Born Sinner: Blood Ravens MC

by Vivian Gray

  “No worries at all,” she says in a seemingly happy voice. “I blame Carmen more than anything. Hell, I blame Carmen for a lot of shit that has happened since then.”

  “Like what?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Like the fact that my dad wants me to take over the family business.”

  This stops me dead in my tracks. “I’m sorry, say that again.”

  Could this be real? Could I possibly be holding the next head of the Espinozas? Has her father been grooming her for this role? A million thoughts run through my head at the exact same time, all coming together before she has the chance to answer.

  “Well, that’s what we were fighting about,” she explains. “The… uh… the night you… you know, the night you… picked me up.”

  “No need to dance around it, Maria,” I tell her straightforwardly. “I know what I’ve done.”

  “Well, that’s good.” She cracks another of her lovely smiles. “Because I do, too.”

  She actually laughs at that, and I chuckle a bit, too. Clearly, she’s learned to live, at least a little bit, with her captivity. Ever since last night anyway.

  She continues, “Seriously, though, my dad always seemed like he favored Carmen to take over the business. But when she ran off and got married, he cut her off as much as she cut us out of her life. They’re both, like, so much alike, to be perfectly honest. And then Dad turned to me, as if I wanted to take over his stupid bullshit.”

  “You don’t want to take over the… business?” I ask, not really sure what to call it.

  She shakes her head. “Not a fucking chance. What I really want to do is go to college.”

  “Oh really? For what?”

  “Well, the funny thing is… I want to be a lawyer.”

  That stops me cold again. “You… you want to be a lawyer?” That seems totally incongruent with the lifestyle her family has lived. “What… what makes you want to be a lawyer?”

  “Well, everybody deserves representation, don’t they? What I’d really like to do is work with people who can’t afford lawyers. You know how they say, ‘If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you,’ or however it goes when you get arrested? I want to do that. Court-appointed attorney.”

  “Doesn’t seem like there’s a lot of money in that,” I say, though I’m honestly impressed as hell that’s what she wants to do with her degree. Plenty of our guys who’ve gone down have needed to use the public attorneys, and they were always shit. If someone smart like Maria were doing it, they might have stood a chance.

  “I’m not interested in the money,” she says valiantly. “As long as I can make enough to live on, I don’t need a whole lot. I’m kind of… you know, a minimalist.”

  “A minimalist?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, you know…” She laughs. “I don’t need a whole bunch of stuff. I like to live simply. I guess that’s the one thing I took with me from going to catechism classes at church – you know, Sunday school, but for Catholics? My mami used to make us go before she died. That’s how I made my first communion and shit.

  “But they used to teach us, like, about how Jesus lived, and it was always super simple, you know? He didn’t own anything except the clothes on his back and the sandals on his feet. So, I mean, if the dude could live like that, I can live without super expensive shit, you know?”

  “I guess I never thought of it that way,” I tell her. “So you’re religious then?”

  She shrugs again. “Not really. My mami was. She went to mass every Sunday, prayed the rosary, the whole thing, you know? My dad isn’t though. I think he figures that church never did him any favors, so why should he do favors for the church? And after Mami died, that was it for him. Carmen and me, too. I stopped going – it just made me too sad.”

  “That’s fair,” I say, touched.

  I’m a little bit amazed she is so willing to really open up to me. It seems a little odd, as she is still tied up to my bed and still is not allowed to wear clothes – or, rather, I’m not allowing her to. But I like talking to her, I find. I’m a little bit surprised by this fact.

  I leave her to go out to HQ for a while.

  When I get back, I feed her lunch and talk to her some more, then leave for a meeting back at HQ. At the meeting, Slime tests me again to see if I’ve done anything with or to Maria.

  “Smell my fingers if you really want to know,” I joke, even though the joke makes me irritated with myself.

  “So you got a li’l bit then?” Slime grins. “That’s good! And what about her? Did you leave any marks?”

  “No marks,” I tell him, shaking my head. “But she won’t be able to sit down for a week, if you know what I mean.”

  “Nice, man, nice!” Slime exclaims. “I have to admit, I had my doubts about you. But damn it all if you haven’t made me a little jealous! That’s a fine piece of ass you’re nailing. You… are nailing it, right?”

  “Oh, you bet your ass I’m nailing it,” I brag. “Right to the fuckin’ wall.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Slime says in his, well, slimy way. Fucking scumbag. “So what are you doing here then? Get your ass back there and nail it again! I want to hear her screams all the way over here at HQ!”

  I nod curtly and leave. I honestly wish I didn’t give a good God damn what Slime wanted, but the truth was, he has Crusher’s ear, and if he wants the girl a little brutalized, someone’s going to be brutalizing her. The way I see it, it’s better that it’s me than Slime because Slime won’t give a fuck if he hurts her or if she consents. On the other hand, I can control myself.

  At least, I think I can.

  When I get back to the house, I storm in again, pour myself a couple of drinks, and head down to the basement. This time, there’s no spanking, no silky fingers on her ass, no teasing her with soft touches.

  “Blade?” she asks, surprised when I throw open the door. “What’s going on?”

  I don’t say a word, but instead, unbuckle my belt and look down at her. I’m already hard by the time my pants come off, and she lays back, anticipating what’s to come. I don’t go right for her pussy. Instead, I grab her by the shoulders and push her down, and she involuntarily opens her mouth wide for me, expectantly.

  She understands what she’s meant to do, and she gives her mouth willingly to me. I don’t give her any foreplay; I just let her suck my cock, face-fucking her as she lays there, helpless, still restrained, unable to even use her arms or hands to prop herself up. Faster and faster I push myself in towards the back of her throat, and she gamely keeps up, moving her tongue in rhythm with my thrusts, licking the underside of my shaft as I fuck her mouth.

  I pull back momentarily, and she gasps for air. My cock now slick enough, I immediately go back down towards her pussy. I rub my cock a few times and enter her, feeling myself ramming into her pussy with more force than I had anticipated or expected to.

  I don’t wait for her to get comfortable. I lift her legs in the air and pile-drive her, thrusting into and out of her pussy as fast as I possibly can. I’m slamming into her, putting all my weight into getting inside of her, as deep as I can. She takes the entirety of my shaft in her pussy, gasping for breath, as she was caught unawares that this was going to happen.

  “Oh God,” she cries out, and that’s when I do something entirely uncharacteristic – I slap her, not hard, just enough to get her attention, and cover her mouth.

  I don’t want her talking this time. I just want her to take me. I hold her, pinned down, as I thrust as hard as I can into her, going faster and faster until I feel her clench around me. Her legs come up around my neck, and she wraps them around me. She goes to cry out again, but I catch her by the throat and squeeze just a little bit so that she knows not to breathe a word.

  I feel her tense up, and I know she’s about to come. I love it. I love that she’s getting off on my dominance as much as I’m getting off on her being submissive and just letting me take her. As she orgasms all over my c
ock, I let myself go and explode into her warm, waiting pussy, coming as hard as I ever have before.

  I grunt but don’t cry out as much as I want to because I want this to be silent fucking. As I finish, I pull out of her, grab my pants, and walk out of the room, leaving her there wondering what just happened. I lock the door behind me, just as an insurance precaution.

  Everything about this has felt amazing. As much as I hate to admit it, I like taking her without her explicit permission. It’s not rape – because she wants it – but when she doesn’t know it’s coming, and when it’s as brutal as it has been, it only serves to make the sex hotter.

  I feel like I have her in my thrall now. She’s mine. She’s not going anywhere. I wonder if I might take off the handcuffs, but I realize it has only been a few days, and I still don’t know if I can trust her. But if what she told me about her father is true – and that’s a big, gigantic fucking if – then I might just be able to get some information out of her.

  What’s bothering me, though, is that our conversation that morning, and into the afternoon, painted a different portrait than the one I had in my head of her. I presumed she was just another Latina cartel princess like her sister, Carmen. Even when I knew that she was different – even when it was clear that she wasn’t afraid of me as much as she was intrigued by me – I still thought of her as being the same kind of angelic daddy’s girl.

  But she’s not. Maria’s got a wild streak to her that drives me fucking wild. And I love that she submits so willingly to me. I haven’t had sex that hot in a long, long goddamn time.

  So, I go to bed, thinking for the first time in ages not of the girl I’ve lost but the girl I’ve found. It’s weird as hell to me that I’m dealing with two girls from the same family, but now, where Carmen was the last thing I thought of before falling asleep, instead I find myself thinking of Maria’s eyes, Maria’s tits, Maria’s ass.

  I think of her warm smile and her generally friendly demeanor – a nice change of pace from Carmen, who had a tendency to be cold and, well, quite frankly, kind of a bitch. Everything about Maria has me mesmerized. In fact, maybe it’s she who has me in her thrall, rather than the other way around.

  I don’t know. All I know is that I have to play it cool, at least for now. The last fucking thing I need is to be falling in love with the girl I’m supposed to have kidnapped.

  Chapter Eight

  Maria

  After getting over the initial shock of being kidnapped, I’ve found that being held as Blade’s prisoner honestly isn’t so bad. I mean, it’s bad in that I am not allowed out of the house, and he refuses to let me wear clothing. But as the days turn into a week and then two weeks, I find myself actually enjoying his company, awaiting his return every morning when we can talk, and he can feed me.

  There’s something truly incredible about him, something that I can feel myself softening to. He’s not a bad man by any means; he’s just caught up in a terrible situation, one my father honestly put him in when he ordered the hit on him a couple of weeks ago.

  But what I really anticipate is when he comes to my bed every night. And I mean every single night. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t ask questions or permissions. He is brutal and unforgiving, and he does this kind of tortuous thing where he slaps me or spanks me or leaves me hurting, but in the best way.

  It’s some of the best, most intense, most orgasm-inducing sex I’ve ever had in my entire life. He punishes me, but I like it. It’s as if he’s working out all his aggression, all his anger, all whatever shit he has going on, on me in the night. Sometimes it’s intercourse, sometimes it’s just touching, and a few times, it’s exclusively oral.

  He doesn’t take the handcuffs off of me though – which, admittedly, is part of the fun. I find I like being restrained, being held back and unable to move, leaving me entirely in his control. He does whatever he wants to me, and I just have to sit back and take it. It’s… really, really hot.

  During the daytime, our conversations continue. One day, as I’m telling him about more of the shit Dad has pulled on me, he surprisingly relates it to his own life, telling me about his father.

  “Yeah,” he explains, “my dad was a pretty rough character. Beat the shit out of me when I was a kid.”

  “Were you an only child?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I was the mistake my mom made. She got knocked up shortly after they got married, and it was all because my mom forgot to take her pill or some shit like that. And she never let me forget it, never forgave me for it, like it was somehow my fault. And my father was a drinker – not really a drunk because he never got so bad he pissed himself or threw up all over himself or anything like that. He just got mean. Mean and scary.

  “Like, when you’re a six-year-old kid, you’re not expecting your dad to come barging into your room, throw over a bookcase, and beat the living shit out of you. That’s what my life was like – from the time I was a little kid until the time I finally moved out when I was seventeen. By then, I had been working for a couple of years and saved up enough for a bike. I started riding with the Blood Ravens, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Sounds like your dad was a bit of a bastard,” I reassure him.

  “A bit?” he asks jokingly, cracking a half smile. Then, turning serious, he continues, “I kind of felt bad for my mom, leaving her with that maniac, but she wasn’t exactly the motherly type. They never anticipated on having kids, never wanted them, and they sure as hell didn’t want me. I wasn’t a star student or anything, I was okay at sports, but I didn’t like the organization and all the rules and shit. I wanted to be out doing my own thing.

  “So I did. I started hanging around Blood Ravens HQ when a friend pointed out where it was. I did little shit for them like tuning up their bikes and hosing down the floor when everybody left for the night. It took, like, almost two years, but they eventually welcomed me into the club. Best day of my life.”

  He sounds just a hair shy of nostalgic when he talks about his motorcycle club. The Blood Ravens are clearly something that he cherishes.

  “Well, my dad has never beaten me – nothing like that,” I tell him. “But he’s been absent most of my life, always concerned with his business, his business, his business. My mami used to go to church to pray for him – that he’d give up his life of crime or at least cut back for the good of his family – but it never seemed like he cared about anything else but the stupid fucking business. And when Mami died, I guess he just stopped caring about Carmen and me, except in terms of what we could give him. So Carmen became his legacy.”

  “I remember,” he says wistfully, a vague touch of emotion in his voice. “She told me about it once. Said she couldn’t believe her father wanted her to take on the business. She didn’t want it. We talked about running away together, you know.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I say, a little shocked – but only a little, given that Carmen did the same thing with her now husband.

  “It was only idle talk.” He shrugs. “We were young. We were immeasurably stupid. I know I was, anyway, to get involved with a girl like that.” Then, he looks at me, as if realizing who I am for the first time. “I’m sorry. I know she’s your sister. I shouldn’t talk about her that way.”

  “No, it’s totally fine. She’s a bit of a cunt for doing that to you.”

  He laughs a little bit at my phrasing. “Yeah… Yeah, she is.”

  “Blade,” I say, hesitating a little bit, “I feel like I need to tell you more about my father. He’s… he’s not a good guy. Not like you.”

  “I know that,” Blade says curtly.

  “No, I mean…” I pause, wondering if I should continue with my train of thought. Finally, after what seems like an eternity to me, I decide to push on. “Blade, I know stuff. About my father’s cartel. Stuff that could help the Blood Ravens.”

  “Like what?” He raises an eyebrow. “Stuff we already know?”

  “I know where his stash houses are. I know where he
keeps his guns and the drugs they’re bringing in. I know suppliers’ names and faces. And… and I know what his ultimate plans are.”

  “What do you mean, his ‘ultimate plans’?” Blade asks, now rapt in attention.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure about it at first,” I begin explaining, “and even though you told me you were attacked by his guys, it didn’t really hit me until yesterday, when I was thinking about it. But I’ve realized that I’m pretty sure the attack on you was no accident.”

  He guffaws at this, a big, burly laugh that echoes throughout the room. “Come on, Maria,” he says, grinning, “you think I hadn’t figured that much out? Of course it wasn’t by accident that they found me. They were probably stalking me. They were coming after our territory. That’s why you’re here, after all.”