lot more at stake here than my petty grudge about not being told what it is the men get up to while they’re gone.

  My hand lifts to his face, and I cup his jaw as I nod. “I get it.”

  He captures my lips in a quick kiss, much to a drunken Alice’s amusement.

  “Eww, Dad. Take it behind closed doors, huh?”

  I giggle, and reach behind me to slap at Alice’s arm. He laughs, and staggers toward his room, Jane in tow. She offers me a sheepish smile, and winks.

  “If it’s all good with you lot,” Callum says, “I’m going to crash. It’s been a long day.”

  “Night,” we all chorus.

  Vince walks into our room before me, and no sooner than I’ve shut the door than he has me in the air and over his shoulder. He tosses me down on the bed, a wide grin on his face as my head lands on the pillow.

  “It’s so fuckin’ good to see you.”

  I smile. “Hello to you, too.”

  He collapses over me, propped on his elbows, and one foot on the floor to take his weight. “I mean it, Sonya. After such a shit night, seeing you so happy, so alive, so radiant . . . it makes me feel home.”

  I squash back the mild panic at hearing almost the exact same sentiments Mike would give me, and focus on the man who is here with me now.

  “Then why doesn’t your face show it?” I ask, running my finger down the bridge of his nose.

  “Too much else weighing on my mind,” he explains. “You know, there’s never any rest. It’s just one shitty situation to the next, and all we can fuckin’ do is hang on for the ride some days.”

  “Still want your mind taken off it?” I ask, running my hand over his thick neck, and sloped shoulders.

  He nods, and leans down to kiss me gently. I soften into the sweet gesture, somewhat taken aback by the raw need behind the slow movements. Having him be soft, gentle and cautious with me is a little unnerving.

  I pull back and look into his eyes. “You remember what you promised me at the rest stop?”

  He cocks his head to the side.

  “You told me,” I say, tracing the swell of his arms, “that you needed to show me what it was like to have you fuck me.”

  His eyes darken and my nipples pebble. Take the bait. He eyes me, searching for something. Reservation? Doubt? Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it.

  “Are you sure?” His eyes flick over his shoulder. “We have a house full of people.”

  “Should make it interesting, then.”

  Vince’s gaze narrows and he smirks. “The little lady likes to play dirty, doesn’t she?”

  “I thought you may have worked that out by now,” I say as I reach up and pop my breasts out the top of my tank and bra.

  Without missing a beat, he swoops down and takes each nipple in turn, suckling, and nipping until they burn they’re so hard. Regardless, I press up, searching for more.

  A rough hand comes down on my shoulder, and I startle a little as Vince presses me into the bed. He assumes control of my body, manipulating my position with his other hand under the arch of my back. Kissing a hot line down my torso, his lips leave a fire of want and need in their wake. Whimpers slip free from my mouth as I writhe, and twist, but his hand stays firm.

  He unzips my denim shorts, and nuzzles me through the thin fabric of my panties.

  I gasp when his mouth envelops my throbbing clit, and he sucks over the material . . . hard. “Jesus,” I pant, fingers tangled in the sheets beside me.

  He rears back, deftly places a hand either side of my hips, and flips me over. My shorts and panties are ripped down my legs; the denim leaves a burn when he doesn’t stop, despite the friction. The tank, which had been bunched around my middle, is also tugged roughly beneath me, jerking my body upward with each pull until the fabric slips over my head. He unclasps my bra, and yanks the fabric from beneath me as I lie there, partially in shock but mostly aroused at how in charge he is.

  Cool air rushes over my skin as he stands to undress. Without thinking, I lift my butt in the air, eager for his return. He slams it back down with a hard palm to the top of my ass, and promptly wraps my loose hair around his fist. I cry out as my head is wrenched backward and his hard length is pressed between my cheeks, resting on my tight bud. Vince rocks slowly, testing me. I swivel my hips, desperate to match his ferocity, but he yanks my hair hard.

  “Did I ask you to move?”

  Oh, Lord. My core aches with impatience.

  “No.”

  “Exactly,” he growls. “Spread your legs.”

  They do it before my brain scrambles the message.

  Vince scoops his free arm under my middle, lifting me as he keeps pressure downward on the hand in my hair. The resulting position has my face smashed into the comforter, and my pussy on display for his viewing pleasure. Judging by the sudden rush of wet heat to the area, my body likes it. I know my mind sure as hell is having a field day.

  A low rumble emanates from his direction, and is immediately followed by the sharp sting I receive as his cock slides home in one hard thrust. I cry out, but the sound quickly dissipates into a moan as he slips out and rams me hard enough to shunt my face along the comforter. The brute force is shocking but tantalizing all at once.

  I will him to carry on . . . harder . . . angrier.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I bait.

  His hand slips from under my belly, and clamps around my throat. He pulls toward himself with both hands, using my head and his foot anchored on the floor to drive my body back onto his very thick, very satisfying length. I’m moaning, I’m crying, and I’m damn near laughing with the mixture of pain and pleasure. He continues to drive into me, determined to split me in half when the moment is broken.

  I fall onto the floor.

  “What the . . .?”

  Both of us were so consumed in the moment, that neither of us realized how hard he’d been hitting; my knees had edged apart with the force of each blow until one slipped over the edge, taking me with it. Vince stares down at me from where he stands beside the bed, and chuckles.

  “Get your sweet ass back up here.”

  I scramble onto the bed and move to resume my position when he stops me.

  “Actually, get over to the window.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “Now,” he growls.

  I slip from the bed, and eager to find out what he has in store, I stand before the closed curtains. He moves in behind me, and reaches over my shoulder to tug one of the drapes open. I stiffen as I look out into the very exposed, very dark back yard.

  Fucking in a rest area where strangers could come across us was one thing, but these people? I know them.

  “Relax,” he assures me. “Everyone’s probably in bed.”

  Still doesn’t stop me from hesitating.

  “Hands beside your head, palms on the window.”

  I do as I’m told, and my very much naked breasts press against the very cold glass. My nipples are like rock instantly. Vince’s heat envelops me from behind, and he spreads me with one hand whilst guiding himself home with the other. I close my eyes and suck in a breath as he once again fills me. His hips piston, short and hard, and the contrast of the cold glass on my chest and the warm heat where he’s fucking me relentlessly is nothing short of amazing.

  Vince wraps an arm around my shoulders, and pulls me off the window so I’m standing tall. He continues to drive upward, jolting my body with every blow.

  I open my eyes and the sight near floors me. Reflected in the glass is our erotic display. His face is stern, focused, and very much controlled. I’m wild, lost in my ecstasy, and very much ready to come.

  “Fuck, you’re gettin’ tight,” he rumbles in my ear.

  I watch as his eyes close, and he struggles to hold on. I push my head back into his shoulder, and his hand rises to grip my throat once more. I keep my eyes open, despite the incredible high coursing my body, and watch as he loses the battle with himself and
comes hard inside of me. His face as he lets go, the restriction of his hand around my neck, and the fact we’re fucking in front of open curtains has me following him close behind.

  I screw my eyes shut, and my legs give out as I whimper my release. Vince’s firm hold on me is all that stops me from crumpling to the floor in one very spent, very satisfied, very tired heap.

  “God, Vince.” Not the most academic of responses, but it’s all my addled brain can manage.

  He chuckles, and walks us backward until his legs find the bed. Vince sits us down with me still impaled on his length, seated in his lap.

  “I could go harder.” He chuckles.

  “I have no doubt you could,” I reply, sagging into his chest.

  “I just need to tie you down, first.”

  He laughs as I groan.

  Sweet, Lord. When do we get home?

  SETTLED AT the dining table with my coffee, I look over the sorry sight in the living room the next morning. Some of the boys must have continued the drinking last night, given the dozen or so pre-mixed bourbon bottles on the counter. Bronx is sprawled over one of the armchairs, and King lies fast asleep facing the back of the sofa. Jackets, helmets, cuts and clothing are scattered over the living area like a washing machine has spewed its contents Exorcist style.

  Ty wanders in from down the hall, and my curiosity piques at where he’s been. He rubs sleep-messed hair on his way into the kitchen, wearing no more than a pair of jeans and a sated smile.

  “Good night, was it?” I ask, and take a sip of my brew.

  He flicks the button on the kettle, and looks over at me with a cocked eyebrow. “What you sayin’ there, big guy?”

  “You look happy this morning.”

  He chuckles, and shakes his head. “I slept on the floor. Couldn’t sleep with these bastards snoring, so I headed up there during the night.”

  I nod, unconvinced. “What are your plans now?”