by Raven Dark
“Ah, oh, Spider, yes! Yes, so good, yes!”
“I wanna hear you say it the way we do in my world, sweetheart. Tell me you want me to fuck you. Tell me you like getting fucked.”
The words are so wrong, but I’m too lust-crazed to care, and he’s still fingering me to madness, his shaft thrusting savagely in and out.
“Please fuck me, Spider, just like this…”
“Yeah.” He licks my ear and stills inside me, his fingers teasing. “Ask me to make you come.”
I make a wild, hungry sound. “Please make me come. Please, I want to come.”
Spider moans, almost a low roar and rewards me with a long succession of deep thrusts. White lights flash, the tide sucks me down, and I cry his name, thrashing against him.
As if my release pushes him over the edge, he grips my shoulder with a curse and hammers into me three times, grunting his release in my ear.
For a moment that seems to stretch into eternity, we lie there, pressed together, flesh against flesh, breathing heavily. The tide of release recedes, leaving me blissfully sated.
Then at last, Spider’s embrace loosens and I turn tiredly in his arms to face him, snuggling close. He rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him.
Never in a million years would I have believed he could be like this, tender and attentive. He runs his hand along my arm and over my back, and I lay my cheek on his smooth chest.
My gaze collides with that intriguing spider tattooed in black ink on his right pectoral muscle. Other, smaller spiders march up to his shoulder. I lift my head, noticing for the first time that one end of the biggest spider is shaped into a skull, giving it a look that’s both artistic and deadly.
“Can I ask you something?” I croak.
He traces my cheek with his fingers. “Yeah, baby.”
“Why ‘Spider?’” I trace the line of the foreboding arachnid tattoo. “Why do they call you that?”
Spider drops his head back on the pillow. His brows crinkle at the ceiling and his hand tightens around my arm. His chest rises and falls once on a heavy sigh. I can feel some inner battle waging inside him.
I bend and place a kiss on the larger spider tattoo, hoping to encourage him to open up with my closeness and warmth.
Another sigh, and he squeezes my arm gently, and when he speaks, his voice is low and soft.
“I was bitten by a black widow spider when I was a kid.”
I stare.
“I almost died,” he goes on. “People rarely die from spider bites, but really young kids can if they don’t get the anti-venom in time. When I was bit, dad was too busy getting sucked off by a club whore and my mother was too drunk and too high to notice anything was wrong. Apparently, I was screaming my fucking head off until a neighbor came to see what was wrong. She knew to call the MC. I barely made it to the hospital in time.”
I can hardly fathom what I’m hearing. Anger with his mother and father wells up and I squeeze him tightly. “Heavens, I’m so sorry.”
He rubs my shoulder, and it pleases me to know he’s accepting my comforting him. “Anyway, Bones, the prez at the time, said I shouldn’t have survived. He joked that the bite was radio active, and that’s why I lived. They started calling me Spider, and it stuck.”
“It became your road name,” I whisper.
He nods.
“I can’t believe you had to deal with that. That’s awful.” I drop one kiss on his namesake tattoo, then lay kisses on each of the other spiders and bury my face in his neck, wishing I could take away his pain. “I’m so sorry.”
“Nah. It was a long time ago.”
“What happened to them? Your parents?”
“My mother died of a drug overdose, and my dad ate his gun—”
“He killed himself?”
He nods again. “They got what was coming to them. It’s all good.” He presses a kiss to my forehead.
“How old were you?”
“Five.”
My mouth drops. “How did you deal with that? I mean when you got older, living with a family like that?”
“I dunno.” He shrugs. “You learn to deal. I leaned on the club, let myself get lost in the life. I learned to fight so that Dad couldn’t use me or her as a punching bag. I spent more time at Striker’s or Cap’s house than mine. Cap took me under his wing, so I still felt like I had a dad, even though he wasn’t blood. When my dad died, he raised me.”
“That’s incredible. I can’t believe you went through that.” My eyes sting for him and I hold him even tighter.
Spider rolls me gently onto my back. Laying his body alongside mine, he looks down at me.
“See, that’s club life, too, Stephanie. When one of us is struggling, the others rally around him, or her. They pick that person up, make everything okay again.”
“So that’s why you love the club.”
“Yes. Don’t feel sorry for me. I had a good life once the rat bastard died. I love what and who I am. He tried to break me down, but all he did was make me stronger. It’s just like the spider bite. You can’t really know pain or fear until you go through something like that. It should have ended me, but all it did was make me harder to kill.”
All I can do is look up at this man in wonder. He endured a lifetime of neglect and pain from people who should have protected him, and he went through something nightmarish at a tender age, dealing with it alone until the club picked him up and made it right. He had to be incredibly strong to have made it through.
I lay my palm gently on his cheek, stroking it with my thumb, my throat tightening with too many emotions to name. It hits me just how much Cap must mean to him, knowing that he went to him for shelter from his dad’s violence.
There are a million things I want to say to him now, but there are no words to express them, so instead, I lift my head and press soft kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his eyelids. Giving him all the love he missed for so long.
“I may not ever totally understand the MC life,” I whisper softly. “But I respect it, and I get why you love it now.”
“Good.” He kisses me long and hard on the mouth, then rolls onto his back, taking me with him.
I snuggle into him, laying my arm across his stomach and my cheek on his chest.
“Go to sleep now, Little Wildcat. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Nodding, I let his promise wrap around me. It’s a shock, but I realize I want to wake up in his arms.
For a long time, I lie awake listening to the sound of Spider’s soft, even breathing. An unlikely feeling of safety wraps itself around me, as warm and as strong as his arms that hold me close. The Colony, Pastor Seth, and all the horrors I’d seen while I was imprisoned in the world of His Holy Peace feel a million miles away, locked on the other side of a wall they can’t breach. A wall that is made of man and muscle and danger that this MC has dubbed Spider.
When I’d met this man, I’d thought there was only cruelty and pain and violence in him. Today, I’ve seen what lies on the other side of that darkness. A man who loves his club and would go to the ends of the earth to protect those he calls his own.
For the first time since I met him, he’s truly opened up, letting me get to know the man that lives beneath the cut, beneath the danger and the violence.
I may not totally know him, or his life, but today, in this moment, I feel like I understand him. And for the first time since he crashed into my life, I find myself hoping that, someday, I can let him know who I really am.
20
Connections
The girl he chose is perfect.
A toned little fuck-me ass clad in a strip of a red bikini. Luscious, full tits. Wild blond hair streaked with strips of blue, falling down her back for days. She’s one of Dee’s new girls, since I hadn’t seen her at The Devil’s Den before. I think her name is Blue, but it doesn’t matter. The girl is designed for a fucking, but I’m not interested.
She lays her hand on my shoulder. “You want a dance
?” she purrs.
Weeks ago, my dick would have leaped to attention. Nothing. I’m horny as fuck, and my cock can’t give a rat’s ass.
That pisses me off. Especially when I know why he’s still asleep with this fuckable bunny ready and willing to grind on my lap.
The reason is right over there, washing down a table across the room.
Clad in that skirt that barely covers her ass and that thin halter top that leaves her pert little nipples visible through the red cloth, Stephanie bends over the table, wiping it down. The angle gives me a glimpse of the lacy black thong she wears underneath the skirt, a strip that hardly covers her beautiful pussy.
As soon as I see that, my dick jerks to life. Instant boner.
Fuck.
What the hell is wrong with me? This isn’t who I am. I’m one of those guys mothers warn their daughters about. Different woman every night. Sometimes two. Now?
Now, it’s as if she’s put a spell on me, bewitching me so that my still raging libido responds only to her. Since that night she saved Cap’s life, I’ve hardly taken my hands off of her, yet right now, I’m ready to fuck her senseless right there in front of the whole strip joint.
“Spidy?” Striker says, leaning toward me on the couch in front of the stage. He whistles to get my attention. “Earth to Spidy.”
When I look at him, he nods to the stripper who still has her hand on my shoulder.
Right. She’d asked me if I wanted a dance.
Eyes locked on Stephanie again, I shake my head, refusing her offer.
Striker waves a twenty in front of me. “My treat.”
I wave Blue away. “Beat it, kid.”
She shrugs and heads off to find another customer.
“Wow,” Striker says. “That’s a first.”
I play dumb. “What are you going on about?”
His smirk tells me he’s onto me. “Oh, come on. Blue’s got that whole innocent, sweet, new girl vibe you love. Normally you’d be all over that shit.”
He’s right, she does. But I’m staring right at another girl who has the same look. Blue’s hot, but she’s not her.
Stephanie straightens and moves to another table in front of me. She bends over to wipe it down and catches my eye. A shy, uncertain smile teases her full lips.
Damn, I love that smile. It’s funny how we’ve done all the crazy, dirty shit we’ve done in the last week since the night she’d saved Cap’s life, and she still gets so shy around me. Pastor’s daughter indeed.
Needing to see that delicious blush that’s reserved for me alone, I wink at her. Her cheeks flush, exactly the way they did that morning when I was inside her. When I made her tell me she wanted me to fuck her.
My cock rages.
Fuck me, I’m in trouble.
“You know you can’t trust her, right?” Striker whispers. “She might be playing it up as if she’s accepted life as your sex toy, but the minute she gets the chance, she’ll rabbit again.”
Man. I love Striker to death; he’s like a brother to me, just as Cap is like a father, but right now, I could smash his face in. His words burn a path across the inside of my chest. My fist clenches on my thigh until my knuckles crack.
It isn’t just that he’s implied Stephanie’s playing me that pisses me off. It’s that he’s trying to tempt me with other pussy.
“Did you want something, Striker?”
He sighs and pockets his twenty. “Look, man. We’re only acting in your best interest.”
We?
I jerk my head around to look at him. “We, who?” I growl.
“We don’t want you losing your edge, that’s all I’m saying.”
Losing my edge? That’s not the first time I’ve heard that phrase since I brought her to the clubhouse. The beast inside me, the one that’s been slumbering comfortably since the night she saved Cap stirs, suddenly alert.
“By ‘we,’ you mean Dragon,” I say. “Prez put you up to this?”
Striker just blinks at me. Not confirming my implication, but not denying it.
Son of a bitch. I’ll bet the timing isn’t a coincidence, either. Dragon wanted Striker to dangle that piece of ass in front of me in hopes that I would take the bait and let her grind on me in front of Stephanie. Thus shattering any illusions the Wildcat might have had that there’s anything between us, and destroying any likelihood of my letting her rope me into anything meaningful in one fell swoop.
And since Dragon and the other officers are supposed to show up for a meeting in minutes, a hundred to one, he was expecting to walk in here and see for himself that I’m still the guy who never lets a woman get under his skin.
The fucker.
“I’ll have to have a word with Prez.” My voice comes out a deadly whisper that brings an unsettled smile to Striker’s face. He knows that voice. It’s the beast in me, the same beast he hears when anyone crosses me.
The only thing that keeps me from marching out to the clubhouse right now and snapping Dragon’s neck is that he’s my commander in chief.
I watch Stephanie work, my mind racing. My eyes are missile-locked on her as if evidence of her treachery will magically appear on her sweet little face. As if I’ll see some unknowable proof that she’s plotting to escape my grasp behind my back.
Wiping down another table, she scrunches her cute brows at me.
I’m about to get up and drag her off to the nearest unoccupied party room when Dee calls for her to go on break. She gives Dee a nod and me a smile before she heads for the bar.
“Get you a drink, Spider?”
I look up. The newest acquisition to The Devil’s Den serving staff stands in front of me, empty tray balanced on her palm. Sam, I think her name is, and she still has that nervous look the girls get when they’re first hired.
“A whiskey, neat, please.”
Sam nods and whisks away, returning with a glass a few moments later. She wobbles on her high heels and catches herself on the table, narrowing avoiding falling on her face.
“Sorry,” she says, handing me the glass.
“No worries. You’re the new one, right? Sam?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Oh, yeah,” Striker says.
“Ignore him,” I tell her. “How are you liking it here?”
She shrugs. “You want the truth, or a polite lie?” When I grin, she adds, “It pays the bills. Dee and the other girls are nice. Especially Steph. She’s been helping me adjust.”
In spite of myself, I like that Stephanie is finally making friends. Dee still gives her the cold shoulder, and so does Monica, but most of the other girls have stopped giving her a hard time. Still, none of them are exactly warm and fuzzy with her. It’s good to see her getting on with someone.
“She’s been helping you out, has she? Good for her.”
“Yeah.” She drops off another drink for a customer at a table a little ways away and returns. “She borrowed my phone the other day. She’s really nice.”
The words sink in slowly. “What did you say?”
“She borrowed my phone.”
But I can hardly hear her over the rush of blood in my ears. I can feel Striker watching me.
One of the many rules I’d set out with Stephanie, along with handing over any money she earns and never leaving this place without an escort, is never to make any phone calls.
I cock my head and put my hand out. “Let me see your phone,” I say slowly.
Sam shrinks back, and I know she’s looking right into the eyes of the beast. She licks her lips. “I…I’ll have to go and get it. It’s in my locker.”
“Get it. Now.”
She whirls and is gone. The blood in my ears pounds faster.
“Who would she call?” Striker says. “She—”
“Shut up, Striker,” I say slowly.
“Hey, all I’m saying is, you give a woman an inch and they—”
“Shut. Up. Striker.”
Sam comes back and forks over her phone. Her han
ds are shaking.
I open the call log. “What day did she use it?”
“Last week.” She gives me the date. “Listen, she was just—”
“Who did she call?”
“I…I don’t know. She was looking for a friend or something. She made two calls.”
Scrolling through the call list, I find the ones made from her phone a week ago. That’s the same night Cap was shot. I have Sam show me the two calls she didn’t make herself.
One of the calls lists Las Vegas Nanny Agency. I shake my head. Why would Stephanie be calling one of those?
The second number doesn’t have a name listed with it, so I call it. Sam wrings her hands, looking anxious.
A grandmotherly, aged voice answers. “Rosie’s Room and Board.”
I hang up and stare at the number, my mind racing again.
“What was it?” Striker asks.
I hand Sam’s phone back and send her off, feeling as if the sounds around me are filtering through cotton in my ears.
The truth is, what do I know about Stephanie? Not much. I don’t know who her friends are, her family, where she worked before here. She could have been calling the boarding house looking for a friend. But I can’t ignore the other possibility.
Betrayal burns at the back of my throat, eating away the connection that I’ve somehow allowed to forge itself between us.
“What was the number?” Striker repeats.
“Son of a bitch.” I thump my fist on the table and the glasses dance.
Striker says something, but I don’t hear it, because I’m already stalking across the room toward the break area.
“Whoa, Spidy, there you are.” The club’s personal tech guy collides with me, grabbing my shoulders. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he adds looking harried.
“Whatever it is, it’s gonna have to wait, Rat.” I push past him. “I have a thief to interrogate.”
Rat’s dark, beady eyes widen, but he shakes off whatever questions my statement raises in his mind and strides after me. He has to almost run to keep up.
