Avery

by Addison Jane

  Crush, Repo, and our new recruit from Alabama, Mix, made quick work of the stairs, disappearing into the thinning crowd. It made me fucking sick that these little bastards would grow up to be future businessmen, lawyers, doctors, and work other high-profile positions. This was precisely the reason fuckers like that got away with hurting girls—because they had the power or the parents to pay people off.

  So did we.

  But we didn’t use it as an excuse to fucking rape and pillage.

  These assholes were fucking predators.

  And honestly, for the most part, the club kept their nose out of this kind of shit. It wasn’t in my best interest to piss off some rich kid and have his mommy and daddy decide to try and make me apologize.

  Holly, she wasn’t a part of the club—in fact, recently, she’d been told to stay the fuck away.

  Which meant this technically wasn’t our problem.

  It shouldn’t have come to us, but goddamn Avery and her need to serve and protect this friend who had done nothing but cause problems. I was over it. I was done with her putting her ass on the line for Holly. I was done with Holly allowing her life to swirl down the fucking drain and not accepting the help she’d been offered before shit got to this fucking point.

  And I was going to make it extremely fucking clear tonight, that this would be it.

  “I’ll call the police,” fuckhead protested, suddenly finding some kind of balls hidden in his tight khakis. “So, it’s best if you get the hell out before I have you all fucking arrested.”

  I took two steps forward, the strong façade cracking with every inch closer I got. He stumbled, two of his friends catching him, holding him up as he scrambled to find his footing. I reached out, snatching hold of his shirt in my hand and yanking him forward. “Call the police,” I dared him in a low growl. “Maybe they’ll save your fucking ass from getting the beat down I’m about to give you if my boys come back carrying even one doped-up fucking female...”

  I let the threat hang.

  Enjoying the pure look of horror and uncertainty in his eyes.

  “I heard he also called Avery a whore at school the other day,” Auron announced, leaning against the banister at the bottom of the staircase, looking pretty fucking smug. A lot of the kids had cleared out at this point or made a run for it after hearing the word ‘cops.’

  “Well, that’s what she is, isn’t she?”

  “Not to you, she’s fucking not,” I growled, my free hand curling into a fist, so fucking ready to just plow it through this little fucker’s face. Hearing Avery called a whore was like a damn trigger. It stirred all these fucking emotions in my head that I really wasn’t fucking sure I understood. She had me twisted in all different directions, so fucking tight sometimes I found it hard to breathe.

  I needed to have control. It was who I fucking was. It was what kept me sane, which made me feel like I could keep my people and my family safe.

  Avery, on the other hand, was this reckless, crazy energy that tested me at every corner. People were drawn to her, to that beautiful defiant soul. But she had everyone around her fooled. None of them aware of the pain she harbored, but it’d seen her fall into that pit more than once.

  It was like having someone shove a knife in my gut and slowly fucking twist it.

  I knew what it took to get her to that point, and I’d seen a flash of it in her eyes just now.

  So God help me if I was about to let some jacked-up little frat fucker try and break her.

  “Clear.”

  “Same,” Repo announced, jogging down the stairs behind Crush. Mix wasn’t far behind, though he was holding a Ziplock bag in his hand, a dark frown on his face. I shoved the little punk backward and held out my hand, Mix tossing the bag straight into it.

  Holding it up to the light, I tried to figure out just what the fuck it was.

  I knew drugs.

  But it didn’t seem like one I was familiar with.

  Probably because despite the fact that we weren’t exactly upstanding citizens, we didn’t need to drug our women before we fucked them.

  “It ain’t coke,” I announced, shaking the bag a little. The granules were different. Not like a powder.

  “Ketamine would be my guess,” Mix explained with a sneer at the bastard behind me. “Found it next to a glass table with lines set out on the top. It’s a popular date rape drug. Easy to dissolve and mix into alcohol. Thirty minutes later, the victim is sedated and doesn’t remember much of anything when they wake up.”

  Talk about breeding a generation of entitled little bastards.

  They think they’re welcome to anything.

  Money, drugs, pussy.

  I tossed the baggy back to Mix. “Get rid of it,” I ordered, satisfied with his sharp nod.

  Scratching my jaw, I turned my attention back to Cooper, who had his back pressed to the wall and a look in his eyes that let me know he was fucking petrified. The house had mostly emptied out bar a few stragglers, who were either too drunk to realize the music had stopped, or they were itching to see this little shit for brains get the crap beat out of him.

  As happy as I’d be to oblige, today wasn’t going to be their lucky day.

  “You stay the fuck away from Avery,” I snarled, my fist clenching. “Or next time I come back here, it’ll be to burn the fucking place down. With you inside.”

  I didn’t even wait to see if there was a response, turning and walking straight out the door. I learned a long time ago to pick and choose the battles I wanted to take on. While Cooper seemed like a spoiled upstart brat, there was also someone bigger and badder who made him that way. And it was them I had to be fucking aware of.

  As the club president, I had to know whether it was worth starting a war with an unknown enemy over what they’d done to Holly.

  And the answer was simple.

  No.

  She was not a part of the fucking club. It was not our job to avenge her. And I just knew Avery was going to fucking hate that.

  I stomped down the pathway toward the row of sparkling motorcycles parked up at the curb. When Tyler announced Avery was at some party, and there was shit about to go down, you can bet the club was there.

  She was mine.

  “Avery!” I called into the night.

  She stepped out from behind the door of the SUV Tyler had driven here, knowing we would probably need to somehow move Holly.

  “Get on.” I pointed to my motorcycle, and she frowned, walking down the sidewalk toward me.

  “I’m going to go with Holly,” she announced, pointing back to the SUV. Tyler had been given orders to take her to the hospital. “Need to make sure she’s okay.”

  “No. You’re going to get on the back of my fucking bike.”

  “Shotgu—”

  I stepped forward, quickly closing the gap between us. I dipped my head, my lips brushing her ear. “I will bend you over right here,” I growled under my breath, enjoying the way she shuddered, her eyes lighting up. “Holly will be fine. Tyler’s taking her to the hospital. I’ll take you up there after you and I have a conversation.”

  She swallowed hard, the movement in her throat drawing my eye, delighting my cock.

  I almost wanted her to argue.

  Just so I could remind her of why she shouldn’t.

  “Now… Get. On.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sharpness and sarcasm in her tone made me grin, but only because I knew when we got back, and we had our chat that those exact words might have a very different meaning.

  AVERY

  “How was your trip?”

  “The fuck were you thinking?” My tired body jolted as Shotgun slammed his office door behind him.

  All right, so no small talk.

  I tossed my backpack to the side of the room and pulled my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands. “I was thinking that Holly needed me, and I wasn’t about to leave my friend high and dry in that fucking frat house of hell.” The tone of my voice got stronger and higher wi
th each word.

  Shotgun knew me. He knew I was this way. The hell did he think I was going to do? Leave her there while she was drunk, drugged, and at the mercy of a group of guys who had no shame, no empathy, no protective instincts.

  “Holly has her own problems,” Shotgun argued, stomping past me to round his desk. “Problems that are not fucking yours to solve.”

  “She’s my frie—”

  “She’s on self-destruct!” he snapped, slamming his palm on the desk and making me jump. “And your loyalty to her is going to get you fucking hurt, or worse, killed.”

  My right foot floated back at his anger, an unexpected chill settling down my spine at the instant change in the air. Shotgun placed his hands on his desk, leaning into them. His dark, narrowed glare sucking the air from the room, making it hard to breathe.

  I wanted to argue with him, to tell him he was wrong, that she wasn’t in this horrible downward spiral of devastation, and that I hadn’t been ignoring it for months now. Hoping it was just a phase, while biting my tongue and trying not to tell her how to live her life.

  I was letting her fall because my own fears were clouding my judgment.

  Because I was afraid of losing someone else if I tried to step in.

  And also, because I owed her for giving me another breath of life when I was ready to break.

  Holly was the reason I was with the club. She’d introduced us. I’d fucked Shotgun the same night and became obsessed. Not just with him, but with the club, the environment and the idea that these people could give a damn about me when my own family didn’t.

  A lot of them had known Holly for longer than I had.

  But it seemed like I was the only one still hanging on.

  Why?

  That goddamn loyalty Shotgun was talking about.

  “The way she acts is dangerous. It could have got you seriously fucking hurt tonight,” Shotgun continued, his tone softening just slightly. “Assholes like those frat fuckers are sparkly clean on paper, but the things they’ll do to keep it that way…” With his palms still pressed to the large desk, his shoulders slumped. I knew it was because he was holding the weight of my decisions on them.

  And he was right.

  They were fucking heavy.

  Suffocating.

  Maybe too much.

  “I’m sorry,” I conceded when a slight air of panic began to set in. I’d broken the rules. I’d put the club in a position that they didn’t need to be in tonight. I was too risky to have around.

  “Come here.”

  I chewed my lip for a second, twisting my sleeves in my hands. “I have to get to work. I told Meyah I’d be late.”

  “Dakota’s here for the weekend with Ripley. She said she’d cover you,” he started, stepping back around his desk and making a beeline for me. “The rules say… no parties, not outside the club,” he continued, his eyes never leaving mine. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my chin up and my shoulders back despite the way this man always made me just want to get on my knees. I was a strong woman, I stood up for myself, wasn’t afraid to throw a punch or two, but the second Shotgun set his sights on me, I knew I’d give in.

  It was this game we played.

  He told me what I could and couldn’t do.

  I pushed those lines a little too far.

  Then he reminded me that he was in control, and I remembered why it felt so fucking good to let him be.

  I sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers curled around my throat and he pressed me back against the door. He didn’t squeeze but instead used the position to move me however he wanted, firstly tilting my head to the side and running his nose down my jawline. His other hand was braced against the door behind me, pinning me in.

  “I can’t figure out what’s going to get you killed first,” he murmured, his lips tracing the line of my jaw to my ear. “Your recklessness or your fucking loyalty.” My body already felt electric, buzzing, just waiting for that one spark which was going to set me alight. He had it in his hands, but before he let me have it, he was going to torture me mercilessly. A punishment that wasn’t exactly a punishment but more like a…

  … reminder.

  My mouth fell open, and I reached for him, my fingers finding his belt. “Probably both.”

  He released a low growl I felt right in my gut, making my toes curl. “I can’t have that.” His hand curled around my neck, gripping it tightly as he drew my mouth to his, our lips brushing softly against one another, drawing out the anticipation for just a second longer before he finally captured my mouth. My hands moved up under his shirt, my fingers tracing the abs he had hidden beneath, flashes of his body playing over and over in my mind. The power, the strength had me clenching my thighs and leaning into his kiss.

  Demanding more.

  He began to walk backward, forcing me to follow, refusing to lose contact as our tongues fought for dominance. However, it was over quickly when I caught his lip between my teeth. He grinned, squeezing my neck, forcing me to release him and keeping his hand on my neck as he forced me to turn and pushed my hips against his desk.

  Sliding up behind me, he pushed his hips forward, his length pressing hard against my ass and forcing a gasp to escape my lips. His hands suddenly left me, returning a second later to grab a handful of my sweatshirt and the shirt underneath to rip it up, over the top of my head.

  Where the hell it ended up? I had no fucking clue because it was only seconds later that my bra joined it.

  “Bend over. Hands flat.”

  I was already wet.

  My hips unconsciously pressing back against him, my pussy throbbing, desperately seeking his touch. I sucked in a deep breath as I placed my palms on the shiny wood desk, slowly lowering my body, the cold surface like some strange fucking torture. That was until I forced my breasts forward, my hard nipples meeting the chill. “Jesus,” I cursed under my breath, rolling the rest of the way, my whole upper body, including my forehead, pressed to the desk.

  “Feel good?”

  “Cold,” I murmured, adjusting my body a little, figuring out what felt good and what didn’t.

  “Good,” he responded, his hips still pressed hard to my ass and the tips of his fingers now trailing the length of my spine, sending a shudder rolling through me like an earthquake. “The cold is going to feel just right after I make your ass red and hot.”

  His fingertips reached the waistband of my tights, one hooking inside and then painfully slow, dragging them and my panties down over my ass to mid-thigh. I dare not move, not even as he stepped back to appreciate the view in front of him.

  “So wet, so fucking pretty.”

  “Shotgun…” I hissed like his name was a curse word. That was how I felt about it right now, how badly I wanted him to touch me, how badly I needed to feel him wrapped around me like he was the only one who could catch me when I fell to pieces.

  Smack.

  My whole body jumped, the sharp sting on my ass cheek drawing a desperate moan from me while my fingernails scratched at the wood beneath me. My clit was so alive, throbbing and aching to be touched.

  Shotgun moved in behind me, bracing his hands on the table and leaving just enough space between our bodies so I could feel him there but so he wasn’t quite fucking touching me. He pressed his lips to my shoulder blades, working his way down my spine. “One enough?”

  I wanted to say yes.

  I wanted to beg him to just touch me.

  Or fuck me.

  Or something.

  But instead, the word that came out as a whisper was, “No.”

  His soft laughter told me he already knew the answer before I’d given it. I wasn’t surprised. The way he knew my body was something else. He knew what I wanted before I wanted it, and he wasn’t afraid to push it to limits that even I wasn’t sure it could go.

  Smack.

  I lifted on my tiptoes, chewing on my lip hard through the sting on my other cheek. “Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, rolling my hips. My body
was alive. My heart racing, pounding. That was what I craved, and it was always what Shotgun gave me.

  The heatwave moved through me, turning into more of a deep burn. A fire that had just started to come alive, and with a bit of extra help, would blaze with fury.

  “Good girl,” he growled, reaching for my hair and twisting it around his fist before using it to pull me up to a standing position. “You ready to come now?”

  “Yes,” I hissed.

  His free hand curled around my hip and over my stomach, slipping between my legs. “Yes… what?” he growled, his lips brushing my ear. Goddamn him. I knew he’d make me pay for it. I should have kept my mouth shut earlier. Instead, the ‘yes, sir’ had fucking slipped out in annoyance.

  My sarcasm occasionally knew no boundaries.

  Especially with Shotgun.

  Maybe a part of my brain realizing that every smart-mouth remark would come with a reaction. A reaction that I more than often fucking craved.

  I gritted my teeth, his hand hovering teasingly on my lower stomach. “Yes, sir,” I replied, letting out a long steady breath I’d been holding. His lips instantly found my neck, and I leaned back against him, my body loving the familiar feeling and smell of his leather.

  Especially against my naked skin.

  His finger slipped between my folds, instantly finding my clit.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, stretching up on my toes. I grabbed his arm with one hand, the other reaching behind me, holding the back of Shotgun’s neck as he peppered kisses down over my shoulder. My nails pinched at his skin while his fingers flicked across my clit. “Fuck.”

  No slow burn here.

  He wasn’t fucking around this time.

  He was going to make me come, hard and fucking fast, and I had no idea if I was prepared.

  My body had a mind of its own, my ass grinding back against his hard cock that was still held captive in his jeans. This wasn’t about that for him. This was a reminder. This was him making sure I knew who was in charge. That I shouldn’t underestimate the control he had over my body and just how easily he could manipulate it.