As her hair moved slowly around them both, his lips grazed her ear. "How about it, Chloe? Mmmm?"
His voice sending shivers down her spine, she replied weakly, "Just don't miss and hit the wrong place."
Chuckling, he held her even tighter, massaging her breast still. "I never miss," he whispered, as his tongue rolled around her ear, "I know where I'm going, Chloe."
She closed her eyes, and felt as immersed in the heady sensation of Nick as she was in the water that flowed around them. She'd missed his touch, the feel of his arms around her, his solid, powerful arms.
"Let's swim to that rock over there," he said. She nodded, as he pointed to a large, flat, sunny rock.
Gliding smoothly through the water, she wondered if the old Nick wasn't slowly returning. This seemed more like the teasing, gentle Nick she used to know.
He arrived at the outcropping first, and hoisted her up beside him. The rock was hot from the sun, and it warmed her, as did the brilliant sunshine. He smoothed her heavy hair back from her face, and rested an arm across her shoulders.
And they laughed, as they watched all the other women being thrown in the icy water now.
Derick held Ellen at the shoreline, grinning, as she struggled and kicked her feet.
"You started something," Chloe said dryly.
His lips kissed a trail across her cheek to her ear, where he whispered, "I'd like to start something, all right."
Closing her eyes, she felt his lips brush across hers briefly, then he pushed her back on the hard rock.
Drips of water from his hair fell onto her face, as he whispered against her lips, "You want me, Chloe? You want me inside you?"
Nodding, as he pressed his hips against her leg, then threw one leg over hers, trapping her, she said softly, "Yes but not now, Nick."
He chuckled, and kissed her eyelids. "I know," he rumbled, "how about later, then? Under the stars, you'll be like this..." he gently turned her on her stomach, and she rested her head on the back of her hands. Heat from the rock was intense, and her body felt languid, as his hand lazily stroked along her back and came to rest on her buttocks.
Gently kneading, he said softly, "Have I ever told you, you have a nice ass, Chloe?"
"Not lately," she murmured.
"You have a nice ass, Chloe."
She smiled, but then others joined them on the rock, and their peaceful interlude was interrupted, much to her disappointment.
"You are such a jerk!" she heard Rhonda tell Squirrel.
"Awww, poor baby." he replied.
"Nick," Rhonda's voice was cloyingly sweet now, "you're really built, honey. I never saw you without your shirt. My, my."
"Don't get any big ideas," Chloe mumbled, "or I'm telling Max on you."
The woman cursed, and Chloe grinned. A little blackmail never hurt. But then she found herself wondering idly whether Rhonda still carried a gun.
And, as Nick's leg wrapped around the back of hers, Chloe realized she felt secure. For the first time since the accident, she felt safe next to him.
Chapter Seventeen
From an incline, Max watched the two lovers on the rock. Smiling slightly, his mind raced with plans for Mexico, and Chloe. After all, Nick had no memories of their previous trip. He remembered nothing, nothing of Tessie's 'blender bomb,' nothing of what they did the last time they were down there. His plan was perfect and he'd have Chloe, finally, all to himself. And his hardness surged against his pants, as thoughts of her writhing beneath him raced through his mind.
Then, he snorted, as he watched Nick's hand moving on Chloe. This would be easy. Very easy. He had everything over Nick, money, property, and maybe even Chloe, eventually.
Then he heard Tessie's voice. "Aren't you going to throw me in?" It was a whine. The woman was always whining about something. He'd have to do her soon, and dump her body somewhere. Bob could help him. She was getting on his nerves, and after almost two years of marriage, he needed a break. He regretted the day he married Tess. And he wanted someone else, someone ultimately smarter and certainly more beautiful. Chloe.
He snorted again, while still gazing at Nick and Chloe. "You'd better get back on the pill, Tess. I mean it. Or I'll put you on the streets, working for me, like Sandy works for Limpy."
Hearing her sharp intake of breath, he smiled, and added softly, "I mean it, Tess. Listen up." He felt her moving away, heard her sigh, and looked back. She was gaining weight already. Another squalling brat around the house? His eyes grew hard. No way.
Ellen came out of the water with Derick at her side. Laughing, dripping wet, she said, "You wrecked your pants."
He shrugged, and started unzipping them. "I've got other pants." Then, he grinned, "It was worth it. The hardest part now will be getting them off."
"Well, I've got to change too." She looked around, "Hey, Sandy! Where's the outhouse around here?"
The woman tromped sulkily out of the water, with her large breasts heaving. "Jesus, now I gotta do my make-up all over again. These guys are a bunch of jerks. Yeah, come on, I'll show you."
Hiking a short distance with Sandy huffing and puffing in front of her, Ellen was relieved to see not an outhouse, but a concrete building with regular toilets and mirrors. It was the little things in life that made such a difference, she thought, as they entered.
"Yes, I know what you mean about the make-up," Ellen said, her voice echoing in the cool dampness of the place, as Sandy disappeared into one of the stalls. "I've got some repair work of my own to do."
"Shit," Sandy's voice replied, as Ellen heard her struggling out of her wet clothes, "I hope Limpy don't expect me to work tonight. He told me some assholes from the city are comin' up. And I look lousy right now. I had my hair all perfect before."
Ellen frowned. "What kind of work do you do?"
There was silence in the stall now. "What do 'ya think?" Another silence, then the sounds of more struggling. "Someone's gotta support his ass. Who the hell's going to hire a guy that looks like him?" She laughed at her own words.
But, Ellen wasn't amused. Her face staring back from the mirror was stony, now, as she tried to untangle her hair. "That must be tough," she replied, not knowing what to say, and thinking angrily of the woman prostituting herself for a worthless biker. But, that's the way these women were. Poor self-image, possibly growing up as battered children, they grasped at any form of love they could find.
Sandy sighed. "Yeah...it's hard once in a while. But you know it brings in a lot of cash. And it ain't so bad most of the time. These guys come quick." She laughed again, "Real quick. Not like my Limpy. He's a baller."
Ellen's mouth was in a hard line now. Well, she thought, add prostitution to the list; the growing list of crimes these bikers were involved in. It seemed never ending. The more she knew these people, the worse it was.
She changed quickly into shorts and a crop top, not wanting any further conversation with this woman, and said, "See you later, Sandy."
"Hey," the woman yelled, "how's Derick Sands in the sack? You his girlfriend or somethin'?"
"No, not really. We're just friends." Best of buddies, actually, Ellen thought. But my private life is not for your ears, or the topic of any idle conversations.
"Oh," the woman said, disappointedly, "well if you ever hear, let me know. I've always wondered."
You aren't the only one, thought Ellen, as she walked out the door.
When she returned to camp, she saw Limpy and another man unloading huge speakers from the back of his truck.
"What's going on?" she asked Derick, as she sat on the ground next to him. He'd changed into jeans, and was shirtless.
Smiling, he replied, "I think they've got plans for me. They even brought a generator for electricity, see? And a guitar. It's beat-up, but I can probably make some music come out of the thing."
She observed him fondly. "Can't get away from it, huh?"
"I don't want to get away from it," he replied softly, "I love music. It's my life."
He sat back, resting on his elbows. "They're playing a part. Reminds me of the outlaws in the Old West. Complete with guns and long hair. We all take on a persona of one sort or another, like me. I'm the wild, rock star." He paused, and peered up at her. "Who are you, Ellen? What part do you play?"
Smiling, avoiding his eyes, she replied, "Nice try, but it's not important, Derick. It really isn't."
"I guess not," he said softly, "it doesn't matter what a person does, but how they are underneath it all. That's the important thing. And I like the way you are, in spite of your mysterious nature."
"Yes," she whispered, "but these men scare me, Derick. They're evil, very evil."
Derick's voice was thoughtful now, as he said, "I can't figure why Nick is in a motorcycle club. I mean, in a way, it didn't surprise me. He was always wild and crazy. But in a different sense, I can't picture him with these guys. It doesn't seem to fit, somehow. Under the surface, he's really not the same as these guys."
His hand came up and stroked her back, as he sat up again. "But you know about Nick, don't you, Ellen?" he said softly, "You know he's not evil like the rest of these animals."
She nodded, enjoying the feel of his hand on her back. He tugged at her top, then smoothed the fabric. Pulling her chin up with his other hand, he said, "You'll tell me soon, right? When you're ready?"
Nodding again, she looked into his eyes then scrutinized him. His face was smooth, and her gaze flitted over the high cheekbones, and then to the hollows beneath.
"You're part Indian, aren't you?" She could picture him on a sleek, black stallion, riding like the wind, over scorching prairies.
As his mouth drew into a smile, he replied, "Yes. A quarter, on my mother's side. You're very observant. Not everyone catches it. You look Scandinavian, and your nose is getting pink. Why don't we move into the shade?"
The large tree they found rustled softly as they sat in its shade, Derick leaning up against the trunk, and Ellen resting against him.
A few minutes later, Rhonda wandered up, wearing a red bikini top and cutoff shorts. And Ellen wondered if all biker women had large breasts, or whether it was just this particular group. The woman was stacked, and Ellen watched with amusement, as Derick's gaze flickered over her.
As his hand ran along Ellen's arm softly, he said to Rhonda, "How 'ya doing, sweetheart?" Ellen knew by now that he was using his 'fan' tone. He had a different voice when he spoke to Ellen. Different voice, totally different man.
Rhonda sat on the other side of Derick, then leaned forward so her breasts showed maximum cleavage. It was obvious she'd been thrown in the water, then must have repaired her not-too-subtle make-up. But her black hair hung in damp strands around her shoulders. And to Ellen, the woman looked almost comical, as she sat, lustily eyeing the famous rock star, trying to look as sexy as possible.
"Oh, I'm good," she replied, "I'm real good, Derick. Mind if I call you Derick?"
"Not at all," he answered lazily.
Two motorcycles started up just then, their noise drowning out all attempts at conversation. The men were holding races down the center of the camp spot, and Ellen smiled as she watched the two bikers bragging loudly to each other, before they finally took off in a cloud of dust.
The winner cracked open a beer and laughed loudly, while he swaggered around. As Derick answered Rhonda's many questions in monosyllables, Ellen surveyed the camp spot. It was hot here, dry and barren, except by the water, where green bushes grew in abundance, looking oddly out of place.
The camp spot was hidden from the outside world, nestled in a valley, a perfect hangout for these outlaws. The men were getting rowdy now, and some were drunk already. Swaggering, boasting, swearing, they roamed the dusty camp spot, probably, Ellen thought, in search of their manhood. And she wondered, idly, what the point of it all was. To prove who could get drunker? Or who could swear the most? Ride the fastest? Get the highest, with the aid of drugs and alcohol? It seemed like a losing proposition.
Then, she realized they were far, far from her perception of real men. These men took, without asking; put their women on the streets to work and make money in the worst possible way; sold lethal drugs on the street without a qualm; and probably killed strangers, and even each other, without remorse.
Her mouth hardened, as she sat staring at them. And, her eyes narrowed, as she thought of breaking up this organization. How macho would they be in jail?
Rhonda drifted away, finally, and Derick turned to observe her. "Does that bother you?" he asked, as he searched her face.
"What?" she asked absentmindedly, still thinking about what a real man was.
"Other women coming on to me."
She grinned, as she looked up at him. "That woman? Come on, Derick. I don't feel threatened by her."
"That's good, but what about other women? Women so beautiful, it almost takes your breath away. What about them?"
Shrugging, she replied, "I don't know. I haven't been faced with that yet."
"You will," he said softly, "eventually."
"If I hang out with you? Is that what you mean?"
"Yeah. Would that bother you?"
"Hanging out with you? No. The women? I don't know, Derick. I can't answer that," she said softly, wondering what life with Derick would be like.
After a minute, a fight between two club members caught her eye. And she realized one of the combatants was Nick.
"Derick, look, Nick's fighting," she said, moving to get up.
But he stopped her. "Nick can handle it."
"That guy outweighs him, can't you see?"
"It doesn't matter, Ellen. Nick is faster."
Ellen watched the two men circle each other. Nick jabbed, and struck the man in the face. Then he struck him again, harder, faster. The man reeled. But Nick continued pounding him, with the big man falling back farther with each blow.
Then, as Nick let loose a string of Spanish words, Ellen gasped. He thought he was in Central America again! He'd kill the man!
"Stop him," she said tensely, not looking at Derick, "Nick's going to beat him to death. Stop him now, Derick. Before it's too late."
Derick heard the warning note in her voice, and jumped to his feet. "Brick!" he yelled, hoping the old nickname would get Nick's attention. And it did.
Nick paused, stopped dead in his tracks, and shook his head. His arms came down to his sides, and he appeared confused.
Chloe ran up and checked the man who now lay on the ground. Then, one of the other bikers poured beer in the man's face, and he sat up, rubbing his jaw.
"He never knew Spanish before," Derick said softly, as he waved to Nick.
"Yes," Ellen replied, "there's a lot you don't know about him."
He chuckled to himself. "Whenever you're ready, we'll talk, sweetheart."
The afternoon passed quickly into evening, with occasional shouts and fire crackers sounding in the stillness, and echoing through the canyons beyond. The loud cawing of crows gave way to owls hooting, and other night sounds began.
The bikers, cranked up on speed, downers and cocaine, still shouted, brawled, drank, swam and partied hard, even after the sun went down.
And strangers were arriving in truckloads, obviously aware of the presence of Derick Sands at the gathering. A huge bonfire was lit in the center of the camp, with the assistance of many bikers and much gasoline.
At dusk, Chloe wandered back from the restroom, and searched for Nick, but he was nowhere to be found. Sitting on a large rock, some distance from the noisy campfire, she sighed, and hoped he hadn't been fighting again.
Then, she heard a familiar voice in back of her. "Tired already, Chloe?"
"No," she snapped, realizing it was Max. He stood behind her, but she didn't look around. His hands came down on her shoulders, and she tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.
She felt Max's hardness, as he thrust himself against her. "Get away from me, Max," she said in a low voice.
"Now, Chloe, do you know what we do to women who don't cooperate?"
Her heart began pounding in her chest, and fear clutched at her as she replied, "You probably rape them first, then shoot them, right?"
Laughing softly, he said, "Yeah, something like that. I guess that doesn't appeal to you." Moving slowly against her, he continued, "Tell you what, Chloe. If you'll blow me in Mexico, I won't let it happen."
From between clenched teeth, she said, "I'd rather be shot. I'd rather be dead than do anything with you."
He stopped thrusting, and she heard his soft, evil laugh. "That can be arranged." Then his grip tightened even more on her shoulders. "But first, you'll come to me. You'll come to me on your own, without Nick. You wouldn't want me to shoot Nick, would you?"
Her jaw clenched. "Is that a threat?"
But then, to her relief, she saw Nick walking towards them, and Max dropped his hands and stepped back.
"No," he whispered, "that's a promise."
She ran to Nick, and threw her arms around his neck. But, his eyes were different now, they had an edge of hardness, and she smelled pot on his breath.
"What were you doing with Max?" he said in an ominous tone.
"We...we were just talking."
A sardonic smile appeared on his lips. "Right."
She stood back from him. This was too much. One man threatened her life, and the other didn't believe her. "Go to Hell!" she said in a low voice.
Nick watched her walk quickly towards the campfire, and his smile disappeared.
"Trouble in paradise?" Max asked dryly, as he walked up.
Fixing him with a level stare, Nick replied, "Leave her alone, Max. She's my old lady."
"Hey," Max replied innocently, "ever since the last Mexico trip, she's been all over me. Don't you remember what happened down there? Man, how could anyone forget it? We swapped, you took Tess and I took Chloe."
Nicky's Fire Page 15
