“Who the fuck are you?” Burly biker gnome grumbles as Mercenary stalks around my desk to plant himself firmly between me and the asshat full of attitude.
He stands tall and imposing, arms crossed on his chest in his confident stance only making him appear bigger than before. “Boyfriend,” he replies, and it takes folding my hands into fists and squeezing them harshly not to argue. Now’s not the time and place to tell him to stuff his boyfriend fantasy up his ass and that it’ll never happen with us.
“Tell your bitch to pay up or else we’ll be the ones taking turns with her pussy.”
The blond dude agrees, checking me out. “I’ll take her first and then pass her around amongst my brothers.” So much for him kind of being good-looking. I’d rather kick his teeth in.
“Over my dead body,” Mercenary declares, and I swallow. He just threw down the gauntlet to guys like these. And with a claim like that, they’ll no doubt believe he’s my man now, and a stupid one at that for coming to my defense against an entire club of bikers. A regular man wouldn’t stand a chance. Luckily, he has the Oath Keepers on his side.
They both lunge at the same time, and I concentrate on goldilocks while Mercenary bloody ups the other guy. We move in sync like we’d practiced it time and time again only I barely know cupcake, how can this be possible? He throws a punch, and I head-butt the biker before he registers the move. With each punch, we remain back to back until I’m able to flip my guy and get his stomach to the ground.
Mercenary must’ve called someone before this all began because moments later two Oath Keepers rush in. I have homeboy planted facedown on the ground, straddling his back with his arms pinned behind his back. He’s spitting mad too, promising to do all types of nasty things to me when he’s free. I’ll sit here until my limbs give out if I have to. I learned the hard way, growing up on the streets, alone, for the most part, you don’t get up too quickly.
“You all right?” Mercenary peers down at me after driving a swift kick to gnome guy’s face. He’s completely knocked out, bleeding all over my office floor. I nod, and his gaze remains trained on me for longer than I care for. We kicked ass together. It doesn’t mean I’ll be sharing a wedding cake or anything with the man.
“Hey, Chevelle.” Odin grins. “I see you’re still bringing men to the ground.”
I smile and shrug. “Same shit, different day.”
“I’m glad my brother was here in case you needed some backup.”
The guy under me twists his hips. “You’re so fucking dead, cunt.”
“Wow, that clearly took some brain cells to come up with.” I use my free hand to flick his ear. It’s petty, but I get some brief joy out of pissing him off further.
“I’ll cut your tongue out,” he shouts, and I flick an annoyed glare at the Oath Keepers making them laugh. These idiots like to hear themselves talk way too much.
“Torch, grab this Fist for Chevelle. We need them for questioning.” He casts a strange look at the guys, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to know what they really plan to do with them as long as they leave here and never return.
“Can you make sure they don’t come back?” I chew on my cheek and ask. I hate requesting anything, but if these two return, they’ll rape me or kill me—that much I can tell.
Mercenary growls, “You’ll never see them again. They won’t touch you.”
I swallow and inhale deeply. “Thanks, cupcake.” I flash him a genuine smile. I may not need a man, but it’s a relief to have one around right now to deal with these two.
Torch and Odin both cast him amused glances but remain quiet. Torch draws out some thick zip ties from his back pocket and proceeds to secure the Iron Fists’ wrists behind their backs, so they can only wiggle if they move. Mercenary disappears into the bathroom and returns moments later clad in his club colors looking the part of angry biker once more.
“That was smart,” I comment and gesture to his vest as I get to my feet and step away from my latest victim.
“I’m big, not dumb,” he comments, and I smirk, trying to smother down my smile. Clearly, I underestimated him when we met, not something that I usually let happen.
“Thank you, Odin. Give my gratitude to Viking, please.”
He nods, and Mercenary’s brow furrows. “I was the one who knocked the other guy out for you.”
Hmm, is that a hint of jealousy? The man pouts as if I stole his candy.
“And your club has my gratitude, big guy.” I flick my eyes over him and his chest puffs in response. These damn alpha males always walking around peacocking. “Besides, I submitted the other one. I would’ve taken down both if you weren’t in my way,” I finish with a cocky grin.
He growls, and Odin chuckles. “Come on, we need to get these scum in the truck before anyone notices them gone. I called Nightmare as soon as I got your text.”
“This disagreement will have to wait until later,” Mercenary declares in my direction. “You have a back door we can use?”
“Yeah, I’ll take you to the delivery entrance. There are stairs though.”
“Even better,” Torch grumbles with a mischievous tilt of his lips. He grabs the burly guy by the leg and drags him behind us. Mercenary does the same with Blondie cussing up a storm, and I understand why they don’t mind. These idiots will be hurting after being dragged down the stairs and receiving an ass whooping.
I lead with Odin, and the rest follow behind. We head down four flights of stairs before I unlock a heavy steel door. From there, the long, wide hallway takes us to the delivery entry. It’s like a garage door that you open by pulling thick chains. Ace and I each grab a side, yanking the chains until the track pulls the bay door high enough for the tall bikers to easily exit. Nightmare waits with a pickup truck, and they throw the Iron Fists in the bed.
“I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow,” Mercenary promises. “You’re here the rest of the day?” he asks Ace, and my friend nods, still quietly stunned from witnessing what went down in my office.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” he copies. “Then I’ll be back to check over the Camaro for next week.”
I nod. “And thanks for the help up there.” I gesture up in the direction of my office.
“It was better than dinner.” He grins, and I roll my eyes then signal to Ace. We lower the door with all of the bikers wearing a smirk or grin pointed at me. Nosey damn bikers.
4. Money may not buy happiness,
but it’s better to cry in a Lamborghini.
- PictureQuotes.com
“You’ll talk one way or another,” Torch promises as his knuckles crunch into the man tied before us. His skull flies back with the impact, and an unpleasant groan escapes his lips yet again. He put up a good fight in the beginning, remaining silent, but Torch obviously got his death dealer patch for a reason.
“I could hit him a few times,” I offer with a shrug.
“I don’t want him knocked out, which seems to be your MO if we go by the scene in Chevelle’s office. I need him to flip and tell me anything that has worth.”
“Well, your easy hits over the past hour have barely gotten a groan out of him.”
“I have other methods.” He smirks with an evil glint in his eyes. “Watch them for a sec.”
I nod as he leaves the club basement. It’s just me and these two dipshits that attempted to rough Chevelle up. I can’t believe they lunged at her. What the fuck were they planning on doing? Beat her up? Rape her? She’s a woman for fuck’s sake. She’d have given them hell, no doubt, but just the thought of them harming her has me biting down hard in an angry snarl.
I’m up and out of my chair in no time, sending a swift kick to the gut of the man tied up on the floor. He immediately wretches off to the side, spilling the little bile he has left in his gut. “Piece of shit, I can’t wait to take your life for trying to hurt her.” I kick him in his nuts next to drive my point across.
Torch returns shaking his head at me. “Hey brother, calm down. I need him alive right now. You can beat him to death soon enough if that’s what you want. I don’t mind sharing when it comes to killing filth.”
With a huff, I take my seat again and watch as he pulls a lighter free from his jeans pocket and lights a small torch. He must’ve gone and retrieved it from his room. The torch flares to life, the yellow and blue flames hot and ready to do some damage. I’m beginning to understand exactly how he got his road name.
“Can you see the flame, Fist?” Torch hisses, holding the colorful flame up eye level with the biker tied to the chair.
He remains quiet. His eyes are nearly swollen closed, and you’d think if he had any type of self-preservation he’d start giving information up.
Torch’s gaze briefly lands on me. “Roll his shirt sleeve up.”
I do as he asks, an Iron Fist tattoo coming into view on the exposed skin.
“They all have them,” he mutters to me and scoots in closer. “Speak Fist or burn.”
The guy grunts but says nothing.
“Have it your way.” Torch scowls and brings the flame to flesh. The skin sizzles black and smokes, it fades away to angry meat underneath as the man wails in pain. This is not your back road, high school car lighter burn dare that a ton of us experienced when we were growing up. This is just plain torture, and it smells horrendous.
My brother pulls it away as the man begins to sweat profusely, gibberish pouring from his mouth. None of it makes any sense though; it’s the pleas of a man being severely burned and nothing else.
“You will tell us what we want to know, or I’ll continue to burn this shitty tat off your arm. You can’t ever be an Iron Fist again if there’s no skin here to tat their mark where it belongs.”
With a cry, the man shakes his head.
Glancing at Torch, my brow hikes. “Repercussions must be worse than this if he refuses to speak up.”
“Probably.” He nods and leans in, continuing to burn the entire tattoo completely off. The smell reminds me of burnt hair, the thick air making my stomach grow nauseous.
“Okay!” The injured biker finally gasps as the pain finally grows to a high enough level to get him to talk.
“It’s too late for this tat,” Torch responds. “But I’m sure you have a bigger one someplace else we can move on to next if needed.”
He wheezes and then gags with his mutilated arm full of twisted crimson flesh. It’s a burn too, so you know that shit hurts worse than a simple slice from a knife.
“Pull it the fuck together and talk or I keep going. Let’s begin with your road name. Your patch says T and homeboy over there says Shaggy.”
“Y-yes that’s us.”
“What were you doing at The Pit?”
He breathes heavily for a moment, a nasally sound coming from his busted nose. “W-went for money.”
“No shit. Now, tell me why.”
“’Cause we knew it was a bitch running it and we could make her pay up easily.”
With a growl and a few quick movements, I plant my fist into his rib. T groans in pain and Torch sends me a frown. “She ain’t a bitch,” I grumble and sit back in my seat.
“Why are you in our territory?” Torch continues his list of questions.
T draws in a shaky breath, hesitating and my brother grazes T’s lower arm with the heat. The man screams, “Okay, okay, okay! Fuck that hurts!” The wound oozes, and I have to glance away.
“Talk, motherfucker,” I gripe, sick of smelling the charred skin. I have a feeling Torch is merely getting started, so this process needs to hurry along.
“We were sent by our Prez to scope the area out at first. See where your members hung out.”
“Why?”
“Because,” T hisses in pain, his jaw trembling to get the words out, “he wants you gone. His grandson is here…he wants him back…and he thinks if your club is gone…it’ll be easier for him to take the other club down as well.”
Torch flicks his gaze to me. I know that look. Pulling my burner cell free I send a text to Viking letting him know what T just shared with us. No one would have any idea what my text means who aren’t a part of our club.
Nobody knows what we’re dealing with and the Prez wants it to stay like that. Well, minus the other Oath Keeper charter down the road. I guess they’re the reason this war between clubs began in the first place. We need these two Iron Fists to give us everything they’ve got on their club, or we’ll be exactly where we started off before finding these two—nowhere.
T continues through broken gasps and wheezes, his forehead and body covered in sweat. The raunchy onion smell only adds to the disgusting stench of burnt skin. “They’ll keep coming.”
“To look for us or to The Pit?”
“Both.”
Torch glances at me again. “Check on her. See if anyone’s shown up and watch your six.”
Nodding, I get to my feet, eager to make sure that Chevelle’s safe.
“Send Sinner down.”
“Bet,” I reply and take quick strides to get some fresh air. The reprieve couldn’t have come soon enough. I can handle blood, but the scent of torched flesh is fucking disgusting. How Torch came up with his method is a little nerve-wracking, but I understand how he got his road name and his death dealer patch, there’s no doubt in my mind.
“I figured those two would’ve kept you busier for longer,” Chevelle mutters, rolling out from under one of her cars. I didn’t think I’d made enough noise for her to know I was even here.
Her eyes meet mine, brow raised, and she has grease speckles on her forehead that reminds me of dark freckles. “Anybody else been by looking for them?”
“I thought we bonded last night, cupcake. You can answer my question.”
“You know my name, brat. Has anyone else paid you a visit?”
“No, but should I tell you since you don’t like to share things with me?”
“I’m a man, I don’t share.”
“You’d be surprised,” she replies with a cocky smirk and stands. “You don’t have anything better to do?”
“You owe me dinner.”
“The hell I do,” Chevelle huffs and closes the hood of the car. She shoots an annoyed glare in my direction before striding away, her ass swaying deliciously with each step. The woman is going to drive me insane either with that ass or her mouth.
I’m able to easily catch up to her since my legs are longer. And damn do I want to snatch her elbow and make her listen, but I learned my lesson the first time about touching her like that. She’d lay me out all over again, and that shit pisses me the fuck off if it’s not foreplay. I may let her flip me if I can bring her down to the ground with me and fuck her...otherwise, not happening.
“Hmph,” I grumble. “You’re lucky I’m even interested.”
She whips around so fast I nearly collide with her sassy mouth. “Excuse me? Look here, cupcake, you may push others around, but not me, buddy. I don’t work like everyone else. I bite back.”
With an exhale, I lean close enough to touch my nose to hers, my groin tightens at the irritation in her features, and with a choppy deep grumble I ask, “The real question is where do you bite?”
“Ugh!” She yells, hands flying up in the air and she stomps off. Knowing I’m getting under her skin has me chuckling. There are so many things I want to do to her, maybe spank that ass to punish her for that mouth.
“I like you speechless,” I call out and follow her toward her office.
“Fuck off, biker boy.” She flashes me her middle finger in her wake.
“No boy here. I can whip my cock out and show you if you’d like.” She’s silent, but I’m able to make out another quiet huff from her, and my shoulders shake with a silent chuckle.
We get to her office, and she plops down behind her desk. She’s crazy if she thinks that hunk of wood will put any distance between us. I ro
und the large piece of furniture and prop my ass on the edge of the desk right beside her.
“What are you doing? Sit in the chair!” she orders, and I don’t budge.
“I’m good right here unless you want to sit with me on my lap.”
“Whatever, cupcake. Now, why are you here in my face?”
“Just stopping by to make sure no other Fists came by.”
“No, it’s been quiet since last night.”
“Mmm.” My icy gaze flicks over her, taking in the cleavage from her fitted, cotton tank. It’s white and smudged with various specks of grease. This woman is a full-on gear head, and it’s sexy as fuck. “Fuck, why do you have to be so stubborn? Especially looking like that.”
“Me? You’re the one who keeps coming around to bug me.”
“I just want to fuck you and then maybe I’ll leave you alone.”
“Oh, I know your type, and that won’t be happening.”
“How about I take you for a ride?”
“We both know I drive faster, so no.”
“Dinner?”
“I already ate.”
“Fine.” The word leaves me with a growl, and I frown. Chevelle’s much more difficult than most women I deal with. You’d think it’d be a deterrent, but it just makes me want her more. This is bullshit.
“See, you can go back to your club now.”
“Nah, I think I’ll stick around.” She wants me gone it seems, so naturally, I won’t be going anywhere.
“Excuse me? And do what exactly?”
“Stare at you all day?”
“Not likely. These cheesy lines leave me as dry as the Sahara.”
“Doubtful. I bet that pussy’s clenching and begging to feel my fingers, then my tongue, and last but far from least, my cock.”
Chevelle 6x9 Page 4
