by Evelyn Glass
“Fuck,” he breathed in pleasure. They were going to do this again, but with a camera set up so he could see her mashed against the glass as they fucked.
“You have to start somewhere,” she gasped as she began to drive into her. “Give me false information and—fuck, that feels good—and I’ll spread it around. See what gets back to the—” she paused as she moaned softly and pushed back into him— “what gets back to Andrew.”
Discussing club business as they fucked, trying to ignore the searing pleasure of their love making to think, was turning him on. “That might work,” he grunted. “But I have to put Whiteshirt in the loop! Fuck!”
“Can you trust him?” she cried, the strain in Ironside’s voice twisting her up.
“Yes! With my fucking life!” he snarled, driving into her hard, water splashing with wet slapping sounds as he slammed into her ass.
“Okay! Shit! Tell him! But I don’t trust that—fuck! I’m about to come!—that bitch Honey! What about her?”
“What the fuck about her?” he asked, his voice tight and strained.
“They’re fucking!” she cried.
“We’re fucking!”
“But you can—fuck! Just fuck me!—you can trust me!” she snarled, pushing back into him, trying to take him as deep as possible.
“How—fuck, you feel so good!—why do you think it’s her?” He paused long enough to pull her head around for a kiss. “She’s been a Knights girl for—Shit! You’re going to make me come!”
“I don’t trust that fucking—I’m coming!” she gasped, losing her battle to pleasure.
Doing to her what she had done to him, forcing her to come while discussing business, was the snip that severed his control. He barked his release as he drove into her hard and fast, the water running over their bodies another source of pleasure. He pushed in deep with a shuddering groan, holding himself there as he flung his head back in pleasure.
“Fuck!” he gasped as he returned to himself, then slapped the water off before peeling her off the glass. His cock still deep inside her, he pulled her head roughly around and kissed her hard, their tongues darting and slithering before he pulled out of her and pushed the door open.
They stepped out of the shower and moved to the bedroom, intending to continue what they started, leaving a trail of water on the floor behind them. He shoved her into the bed, riding her down as he entered her again, driving into her, consumed with passion, everything forgotten except this one perfect moment of pleasure.
***
They rolled and tumbled in the bed, gasping and moaning in pleasure, their faces twisting into feral snarls as they gave and took pleasure. She’d just snarled her way through another orgasm and now she was on her back, challenging him to keep fucking her and not come as he was driving into her hard and fast.
“Fuck!” he gasped, dropping lower, pressing himself into her so he couldn’t see her tits moving as they fucked.
“Don’t you fucking come!” she growled, trying to make him do just that. “You fuck me with that hard cock!”
“Shut up, you fucking bitch!” he snarled before kissing her furiously to shut her up, her constant snarling comments about not coming making him need to do just that.
She pulled his mouth from hers. “Can’t take it?” she sneered, enjoying pushing him, his pants and gasps as he battled to hold his climax turning her on at a deep level. “Can’t take my tight pussy on your big, thick, cock?”
He paused, sliding his hands under her leg and locked them behind his arms. “We’ll see who can’t take it!” he sneered as he began to hammer into her.
“Oh my fucking God!” she breathed as his cock began to hit her just right.
“Now who can’t take it?” he panted as her face twisted in pleasure. “Who can’t take it now, bitch!”
He pounded into her, trying to force her to climax while delaying his own rapture, when Whitshirt’s ringtone began to play.
“No!” she cried, twisting and grasping for the phone, intending to throw it out of his reach.
Whiteshirt never called just to chat, which meant the call was important. He lunged across her, his cock still inside, grabbing the phone and wrenching it from her hand as she began to thrust against him.
“Don’t answer!” she begged but he ignored her.
He rose to his knees, allowing her to thrust on his cock. “Ironside!”
“We’re fucking!” she cried, wanting Whiteshirt to know he was interrupting.
She couldn’t hear Whiteshirt’s voice, but she saw Ironside’s eyes open wide. “We’re coming. Hang on!” He pulled out of her and tumbled off the bed. “Get dressed! Hurry! Whiteshirt is pinned down at BKS!”
They dressed, throwing on clothes as fast as possible before running for the van. “You drive!” he said as he tossed her the keys and ran around to the other side of the van. “Hurry!” he snarled as she fumbled the keys before unlocking the doors. “To the clubhouse! Fast as you can!”
As they raced to the clubhouse, Ironside worked the phone, rounding up brothers. “I’ve got six!” he said as she slowed at a red light, then ran it. “It’ll have to do! When we get there, stop. Everyone will get in, then take us to the studio.”
“I don’t know where it is!”
“I’ll give you directions. When we get close, I want you slow down and drive slow. We’re going to jump out and try to catch the Saracens in a crossfire. Once we’re out, go to the end of the block and wait.”
“What’s happening?”
“I’ll fill everyone in on the way.”
There were seven Knights standing in a cluster, one more than he thought he’d have, as the van rocked to a hard stop before the men piled into the back. “Go!” Ironside called, and she matted the throttle just as the side door banged shut.
“Listen up!” Ironside called, looking into the back of the van. “Whiteshirt, Snap, Goose, Tank and Dodger are pinned down at the studio. Tracer is dead, shot as they were leaving for lunch. There are an unknown number of Saracens waiting outside to ambush whoever comes out.”
“Will they still be there?” Lolly asked.
“I don’t know. I hope not. When we get close, Peyton is going to slow down so they don’t hear us coming, then stop and let us out. Left here,” he said, giving her directions. “We’re going to approach on foot. The Saracens are probably dug in and under cover, but hopefully we can take them by surprise.”
“What’s the plan?”
“That is the plan,” Ironside growled. “That, and kill everyone who isn’t a Knight.”
It took fifteen more minutes before they were close. “Slow down,” Ironside said. Peyton breathed on the brakes, slowing the van. “Slow…slow…” he murmured. “Okay. Stop here. BKS is that red brick building up there on the right. When we’re out, drive past, turn around, then stop at the corner. Leave the van running.” He looked into the back of the van. “Somebody give me their phone.”
When a phone was handed up, he passed his to Peyton. “If I call, you get your ass in there with the van, just like last time.”
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.
He gave her a quick kiss. “Stay frosty,” he muttered before opening the door.
The minute the doors eased closed, she continued on, looking into the parking lot as she passed but seeing nothing.
***
The eight Knights crept up on BKS and crouched behind a row of hedges along the fence that defined the property. The warehouse wasn’t large by modern standards, but the large parking lot for trucks made a good killing field. Until they located the Saracens, they didn’t dare venture beyond the hedgerow. Ironside felt a tap on his shoulder and turned as Lolly handed him a suppressor. He nodded his thanks as he began to screw the heavy tube onto the end of his weapon. They wanted to try to keep the cops out of this as much as possible.
Using Lolly’s phone, he sent Whiteshirt a text. We’re here. Moving to position. Located in the older, industrial part of town, th
e building had thick brick walls and no windows, which was perfect for making porn videos, and happened to make it easy to defend. Unfortunately, the same features that made the building easy to defend also meant it was easy to get trapped inside. With only two exits, not counting the six large rollup doors, the Saracens knew where the Knights had to come out, and Tracer had paid the price.
Ironside pointed to four men and motioned them to circle the building to cover the rear. They scanned the area but saw no signs of the Saracens. “Think they’re still here?” Tinker whispered into Ironside’s ear.
He shrugged as Lolly’s phone vibrated. In position.
He tapped a moment, sending Whiteshirt a text. Ready.
One minute. Front, Lolly’s phone buzzed.
Ironside tapped the man next to him and pointed two fingers at his eyes then at the door, then held up one finger. The sign was repeated down the line. They waited until the door burst open. Three Saracens stepped around the side of the dumpster, their guns popping quietly. Ironside and his men opened up, but the range was too great and, despite the hail of gunfire, only one Saracen was hit.
There was a lull as the two clubs tried to work out what to do, when Ironside heard the roar of a straining engine. He turned as a pickup skidded to a stop and five men bailed out, crouching behind the truck and firing on their position.
The Knights turned to face the new threat, but they were at a severe disadvantage. They went to the ground, but they were taking fire from two sides, and two Knights were hit. Whiteshirt tried to escape, to come to the aid of his club, but was driven back by the men behind the dumpster. They had walked right into a trap and were being cut to pieces. He could hear the soft pops of suppressed weapons fire on the other side of the building and knew they were on their own.
***
Peyton watched as the men crouched behind their truck, their weapons jumping as they fired into the hedge the Knights were crouching behind. Gritting her teeth, she yanked the van into gear and tromped on the throttle. The van roared, quickly gaining speed as she braced.
***
Ironside saw the van bearing down on the truck, the men realizing too late the mortal danger they were in. They turned, one man getting a single shot off before the van smashed into the side of the truck, metal screaming as it slid along the side, shoving the truck aside before the van pirouetted to a stop, rocking hard on its springs.
None of the Saracens could have survived the crash and Ironside turned his attention back to the men at the dumpster. He dropped the magazine on his weapon and slammed in a fresh one before he jumped to his feet, running across the parking lot, his weapon barking as he ran. Lolly was only a step behind, his gun also spitting death, Tinker bringing up the rear as he struggled after them, still in the fight even though he was bleeding badly, his left arm hanging useless from a gunshot wound.
The Saracens returned fire, but had to move behind the dumpster for cover. Whiteshirt and Snap popped out, firing along the edge of building. Much closer, their aim was far more deadly and the lone remaining Saracen moved back to the side of the dumpster, firing at the three men, but with three to one odds, he didn’t last long.
Ironside waved his arm, Whiteshirt and the men inside pouring out as the Knights stormed around the corner of the building. The Saracens were now the ones caught in a crossfire and were quickly cut down. As silence returned, Ironside turned to Whiteshirt. “Handle this!” he ordered as he turned and ran back to the front of the building, slowing to a walk with a grin of relief as he saw Peyton standing in the road beside the van.
Peyton released the breath she’d been holding, began to run, then threw herself into Ironside’s arms as she reached him.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Calling in all their resources and favors, it still took hours for the Knights to clean up the mess. With two totaled vehicles, thirteen dead, including two Knights, and three wounded, the Knights had to scramble to remove all traces of what had gone down before the cops got wind of it.
“How did they know you were at the BKS?” Ironside asked as he and Whiteshirt sat in kirche trying to figure out what had happened.
“I don’t know. We obviously have a mole,” Whiteshirt said.
“We suspected that.”
“Yes, but this confirms it.”
“This has to stop. We’re bleeding each other too much.”
“I agree,” Whiteshirt said. “But how?”
“Call Andrew? See if we can call it even?”
“He’ll never agree to that. We’ve mauled them much more than they have us.”
“It’s worth a try.”
Whiteshirt shrugged. “It can’t hurt I guess. I’m more concerned about the mole.”
“You’re not going to blame it on Peyton again are you?”
“I don’t know. She’s the only new variable in this. I still can’t get past you thinking that her showing up when she did doesn’t mean anything. Did she know we were going to the studio?”
“I don’t know how. I didn’t know. Why were you there anyway?”
“Taking pictures for insurance, doing a little cleanup. Could she have found out somehow?”
“No.”
“Maybe someone called her? Maybe she’s passing information and doesn’t even know it.”
“No. Nobody called her.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because my cock was inside her all night last night, and again this morning! Why did Honey lie?”
“She won’t admit she lied. She claims she saw something, though she did finally agree that maybe it wasn’t a phone she saw.”
“Who did you tell you were going to the studio?”
Whiteshirt snorted. “Only everyone. I asked for volunteers to help with the cleanup.”
Ironside slapped the table. “I hate this fucking shit! This is why I want to get us out of all this illegal shit! I’m so fucking tired of the backstabbing and the killing!”
“Me too, brother. We’re moving as fast as we can.”
“I know, but I’m not sure it’ll ever end, not until the Saracens are dealt with. Every time something goes wrong, they think it’s us.”
Whiteshirt grinned. “Well, we did cost them a load of coke and a shipment of guns. Not to mention the guns they lost that started all this shit.”
“That’s exactly my point! We didn’t have jack to do with the first shipment of guns that went missing, yet the first thing they did was try to hit one of our houses.”
Whitehshirt shrugged. “Give Andrew a call,” he suggested. “Maybe your idea is just crazy enough to work. The worst that can happen is he won’t bite. If he doesn’t, we’re no worse off.”
Ironside sat his phone on the table and then flicked through contacts until he found Andrew. He hadn’t called Andrew since he phoned to tell him the Knights were out of drugs and pulling out of guns.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me after the shit you’ve pulled,” Andrew growled.
“You’re the one that started this when you hit Canfield.”
“Don’t play innocent with me. You took our load of guns.”
“If you have proof of that, show me, and I’ll hand over the brother who did it. If a Knight did it, it was unsanctioned.”
“How am I supposed to have proof when they just disappeared? But I know it was you.”
“You don’t know shit! We had nothing to do with it! Don’t blame us because your transporter fucked you.”
“What do you want, Lothbrook?”
“I want to stop the bloodshed.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“A truce. We call it even.”
Andrew burst into laughter. “Not fucking going to happen. Not after you sent that bitch Peyton in here.”
“We didn’t send her. She came to us because you fucked over her friend. You brought it on yourself.”
“Fuck you, Lothbrook! She’s nothing but a lying, cheating whore. Because of her a lot of my brothers lost th
eir lives!”
“Cut the shit, Moore! The reason your brothers are dead is because you went up against us, and we fucked you, just like we did today. How many did you lose? Oh, that’s right, eleven! Eleven, Moore, to our two. How many did you lose yesterday when you tried to ambush us on the way to the airport? I know I killed six, including one with my bare hands. By my count, we lost three but you lost eight.”
“And I’ll make you pay for every one of them!”
“You can keep losing brothers, we both can, or we can stop it. Here. Now. We had nothing to do with the loss of your guns, but if you call off this war, I’ll guarantee Saracen safe passage on the Ninety to the docks so you can pick up your merchandise to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again.”
