Property of Drex (Book 1) (Death Chasers MC Series)

by C. M. Owens

  I need therapy now.

  Alcohol would be a good substitute, since I doubt this group has a therapist on hand.

  I’m not sure if I’m still in shock, or maybe staying in denial, or if it’s just survival mode, but I’ve pushed the entire scene from my head, refusing to fully let the reality sink in.

  He drops the file on the table in the bedroom, and the loud clap it produces forces me to startle just a bit. I recover quickly as he crosses his arms over his chest while he studies me.

  “What does Benny want to learn about us?” he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

  Huh?

  “What?” I ask in a hoarse rasp, inwardly cringing at how terrified I sound.

  I hope he doesn’t confuse terror for guilt. I’m not sure what he’s probing for right now, but I certainly don’t want him thinking I’m working for Benny.

  “Come on, Eve,” he says with a lazy drawl, letting my name roll off his tongue. “It’s not every day a girl from the suburbs crashes into a clubhouse and offers herself up to be used and traded. In fact, it’s probably the first time I’ve personally heard of it. So what does Benny have on you, and what does he want? Either he’s blackmailing you over some dark, dirty secret. Or you’re here because you’re one of those girls who is going through a curious, rebellious phase. Believe me, darlin’, this isn’t the place for a phase.”

  Regardless of my answer, it’s too late now. Benny would kill me if the Death Dealers didn’t kill me first. I’ve signed myself over to be at their disposal—consequences be damned.

  I suppose I’ll be damned, too.

  And I hate being called darling.

  Deciding not to mention that, mostly because I don’t want to piss him off, I answer honestly. “I needed mone—”

  “Don’t,” he interrupts, waving his hand for emphasis. “Money isn’t why you’re doing this. If you want money this way, you prostitute yourself out to classy businessmen. With a face like yours, you’d be with the high class hookers, making more than enough money. Here, you won’t be getting to use that money too often. For as long as you can think, this is your new home.”

  A tear begs to fall, but I deny it the right. “Prostituting myself out wouldn’t have gotten the money as soon as I needed it. My mom was about to lose the house, and my brothers start school this year. She was on the verge of losing everything.”

  For a fleeting moment, his expression softens, but almost as quickly, the hard, emotionless glower is back.

  “So you’re saying you did this for your family. That’s your story?” He pauses, and I nod, deciding to rest my tremulous voice. “Well, as sweet as that sounds, I reserve the right to be suspicious. Guys like us don’t make trades for peace.”

  He walks around me, and my breath catches in my throat, becoming painfully lodged when he touches me just at my collarbone. Though his touch is gentle and not inappropriate, it’s a reminder that soon his father will be touching me in places that aren’t so innocent.

  His finger trails over my chest, slowly heading south, going between my breasts, and stopping right at the top of my jeans, hovering over the button.

  “You should strip. These clothes aren’t going to cut it. And I also need to search you. Everywhere.”

  Everywhere. That word echoes through my mind, crashing back at me as though it’s a warning.

  He removes his hand and steps away, watching and waiting, and I swallow hard. The painful knot in my throat only grows as I reach for the hem of my shirt. Taking a deep breath, I pull it off quickly.

  His eyes are on me, watching with open interest as I move to my jeans. As much as I’d like to draw this out and delay the inevitable, I also don’t want to keep dreading the first time. The sooner I’m naked, the sooner the suspense ends. I’ve prepared myself for what I hope is the worst.

  “You know what’s going to happen to you, right?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as I push the jeans down my legs. He takes a deep breath as I step out of them. In nothing but my pink, cotton underwear, I try to find the courage to meet his gaze, keeping my expression as impassive as possible under the grim circumstances.

  “I know.”

  His lips twitch with amusement, and I reach for the clasp of my bra, trembling harder as it comes undone.

  “And this is consensual?” he asks, acting as though he gives a damn.

  “Would it matter if it wasn’t?” I retort, my eyes growing wide with fearful regret.

  Shit. Why did I say that?

  His eyes darken as he studies me, and I drop the bra to the ground, baring my breasts, and hoping that’s enough to distract him. His father is about to do as he wants with my body. It’s stupid as hell to piss off his son right now.

  His eyes dart down to my breasts, and his dark smile barely returns.

  “If this isn’t consensual—completely consensual—you’re going back to Benny. I don’t have to force girls into my bed. And the second you give your consent, you’re mine any time, any place, and any way I want. This is your one and only chance to walk away. Understood?”

  His? I’m his? I thought I was going to his father.

  Deciding against voicing that—since a guy closer to my age is preferable to some perverted old bastard—I nod.

  “I understand,” I murmur, ignoring the surging adrenaline in my body. If I’m going to be his, then... This is about to happen. Shit.

  Hooking my thumbs in the sides of my panties, I shimmy them down my legs, ignoring my desire to cover myself as I straighten back up. He appraises me, putting me on a level beneath him as he stays clothed and keeps that scrutinizing gleam in his blue eyes.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the top of the mattress,” he says, his voice commanding but restrained and husky, as though he’s holding himself back.

  Nausea sweeps over me again, but I fight it back as I turn and do what he wants me to. My hands shake with crippling fear as I push them against the mattress, and his breath comes suddenly, surprising me at my ear as his shirt tickles against my bare back.

  “I’ve got to search you.” His velvety, smooth, deep voice shouldn’t be seductive. He’s a criminal, a coldhearted killer, and I’m about to let him touch me without true protest.

  “Open your mouth and spread your legs,” he orders.

  Even though my knees try to buckle, I immediately obey, and he reaches around me, putting his middle finger into my mouth. He circles his digit around, inspecting each crevice as though he might find something. I try not to gag, because even though that finger tastes good, I have no idea where it has been.

  After a lot of probing in my mouth, he withdraws his hand, and it disappears from sight. He warned me he would touch me, but he never said where. When his wet finger—lubed with my own saliva—slips into a place that’s never been touched, I try to jerk away out of instinct.

  “Don’t. Move,” he growls in my ear, bringing his other large hand to wrap around my waist, spreading his fingers over my stomach and hip, firmly holding me against him as he probes me.

  There’s no real pain, but the feeling is so alien and... uncomfortable, especially since I’ve known him for just minutes. He pushes in a little deeper, and I suck in a breath, feeling his finger touch places I didn’t consider would get touched. I suppose I only thought I was prepared for the worst.

  I really hope his finger is all he puts up there.

  “You’ve never been touched back here, have you?” he asks, his lips close enough to graze my ear. The denim of his jeans scratches against my skin as he pushes even closer, letting me feel the hard outline of proof this is turning him on.

  I swallow down my panic while trying to answer, but my voice breaks and some squeaky sound comes out instead. So I shake my head no to answer.

  His throaty chuckle is mocking me, but I can’t really focus on it when he pulls his finger out and swaps hands. The hand that was just violating me moves to be on my waist, restraining me, while his other comes between my legs to cup me.<
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  My rush of breath falls out as his finger slips inside me, and that’s when I feel my body has betrayed me. Shit.

  “Turned on?” he muses, sliding his finger through the wet slit, a teasing, slow motion that makes my stomach muscles clench in response.

  Silence is the best reaction to that question. I’m not turned on, but my body doesn’t understand what’s going on. It doesn’t know the—

  “I can’t get deep enough to give you a thorough search this way. You’re on birth control, right? I’m not using a condom with you.”

  A cold sweat breaks out as those words resonate. My body trembles for reasons that confuse me as conflicting emotions rattle around. I shouldn’t feel excited, but I do. I should be appalled and in tears, not quivering in anticipation of the promised debauchery.

  The contradictory myriad of sensations strike me with guilt and disgust until an internal war threatens to emerge.

  “I am,” I whisper, unable to find a stronger tone.

  He laughs again, a low rumble that seems to vibrate through my body as the sound of a belt being undone turns up the tension. I hold myself still, refusing to look behind me. I’m afraid to breathe.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll love every second of it,” he says against my ear, and my knees tremble as his warm skin brushes against me from behind, letting me know his shirt is already gone. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll beg for more.”

  It wouldn’t be smart to tell him that’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard, so I keep my mouth shut and let him fuel his own ego. A hard knot forms in my throat when the blunt tip of his cock prods my entrance, and he coats the head in the traitorous wetness that has pooled between my legs. He toys with my entrance, teasing me, torturing me, and I inwardly curse the way my stomach tightens again in anticipation instead of roiling in disgust.

  Just the tip slides in, and I freaking moan like a sick pervert. Clamping my mouth shut, I try to ignore the sensations that swarm me and the disappointment I feel when he withdraws.

  “Oh fuck,” I blurt out when he rams into me suddenly and silences my thoughts.

  “So fucking wet,” he growls low in my ear, staying inside me. “I think you like danger, sweet girl. I think it turns you the fuck on. This is going to be more fun than I thought.”

  I don’t have more time than that to adjust to the ungodly size of the intruder inside me before he pulls back and thrusts forward again, forcing my body to surge forth and slam into the side of the bed.

  There’s no hesitation before his body continues the brutal punishment. “Too fucking tight,” he hisses, grabbing a handful of flesh on my ass as he pounds in once again, forcing an ungraceful grunt from my lips.

  It’s only just not painful, and I hate the fact that my body is reacting in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I want to cry when I start feeling pleasure, because this isn’t supposed to feel good.

  I whimper when he bites down on my shoulder, pushing his body flush with mine as his hips continue to buck without mercy. Roughly, he tugs my hair back, forcing my head at an odd angle as he makes his claim on my body.

  His other hand travels around to my front, sliding across that bundle of nerves, and he starts a circular pattern that forces me up onto my toes, as an involuntary moan comes out once more. He bites down harder on my shoulder, offering pain and pleasure at the same time, as his body writhes with mine.

  I push back against him when my body seizes control and excludes my mind from the process. He growls as he meets me push for push, our bodies colliding forcefully. I’ve never been fucked like this, and I hate him for making me love it.

  “Scream. I want to hear you scream,” he growls against my ear, and with just the right amount of pressure where I need it, my body spirals in a mutinous orgasm that almost forces me to black out.

  I’m a freak. I never knew I was a freak.

  As cries of pleasure escape me in the scream he demanded, I learn more about what a twisted freak I really am.

  My body continues to convulse around him, clenching tightly around his cock, and he breathes harshly, expelling curses as though they’re high praise. He continues to slam into me so forcefully that it lifts me up, extending my own orgasm until it’s almost painfully sensitive. The slapping sound from his skin to mine is loud, and the air is a heady rush that could get the sober high.

  Suddenly, his motions go from hard thrusts to concentrated jerks, and his bruising grip on my ass lessens just as he releases some sexy, guttural groan.

  He pulls out of me as quickly as he entered, and I feel a sense of hollowness in place of where he was. Ignoring that pang of disappointment at the loss of contact so abruptly becomes my primary focus.

  I hear the rustle of his jeans as I sink to the floor, my back still turned, as the shame washes over me. The wetness between my thighs is a mixture of him and me, keeping reality fresh in my mind. I’m still trying to process all this.

  “Get your clothes on. One of the girls will get you more stuff to wear. You can’t ride with us in your preppy girl attire. You’ll draw too much attention.”

  I just nod weakly while hugging myself.

  “And do that pouting, crying shit, and I’ll go ahead and give you back to Benny. I don’t need that drama. Buzz kill.”

  The callous, cold nature of his tone isn’t surprising, but it still cuts me. I sniffle and nod quickly while standing to my feet. I start picking up my clothes, wondering if any of my dignity is left within the fabric.

  “Look at me and tell me you understand.”

  I swallow hard, and then I bring my eyes to slowly climb up his body. His jeans are back on, but he’s barefoot, and the top button on his pants is open. His shirt is in his hand, giving my eyes a new sight.

  The hard lines of his abdomen and chest are… distracting. His arms are sleeved with tattoos, and several more are on his chest and sides. A flicker of silver catches my eyes, and I realize he has a barbell through each nipple.

  Honestly, I’ve never seen a pierced nipple before this moment. Not that it’s more than a second-long distraction.

  Finally, my eyes meet his piercing blue ones, and I ignore the cocky grin on his face.

  “You’re not to touch anyone else here. If you’re going to be mine, then you’re only mine.”

  It’s actually a relief to know he won’t be passing me around.

  “And you?” I ask, cursing myself for being so brazen.

  His brow cocks in amusement as one corner of his mouth quirks up in a taunting grin.

  “What about me?” he asks, but I look down instead of answering.

  “Answer me,” he prompts. “And look at me while you speak.”

  Slowly, I bring my eyes back up.

  “Are you only going to be touching me?”

  He laughs as he comes closer, a mocking sound once again.

  This man just fucked me so thoroughly that I can barely stand, and he never even bothered to kiss me. I’m not sure why that’s the center of my focus right now. There are other things much larger to worry about.

  He grabs my chin roughly, but not painfully, and tilts my head up as he runs his free hand down my naked side, slowly moving to my ass when he gets close enough.

  “I’m Drex Caine, baby. I’ll touch whoever I want, whenever I want.”

  Which means I’ll go to the doctor regularly.

  I don’t speak. Instead, I hold his gaze and let him intimidate me the way he wants to. I won’t fight him in any way, because he’ll consider it a challenge and try to break me.

  I’ll let him win all the battles so that I can endure the war.

  “Stay up here. I have to go meet with Pop. Don’t come down.”

  Considering there is an entire warehouse below that is full of bikers that scare the hell out of me, I’m glad he’s leaving me up here. But what would be the consequences if I didn’t follow orders?

  “Will I be staying up here?” I ask weakly. “I mean… full time. Is this my room?”

>   His dark smile shouldn’t be so sexy. In fact, it makes me hate him more, because I feel all the more twisted for liking that smile.

  “This is my room, but yeah. You’ll stay up here for now. Until I decide what to do with you. You can sleep over there.” He points to a leather couch against the far wall of the vast room.

  Two girls with their legs spread wide, heads thrown back mid-orgasm, and bodies bare for all to see, are on a poster that adorns the wall just above that couch.

  I really hope he has disinfectant spray or something.

  “Okay.”

  “Blankets are in the closet. Sheets, too. And you can take one of the pillows from my bed. Just one.”

  I nod while tucking my head low. I brought my own pillow in my bag, along with my own blankets, just in case I got lucky enough to have my own bed. A couch is better than sharing a bed. And I guess it’s better Drex has me instead of his father. My skin isn’t crawling like I thought it would be. Which is another set of issues I’ll have to deal with. Later.

  If I survive this, I’m going to need a lot of therapy.

  “Thank you,” I say, not bothering to tell him I have all my own things.

  “Your bags are downstairs. I’ll have Sledge bring them up. Have your clothes on before he comes up here.”

  I start pulling on my panties immediately, even though I need to clean up. I’m still riddled with exhaustion after our brief encounter and in need of a post-sex shower.

  He turns and walks away, and I suck in a sharp breath. His back has even more tattoos than his front. Massive, intricate patterns of ink barely leave much flesh to be seen.

  The grim reaper is in a pit of fire, the flames rolling across his back like an ominous warning. That’s what was wrapping around his sides—flames.

  I’m still staring as he walks away, pulling on his shirt as he goes. He leaves me behind as the door shuts, and my eyes immediately soak in my surroundings a little better once he’s not distracting me.