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

by Amy Law

  The musky scent of him filled her nostrils. She gripped his hair. Her eyes blazed into his. His bulb was at the hot pulsing mouth of her dripping wet sex. Through her gritted teeth she snarled, “Fuck me you bastard. Fuck me.”

  He held her still. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Oh,” he said slowly, “you want to be fucked do you?” She yanked on his hair and squeezed her pussy against his cock. “You want me to fuck you, little girl?”

  She beat her fists on his back and his head. He lifted her by her back and flipped her over like a steak on a griddle. “You should have said.” Her face and arms were on the bed, her ass stuck up in the air. He stood behind her. He slapped her ass cheeks. She convulsed and shouted. He grabbed her hips and his cock was at the sore, clenching lips of her pussy again.

  A roaring moan ripped out of her throat as he rammed into her. The thickness of his hard, ridged weapon stretched her. Her juices sprang and slathered over the length of him as her soft walls closed around him. She buried her face in the red wool throw. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head up.

  He wanted to see her, wanted to watch her sob and moan as he slammed his cock into her, as her walls all fell like sandcastles in a tide, as her mouth graved and begged.

  “Fuck me! Fuck me!” Her voice was hoarse and as sore as her aching clit. Her back strained and her toes curled tight. Her fingers grasped wildly at the woolen throw.

  Inside her, a dam broke. Pools, rivers, seas of ancient emotion brimmed and flooded over. Waves crashed, burst and spilled through her. Crashes, splashes and starbursts of unleashed sensation washed through her.

  His cock stretched and filled her. It heated and charged her. It pulsed and swelled in her and she yelled his name as he blasted bolts of hot jizz into her wide open core. She bit on her arm and her eyes screwed tight as she came again, came with him.

  Chapter 18

  Bear and Cracker crouched in the dusk with a hand-picked crew as darkness stretched over the Sulfur Lake desert landscape, flattening everything in a pale blue wash. The bikers waited by their cycles in a wide, shallow trench to watch the far horizon. If Cracker had calculated right, they and their bikes should be just about impossible to see from the direction the Skulls would be coming.

  A faraway rumble grew and a sweep of bike headlamps came up in a cloud of dust over the distant ridge. A black van rocked along in the middle of the group.

  Bear kept his voice low. “Why do they need a dozen riders to protect something that they’re bringing to hand over?”

  Cracker said, “They don’t. Those riders aren’t for protection. Watch. They’ll probably fan out wide quite soon.”

  They did. Bear frowned. “What the hell are they doing?”

  “They’re the floorshow. They’re to entertain us, and to keep us looking thataway.”

  “But we are looking thataway.”

  “We are.”

  The riders made a long line spread out either side of the van and then drew slowly across the deserted plain to the point Cracker had given them. The Blades watched as the beams from the bike headlamps made criss-crosses over the pale brown desert and the Skulls clustered around the van.

  Cracker held burner in his hand. In five minutes or less, it should get a text message from another burner in the middle of town.

  The van stopped by a bare tree at the designated location, and the outriders all leaned their bikes, looking around as they climbed off.

  Cracker said, “If all’s well, the message will say, ‘Johnny,” for ‘good,’ ‘Michael,’ for ‘bad’ or ‘Levon,’ for ‘wait’.”

  Bear asked him, “And if all is not well?”

  “It’ll say ‘Seeger,’ or, worst of all no message.”

  “‘Seeger’?”

  “Means, ‘Get out of Denver’.”

  Four minutes later, the burner vibrated and Cracker read the message. He nodded to Bear and the other Blades. With Chuck Berry’s Johnny B Goode blaring from a stereo, Cracker led the Blades to surround the Skulls.

  Haughey stood by the side of the van. He and the other Skulls had confused, uncertain looks on their faces as they furtively scanned the far, empty distance behind Cracker and the Blades.

  Cracker dismounted and walked slowly towards Haughey and the black van. Cracker put out his upturned hand. “Keys, bro.”

  “Change of plan, bro,” Haughey said, but there was a catch in his voice, “We’ll keep the van.” Cracker squinted into Haughey’s eyes. The Skulls all drew weapons. Blades pulled out their hardware. The two gangs eyed each other along the sights of their handguns.

  Cracker said, “We have a deal, Haughey.”

  “Wasn’t much in the deal for the Skulls, Cracker.”

  “It was what you asked for. And you came to us.”

  “Things change, Cracker.” All around Haughey the Skulls firmed their grips on their weapons. The Skulls were surrounded, facing out. The Blades position was much stronger with their weapons pointed in at the Skulls from a wide arc. But the Skulls outnumbered them three to two.

  Then they froze as Cracker raised his left arm.

  The sides of Haughey’s hair whipped as two high velocity bullets cracked into the van’s side, one each side of his head, just inches from his ears.

  The Blades didn’t move. Cracker didn’t move, but he spoke slowly and deliberately. “Anyone see where those shells came from?” The Skulls were looking about frantically. Haughey’s face was red.

  Cracker approached Haughey, his right hand still out, waiting. “No, I think plan A should still work, Haughey. You can’t tell how many snipers are out there, can you? This part of the game is over.”

  Deliberately, the Blades all drew weapons. The Skulls knew their choices. With snipers against them, out of sight and out of range their chances of winning any kind of a fight were close to zero. They all looked to Haughey, but they slumped, deflated.

  Chapter 19

  The Blades took the van to a warehouse. Cracker went downtown to a bar and met up with Hammer and Scot, a couple of old buddies from service. “You were right,” Hammer told him, “There was a party snuck in behind you. And you were right to say ‘balaclavas, hoodies and no patches.’ They were not bikers.”

  “I knew it.” Cracker raised a glass to Hammer. “Good shooting, by the way. I assume that was you.” Hammer smiled a modest acknowledgement.

  Scot said, “We waited about three-quarters of a mile back from you and three vehicles slid along behind your backs, just as you expected.”

  “FBI?” Cracker asked him.

  “Two cars of FBI, one ATF.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “The agents and officers are all trussed up with cable-ties, and they’re right where we found them. We went in behind them and they all failed the test.”

  “Which test?”

  “The ‘does this smell like chloroform’ test.”

  Hammer said, “They’ll have to fish their cars out of the quarry back there.”

  Cracker asked, “And their IDs?”

  “We took pictures. Seem to have lost all of their wallets somehow.”

  “None of them saw you?”

  “Nope, and not their dashcams neither.”

  Scot checked his watch and said, “A concerned citizen should be making a call about now from the center of town on an untraceable phone. He’ll be letting the Highway Patrol know that there’s six guys in suits out on the flats, wriggling around and making like long, black fishes. Another shot, Cracker?”

  “Thanks, bro, but I’m good. Something I need to take care of.”

  Chapter 20

  When he got back to the clubhouse, Cracker stopped in at the office. He told John Reader his theory. “The feds, along with ATF set the Skulls up. Maybe for a deal over Iron and Jam, who knows.”

  He stretched his legs out as he reached for his whiskey. His thighs were a little stiff. “Skulls were supposed to hand their weapons stash to us, then the feds were going to pick us up for taking it.” Jo
hn Reader’s eyebrow rose slightly.

  “Could be,” John Reader said. He probably had that figured out from the start although, Cracker thought, but with John there’s no way you would ever know.

  Cracker looked into the distance. “Skulls turned rat. Well, Haughey and Mace did, at any rate.”

  John Reader said, “That’s for later. Meanwhile, we got us a truckload of military grade hardware.”

  Cracker said, “You think this could have been Haughey’s play for Iron’s patch? Seeing himself more permanently at the top of the Skulls council table?”

  John Reader said, “Could be.”

  Cracker considered it. “Trouble at the Skulls top table may not be bad for the Blades.”

  “Could be,” John Reader said.

  Chapter 21

  She was outside in the warm night air, sat on the saddle of her bike, parked in the shadows by an outbuilding. Somehow she needed to connect with the familiarity of the saddle and the completely alien strangeness of her coupling with Cracker.

  She saw him go into the clubhouse. He didn’t even stop or look around for her outside. It was maybe twenty minutes before he came out again. She waited till he saw her before she said, “Did you find Mary Ann okay?”

  His steps toward her lengthened. She said, “She have what you need, Cracker? She give you her special gift?”

  His eyes blazed when he reached her and her blood rose and she said, “I don’t suppose you got any left for me now. Not up to a second go just yet.” He grabbed her jacket by the lapels and pulled her off the bike.

  “Maybe you could manage it if I sucked your cock. Would that do it for you, Cracker?” His neck muscles tensed. “Why don’t you make me, Cracker? Why don’t you shove your big, hard cock in my throat? See if you can shut me up that way. See if you can pump me full of hot biker fuel.” Her tongue flashed across her lips.

  His lips tightened and drew back over his big white teeth and his nostrils widened. “Oh,” she pressed her hand on the front of his jeans and said, “Looks like you got your motor running. Mary Ann must not have finished the job for you.”

  He grabbed her throat. “There you go,” she said between her bared teeth, “You are rising to the occasion.” She felt the urgent swelling at the front of his pants. The denim was stretched full and throbbing against her.

  She giggled and arced an eyebrow at him, “Well, Cracker, what are you going to do about it?”

  He spun her and shoved her against the wall of the shed. She sighed as her hands slapped on the brick. His hand came up into her skirt and found her naked there. He grabbed greedily at her, rubbed at her wet pussy, slid up between the cheeks of her clenching ass.

  She gasped as his thumb burst into her tight little star. His fingers dove into her hot folds and she groaned. Growled, almost. He rubbed her at the base of her buzzing clit and her insides churned like bubbling lava.

  Roughly he yanked her thighs farther apart. As the hard bulb of his hot shaft pierced her, she bit her thumb and a rasp dragged out from her throat. He stretched her wide and she shifted her ass up to let him farther in. His breath was hot in her ear and his voice was low and hard. “Big enough for you?”

  Her fist thumped on the wall and her body clenched. Her back arced and stretched as her soft walls stretched around his fat shaft. He lifted her leg to open her wider as he drove harder into her. His hand yanked her hair.

  Her body flushed with channels of heat and her muscles shook in a rising, quickening, unstoppable pace. The hard ridges of his shaft sawed into her, harder and deeper as his thighs slapped her buttocks.

  She trembled and shook as the mounting waves of need and release crashed through her. When his shaft was buried up to the hilt, when his boy squeezed against her buttocks and her thighs were spread to the edge of pain his voice rumbled. “Think you can get your throat around it, little girl?”

  Her eyes watered. She clamped them shut, bit on her arm and shook her head. Her buttock stung as his big hand slapped her. “Let’s find out.” He hauled his weapon out of her and pushed her to her knees.

  Her face was wet and the slick head of him twitched angrily in front of her. “Is this what you want?” He pushed it in front of her trembling lips. Her breath was hot and hard. He didn’t give her time to answer but she started to nod as he yanked her by the hair and shoved it in to fill her hot, soft mouth.

  The musky scent of him was mingled with the tang of her own juice as the heat of his hard, thick shaft thrust along her tongue and jammed against the back of her throat.

  The muscles of her throat stretched and she had to fight against the reflex spasms as the velvety girth drove through her mouth and into her neck. He pulled her hair until her lips met his wiry hair and his balls slapped against her chin.

  She quaked as his hips propelled him into her and out, all the way to the tip and then back, right into his groin. She grabbed his hard, tight buttocks and clawed as she pulled him even harder into her. Pulses beat along and though him one after another and she took him all the way down and his heat exploded in bolts of thick, hot cum.

  His sticky, salty sweetness filled her mouth and dribbled out from her lips.

  The way that he held her afterwards, the way he stroked her with such strength and such restraint, this had to mean something. She knew right then that she would give Cracker anything. Just so long as he wanted her enough to take it.

  Epilog

  Drops of water echoed from the far end of the dark warehouse. Haughey moved uncomfortably on the steel chair. Cracker’s voice behind him was too quiet, he had to strain to hear him properly.

  “The Skulls have always had excellent legal. What’s wrong? They’re bullshit charges against Iron and Jam, I’d have thought you could just make them go away.

  He tried to turn in his seat, tried to look at Cracker. He was tied too tight. The light in his face made it hard to concentrate. “We thought so too. We had the judge squared away.”

  His head turned from side to side as Cracker paced behind him. Cracker said, “So, what’s the problem?”

  “He’s not going to hear the case.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “It’s been listed for Judge Berringer.”

  Cracker stopped. Jesska’s father. Haughey said, “Cracker, you got the Blades’ say-so for this, for having me tied to a damned chair? Seems like you’re flexing your muscle when it aint your beef.”

  Cracker leaned down and spoke next to Haughey’s ear. His voice was low, strong and hard as glass. “How the Blades feel about you leading their men into that trap, that’s their affair, but standing out in front, that was me you put in the frame. You almost handed me over to the feds, Haughey. That’s my beef.”

  Cracker spoke over Haughey’s head, straight to Bear who was in the darkness.

  “Didn’t I say that I hate guns? Ugly business. They’re noisy, they jam and go wrong, they’re always empty when you need ’em most. Add to that you never know where the fuck they’ve been. When you lift a gun from a gun show or a guy on the street, what kind of company are you really taking away with you? What other names are you dragging along behind you? Military kit is the worst of all. A fuckin’ AK? Man, that could have been used by child soldiers in Sudan. Or even used on them.” He paced some more.

  “Those are all good reasons to hate the whole business of guns, but they aint why I hate them. Really, I hate them ’cause they’re so damned impersonal. Where’s the fun of killing someone from across the street?”

  He grabbed Haughey’s head and twisted until he felt the crack. He looked up at Bear, “See? Simple, silent, swift and yet so satisfying.” Haughey’s wide-eyed frozen expression didn’t change as Cracker let go and his head lolled down to his chest. Cracker sauntered to the door, and Bear followed, “When they got to go, send ’em away the Cracker way.”

  They shielded their eyes as they stepped out into the sun. Cracker said, “Only testimony he’ll be giving now is at his autopsy.”

  Cr
acker climbed onto his Harley as Bear swung his leg over his own bike, “No need for the old family style cross-cut two-shot, the bespoke Versace.” He slipped the key into the lock, put his thumb over the switch, “People have come back from a bullet right through their brains. No-one’s made a miracle recovery after the Cracker patent spinal snap.”

  The Hostage Sister