Then Beanie was at my side. He spoke pleasantly to Laurent. “We’ll respect Belle’s choices here. If she wants to go with you, it’s no problem.” He smiled. “If she doesn’t, don’t make an ass of yourself, a’ight?”
Laurent’s face twitched, “Just mind your own business, pretty boy,” and he whacked Beanie’s shoulder with the heel of his hand.
The whole clubhouse seemed to go quiet and still. Beanie looked down at his shoulder like a bug had crawled on it. His eyes swiveled back to Laurent. “You could be needing your manners upgraded, Laurent.”
Laurent shoved him again. Beanie’s arm shot out like a whip. His open hand caught Laurent under the chin. Laurent’s head snapped back and his arms windmilled as he staggered backwards into the bar.
Glasses flew. As they fell to shatter on the floor, bikers backed away to leave a clear circle around the four of us. Laurent drew his arm back with his fist clenched.
Priest grabbed him and said, “Take this out back into the ring.” Laurent was shaking. Priest went on, “You won’t make so much of a mess when Beanie breaks you, and we can all make some money betting against you.”
Chapter 12
THERE WERE HALOS IN the smoky air that clouded around the low lights. The ring was the only part of the barn that was lit. Word of a grudge match, a fight fueled by raw anger, set a buzz round the room.
Bikers were looking to bet, but almost nobody backed Laurent. Beanie was taller, but stripped to the waist, Laurent was heavier and more solid. With the tape strapped around them, his fists looked huge.
Maybe it was the lights, but he looked heftier and harder than last time I’d seen him. That was no more than two weeks ago. Could he really have put on so much bulk? It looked like it was mostly muscle, too.
When he swung his arms and rolled his shoulders he looked like a weapon of flesh. I couldn’t believe it was the same man.
Light on his feet, Beanie bounced on the canvas and warmed up. He jabbed, firing his arms out in fast volleys. His head was low and his grey eyes glowed.
Two men, both of them in fine shape, were in the ring to slug it out. Over me.
There was a lot wrong with the way I felt about that, and I knew it. Damn, it felt good, though.
The bikers in the room roared as the bout began. There was no room for doubt about who they were cheering for.
I was for Beanie, too, but my body sang and vibrated with tension and tingling, crackling excitement.
With their fists up and their heads low they circled each other. They sprang and circled, slow and deliberate.
Beanie was lighter, more agile, but Laurent looked powerful.
Beanie threw a punch, Laurent knocked it aside. He threw another and Laurent deflected again.
Beanie jabbed hard and fast. Laurent dodged easily and sprang a punch to Beanie’s body. It connected, and my gut felt the sickening sound. Beanie sprang back.
They sparred like that for some time, probing, feeling each other out. Beanie seemed to have the skills. Laurent had the strength.
Soon a sheen of sweat made their tense bodies shimmer. I strained at the edge of the ring, leaned over the canvas. I shouted for Beanie. Laurent sneered with a cruel leer whenever he heard me.
Then Beanie landed a blow on Laurent’s head. Then another, and another before Laurent could retreat out of range. Beanie moved in after him. Laurent slung an evil, low jab.
Beanie sprang back, but not far enough. Laurent’s fist connected with a thud. Beanie’s eyes bulged and his face creased as the blow landed. Right away, he let loose a fast rattle of punches right at Laurent’s head.
Most of the blows connected loudly, and Laurent stumbled backwards.
Beanie moved in. There was a noise from behind me in the crush, a squall and a rush.
Hawk, his face red, burst through and charged the ring. Beanie’s startled face turned with his body to face Hawk and block him. Laurent’s fists lashed Beanie hard on the face. A quick salvo of hard strikes knocked Beanie backward.
Hawk lunged at the two men. He caught Laurent and the two of them went to the mat. Hawk’s fists slammed into Laurent’s head. The nauseating drumbeat thundered in the echo of the room.
The crowd pressed behind me, and I thought I could be crushed. Beanie leapt and locked his arm around Hawk’s throat. He used his other hand to pull the lock tight. He squeezed and Hawk’s eyes began to roll.
Priest shouted. He rushed the ring from behind me and grabbed a hold of Beanie. Beanie kept on squeezing. Priest whacked Beanie hard with his forearm and Beanie went down.
Hawk fell limp when Beanie let go. Laurent flailed underneath him.
Chapter 13
BEANIE SLUMPED ON THE mat. His head shook slowly. Laurent crawled out from under Hawk. He moved toward Beanie, but Priest blocked him. From the bikers around the barn came a noise between a rumble and a growl.
The sound should have told Laurent if he laid a hand on Beanie now, he wouldn’t get out alive. Priest told him it in words.
Jascinta moved quickly onto the mat and over to where Hawk lay. She held the back of her hand under Hawk's nose. She pulled his eyelids open one by one and peered into them. Then she hauled him onto his side.
Moving around his body, Jascinta pulled up Hawk’s knee, then his arm. She pulled his mouth open and poked her fingers inside.
By her brisk, efficient movement, she was following a practiced procedure.
Priest said, “Is he going to be OK?”
Jascinta nodded.
Beanie got to his feet slowly. Priest clapped a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay. Beanie nodded.
Priest’s voice was low and firm. He told Laurent, “It would be timely if you fucked right off about now. That way, we won’t have to wipe your carotid spray off the walls.”
Laurent’s temple throbbed. His neck bulged. Priest’s eyes narrowed. “You’re pumped on ’roids. You sold ’roids to Hawk, didn’t you?” Laurent looked dumbstruck. I could see the familiar fury rise. Thwarted again.
Priest’s eyes narrowed. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Laurent didn’t move. Priest said, “No one else here would have been that dumb.”
His hand was still on Beanie’s shoulder. He said, “Sorry about the slam, Beanie. I like Hawk, too, but I need you whole.” Waving his hand at Laurent, he said, “I don’t give a fuck about this piece of shit, and I don’t care enough about the two of them together that I’d risk losing you.”
Priest’s chin straightened and flattened. Beanie’s mouth tightened. Priest said, “Not to the jail or the morgue.” They looked in each other’s eyes a moment.
Watching, I felt a surge of feeling for the commitment these men gave to each other.
Priest turned back to Laurent. “You, fucker.” His voice was cold and hard now. “You came into our club and you brought drugs to sell? You dealt drugs in a biker bar, and you didn’t even think to discuss it with us?”
Laurent was gathering his response. Priest didn’t give him time. “Forget about what kind of drugs they were—how did you think that would not get you killed, asshole?”
Priest’s hand went to Laurent’s shoulder. He spun Laurent around fast and got his arm tight around Laurent’s neck. He put a knee into Laurent’s back and stretched. Laurent’s face flushed red and he shook.
His arms trembled and he reached for Priest’s arm. Then his legs twitched. He went limp. Priest let him slide to the floor. Still kneeling by Hawk, Jascinta looked up at Priest. She made no move.
Priest told her, “He’ll be out for twenty minutes. Half an hour, at most.” He turned to Beanie with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s if I timed it right,” he said, and he shrugged.
Priest beckoned a group of bikers over. “Sling him in the back of that despicable pimp boat outside. Drive him about fifteen minutes or so into the desert. If he comes round before you leave, knock him out again.”
I said, “Will he survive, Priest?”
“Probably, Belle. But, you know what? I
honestly don’t care either way.
Beanie’s eyes welled as he bro-hugged Priest.
“You, Hawk… well, I’m not one to tell a bro his business, but I’d put some thought to how you conducted yourself these past few days.”
“You,” Priest turned to me. “I’m claiming you.” I nearly came on the spot. He said, “For the club. For Beanie.” His smile was evil as he said, “For tonight.”
I still wasn’t clear with myself, about what it was I really wanted. I knew that right now, though, it was in this club. It was with Priest and Beanie.
Chapter 14
PRIEST’S DARK BROWS GLISTENED as they knotted. He emitted a low growl as he gripped harder in Carlie’s messy blonde cascades. Down on all fours, her back arced and her butt cheeks rippled as Priest’s heavy thighs slammed against the tops of her widespread legs. Her eyes rolled a sPriest slapped her ass and his grip tightened.
Between my own wet thighs, Beanie swelled and throbbed. I gasped as he parted and filled me. I clawed in my hair and my breath fled as his velvety ridges stretched the walls of my flower. Deep inside me, sensation welled and brimmed.
I traced the intricate ink and the burr of shaved tribal swirls on his almost naked scalp. My thighs clenched and trembled as he pulled me wider. He lifted my thighs as he penetrated deeper and I shook from deep within.
The thrumming heat of my wetness clung around his fat girth as his rhythm hardened and he forced himself farther.
Carlie’s wet lips parted and her eyebrows raised as she shook. Priest plunged harder into her. I traced her lips with my finger as rolling, boiling waves of tension and release bubbled and burst through me.
Beanie belted into me. He yanked my hair and he slapped my ass as his full red lips sank onto my aching nipple.
I clawed and arched and gushed when his pump cannoned hot lava blasts into me.
We had a bond. A network of bonds, really. There was a connection between Priest and me, Carlie and me and definitely Beanie and me. There were also links both ways between the men and Carlie.
The trust between Beanie and Priest something extraordinary to me. It wasn’t just the biker camaraderie and code. Those two really cared about each other, and it seemed to light their other relationships.
I felt very privileged to be part of this group, this tiny and exclusive club within the club.
Beads of sweat sprayed from Beanie’s brow as his head shook. Priest shouted, and the two men reached up to slap a high five.
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LAURENT
DEVIL’S HAND
Laurent was a massive cock on legs. I saw it the first time our eyelines crossed. Fine legs, attached to a smoking bod, it has to be said. But even the steel balls of his hard, rolling ass are nothing but a delivery system, a means of propulsion for that rock of a cock.
Laurent is driven by one thing only. To pump that monster into every beautiful woman he sees. It doesn’t make for much of a challenge when businesswomen, cheerleaders, teachers, cocktail waitresses – every kind of beautiful women — start tugging at their clothes and primping the moment he struts into a room.
Ordinary girls and women have the same reaction too, of course, but only Laurent doesn’t ever notice. Never except for me, for some reason. I still don’t have a clue why me.
He isn’t dumb, not in any way. Thinking simply doesn’t occupy much of his time or energy. He makes his living, such as it is, providing muscle for bike gangs. That and what he takes from poker tables.
He could be a poker pro and make real money. Serious money. If he’d ever stop still long enough to hone his skills. If he would concentrate on one thing for more than ten minutes at a time. And if that one thing wasn’t a plump, hungry pussy.
He can focus on a pussy all day long. Long enough to get the girl’s attention — usually less than a minute — long enough to get her panties thoroughly wet — literally the twinkling of an eye — and long enough to get them off her. That’s a few more seconds.
He can look at a woman’s pussy through her eyes, he can taste it breathing into her ear. He can get a scent of it from the hollow by her collarbone. He can feel her arousal as the tip of his tongue grazes the side of her neck.
And he has the devil’s hand.
After that, his attention span will mostly depend on the girl’s stamina, her imagination and inventiveness, and by how outrageously filthy she is.
With me he was different.
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© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014 - 2018
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.
All the people portrayed in this story are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary. If you think that you know some of them, or that you may be one of them, then you should consider writing fiction yourself.
Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing
Beanie: Chokehold – A reverse harem MC romance (Steel Riders Book 3) Page 3
