by Wilde, Kati
I whimper, desperately aware that I’m tied spread-eagled on a bed, naked and flushed from my orgasm, with someone I don’t know on the other side of that door.
Stone shoots me a fierce look. “Not a fucking sound.”
He can’t be worried about who’s there. Not here on club property.
But I should have realized. He doesn’t share. Not even the sounds I make. And not the sight of me. He only opens the door about six inches, then blocks the view into the cabin with his body. I can’t hear any of the short conversation, but when he draws back and slams the door, he’s holding a wad of cash. He drops the money onto the table, then digs around in his duffle again and pulls out a phone.
Whatever he sees on the screen make him smile. A genuine smile, as if it’s good news. He types something out as he returns to the bed, then drops the device right next to my leg.
Oh, that bastard. Putting that phone so close to me. Putting escape so close. But I’m tied and can’t reach it.
His lazy grin says he knows exactly why I’m glaring at him. But I can’t keep glaring. Not when his fingers scratch at his broad chest, then slip down his washboard stomach and into his sweats. He drags out that thick cock, and everything inside me tightens again.
His big fist strokes his length from root to tip. “You remembering how it tastes?”
My gaze shoots to his again. He’s watching me with narrowed eyes, no longer smiling, his expression hard and intense…and so hungry.
And I’m so ready.
“You think I’m going to fuck you now? Nah, not yet. We’ve still got a long way to go before that, making sure you get every bit of punishment you deserve.” His hand jerks harder, rougher, and I can’t stop watching. “This looks real fucking familiar, doesn’t it? Except it was me tied up while you sucked on my cock. But what’s real similar is how you’re about to discover how goddamn hard you can come, even when you hate the fucking sight of the person who’s getting you off.”
He’s all wrong. I don’t hate him. Shaking my head, I try to deny it but go utterly still when he climbs onto the bed again…but lower this time. Settling his shoulders between my thighs.
Sheer need rocks through me like an earthquake, leaving me shivering and shaking. Just a little tease from his fingers made me come harder than I ever have from my own touch. And now he’s going to lick me?
Oh god. Oh god.
His head dips toward my pussy, his warm breath wafting over my slick folds as he says harshly, “But here’s the difference in this scenario: Men, we only come once. Twice, if we’re real lucky. But you? You’re going to come over and over again. Until you break and give me what I fucking want.”
I’m not going to break. I’m not.
But I fight again, wildly pulling at the restraints and bucking beneath him, because I don’t know how much I can take.
Hard hands clamp over my hips, forcing me to still. His thumbs spread me open, exposing my clit to his hungry gaze. The way he looks at my pussy is devouring me already, consuming every bit of my resistance from the inside out. Desperately I close my eyes, as if that will shut out everything that’s coming.
It doesn’t. It doesn’t shut out anything. Not his mouth, so hot and hungry when he dives right in. Not his groan of pleasure when his tongue slicks through my folds. Not the shattering ecstasy when he begins sucking on my clit.
Oh my god, his mouth his mouth his mouth. Unable to move away from the devastating pleasure of it, not even able to writhe my hips, I can only take what Stone gives. And he gives so much. Or he’s just so greedy. I don’t know if there’s a difference between taking and giving when his tongue slides over my clit again and again, if he’s good or bad, I just know that I’m coming and coming, and that he groans in satisfaction while his mouth rides out the helpless convulsions of my flesh.
I’m still gasping, quivering when he bends his head again.
Each time takes longer, but Stone never seems to tire of eating my pussy. Instead each orgasm that he wrings from me only makes him hungrier, his groans deeper, his tongue rougher. But I reach my limit when he’s sucking my clit to a fifth screaming orgasm, when coming isn’t even a pure pleasure anymore but a hot agonizing release of the tension he’d built inside me. As my breath heaves in ragged little sobs, he kisses his way up my stomach, past my breasts, then looks down at me.
Gently he cups my face, his thumbs wiping the drool from the corners of my lips. “Done?”
Shuddering, I nod.
“You have anything to tell me?”
I shake my head.
“Then I’m going to fuck you real hard and real good.” His gaze searches mine when I nod again. “You got any fight left in you?”
None. My entire body is limp beneath his.
His mouth quirks. “Maybe next time I’ll let up sooner, then. But now that little fuckhole is so wet and soft, I could carry a tank between my legs and I’d still slide right in.”
Into me. A shiver of anticipation works through my depleted flesh.
“You want it, yeah?” His voice hardens, his fingers tangling in my hair, keeping my gaze direct on his. “Because I’m into rough but I’m not into rape. You nod so it’s real clear. You want to be fucked?”
So much. My vigorous nod takes all the energy I have left.
Face stark with need, he leaves the bed. Another knock sounds at the door as he swipes the condoms from the fun bag, but he doesn’t even glance that way before heading back. Eyes on me, he rolls on the latex sheath and climbs over my splayed form, his powerful thighs braced between my legs, one hand gripping his turgid shaft and the other sinking into the mattress beside my head as he lowers himself over me.
Aiming his erection to my center, he groans as the thick head parts my pussy lips. “Thought there was nothing better than your taste. But this. Just the fucking feel of you.”
And the feel of him. His body so big and heavy above mine, his cock so thick and long between my thighs. Renewed pleasure sparks through me as he slides the crown up and down through my wet slit, my spent muscles coming back to life and quivering. Whimpering softly, I cant my hips upward.
“You asking to be filled with this big cock, girl?” The blunt tip of him teases my entrance. “I’ll give it to you.”
He abruptly surges forward—coming down over me, but not inside me, his body covering mine.
“Get the fuck out or I crack your head open.” His voice is so cold, so dangerous. “Three seconds, brother.”
Blowback. Who is inside the cabin. Looking at us with no expression—and no fear or apology, despite Stone’s threat.
And despite the fact that I’m naked and tied to a bed and gagged, with Stone on top of me, his dick a hot iron rod against my belly. Heat rushes to my face. The muffled sound of panic I make is followed by Stone saying coldly, “Two seconds.”
“We need to head out for that meetup.”
“It can wait an hour. Or two.”
“It can’t. We arrive late, he’ll be gone.”
Stone’s breath hisses through his teeth, a sound of pure frustration. “Turn your back until I cover her up.”
Blowback doesn’t, those empty eyes scanning the pair of us again. “This isn’t who you are, brother.”
Stone’s body tenses to steel above mine. “It is now.”
Blowback shakes his head but turns for the door. Stone rears up, grabbing the edge of the comforter and folding it over me before untying the straps around my wrists.
“Looks like you got a reprieve,” he says harshly.
It doesn’t feel like one. Not with this need aching so deep inside me. Lying on the bed and watching him go only feels like a punishment, not a reprieve.
He doesn’t leave the key. Doesn’t leave the phone. And a few minutes later, Bull comes through the door and clears away the turkey dinner and silverware.
I sigh in frustration, then search through Stone’s duffle—just clothes, including a few items in my size with tags from Target still attached—
before turning toward the fun bag. A whole lot of things in there to screw me with, but nothing to unscrew a vent frame.
Just my damn luck.
23
Stone
The meetup is a two-hour ride south, at a tiny casino outside of Klamath Falls. Blowback and I head inside, surrounded by cigarette smoke and the jaunty tunes coming from the slots. The entire place wouldn’t fill up the lobby of a Vegas casino, and most of the seats are empty.
“Who we looking for?”
Blowback sits down at a penny slot. “He’ll find us.”
Fucking great. I take another machine, positioned so we can watch each other’s backs, and feed the slot. A meetup with one of the Devil’s Hangmen ought to be right at the front of my mind.
Instead I’m just thinking of how sweet Cherry’s pussy tasted. How tight she was around my finger. How damn close I came to getting inside her.
And how all those jagged edges in me softened, even though I didn’t let her touch me. Which means I should be thinking twice, three times about touching her again. But knowing I won’t be able to stop myself, because she feels so damn good.
It also feels real damn good to be getting shit done. If this asshole ever shows up.
About twenty minutes pass before Blowback stands up, heads for the little restaurant at the back of the casino. All but empty here, too. A pair of senior citizens sit at a table near the front counter. There are more booths up in the back, and a man sitting in one of them, wearing jeans and a flannel and a baseball cap. I know that face.
Creek.
He ran with the chapter of the Hangmen who tried to take over the Eighty-Eight’s territory after we burned down the skinheads’ compound. The Hangmen’s prez got real greedy, and tried to push the Riders into joining up or running off. They torched Blowback’s garage and apartment, got their hands on Zoomie.
This fucker was a part of it all. But if he’s got info, I’ll listen. Then maybe do the same thing to him that I did to Sherlock in the Cage.
Blowback slides in across from him. I take the seat next to Creek and get real close, because I’m just pushy that way.
He’s eyeing Blowback, jaw set and looking irritated as hell. “The fuck?”
“I trust him.”
“Doesn’t mean shit to me.”
Blowback shrugs. “Maybe not. But I figured you two might get along.”
Creek doesn’t like that answer. And I don’t know what the hell is going on. They’re talking the way brothers do. Short and simple, with a lot more being said than what’s coming out of their mouths.
“You left a fucking mess of those barns,” Creek tells him now.
“The way everything burned, I didn’t think we left much at all. You got any trace pointing back to us?”
“Not yet.”
“You won’t.”
“If I do—”
“It’ll vanish.” Blowback pins him with a flat stare. “Yeah?”
“What have you got for me?”
“This.”
Sliding his phone across the table, Blowback shows him a photo. Creek touches the screen and zooms in on the two people seated together. I recognize one—Paladin, the fucker from the Iron Blood who I fought before meeting Cherry. Don’t know the other.
“Goddammit,” Creek mutters, rubbing his face. “That’s Gillam. Dirty fucking asshole.”
“They met up before the Iron Blood went into lockdown,” Blowback says. “I intended to have a conversation with Paladin. Saw this, instead.”
And I’m catching up. Slow. But finally getting there.
Creek is a cop. Or a federal agent. Most likely FBI, if he’s looking at the barns.
“That’ll get you more than trace gone. I’ve lost too many agents because this fucker exposed them.” Jaw clenched, Creek studies the photo another second before shoving the phone back to Blowback. “What do you want?”
“Papa.”
“Papa who?”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
Creek’s eyes sharpen. “Got more than a name?”
“That’s why I’m looking at you.”
A muscle works in the man’s jaw before he sits back. “We barely have shit on the stable bosses. Just names floating around. Papa. The Greek. Caballo. Red Eye. A couple more. Though Red Eye’s vanished—but I don’t need to tell you.”
Red Eye. The slick fucker who got Zoomie. I never asked how Blowback knew where she was, because she’d been taken by the Devil’s Hangmen but he went after Red Eye’s vehicle, instead.
Now I know. Creek tipped him off. Which makes me feel just a little more generous toward the man.
Blowback tilts his head my direction. “He was in the Cage.”
The cop’s attention is suddenly all over me. “Did you meet him? Papa?”
“No.”
“What’d you pick up?”
“Not much.” Sure as fuck not anything I’ll tell Creek. Not if it puts him ahead of me getting to Papa.
Blowback taps the table. “Here’s the deal before I give you that photo. We share information. And if you flush out Papa first, you give us a head start.”
Creek shakes his head. “I can’t—”
“You can have all of the other stable bosses. And if you get one, the rest will unravel. We just want Papa.”
“I can take Gillam down without the picture.”
“Not as fast. How many more agents do you want to lose?”
“You’re a fucking asshole.” Frustration pours off the man. “What do you have?”
“Everything Stone saw. Vehicles they used, the setup at the fights, the men Papa hired as guards and whose bodies were in those barns.”
Creek looks to me with a frown. “They weren’t Iron Blood?”
I shake my head.
“And a girl,” Blowback says.
My heart jacks into my ribs. “Hold up, brother.”
“What girl?”
“Was in there three months. Met Papa, played the nurse and played bait, saw everything,” Blowback tells him and Creek looks like he struck gold.
“And she’s not on the fucking table,” I snarl. “She’s not.”
Creek casts me a disbelieving glance. “That much information could bring down the whole operation.”
“And get her killed.”
“We’d give her protection—”
“While you’ve got a dirty cop on your payroll?” Any protection he provided would be pure bullshit. “That cop can’t be the only one in Papa’s pocket. So not a fucking chance.”
His mouth presses into a tight line, then he nods. “All right. Give me a week. I’ve got a friend in the Marshals who can get her into WitSec fast and deep, without leaving a trace of who she is or why she’s in.”
Witness protection. Where’d she disappear for good. Chest tight, I tell him, “Not gonna happen.”
“Then get what you can out of her and give it to me. For now. Eventually, I’ll need her to come in, get everything on record, get her into protection. What have you gotten so far?”
Fucking hell. “Not much. She’s scared. And lying her ass off.”
Creek huffs a quiet laugh. “Smart girl, then.”
Yeah, she is.
Blowback frowns down at his phone. “Did your teams move in against the Iron Blood?”
“Not mine,” he says. “Why?”
“I’ve got eyes on them.” Blowback sets the phone on the table, presses the speaker. “What did you see?”
Spiral’s voice comes through. “Three black Escalades roll up to the clubhouse. A dozen men in suits went in carrying crates between them. Looked real friendly at first, like the Iron Blood was looking to buy some shiny new guns to defend themselves.”
“License plates?”
“Covered.”
“And they were still on lockdown?”
“Seemed like. No one else had been in or out until these guys. We don’t know who started shooting, just heard the gunfire. Fully automatic. Went on for a while.”
“How many came out?”
“Ten living suits, carrying two dead or injured. And they set off a big explosion and a fire behind them. Clubhouse is toast, along with everyone in it.”
“Did you follow the vehicles?”
“As far as we could—which wasn’t far. The explosion brought in the flashing red lights fast, so we figured that not bringing attention to ourselves and laying low was our best option.”
“Good call. Lay low for another day or two,” Blowback tells him.
“Will do.”
When Blowback disconnects, Creek says dryly, “I’m going to need that gentleman’s name and a witness statement from him.”
Yeah, that’s funny. “Handlebar said that Papa’s security rode around in similar vehicles, wore the same suits, were just as professional.”
His eyes narrow. “You think Papa took out his own muscle?”
“I think he’s making sure there’s no one who can point in his direction,” I say, my gut knotted up. Someone like Cherry. I knew that her being out in the wild would be dangerous. But Papa just took out an entire fucking club to cover his tracks.
That’s…I don’t even know what the hell that is. Some next level shit. Most assholes who are afraid of the cops tracking them down would just go to ground, change their names. Then if the cops follow all the leads back to him, he’s already a ghost.
So that means Papa has a personal life—or a public life—that he wants to hold onto. And he’ll go to real extreme lengths to keep it.
Creek looks grim. “Does Papa know you have the girl?”
I shake my head. He wouldn’t know to look at the Hellfire Riders, either. Or the Bedlam Butchers. We covered our tracks after the raid. And only Handlebar knows that I took her with me. Other than that, we were just random fighters who got freed with the others.
A short buzz sounds, and Creek glances at his phone. “Looks like there’s a fire at the Iron Blood’s compound. They’re sending me in. Sure would be nice if an anonymous asshole sent me a photo showing a cop talking to a member of that club. Then maybe we can chat more about a head start on Papa.”
