The Stray Sister: Blades and Red Skulls (Hellriders Book 1)

by Amy Law

  “You want to fix yourself to be a nomad’s ol’ lady?” A woman’s low, Texan accent startled Jess out of her thoughts. The blonde at the bar next to her had elaborate ink decorating her arms and her chest. Swirling serpents, images from playing cards, flames and Celtic knots tracked her generous curves in a swirling red and blue contour map. They exchanged wary looks.

  “And that nomad?” she asked Jess while she waited for her order. “You’re cutting out a tough road there, sister.”

  The petite blonde looked Jesska up and down. A chain belt hung with silver charms and trinkets emphasized the sway of her firm, round ass in tiny ragged fragments of sprayed-on denim shorts.

  Her stomach was bare up to the bottoms of her tits, which swung free below the cut-off gingham shirt. Red and blue ink wound over her bare arms.

  Jess asked her, “Why do you call him a ‘nomad’?”

  The blonde smiled. Not a particularly friendly smile. She said, “You really don’t know anything, do you?” as she carried two beer glasses away.

  Jess did know a little about motorcycle clubs. They had rules, and they took them seriously. From what Jess could see, the clubs were about rules and codes almost as much as they were about bikes. Codes, honor and status. Male status.

  Across the bar Gyro told her, “Don’t let Mary Ann get to you, honey. She’s just fucking with you.”

  Only two positions with any status at all were available for females. A woman who was ‘property of,’ belonged to one biker as his ‘ol’ lady,’ and he had all rights over her. He could treat her however he wanted, no other man would make a sound about it, and none would ever make a move on her.

  Otherwise, women were ‘honeys’ or ‘sweetbutt’s,’ available to all the men in the club, like a communal property. A woman was owned by one man, or by all the men. Jess wasn’t sure if she could adapt to either of those situations.

  If she returned to the clubhouse as a girl with no status at all, then she really would be just a ‘hangaround.’ Hangarounds were common, were tolerated and were mostly seen as easy prey.

  Jess didn’t think poorly of them or look down on them. If anything she had a sneaking—perhaps even an envious—admiration. But she didn’t want to be one of them.

  As she nibbled off the rest of her drink, Jess saw Mary Ann weave through the crowd of bikers. She had little flutter of her eyelashes or a roll of her hips for every one of them, it seemed. Every man she passed got some small flash of intimacy from her.

  Chapter 2

  Cracker came to lean back with his elbows on the bar beside her. Jess had to drag her eyes off the rise and fall of the curves of his big chest, and the flat slope of his stomach down to the big, metal belt buckle.

  As she sipped her whiskey, he said, “Look, I could be way out of line here, but I get the sense that you want to spend some time here, get a feel of the club and not have to throw yourself into the whole groupie stroke sweet-butt free-for-all thing. If I say that you’re here with me, that would be the end of it.”

  “And what would be your end of that deal? What do you get out of it?”

  Jess was cautious of his glowing eyes and his tricky grin. “I’m just trying to be helpful to you, a’aight?” he said, “A girl on her own in an MC clubhouse is pretty much fair game for anyone with a saddle who want’s some…” He trailed off.

  “Some gash? Is that what you were going to say, Cracker? See, if you don’t feel like you can talk straight to me, it makes me wonder if you’ve got a… I don’t know…”

  “A game plan?”

  “There you go.” He was two men, one apparently sweet as a nut, and the other maybe a borderline psychopath. She knew one thing, though, both sides of him made her hot in her panties.

  He looked right in her eyes and said, “Well, I do.”

  Her heart jumped. She felt the heat of his body. Her treacherous body wanted him nearer. Much nearer. His voice lowered as he told her, “I think you want the same thing that I do.” His eyes took a tour of her body. Her throat grew tight as his lip curled.

  “I think you want to jump my bones. I think you want to feel my hot skin on yours. I think you want me to lick you to distraction and suck you over the edge.” The calm, matter-of-fact way that he said it unnerved her. “I think you want me to open you up. Spread your wings and stretch you wide.”

  “You’re pretty damned sure of yourself, biker.”

  “I’m pretty sure of you, little princess. I’m pretty sure you want a hot, hard biker cock in your throat.”

  Her chest and her neck flushed. Her nipples stung irritably in her bra and, pressed on the seat underneath her, her panties were hot and soaking wet. He took a sip of his bourbon and said, “I think you just aren’t ready to admit it yet.”

  Inside, she was. She was more than ready. More than anything, she wanted to have him, right now. Right here in the bar. To feel his weight, his size, his strength on her. In her.

  She wanted to have him peel her clothes off, tear them off. He could stretch her over a table. Have her, ravage her in front of everyone. On the stage even. He could drive her with all the force and strength of his hunger, while everyone stamped and shouted.

  First night, Jess, she told herself, Don’t let yourself go wild. Besides, she knew that what made her want him so much was his raw, cruel streak. It’s sexy as hell, but it can hurt you, too.

  Chapter 3

  Daddy took care of Jesska; he always had. Her older sister Tiffany took care of her, too. Jesska wanted none of it. She wanted to take care of herself. Daddy had always overcompensated for them losing Momma so young and he probably over-protected the two girls.

  Daddy told Jess over and over how much he loved and adored her. Jesska didn’t believe that he even knew her.

  Because they moved so many times, Jess went to three different high schools. “We’re moving up in the world,” Daddy would say as they packed up for another Las Vegas suburb, greener, leafier and more artificial than the last. Fake lakes and manufactured greenery was all there was to look forward to as she left another set of friends behind. Belinda she hadn’t seen or heard from for more than two years. Joanna had been her second friend on MySpace after Tom. They had done BeBo and LiveJournal and they still connected on Instagram, but they never quite graduated to SnapChat.

  Jesska wasn’t sure she would even recognize Joanna if she saw her now. Not unless she looked like her selfies. Nobody ever looked anything like their selfies, except maybe fish.

  Perhaps that rootlessness, never being able to be fully attached anywhere was a part of why Jesska loved motorbikes, from when she first became aware of them.

  Even though most bikes had saddles for two, Jess always thought of the two-wheeled horse as a vehicle for one. That meant a special kind of freedom to her. It meant not having to rely on people you might lose.

  Jesska always felt that she was on the edges of groups, like she was temporary, not a full member. Always at the margin. She hated it. That and the fact that she was always guaranteed some notoriety from who her daddy was. It was bad enough when he was a big-time criminal lawyer.

  He defended drug dealers, gangsters, motorcycle club members, and sometimes in pretty high profile cases. Kids at school told her about them. They always knew way more about it than Jesska did, or they claimed to. Daddy wouldn’t ever discuss his work, so she heard more about it in the schoolyard than she ever did from him.

  Even when Daddy became a judge, everyone at her school seemed to know the details of every big case he presided over. More than once she found herself surrounded by what was known as the ‘bad element’ of the student body.

  She had been pressed up against clattering echo of the steel lockers and a voice hissed menace into her ear. “You better tell your daddy to do the right thing,” talking about some drugs case, armed robbery or once even about a murder case.

  Jesska’s answer was, “If I even told my daddy what he should do in a case, not only would he not do it, but this place would ha
ve the FBI crawling all over it in minutes. So, if that’s your cousin’s trial strategy, all I can tell you is he’s going to need better counsel.”

  First time she said it, her legs shook so hard after she could hardly stand to watch as the deputation slunk away, murmuring dark threats. After she’d been down that road a few times, she got used to the terrain.

  She’d spit in their eye if they didn’t get the message fast enough. It never came to that. Probably just as well.

  It seemed like everywhere she went, either Daddy had carved a place out for her or his name had. And if it hadn’t, there was always Tiffany looking out for her. Tiffany was two years older. She was bright and beautiful and everyone loved her. Tiffany would do anything, risk anything for Jess.

  She loved the idea of bikers. Everything she learned about them made them seem more sexy, more attractive. From what Jess could see, bikers didn’t accept what they were given; they just took what they wanted. Doesn’t fit with the rules? Doesn’t matter, they’d do it anyway. Jesska admired that. The few bikers she’d seen were smoking hot, raw alpha dudes. That was a bonus, too.

  Sex seemed complicated to Jesska, and scary. When she was still in high-school, it appeared to be no more than a recreation and, from the looks of it, very much overrated. Girls in her class couldn’t wait to do it, and then when they did it, it just messed them up. They got miserable, they into fights and lost their friends, they got dumped and many of them got pregnant.

  One time after school she took Stephen Mohan up to her room and Daddy burst in. Stephen was a good friend and Jesska was at the age when she wanted to explore a male body as well as to have her own body explored. They had hardly gone beyond the first kissing stage when the door flew open.

  Seeing the look on Daddy’s face, Stephen went straight out through the window. Turned his ankle when his foot hit the lawn and slipped, but when he saw Daddy come after him by the same route, he got up and he ran like hell.

  Jesska’s daddy in raging pursuit was a terrifying sight that anyone would instinctively run from. Still, every time she saw or heard of Stephen after that her lip tightened in contempt. So her early exploration went bad on her, and she lost a friend.

  That was the only time she ever brought a boy home and afterwards, Jesska grew pretty wary of sex altogether. As for relationships, she once heard someone say, “Sex is the currency of relationships.”

  Among the kids who she knew at school, it wasn’t just the currency, it was the whole business. A friend described a relationship as, “Like friends but with added benefits.” As far as Jess could see, it usually meant without the benefits of friendship.

  Chapter 4

  Outside, in the hot night air, Jesska asked Cracker, “What does it mean that you’re a ‘nomad’?” He handed the lit spliff to her.

  “It’s kind of like being a member of clubs everywhere, and kind of like being a member of no club anywhere.” To Jess it had a lonely sound, but a familiar one.

  “And why are you called ‘Cracker’?”

  His faraway look hardened and turned more serious, “Some things you’re better off not knowing. Other things, you’re better off not even asking.” He looked her in the eye, “Asking questions around a motorcycle club is a dangerous hobby, even for a cute little girl.”

  She wasn’t sure about him calling her ‘cute,’ and the ‘little girl’ part made her hot with anger.

  He made a move toward her and she caught his arm. Feeling his strength, she realized that she might not be able to resist him if he used force, especially as her body wanted to give in. But he stopped. He smiled as he said, “I get it. That’s cool,” and he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

  Her eyes stung. She felt deflated, like she’d lost rather than won.

  As she turned to pass the joint back, her face came closer to his than she expected. Their smiles froze and slowly fell away. She watched his full lips as the bottom one tensed and trembled. His thigh clenched and she felt its hardness between hers.

  Chapter 5

  Her thighs slipped against his. She moved to pull farther away, but he made the tiniest movement and it was like magnetism, like she couldn’t get away. She felt it was about to happen and she tried to stop it, but somehow she could not. The heat from his pelvis called to her, and her rising scent called back.

  When her eyes flicked up to his, he were, again, closer than she expected and looking directly into her gaze. She shouldn’t. She absolutely should not, especially not on a first meeting. And not with this dangerous and unpredictable man. She should leave. Now.

  Her thighs gripped his as she tasted his breath. She inhaled to draw it in and watched as his nostrils flared. His eyes smoldered into her, deep into her, deep down. She lifted her hand to give him the joint. As she turned, her breast pressed against his waiting hand.

  He moved his hand away to take the joint, but she seized it back and pressed it with her other hand onto her swelling breast. His lips pursed. Her nipple stung, irritated inside the bra as his hand held her warm, rising softness.

  “Are you old enough for this game?” he asked her with that infuriating boyish grin creeping around his lips. She wanted to smack his face when he said, “Should I be asking you for I.D.?”

  His hand, his skin, was achingly close but maddeningly far, outside the spongy thickness of her bra cup as the cotton of her shirt sighed, slipping against it. Her breath thickened in her chest as she pressed harder, pouring herself into his hand.

  Her thighs dragged around his, the two thicknesses of denim warming, caught in the friction. By her hip, she felt his own heat begin to uncoil. His breath and hers curled and entwined and his free hand slipped around her waist.

  As he encircled her, she stretched up to bring their mouths closer. Leaning up, she felt the pounding outline of his intent hot against her crotch. She licked her lips, then parted them. She and he breathed each other’s breath for what seemed a long moment, out of normal time.

  Their mouths drifted towards each other. When first she tasted his lips, her body pressed hard against him, wanting to feel him all around her, all over her. And in her. Their lips crept, pulled, sucked and thrust on each other as their bodies raced to connect.

  Bear’s big hand clapped on Cracker’s shoulder and Jess was shaken out of her spell. Bear leaned towards his ear, but they were close enough that Jess heard him say, “Haughey was on the phone just now.”

  Cracker pulled back and said, “Haughey from Red Skulls?”

  “John Reader needs words with you.”

  He pressed his lips together and he looked at Jess. “I have to do this. Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”

  “It’s okay, Cracker.” She ached inside. “I’m going anyway.” The look of disappointment on his face made her heart thump.

  He said, “Stay,” but when he saw that she was set he said, “Come back tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” As she left, he held onto her arm, letting it slip through his hand. When their hands touched, his fingers gripped hers, just for a moment, before he let her go.

  Chapter 6

  She thought about him all the way home. All the time she showered, stroking hard body as she let the water rush over her. And all through that hot night. When she finally slid into sleep he invaded and dominated her fitful night.

  A storm, a great black beast of a thunder storm pursued Cracker through a jagged metal forest with a cruel black rain.

  Jess was running into the forest from the other side, chased by the cackle of the Red Queen. The forest rose steeply up the top of a mountain and the higher they climbed on the opposite sides, the harder the black rain fell.

  Jesska’s boot caught on a savage rusty spike and she saw the steam of the Red Queen’s breath mounting the slope behind her, coming nearer and nearer.

  Jess heard the stamping as it got louder through the nails and twisted steel. She wrenched herself free, but lost her boot. She wouldn’t be able to ride. She couldn’t put
her foot down on the metal splinters of the forest floor. Now she could only hop.

  From behind her the riff from Motorhead’s The Ace of Spades repeated like an awful buzz-saw loop under the approaching Red Queen’s cackle.

  As she leaned forward, Jess found that she could run on her hands, and fast, too, but she could not risk to touch the ground with more than the tips of her fingers. The Red Queen gained on her, and Jess felt the big, clawed hand reach for her leg as she burst suddenly clear of the forest and onto the dark, rocky mountaintop.