by Nicole Reed
“The last door is the toilet,” he said, but froze when he saw that very door open and Ward step out, closing it behind him.
Ward was in the process of zipping up his jeans, but the minute he saw Hold, stopped. A sly grin marked his face.
“Well, what do we have here?” Ward asked, glancing from Hold to Shyla. “Looks like Mikey’s girl, but no Mike. Are you watching over things while he’s away, Hold? He sure must trust you.”
Hold knew Ward’s jab was supposed to incite him, make him remember that Mikey said he didn’t trust him to lead the club. But before he could say something he shouldn’t, Shyla spoke up.
“Actually, Mikey and I are just friends. Hold’s been nice enough to keep me company tonight. In fact, everyone has been very welcoming since I arrived,” Shyla stated, smiling up at Ward.
“I’m sure they have. You come on by the garage and see me some—” Ward started to say, but was interrupted when the door once again opened.
In tandem, all three of them turned at the sound. Hold was immediately curious because it was a single bathroom. Out stepped Carrie, trying to straighten her skirt. Her long brunette hair was jacked up, lips swollen, everything pointing to her just been fucked look. She glanced up to see them all standing around the door, staring at her.
Hold’s muscles painfully seized. White-hot rage tore at his insides. The fucking whore. She had a dab of something white dried at the corner of her mouth. No doubt about whose cum she guzzled tonight.
“You fuckin’ son of a bitch!” he yelled, leaping for Ward, taking his old man’s ass all the way to the ground.
His fist met the flesh and bone of Ward’s jaw. He heard the women scream and shouts broke out around him, but nothing else mattered. Hold felt like he was possessed. The last four years of hate toward Ward fueled the fire that burned constant and it exploded within him. He straddled Ward’s body, letting both of his arms be pendulums, swinging in tandem to pummel Ward’s face.
“You’re nothin’ but a little cocksucker! You goddamn good for nothin’ bastard! Do you hear me?” Ward yelled from below him between every punch.
Two large hands gripped Hold’s shoulders and hauled him off and away from Ward. Several men had to physically restrain him to keep him off the old man. The situation was wrong. This was his father. His father! The fucking bastard. Black rage stripped Hold of all common sense, his world going blood red.
“You’re not my family! You fuckin’ hear me, you old bastard!” Hold shouted, pointing his finger at Ward.
Carrie tried to step closer toward him as they forcefully held him back from killing Ward. Tears covered her face and she repeatedly said she was sorry. He hated her with a vengeance that left him questioning his sanity. The thought of wrapping his hands around her throat to choke her out only lasted a second because someone pushed her away.
“You fuckin’ whore! I’ll kill you,” Hold yelled, spitting in her direction.
Badger and several other members were able to half drag, half carry Hold’s ass out of the clubhouse. He fought for freedom the entire way. His mind settled on finishing this shit with Ward once and for all tonight.
“Get your goddamn hands off me!” Hold shouted, but they all refused to release him.
FUCK! His mind splintered with hatred for Carrie and Ward. The breaths in his chest wrestled their way out of his mouth. FUCK! He shook their hands off of him and he broke away. Some animal inside of him screamed for retaliation. The tension in his body fought for escape. People yelled in the background, but Hold didn’t give a shit. An emptiness blackened his vision. He wanted to kill Ward. Now. End the miserable bastard’s existence. End the hurt he refused to admit they caused him.
“Calm yourself, boy,” Badger quietly said, standing out of Hold’s way. “He’s trying to provoke you. Ward don’t give two shits for that piece of ass. Let me give you a ride home.”
Hold’s nostrils flared with the anger riding him something fierce. His decision made, he turned to go back into the clubhouse. However, his new bike parked beside the front entrance drew his attention. It offered an escape from this sick madness. He didn’t have his Glock on him anyway. Hold swung his leg over, and with a roar, his motorcycle came to life.
Shyla stepped in front of him, the beam of light outlining her petite frame. Her wide eyes reminded Hold of a deer caught in the headlights. Slowly she walked forward, laying her hand on the handle bar to block his exit. She blinked a worried gaze at him.
“Get out of my motherfuckin’ way!” Hold yelled, his voice warring with the sound of the engine.
“No,” she said calmly, the motor drowning out her words, making Hold have to read her lips. “Take me with you.”
“Don’t make me tell you again,” he commanded, his teeth gnashing behind his closed lips.
He had to leave before he hurt someone. This life he’d been born into condemned him to live with whores and liars. Once again he questioned where the fuck he went wrong. How can something seem so right one minute and so fucking hopeless the next?
“You’re not leaving without me! I’m not letting you go alone!” Shyla yelled, sliding her body around the bike.
His eyes were drawn to the hardened nipples under her shirt. Damn her! She distracted him long enough to hop on the back. He didn’t wait to see if she held on—the need to distance himself drove him to the fucking edge of losing his shit. The bike screamed for Hold as he put the hammer down and they took off like a bat out of hell.
The wind whipped viciously against his skull. He pushed his bike faster and harder on the blacktop. Obsidian night swallowed him, welcoming him into the darkness. Hold emptied his mind. The rage pushed back with every mile he ate. He had to let it go for the moment, letting the wild ride feed his soul.
He drove mindlessly for hours until he came back to himself. Two arms wrapped securely around his waist and a body tightly fitted against him grounded him for the first time tonight. What was he doing? There was nowhere safe to go. Hold was paralyzed with that realization as he drove. His mind made up, he steered the bike back to his home.
They pulled up to the dark house and he cut the engine. His chest rose rapidly with the anger he barely leashed inside. Shyla slid off the back silently and he did the same. He didn’t wait to see if she followed him inside.
After unlocking the front door, he stalked to the back bedroom to grab his Glock .40. He immediately checked to make sure the clip was fucking ready. When he returned to the living room, Hold noticed that Shyla stood immobile in the darkness. His movement was only illuminated by the light of the moon showing through the windows. She glanced at the gun, before returning her scared gaze to his. It fucking ramped him up.
The gun made a loud clatter when he placed it on the side table. Shyla jumped at the sound and Hold pounced. He rushed her, pushing her up against the wall, aligning his body, meshing it with hers. A tiny catch of air was the only sound she made, which fed the dark sexual need inside him. His mouth captured and brutally punished her tender lips. Shyla tried to turn her head, but Hold wasn’t going to fucking allow it. Gripping each side of her face to hold her in place, he made her pay for choosing to ride bitch on his bike this night.
A whimper from her only spurred him further. But it also changed him. He softened his lips, licking at flesh he nipped only seconds ago. His tongue soothed and sought forgiveness. Shyla responded, opening for him. She allowed him to stroke the inside of her mouth, each deep plunder mimicking what he wanted to do to her body.
Hold’s anger didn’t dissipate but churned into a level of need for Shyla he’d never experienced with anyone else. His body tightened and his dick achingly hardened. If he didn’t bury himself in her soon he was going to combust. He slipped his thigh between her legs and her body responded. The hem of her skirt rode high, leaving only a tiny pair of panties. She ground her hot pussy down on him. Goddamn! He moaned into her sweet mouth. The wet heat burned through his jeans and sang to his cock.
Her mouth kisse
d and sucked. Shyla responded to his every move, heightening the intensity too fucking much. Hold’s hands slipped from her face down to touch her tight little body. Every curve molded to his fingertips and he converted every single inch to memory. Touching the bare skin of her abdomen made his dick twitch in throat-burning need. Hold knew he could lose himself in Shyla’s body.
With his index finger and thumb he roughly grasped the metal button above her zipper. Hold needed her butt-ass naked, and out of her clothing now.
“We can’t,” she moaned.
He popped it open anyway.
“Hold, no,” Shyla begged, grasping his forearms to try and push him away.
His fevered gaze burned into hers and this crazy haze of lust flared deep within her belly. Nothing and no one had ever made her feel like this before. She was trapped beneath his stare, held prisoner by the promises of his hard body. Their lips rested merely an inch from the other’s. Each cohesive pant of breath blew soft air against her finely attuned skin. Shyla had never been so completely turned on in her entire life. Braless nipples ached under the rough cotton of her shirt, every movement excessively sexual in nature.
The air in the room swelled with the desire they both created. She moaned when he ground his thigh against her sensitive folds. The restraint inside her was excruciatingly painful to manage. Shyla needed him, wanted him. Every press between her legs brought on another brutal sensual wave, making her wet with need.
Hold’s tongue touched her bottom lip, moistening the swollen flesh. She held her head back farther, barely out of his reach, and his mouth chased hers. The carnal kiss he gave her incinerated everyone before him. Her senses were in overdrive as her body rode his fully clothed one. Shyla had one mental flash of awareness before all was lost. She forcefully turned her cheek to the side.
“You can’t,” she begged, closing her eyes when he caressed her jaw erotically with his tongue.
“Shhh,” he hushed her while palming her breast through the thin cotton of the halter top she wore. “I can.”
His uncontrolled full-body shiver drew a purr of satisfaction from her. Hold blew warm air across her neck. Every single fine hair stood on end and for a second, she’d almost forgotten again why they needed to stop. Something deep down hounded her every second that they continued.
“Mikey,” she whispered, moving her face to watch his reaction.
Hold froze before immediately breaking away. He shot across the room, far from where she stood. Shyla wanted to cry at the agonizing loss of him. A painful thought screamed through her mind: he was never hers to lose. She straightened the skirt she wore and fixed her mussed hair the best she could without a mirror.
“Motherfuckin’ son of a bitch,” Hold cursed under his breath. He paced from side to side with his hands gripped at his side. “Goddamn it!”
His leg drew back and obliterated his own furniture. A small end table buckled under the heavy force of his kick. Hold continued to smash the wooden pieces with his boot until hundreds of tiny shards lay scattered across the floor. Shyla stayed silent and tried to slow her breathing, not wanting to draw his attention. She knew he was hurting from what happened tonight. His display wasn’t one of violence, but a release of excruciating pain that only someone you care about can inflict.
Shyla didn’t move until he stopped. He quietly hung his head and braced his hands at either side of his lean hips. With silent footsteps she moved to face him. Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her body intimately into his, before burying her nose in the crook of his neck.
At first he stood still as a statue. Shyla didn’t know if he would accept the friendly comfort she offered or push her away. Her heart raced with the knowledge that she’d everything to lose if he did. Every instinct she possessed begged to give herself to him. Ease his pain. Whatever he needed. However he needed it. Mikey was a what-if and Hold was a right-now.
Her heart knew this, but her head said that Hold reacted to the emotional situation. It was her body that called to him, an empty vessel in which to release his demons. She could’ve been anyone. And Mikey was his best friend. This gave her the courage not to take the next step. Her ex had hurt her over and over because she’d allowed him that power. Shyla wouldn’t put herself in that type of situation, to give herself away unless the other person wanted her more.
So Shyla offered him the solace of friendship. And she knew he finally accepted it when his arms surrounded her. Hold’s head rested softly against her shoulder. They each latched on to the other, letting the world rotate and crash around them. Time seemed to stand still.
“I’m sorry they hurt you,” she uttered, her lips moving softly alongside the smooth skin of his neck.
Hold’s head nodded above hers. She felt him lightly kiss her forehead before releasing her to step back. He sat down on the couch, knees spread with his hands braced on each thigh. The defeated tilt of his head downward broke her heart. He appeared hopelessly broken.
Compassion rose fierce inside of Shyla, the need to fix him almost more than she could bear. Thank heavens there was a chair next to her, because her knees chose that moment to collapse. She tried to gracefully fall. Not that it mattered. Hold was too lost in his own hell to notice hers.
“Fuck it,” he said, with a shake of his head and a sarcastic laugh. “Bitches like Carrie get passed around the club. That’s the life. They live for that shit until someone makes them their old lady. For the last couple of years she’d pretty much closed her legs tight, and sealed her fuckin’ mouth because she’d been all over my shit lookin’ for status. Everyone knew it. I’d been honest and upfront, not promising her anything after Hels. Carrie knew the score.”
She watched him rub his hands over his head, a gesture she was coming to understand he did when he became upset. Shyla crossed her legs and forced herself to settle back in the chair—otherwise she would’ve gone to him.
“I was eleven the first time Ward told me that a good old lady understands her man has needs. And a man needs pussy. Lots of it. There’s never a shortage of women who want into this life. Someone’s sister, niece, daughter, cousin, who’s lookin’ for somethin’ they can’t find anywhere else.” Hold raised his head to glare at her. “Cheatin’s only condemned when it’s someone else’s old lady; otherwise brothers keep their mouths shut and their dicks deep into the first available sheep.”
“It didn’t bother you that your dad cheated on Sage? It doesn’t bother her?” she asked incredulously.
“It was just fuckin’. As long as you don’t love ’em, it doesn’t matter. That’s how I was raised,” he said, sitting back against the cushions. “I’ve seen Sage tear into a girl who stepped out of line a time or two. Ward and I had to pull her off a couple before she did any real damage.”
She wasn’t surprised at his admission. A fact of life is that most people betray you at some point. You try to accept it, but reality is a different matter when it is forthcoming, laid bare before you. Shyla knew that the brotherhood inside the MC paraded the fact of infidelity, unlike general society that hid it behind pretty white lies. Neither appealed to her, but it was something a female choosing this life had to face. Be the whore or be the bride—you couldn’t be both.
Shyla wondered if that’s what Hels rejected. She couldn’t be the whore or the bride the club would’ve demanded of her. Is that what made her run? Did she reject the idea that Hold would eventually be unfaithful? Shyla’s thoughts spiraled, brought back only by the sound of Hold’s voice.
“If you’re askin’ if Sage’s okay with it, then I’d have to say hell no. But she’s the head old lady and that’s what they do,” he said, glancing off into the darkness that still surrounded them.
“What if she cheated? Just had meaningless sex?” she asked, freezing when his eyes pinpointed hers.
“Ward would kill her. And bury her with the fishes.”
“And you’d let him kill your mother?”
“No,” he said then let
out a deep groan. “How the fuck did we end up talkin’ ‘bout this shit?”
“I’m sorry if Carrie did that tonight to get back at you because of me,” she softly said. Her mind had been racing with the thought. Women were vengeful bitches and the stupid ones were worse when they didn’t think about the consequences. But what about his father? Who did that shit to his own son? Fucked-up didn’t even come close.
“Maybe. But Ward’s pissed at me for some shit and I’m sure it didn’t take much convincin’ for her to suck his dick. He’s the prez. Hell, I’d been leading her on for years and it wasn’t right. I almost feel sorry for the stupid cunt because Ward ain’t ever leavin’ Sage and now she’ll get passed back around the club,” Hold said, sitting up to glance at the watch on his wrist. “I’d better get you home.”
“I can stay. I don’t think you should be alone,” Shyla said without thinking.
His eyes widened with surprise. A cross between a laugh and moan escaped his lips. “And we both know that’s not a good idea.”
“Do you know why I brought Mikey up before?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat, watching him shake his head no. “Because I know how much you care for him and that something is still healing between you both. Anything that could’ve happened with us tonight would’ve only destroyed that, and in the process destroyed any possibility of something between us in the future.”
“I…” he started to say, leaning toward her, shaking his head.
“Listen,” she said, holding her palms up in surrender. “I’m not referring to anything other than a friendship. But let’s be honest, I haven’t even been on a date with Mikey. I stopped because of you, Hold. Because I’ve come to care about you. I want to stay to make sure no one or nothing else hurts you tonight. The chair here is fine,” Shyla patted the seat she already occupied.
Hold’s eyes suddenly appeared tired. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. Shyla, I can’t fuck up any more with Mike. He really likes you. A fuckin’ lot,” he added, with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
