SALVATION IN CHAOS
Linny Lawless
Salvation in Chaos
By Linny Lawless
Copyright January 2018 by Linda Lawson
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Some of the places named in the book are actual places found in Virginia. The names, characters, brands, and incidents are either the product of my imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
This book contains mature content and is intended for adults 18+ only.
Cover Model: Darren Birks, Book Covers and More with Darren Birks Photography
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About
RATCHET
When I stake my claim on Sam, she drugs me, steals my money and runs off like a frightened rabbit on a rainy night at Bike Week. I was determined to find her again, and when I do she’s with Sid and the Hell Hounds MC. She’s the Real I never knew I needed. I don’t give a damn what she’s done to survive. I will protect what’s mine and keep her safe from the Hell she escaped from.
SAM
I was property of the Hell Hounds MC. Used, violated, abused. I knew I would be as good as dead if I didn’t escape Sid and the club. So I ran and tried to blend in with rowdy crowds at Bike Week. But then the huge scruffy biker who called himself Ratchet of the Chaos Kings MC claimed me as his, I ran from him. I dreaded and hoped I would see him again. He showed me kindness with his touch that took my breath away and made my body tingle.
Dedication
To Norman. My Biker Man, Best Friend, and Husband
Ratchet
I took a long swig of beer to chase down the third whiskey shot I just shared with my club brother, Gunner. We recently rode 300 miles from Stayford County, Virginia to the Eastern Maryland Coastline for the 20th annual Bike Week event. The other members of our club, Chaos Kings MC, rode in earlier as a group. We both needed a quick stop in at one of the usual hang out biker bars, Buckhorns Saloon. One of the many bars that were open for a long weekend full of thousands of bikers. The first raindrops landed and splattered on our gas tanks as we parked our bikes in the lot and planted our kickstands down.
I sat with Gunner at the bar and scoped out the scene around me. Most of the bikers were already getting their heavy induced buzzes going, fueled by alcohol and other illegal substances. A red-haired woman with huge paid-for tits rode the mechanical bull next to the stage, where a southern rock cover band played Mustang Sally. She moved her hips back and forth to the rhythm of the slow bucking bull as bikers hollered and whistled. She pulled her sparkly tank top off and swung it around a few times before throwing it at the horny bikers.
The redhead reminded me a little of Mandi back home. Mandi was the sweet butt I’d been bangin’ for a few months. Fuckin’ her was fun, and she was a wildcat, likin’ it on the rough side. And that was fine with me cause I only knew good, hard pounding, rough fuckin’. And that’s all I was gonna get out of it. But I did need a break from her every now and then. Just doses of Wildcat Mandi were enough. And the long ride with Gunner to Bike Week was the right prescription for what I needed.
It was the same crazy biker shit. You drank a lot, listen to some live music, get your dick sucked, or get laid. It was just another year.
I kept my head down but lifted my eyes up to survey the rest of the place. I scanned the other side of the horseshoe-shaped bar. A biker was waiting to be served by one of the bikini wearing bartender girls; two women cackling and talking amongst each other; some were whooping and hollering, wiggling on the barstools to the live music. A cute petite brunette with some really sexy pouty lips was sitting by herself, alone, wide-eyed, staring at her beer, scraping and peeling the label off the wet bottle with her finger.
I nudged Gunner, “Twelve o’clock, brother. See her? Brunette, nice lips. Nice dick suckin’ lips?”
He looked in that direction and saw her, “Yeah… She’s fuckable.”
I started to imagine those pretty lips wrapped around my hard dick when a bald, middle-aged biker in a jean vest rubbed up against the girl’s back. Then he bent down behind her and whispered something in her ear. She didn’t seem to know the guy and didn’t look as if she liked it either. I tilted my bottle up to my mouth and downed the rest of it.
“I’m goin’ for it. Try and get my dick wet... I’ll be back.”
I left my barstool next to Gunner and walked around the bar and up behind the bald biker. I tapped him on the shoulder and grabbed the front of his jean jacket the moment he turned around to face me.
“Hey fuck-wad, this one belongs to me. So, get your whiskey dick off my property and walk!” I growled between my clenched jaw and bared teeth.
I released his jacket, and he raised his hands up, “Ok, ok, Man. My bad. I’m walkin’.”
The girl grabbed a back-pack and was off the barstool before I even turned to her. She was quick and moved through the sea of drunk bikers, blue jeans, and black leather toward the parking lot outside.
So, she likes to be chased… And caught, I thought to myself and followed her path outside.
Sam
I bumped into a woman, and her drink spilled down the front of her shirt.
“Hey! Watch it, Bitch!” she yelled out, but I was already five steps away. Once out the bay doors, I felt the steady raindrops land on my face.
I didn’t know where to go or what to do next. But I knew not to go back in there. I had to keep a low profile. Not be noticed. Not be seen. But the perverted biker rubbed up against me and whispered in my ear where on my body he wanted to rub his dick on. And the moment the tall biker intervened was my opportunity to make a break for it.
The lot was full of at least 100 motorcycles parked under the street lights, and I saw a dark gravel path that led to the main road toward the ocean’s coastal highway. I wrapped my arms around myself and started to walk in that direction, as the rain fell, soaking through my hair and clothes.
“You’re not gonna get away that fast.”
Big hands captured my upper arms and swung me back around. I looked up, and up at the tall biker who called just me his property.
He released me and tilted his head, looking down at me, “You scampered off like a scared little bunny rabbit. You didn’t look like you were enjoying that dipshit rubbing his whiskey dick on you.” His voice was low and deep.
My mouth suddenly went dry, and I didn’t know what to say to the hulk size biker. It was dark, but I could make out that his dark hair was a bit long, past the collar of his cut, and a bit messy. His long dark beard covered a chiseled square jaw. I could also make out tattoos that covered both huge muscled arms with intricate designs.
I mustered up the use of my voice, “I had to get out of there. I. I… can’t go back in there.”
I hoped he didn’t take my stuttering as an opening to try and finish what the other biker tried to start with me.
“Well, you’re not gonna walk alone. Not in the dark, and not in this rain.”
“But I can’t go back in there! I can’t –“
“Ok. You don’t gotta do anything you don’t wanna… I see you got your own lid there on your pack. You can get on my bike, and I’ll take you where you wanna go.”
I stared at him for a moment. So far, he didn’t try anything on me when he could have or say anything to set me off to run from him. Even though he was so much bigger than me, he seemed safe. So, I followed two paces behind him, toward the pa
rking lot full of bikes. He stopped, but I didn’t. My face smashed into his broad back. He turned around when I stepped back, and I heard a low chuckle.
“I don’t just get any chick on my bike without even knowing her name… They call me Ratchet.”
“I’m Sam… And thank you. For getting that biker off me.”
The side of his mouth lifted into a smirk. He was probably amused at what he was looking at - a soaking wet mess.
“Not a problem. Now let’s ride and get you somewhere dry.”
When I got on his bike, I kept my hands to myself. I leaned back, away from Ratchet.
“Hold on, Little Rabbit. Don’t want you scampering off again.”
He was thick as a tree and smelled of whiskey, cigarettes, leather, and rain. I placed my hands on the sides of his waist. He kicked the stand up with his booted heel, twisted on the throttle in first gear and rode us out of the parking lot onto the main road.
Ratchet road me twenty blocks up the coastal highway. I didn’t have anywhere to stay or go for that matter. He must have figured that out when he pulled us up to a stoplight.
He turned his head toward me, “I have a room three blocks up. You wanna go there and dry off? And don’t worry. I won’t rub up on you, Little Rabbit.”
We were both soaking wet. “Ok,” I squeaked out against his ear.
He had a room at one of the many beach motels along the coastal highway. A queen-size bed with a light blue blanket. The dresser and night tables looked about thirty years old, and the sandy colored walls had some beach photos with sea shells and sand.
Ratchet handed me a dry towel so that I could dry off. I started wiping my face and hair and looked down at myself. My nipples were hard as rocks, and they pressed up against my light blue tank top. I slid the towel down to cover myself. I looked up at him, and he suddenly looked away. He took his leather cut off and hung it on the back of a wooden chair. I recognized his club patch – The Chaos Kings MC – a grinning skull, wearing a Viking helmet on top of two crossed battle axes.
“Do you know any Chaos?” he asked me as I looked at his colors.
“No… but I know of your club…”
Reaching into the side pocket, he pulled out his cigarettes and a flask. He twisted the top open and took a sip of whatever was in it. He offered it to me, “Take a sip. It’ll warm you up some.”
I took a small sip and coughed a few times from the burning taste. But it felt warm sliding down my throat, and my chest flushed from cold to warm. I handed the flask back to him, setting it on the nightstand.
He took a few steps toward me. I leaned my head back to look up at him. He was at least 6’3”. His messy dark hair was soaked and hung down over his brow. He was so close I could see that his eyes were a pale shade of brown with little tiny specs of amber in the irises. My stomach did a summersault, and I felt my neck and cheeks flush again with warmth, but not from the whiskey.
He stared down at my mouth as I opened it, not knowing what to say with him so close to me again. This was much different than sitting behind him on his bike. He reached up and lightly grazed his calloused thumb across my lower lip.
“I want to taste those lips of yours, Little Rabbit…”
He leaned down and covered my lips with his. His tongue slid into my mouth slowly at first. He tasted so good that my tongue couldn’t stop from swirling around his. I suddenly moaned into his mouth, and his huge hands grasped my hips. He squeezed just a little, taking another step closer to me.
I felt him hard against my fluttering stomach. He released me from the slow kiss. “I’m not going to stop, Sam. Unless you want me to,” he grumbled low, his eyes staring at me so intently with that hunger that I had seen in the eyes of other men. Other men who hurt me. Violated me… I stepped back away from him in the next second.
My fight or flight mode suddenly kicked in. “Please stop!” I pleaded, “I mean… sorry… just please don’t hurt me… I’ll do whatever you want.”
He released my hips and stepped back, “Shhhh… It’s ok, Little Rabbit. I’m not gonna hurt you...”
There were a few seconds of silence. He turned and walked over to his duffle bag. Pulling out a dry t-shirt, he handed it to me.
“I’m gonna go take a piss. You can get out of those wet clothes and wear that t-shirt. It’ll be big on you, but its dry.”
Ratchet
I went to the bathroom and took a piss with a semi-hard on. I didn’t intend on frightening Sam. But I couldn’t resist getting just one kiss from her. And I didn’t expect my dick to get hard that quick from just a kiss either. When I left the bathroom, Sam was in bed under the covers wearing my t-shirt. She was lying on her side, her back to me. She probably needed sleep, I thought. It was clear to me the little rabbit was running away from something or someone. She was trying to blend in at the Buckhorns Saloon. She didn’t want to attract any attention it seemed. That’s why she shot out of there so fast.
I walked back to the nightstand, grabbed the flask and smokes and headed out the door. Leaning up against the wall next to motel room window, I took a drink from the flask and lit a cig. Taking a long drag and watching the smoke cloud float away as I exhaled, I kept watch. Was Sam a sweet-butt from a club? She wasn’t wearing any properties. Just that tank top, where I could see her perky hard nipples poking against it. My dick jumped again.
The Chaos Kings didn’t treat their women like sheep. Yes, they could wear properties signifying they belonged to a club member and it was all in respect and high regard. Women were never beaten or used in any way for money, or drugs or anything else for illegal gain. If a woman was mistreated by a member, the Chaos Kings gave a good beat down, and the piece of shit was kicked out of the club.
My head felt all fuzzy when I flicked away my smoke. I only took a few swigs from the flask, and then walked back into the room. Sam was still asleep, curled up in a ball on her side under the blankets. The room started to spin, and I felt so fuckin’ sleepy. I stripped off my wet clothes and slid under the covers next to Sam’s small frame. Laying a forearm over my eyes, I was out like a fuckin’ light.
I opened my eyes against the throbbing pain in my head. I let out a groan, sitting up and swinging my legs off the bed. “Fuck….me…,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples.
The girl must have slipped something into my flask the night before. I was now feeling the effects of a drug-induced hangover. I opened one eye and looked down to see my wallet lying next to my wet jeans on the floor. Snatching up it up, I opened it. Only a one-hundred-dollar bill left. The other five were gone. I turned back toward the bed and saw my t-shirt bunched up and lying in the same spot where Sam was sleeping. She was gone.
“Son… of… a … Bitch... The little rabbit got away, and with some of my fuckin’ cash.”
The rest of Bike Week was just a blur. Thousands of bikers swarmed the local bars along the Maryland ocean coast. The parking lots jam-packed with motorcycles. It was like spring break for bikers. All the debauchery, burnouts, loud pipes, live music, alcohol, drugs, and women wearing next to nothing congregated once a year. And I searched for Sam at every place I stopped in at with my brothers. I surveyed every bar, every crowd, but never found the sly little rabbit.
“So that pint-sized chick pulled a fast one on ya, huh? Stole your money too… It’s not fuckin’ easy to slip something over you, brother,” Gunner said as I scoped out Shark Fins, one of the many bars tailored for bikers this week.
I didn’t respond, and the questions kept churning in my fuckin’ head. Did she belong to an MC? Was she someone’s property? Would I ever see her again? I didn’t care about the stolen cash. I only knew her name and that she was on the run. But when I find her, I was going to get those questions answered. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I should have just fucked her, but I stopped kissing her sweet lips when she got frightened. Now I don’t blame her for running off since I did tell her I wouldn’t try to rub up on her that night.
A week later
> I noticed the three Harleys parked outside the Crow Bar as I pulled in ahead of Gunner and shut my ignition off on my Night Train. They belonged to the Hell Hounds MC.
“See what I see?” I said to Gunner nodding toward the bikes. He turned his ignition off his Road King as he pulled up alongside me.
“This might not be a happy ending to a good day’s ride.”
Gunner shrugged his shoulders, kicking his stand down, “Yeah… Well, hopefully they’re payin’ their bar tab right about now and fuckin’ leavin’.”
The Hell Hounds were a diamond club. A one percenter club. An outlaw club. They wore a three-piece patch. Their top rocker “Hell Hounds”, their center patch depicting a black dog with three snarling heads, and bottom rocker “Virginia”. Their Virginia chapter resided in the same county as the Chaos Kings. They made their money in dealing meth, and prostitution. Every member had a criminal record, from drugs, prostitution, robbery, to assault, rape and even charges of murder, but no convictions. The Steel Cage, a strip club across the county line, was their main hang out. There were rumors about suspicious illegal shit conducted behind closed doors at the club. Sometimes I heard ties to Russian Mafia. Some of my brothers had frequented the club before. Not me. And I didn’t want to have to end violent shit that the Hounds would start, especially wearing my colors in a club they claimed was their turf.
Today was a perfect day to ride out west to the Shenandoah mountains. Just me and Gunner. Now I had to keep my good mood in check hoping that nothing ugly would happen inside with the Hounds.
Greaser, the owner of the fine establishment, popped the tops off a couple of beer bottles as we grabbed some stools at the bar. I took a first long guzzle of the nice cold brew and lit a smoke.
“How’s it hangin’, Grease?”
“It’s hangin’, Ratchet. How was Bike Week? I see you and Gunner came back in one piece,” Greaser replied, his graying hair greased up 50’s style in a pompadour.
Salvation in Chaos (CKMC Book 1) Page 1
