by Chiah Wilder
Men and women threw bottles, chairs, blankets, and most anything they found into the bonfire. At that point in the night, most of the people were drunk or close to it, and all around Cara, people fucked. Never having seen so many people screw each other in public, she was amazed how freely they dropped their pants and hiked up their skirts to screw wherever they were.
Sipping her drink, Cara wondered if Hawk liked to fuck in public. After all, this was his club, and earlier in the evening he admitted he loved to party. As she took in the party antics, someone watched her. Glancing to Cara’s right, the bleached-blonde woman stared at Cara with daggers in her eyes while a member banged her hard. Is she one of the women he’s been with? Fearing the answer, Cara erased the question from her mind and ignored the woman’s dirty looks.
Hawk, stroking her hair, brushed it behind her ears then leaned in and kissed her neck while his fingers massaged her shoulders. His breathing deepened, and against the small of her back, his hardness pressed into her. While he licked and kissed the nape of her neck, he brought his hand down and cupped one of her tits.
A few feet from them, a woman groaned as a man sucked her nipples and another slammed his cock into her pussy. Peeking at the threesome having sex made Cara’s panties damp, and a red tint colored her cheeks as a sweet throb pulsed in her sex. What the hell? The live sex show aroused her and compulsion forced her to become a voyeur. Shame mixed with stimulation as she shifted her weight from side to side.
“Are you getting turned on watching them?” Hawk breathed into her ear.
Cara held her legs together and pinkish splotches scattered across her face at his words. How had he guessed? Was her arousal that transparent?
“My cock wants in, Cara,” he rasped as he tweaked her nipple through her top’s fabric.
Cara stiffened. Did he want to screw her in public? It was one thing to watch others do it, but for her to do it? She wasn’t crazy about that. No, not at all.
His finger came up from behind her ass, and he stroked her wet pussy. Biting her lip hard, she stifled her moan.
“You’re wet again, babe. Fuck, you’re insatiable.” He chuckled under his breath. “That works out great for me, because I can’t get enough of you.” He swiveled his hips, moving his stiff cock against her back. “See how hard you make me?”
Tilting her head up, he kissed her while his finger played with her mound, but Cara clamped her legs together as she twisted her hips. “Come on, baby. Open your legs more so I can get into your hot pussy.”
Resisting, Cara said, “I don’t feel comfortable. You know, doing it in public and all.”
“No one’s looking, Cara. Everyone’s too busy fucking to give a shit about what we’re doing. I’m fuckin’ horny for you.”
“Some of the people are looking. I see them.”
“You worry too much about that kind of shit. This is about you and me wanting each other. Come on, babe, I need you,” he coaxed.
Cara’s heart thumped and her pulse raced. Maybe it would be exciting. Hawk wanted to bang her, and he didn’t seem bothered by the fact that there were about forty people out in the yard. She did want to please him, but in public? Her stomach was a tight ball, and she had the urge to run away. In the golden reflection of the bonfire, and in the shadowy darkness of the yard’s outskirts, everyone was fucking and no one cared who was looking, but Cara didn’t want the pleasure she and Hawk shared to be on display. It just wasn’t her style, and if he cared anything for her, he’d understand. Call me a prude, but this isn’t my scene.
“Come on, babe, open up.” Hawk’s hands tugged at her closed legs.
“Hawk, I’m sorry, but this isn’t for me. I know you’re cool with this, but I’m not. I don’t mind kissing and stuff, but screwing you in front of a bunch of people just isn’t my thing.”
Hawk was quiet.
“I know this is the way things are done in your world, but you have to respect my world, too. I don’t feel comfortable with all this. I hope you understand,” she said.
Hawk still didn’t say anything. He withdrew his finger, wrapped his arms around her, and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Are you mad?” Cara said.
“No, I’m not mad. I don’t want you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with. It’s cool.”
“I like our intimate moments to be for us only. It makes it special that way, you know?”
“You don’t have to explain, babe. I get it.” Hawk kissed her head. Turning around, she cupped his chin in her hand, licked his lips, and kissed him possessively.
“Down deep, you’re a real sweetheart,” she murmured.
Holding her close, they sat on the ground, arms wrapped around each other, and watched the sparks of the bonfire spit and sputter. Well after the flames died to smoldering embers, they held each other.
* * *
Later that night, in his room, Hawk held Cara as she slept, allowing an intimacy he had never felt with any woman grab hold of him. It amazed him that he could enjoy holding a woman without fucking her. Remembering their fucking, his cock twitched. My wildcat is too fuckin’ hot. When I’m deep in her pussy, it’s like nothing in life matters except for her. Fuck, I need her in my life.
Earlier that day, Cara told him she was happy, and he wanted to tell her he was happy, too, but he couldn’t. Fearing that his revelation would give her the upper hand, he didn’t say anything. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Cara is the best thing that’s happened to me besides the Insurgents. Why can’t I tell her how she makes me feel?
Trusting a woman was not in his makeup—in the end, they always fucked the man over. Even though what he had with Cara was good, it was almost too good, and dread permeated his mind at the thought of losing it. Fear she’d take off like his bitch mom gnawed at him. He couldn’t be sure Cara would stick around for the good and the bad, and although the barriers around his heart weakened, he wasn’t ready to give Cara all of it.
Shit, I’m fucked-up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The early morning frost crunched under the detectives’ feet as the sun attempted to cut through the clouds’ grayness. The small group of men viewed the lifeless body of a young, blonde woman on the mountainside next to Platte Creek. Her body had all the earmarks of the Mountainside Strangler, a name coined by the Pinewood Springs Tribune.
“Fuck, the sick bastard did a number on her,” Earl McCue, lead detective, hissed through his teeth.
The men stood over the body and imagined the horrific way this young woman spent her last hours. The detectives were quiet; a few thought of their own daughters, safe at home in warm beds, while others thought of stringing up the sadistic fucker responsible for such havoc.
“He stepped up his game on this one,” observed Earl.
Young Jane Doe #8 had the same bruises, cuts, cigarette burns, and ligature marks around her neck as her predecessors. However, the killer added a new twist to his mayhem: he sliced off her nipples and slashed open her vagina.
In canvassing the area, the investigators located motorcycle tracks again, as well as car tracks. Earl had no doubt an outlaw biker gang was messed up with this. He didn’t think they did the murders, but their involvement was clear. Except for Hannah and Dana, all the other women the fucking monster tortured and killed were petite and blonde. They had also been Jane Does until Nadyia Kravchenko; the sheriff’s department received a big break when her sister identified her.
The two local women didn’t fit the pattern, but the way they were tortured and killed was the same as with the other victims. Fuck, we have to stop this sick bastard before he kills another. Earl rubbed his face, and the pressure to catch the serial killer possessed him. He lived and breathed this case, the images of murder victims invading his dreams. Knowing he’d never rest until he cracked it, Detective McCue shuffled around the area to look for more clues.
The morning wore on as the evidence was collected and bagged. Finally, the team of investigators, grim-face
d and silent, treaded back to their vehicles as the body of Jane Doe #8, bagged and on a gurney, trailed behind.
* * *
Hawk woke Cara up as he rummaged through the small dresser drawers. Glancing at her, he saw her rubbing her eyes as she yawned. “What time is it?”
He came over and kissed her forehead. “Sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s eight o’clock.”
“Damn, it’s too early to get up on a Sunday morning. Come back to bed.” She patted the empty space beside her.
Hawk stared at her hand. “Don’t tempt me. I gotta go. I’ll be back later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Club business.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Club business, babe. You know I can’t tell you.”
“Are you going alone?”
“No, Jax, Axe, and Chas are going, too.” He came over, gave her a tight hug, kissed her, and pinched her exposed nipple. “You make it hard for me to leave,” he said, winking at her.
He kissed her pouting lips, then was gone.
Hawk and the others mounted their Harleys, but before he took off, he glanced up at the window. Cara watched him, standing at the window with a blanket draped over her naked body. It took all his strength to keep himself from running back to his room to fuck her. Tearing himself away from her gaze, he hit the open road. They had a mission to accomplish: scope out the Deadly Demons Nomads. The vote from the members was unanimous; they’d teach the fuckers the Insurgents did not tolerate any one fucking with them. Hawk chomped at the bit with anticipation, knowing he’d enjoy every punch to Viper’s face.
No one touched his woman.
* * *
Going back to bed, Cara tried to sleep, but Hawk had only been gone fifteen minutes and she already missed him. Feeling claustrophobic, she wished she could meet up with Sherrie, but knew she couldn’t. Since she’d arrived at the clubhouse, Hawk had given her strict orders not to leave the compound until he told her it was okay. Saying she was antsy was an understatement.
It wasn’t so bad when Hawk was around, but Cara’s confinement made her climb the walls. Anxious about her clients and the piles of work on her desk, she had to get back to work the following week, whether this thing with Viper was resolved or not. If she remained incognito, she might as well shut down her practice, and she wasn’t going to do that.
After a long shower, she turned on her laptop. When she typed in “Pinewood Springs,” the headline of the Tribune read, “Mountainside Strangler Strikes Again.” As Cara read the article, nausea assaulted her. Why can’t they catch this sadist?
Something wasn’t right. Cara grabbed her phone and sent a quick email to her buddy, Josh. Playing a hunch, she had to know if she was on the right track. Of course, Hawk would be livid if he knew she was still playing sleuth, but this was her club business.
After a couple of hours online, Cara’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything since early last night, so she padded to the kitchen to scrounge up some food.
When she came into the room, Brandi and Kristy sat at a table, drinking coffee. They looked like they had partied too much the night before—Brandi had her head in her hand while Kristy stared at the wall in front of her.
Cara opened the refrigerator and found eggs, green peppers, cheddar cheese, and leftover potatoes and made a quick meal. Sitting at the table across from the two women, she ate her breakfast burrito.
As Cara finished her food, Lola strode into the kitchen and glared at Cara. “What the fuck are you doin’ here?”
“Excuse me?” Cara asked as she shuffled back a step.
“You heard me.”
“What’s your problem? I don’t even know you. Back off.”
Brandi and Kristy, sensing drama, perked up.
“My problem, skank, is that you think you’re better than us just ’cause you’ve got Hawk’s cock in your pussy.”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“The fuck it ain’t. You can’t come here, acting like you own the place, fuckin’ Hawk like you’re his woman. You ain’t shit, bitch.”
“I’m not going to stand here arguing with you. You’re jealous of my relationship with Hawk. That’s your problem, not mine.”
“You fuckin’ slut. You think ’cause you got yourself a high-class pussy that you’re woman enough for Hawk? You ain’t, bitch!”
Cara turned away from Lola.
“Don’t you turn your back on me, slut! Let me tell you something: Hawk’s been in my pussy; he ain’t a one-woman man. He’ll get tired of your girlie-ass cunt, and he’ll be comin’ to me when he craves a real woman’s pussy. Got that, slut?”
Banger, Ruben, and Billy stood in the doorway and watched as Lola, red-faced from anger, yelled at Cara as she turned toward the door.
Lurching, Lola grabbed Cara’s shoulders and dragged her forward while Lola screamed, “I told you not to fuckin’ turn your back on me, bitch!” Shaking her, Lola drew her face close to Cara’s and hollered, “Get the fuck outta here! You don’t fit in!”
Watching in amusement, Brandi encouraged Lola, “You tell her, girlfriend. This thinking-I’m-better-than-you skank needs to be taught a lesson. Fuck, her weak pussy will never keep Hawk satisfied.”
Kristy laughed.
Lola hissed, “Bitch, none of us are gonna give up Hawk’s cock in our pussies, especially to a whore like you.” Lola pushed Cara hard. She fell against one of the tables as all the women laughed.
With her hand raised, Lola rushed toward Cara, but before she struck her, Cara lifted her right hand and whack! The force of Cara’s slap threw Lola off-balance as she stumbled backward, landing on her round ass. The right side of her face bored Cara’s red handprint, and her tender flesh swelled.
Shocked, Brandi and Kristy stared at Cara. Lola, holding her face in her hands, glanced at Banger as he and the brothers cracked up. With twinkling blue eyes, he said, “You got what you had comin’ to you, slut.”
Brandi brought an ice pack over to Lola, who put it on her swelling face as she threw dirty looks at Cara. Cara, mortified she’d succumbed to a brawl with a woman Hawk banged, scurried out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and locked herself in Hawk’s room.
Cara replayed the scenario again in her mind. How could Hawk have slept with that horrible, vulgar woman? How many times had he been with her? As hard as she tried, Cara couldn’t stop the images of Lola and Hawk together in the bed she shared with him. What if Lola’s right? Will Hawk get tired of me and go back to her? Cara couldn’t bear it if he betrayed her. Having allowed herself to become too wrapped up with Hawk, she couldn’t turn back. She had guarded her heart for so long, but since she had given it to him, he’d probably hurt her more than any other man ever had.
How stupid could she be to think Hawk would ever be satisfied with just one woman, let alone one like her who wasn’t experienced or adventuresome? Even though he said he was cool, she knew he was disappointed because she wouldn’t screw him in public the night before. Her stomach roiled and she laughed dryly. She’d never satisfy him or be enough for him. Loneliness surrounded her like a shroud, and she just wanted to go back to her house.
Pressing her throbbing temples, Cara tried to dispel images of the last few days with Hawk. At that moment, she wanted to run far away from him, the Insurgents, the Deadly Demons, and the women who serviced all the men anytime, anywhere.
Cara sat by the window and stared at the pine trees clustered around the clubhouse grounds, their frost-covered needles sparkling like diamonds. The dying leaves of the almost-bare trees around the compound swirled in the icy wind. As the sun hid behind the gray clouds, the dreary weather complemented her mood. Her body craved Hawk’s protective arms, yet her common sense told her to run away. A knot of desire and fear consumed her.
In order to quell the mounting inner stress, she decided to give Hawk the benefit of the doubt and speak with him when he came back. Curling up in the recli
ner, Cara covered herself with one of Hawk’s jackets, his sandalwood scent filling her nostrils. Bringing the garment around her chin, she burrowed deeper into the chair, apprehension seizing her as she wondered if the club business Hawk was taking care of was dangerous.
* * *
Hawk, Jax, Axe, and Chas stayed in the brush and watched the Nomads’ clubhouse. It was an old three-story farmhouse with a barn and a whole lot of barbed wire around the structures. Parked to the left of the barn was a large truck.
Hawk surveyed the area to see the layout of the clubhouse and to get an idea of how many Nomads were in there. The Nomads had owned a clubhouse for several years, and even though they were independent, they still answered to the national president of the Deadly Demons. The Insurgents never had trouble with the Nomads because when they moved into the county next to Insurgents territory, Hawk and Banger told them, in no uncertain terms, that if they didn’t want trouble, they had to stay low and out of Insurgents’ fucking business.
For many years, the Insurgents and the Deadly Demons used to be rival clubs, and club wars were the norm. After years of killing each other and having brothers on both sides locked up, the two clubs called a truce. They both recognized that neither side was winning, but they were all losing, so for the past five years, the Deadly Demons did their thing and the Insurgents did theirs. As long as the Deadly Demons respected the Insurgents and their territory, the Insurgents had no reason to mess with them.
The Nomads seemed like they respected the truce between their mother club and the Insurgents, but they didn’t—they’d overstepped the line, and some retribution was necessary. The Nomads not only trafficked women and meth through Insurgents territory, they had also placed a thief at Dream House, had the fucking badges focused on the Insurgents, and their asshole president, Viper, had messed with Cara. Whether the national president, Reaper, condoned the betrayal was unclear, but what was clear was that the assholes needed to be set straight.
