by Nicole Snow
I should've seen it coming, but I was too young, too naïve. Too strung out on hope and smarts. I didn't realize I was missing the magic ingredient – bravado – until it was too late. Some lessons have to be learned on the streets instead of in schools, I guess.
My head knew it. My heart refused to listen.
The years after Klamath went by in a blur of failures and intimidation, and there I was at twenty-three, slaving away for these savages I'd never escape.
God, what I would've done for a good drink to knock me on my ass. The gifted brain I'd never done anything good with sure loved to think. It never shut up unless it was doused in poison. And so, I suffered another evening alone, resisting the urge to pick up my cheap pay-as-you-go phone and call up Rabid.
I still had his number – he'd insisted on me taking it, the same way he made me promise to call him if anything came up between his visits.
He tempted me to pour my heart out. Maybe more than that too.
The boy – no, the man – was handsome. Six feet tall, broad shoulders, short dark hair and pristine hazel eyes to match. Lickable was too weak a word for how his clothes clung to the sculpted muscle underneath, the kinda hard, rugged strength a man gets with violence, rather than pumping iron.
He couldn't have been much older than me, but his face had experience and wisdom. He wore a confidence that said he'd avoided all the stupid things I'd done in my youth.
When I let it all lay out, Rabid was a fucking conundrum.
He excited me as much as he scared the hell out of me.
I hated being attracted to a brother in the Grizzlies MC at all. Too bad loathing the dark men behind the bear patch hadn't stopped me from admiring anything dark, masculine, and heavily tattooed.
That was Rabid to a tee. Rabid the brave, Rabid the biker bastard, Rabid the enigma who got into my head during dark hours like these, nudging me to learn more about him.
Thank God he wasn't perfect.
It didn't take hanging around him long to realize he was a crazy, womanizing biker who partied, drank, and fucked as hard as the rest of them. I had a pretty good idea what men like him did behind closed doors after the bar, and what happened in outlaw clubhouses was ten times worse.
I didn't care if Rabid melted my panties off. I wouldn't let myself get an inch deeper into his wicked world. And even if he wanted me, scarred cheeks and all, there was no way in hell I'd end up in his bed and become one more notch on the bedpost.
There were bigger problems to deal with than a silly cat-and-mouse crush. There always were.
Welcome to my life.
II: Playing With Fire (Rabid)
Red was riding my cock like a champ, but for some fucked up reason it was taking ages to blow. My nuts didn't want to give up their fire.
Before Christa, this bitch rocking her hips into mine, screaming as she sank down to my balls, absolutely slayed me. Now? Fuck, I was lucky to stop thinking about the chick outta my reach just long enough to bust inside this slut's tight cunt.
And I really needed that shit. Anything to sandblast the edges off my stress, everything Doctor Jack couldn't reach.
“God, baby! Rabid!” Red growled, grinding her pussy on my dick, staring down at me through half-narrowed eyes. “I'm going to pop my spine out of place if you don't give it up. Don't you want to come for me?”
Her long fingernails raked down my chest. They were painted bright red. What fucking else?
The slut was a knockout, and she was all mine. I hogged her to myself, never letting other brothers have this pussy while I was using it, which was all the fucking time when we didn't have some shit to deal with outside these walls.
Greedy bastard. Hard not to be when this chick was hot, horny, and just a little crazy.
I should've been satisfied with her sucking and fucking me dry. So, why the hell was it so hard to let go and float away on Red's pretty skin?
“Get off,” I snarled, giving her ass a sharp whack. I always loved the way a chick's butt bounces when I smack it around. “On your hands and knees. Stuff that fucking pillow into your mouth and swallow your screams. Roman gave me shit about us keeping brothers up last night.”
She rolled and flipped over, waiting for me with her fine ass up, nice and submissive. It wasn't just an act. She really loved the way I fucked her. The girl never complained about the way I kept her away from all the other brothers. She'd do any dirty, nasty, fucked up thing I commanded.
Had a feeling she was holding out to be somebody's old lady like a lot of sluts. Shame the chick was too dumb to realize that barely ever happened.
Whores were for fucking. Old ladies were for loving, and a man in this club never went back to skanks after putting his brand on some worthy chick.
I looked at the clock. Fuck.
Already past three in the morning, and we had club business tomorrow. The brothers had every reason in the world to knock down this door and beat my ass if I didn't let them get some shuteye.
Easier said than done when I mounted Red's pussy from behind. The whore had a mouth like a siren on her. She was drooling and shrieking like a wild animal just three strokes in. I stopped, reached between her legs, and gave her clit a rough pinch.
“Baby! Why'd you fucking stop?” she moaned, desperate as all hell.
“You gotta keep it down. Either stuff that goddamned thing in your mouth like a good girl, or I'll finish myself in the shower.”
She loved to be bossed around. I helped shove one corner of my pillow into her mouth before I started thrusting again. I didn't need to follow her gurgles and rasps to know she'd started coming.
Her whole fucking body seized up. That soft, warm silk around my cock turned molten hot, gushed and locked onto my dick. Her skin heated just as much under my fingertips.
I was frustrated as fuck I wasn't there yet. Seriously, what was this shit?
I pinched the whore's nipple 'til her moans went silent, rubbing her clit furiously to start them all over again, never letting up on the bone shaking thrusts. I'd fuck her right through the goddamned mattress if this kept up.
I knew why it felt like a chore. Knew it, and didn't want to fucking admit it.
Red couldn't get me off anymore because she wasn't the one I wanted. Ever since I got my hands on a hotter redhead a couple months ago, I'd been fucked in the head, like the chick cast some kinda hex or something.
Trying not to think about Christa was like that fucking kid's game where you're not supposed to imagine a pink rhino.
In my screwed up head, it wasn't the club slut thrashing and screaming her throat raw underneath me. It was demure Christa, her nice full ass shaking on my cock, full figure tits bouncing in my hand. The hips on that woman were built to suck a man dry, and I'd bet every dollar I'd ever earned her pussy's like a fucking virgin's compared to this slut's.
Shit! Hellfire churned in my balls, ready to burn a hole through my sack if it couldn't get out.
Grabbing Red's hair, I snarled, pushed her face first into the pillow stuffed in her ruby lips. Christa's locks were brighter, softer, gold to this bitch's bronze. My brain wouldn't shut the fuck off once it fixed on her image, and I slammed my cock up to the whore's womb, imagining I was having somebody better.
This fuck was all hate. Envy.
I hated myself for not being able to get over that chick who wouldn't even look at my dick, let alone let it between her legs. I'd given her plenty of opportunities too. I had good pussy – at least by any club whore's standards – but I still wanted more.
I wanted the absolute fucking best.
The rickety bed snapped like it was going to collapse when I finally came. The seed pouring out in thick jets set Red off all over again. Her spasms went fucking nuclear around my dick and I threw my head back, growling out a long curse, aching each time I imagined Christa's sweet cunt wringing the come from my body instead.
“Fuuuuck!” I worked my hips into her, hate fucking, not stopping 'til everything below my waist went n
umb.
When it was over, the disgust set in. I pulled out, reached for the bottle of Jack on the floor, and took a long pull. Thank fuck it was still half-full.
“Rabid? What's wrong, baby?” Red wasn't totally stupid. She could sense the change coming over me the last few weeks, ever since we offed Fang and started to clean up the shithole this club had become.
“Nothing this venom won't solve.” I rolled over after another good swig, forcing the bottle into her painted fingers. “You're not my fucking shrink. You're fun for me and any other brother who wants your ass. Drink your fill and go the fuck to sleep.”
“Okay.”
Good girl. Smart girl. Any other answer would've stirred up the bitter, crazy shit churning in my guts, and I'd have thrown her outta the room so fast she'd be lucky to pick her skimpy clothing off the floor.
Red knocked herself out long before I did. I drained every last drop in that bottle, praying it'd be enough to put me down 'til morning.
Luck wasn't kind tonight.
It took forever to feel Doctor Jack work his magic. Christa didn't want to leave my brain. Worst of all, my dick was hard again before I nodded off, jealous and hungry for everything I couldn't have, and that really pissed me right the fuck off.
Two Months Earlier...
I'd never forget the first time I saw her.
She was broken, scared, and just barely made it into the van in time before Fang's goons came after us. Brass' old lady, Missy, had barely gotten her outta the clubhouse in time before Fang and his loyal bastards closed in.
We'd snagged Christa at the last second, yeah, but shit hadn't gone according to plan. Both women were supposed to come with us, but Missy was too late. I had to watch her get dragged back into the clubhouse while I floored it. She'd be a goner 'til the final showdown.
The first good look I got at the redhead was in the rear view mirror. I saw right away they had her long enough to do some serious damage.
I knew she was hurt, but I didn't realize how bad 'til I helped clean her cuts later. The angry red imperfections our fucked up Prez carved barely registered. I was too lost in those eyes and the smooth creamy skin contrasting with the fire in her hair.
Imperfections? Fuck that.
The first time she looked up into my eyes, bright green eyes glowing, my dick beat like a second heart in my pants. My eyes didn't give a fuck that she was hurt. They were greedy sons of bitches, and they went all over her body, studying her curves while I cleaned her face with a warm washcloth, offering her sips of water from a canteen.
The swollen blotches on her face and the scratches left by the bastard Prez's knife didn't hide a fucking thing. The girl was hot, a full figured hourglass with ample tits and ass. She was a natural too. Hotter than Red or any other whore the club had – fuck, maybe hotter than any it would ever have.
I knew I was fucked for wanting to bed her when she was so hurt. The last thing she needed was a wolf like me breathing down her neck, pawing at her, hungry to shove my tongue between her legs.
I had to restrain myself. Tying down my instinct was the hardest thing I'd learned in twenty-four years on this earth, but I managed. I let her rest, guarded her in the backroom while the boys in the front plotted one last hit.
The whole destiny of our club was changing, and I knew I might end up dead. One wrong move was a fatal one in a motorcycle club's civil war.
But just then, staring at the red haired beauty, I didn't give a single shit.
She gave me something more to fight for. Brotherhood should've been enough, but dammit, I wasn't sure what it meant anymore with Fang and half the old crew showing their true demon faces. Everything I wanted was right there in the room with me, and I wanted revenge.
I wanted to tear Fang and his boys to pieces, almost as bad as I wanted to pull Christa into my arms and tear her clothes away. I was used to hauling tail into my bed or the nearest ditch on demand. Holding back was new to me, and watching her sit still and breathe, shaking every supple part, just caused lava to rush through my veins.
I had to splash water in one palm and wipe it over my face several times. Wondering if I was dreaming, wondering if I'd melt from the inside out – fuck!
Worst timing ever too. Blackjack, Brass, and the Prairie Devils who'd come down from Montana to help us out were all riding my ass to focus on the mission.
Brass came up with the fake surrender idea – a trick to get us one last meeting with Fang beneath Mount Shasta. He also had the balls to think up using Christa to hit any of the brothers with a heart where it hurt, make them see with their own two eyes what kinda sick shit Fang and his cronies were up to.
When I heard about the plan, I nearly lost my shit. I wouldn't have hesitated to punch my best friend and closest brother right in his fucking face for putting her in danger – but Christa refused.
She insisted on playing her part. Fuck, she agreed with facing down the heavily armed sadist who'd left those scars on her sweet cheeks.
I tried like hell to talk her outta it, but she was determined.
I knew right then the chick was either batshit crazy, or she'd already seen some serious shit before. Later, when the moment came, she stepped up with Brass, facing the armed bastards Fang had called in from other charters face-to-face. Brass made a pretty speech, showing off the girl, making every brother decide right there if this was the club they wanted.
When the shots started going off, I went absolutely ape. I grabbed her, forced her to the ground, and covered her with my body while the shots exploded all around us. My brothers were in the thick of it, pushing the fuckers back, killing anybody who didn't surrender and give us Fang's head on a pike.
“Stay down, baby. You move with me. If I get hit, you stay down too. Ignore whatever happens to me. Don't move 'til the gunfire stops.”
“Rabid, it's fine. We're almost –“
Fuck. She was trying to crawl out from under me. Damn if I didn't grab her, slam her down to the ground, and hold her rough in the California dirt. Just in time too. Some asshole's bullet buzzed right over my head. A couple inches to the right, and it'd have gone through us both.
That did it. She flinched underneath me, yelped, and still I held on, waiting for more shots to come. I was ready for anything to keep this girl safe. I'd let the lead rip right through me and bleed all over her if I had to.
Anything to keep her safe.
Fang and his assholes put her through hell once. I wasn't gonna let them put her through any more. Not just because she was the hottest thing I'd ever had wriggling underneath me, but because it was right.
The cancer in the MC had us all fucked up about right and wrong. It took Blackjack and Brass leading the charge to remind me what this club was supposed to be about.
We were Grizzlies. We were bikers. We were warriors.
We were a shield to everybody under our protection, especially folks like Christa, who'd done us a huge fucking favor while we were busy cleaning house.
A few weeks ago, I'd been too scared to vote for Fang's removal when we had the chance to oust him peacefully. Well, more peacefully than this – I still doubted the old dog would step aside without a fight. Now, I was hellbent on making sure all the evil shit he'd done – hell, the fucked up things I'd done by default – were undone.
This wasn't about some high minded flowery crap. This was about becoming real men who defended their family, the righteous blood and brotherhood the club was supposed to represent. And God willing, soon would again.
“Go.” I pressed my lips to Christa's ear and said it, hot and insistent.
She crawled forward. I moved with her, grateful the anarchy behind us was quieting down. Somebody had gotten the upper hand.
I turned, looked behind me, and let relief pour out my lungs. I didn't see an army of Fang's bastards descending on us. Instead, our boys were rounding up the assholes who'd surrendered, and the ones who hadn't were bleeding out next to the trees.
It was gonna be hell to
clean up later. Right now, all I cared about was putting more distance between her and the battlefield. I headed for our bikes, and didn't let her move a single limb outside my shadow 'til we had vehicles between us.
Blackjack, our de facto Prez, came staggering toward the van with a couple other brothers helping him. Poor bastard had a fresh hole in his leg, staining his jeans dark red. Fuck.
The battle wasn't bloodless, but it had to be close to over. We'd won. Fang would be finished soon, if he wasn't already.
I got on my feet and gently pulled Christa up with both hands. “You did good, baby. Seriously. You've done more for this club through this whole thing than anybody could've asked.”
She shrugged. “Common enemy. I'm not the type to let a man torture me and then walk away. He's still got Missy.”
“Not for long,” I growled. “Brass'll find her. She's his old lady. A man in this life never lets his woman down. Never.”
“If you say so.” There wasn't much feeling in her voice.
That caused my eyes to shift and lock onto her. What the fuck? Did she really believe any of us would leave a brother's old lady MIA, resigned to whatever evil shit was waiting for her?
Maybe she wasn't as smart as I thought. I'd cut her some slack, seeing how she'd just done us a massive favor. Coming outta any meat grinder can do fucked up things to a person's mind.
“Walk with me.” I reached out, grabbed her hand.
One of the brothers tending Blackjack looked up and nodded, a stern faced dude with a shaved head and lightning bolts on his temples named Asphalt. He confirmed what I knew: we were done here, and I was free to take her home, away from this place with burned flesh and blood curdling the air.
I led her to my bike and helped her on it, fixing her helmet. She winced once when my hand accidentally brushed the long cut flowing from the corner of her mouth to her ear. My heart beat hellfire all over again, enraged that the bastard we'd all followed had marked her this way.
“Sorry,” I grunted, strapping her in.
“It's okay. Just take me home. I need rest.”
