“Dude,” Breaker replies, “Did you hear it or not?”
Henry looks directly at me with a smile so wide it looks as if it will jump off his face, “Oh yeah. I heard her…”
“Fine. Tell Biggs and get this over with.” He grabs Henry’s arm and shoves him towards Biggs’s door.
Henry knocks twice and stands back. All of us collectively hold our breaths, though the smell of cigarettes and booze choke us when the door finally opens.
Biggs grunts. “It’s about damn time.” He is stripped down to his boxers and a dirty, stained wifebeater tank. He smells as foul as he looks. “Did you hear it, Henry?”
“Yeah. I heard it. I’ll confer as the second.”
Biggs sniffs and spits before saying, “Fine, but I wanna talk to the girl before I sign off.” I don’t have time to retort before his dirty nails are digging into my arm and pulling me into his bedroom. The door slams behind us, and I immediately realize how trapped I am in this dingy room with the metal locks all hooked up.
I stand firm by the window. “I did it. Is that what you need to know?”
“I know you did it. I could hear you through the walls—all that panting and screaming. I didn’t know a little girl like you had it in ya. But now that I do…” He approaches me in a flash, coming so close that I feel his beard brush up against my shoulder. A shot flicks up my spine as I back myself into the wall. It’s a mistake, and I know it.
Biggs smiles as he pushes his body into mine. “Do you know what it means to be someone’s woman when you’re part of the Gravediggers? It means that I control you as much as I control your lover. When I say ‘jump, you jump.’ And when I say ‘strip down,’ you best be on my bed butt naked within seconds.”
Whatever bit of courage I have left in me seems to boil to the surface as I place my hands on his chest and push away as hard as I can. “No!” I scream out. “I won’t do it. I’m Breaker’s girl, and you don’t mess with me.” The words fly out before I can even consider them.
Biggs lands on the side of the bed, his chubby legs still dangling off. He laughs heartily as he says, “We’ll see about that, girly. You think you’re safe from me, but you don’t know the half of what I can do to you when your boy ain’t around.”
“Can I go now?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“For now.” He gestures towards the door. “But I’d watch your back if I were you.”
“I will,” I promise over the sound of my racing pulse beating war drums in my ears. I don’t look back. I spin towards the door and unlatch each and every lock with shaking hands. Biggs continues to laugh at me as I struggle, but I get out eventually.
Breaker is waiting for me on the other side; his long arms catching me as I stumble out. “Whoa there, Aimee. What the hell is the matter? What did Biggs say?”
“It’s done,” I reply quickly, yet not knowing what I mean. Biggs never gave his approval, but I was more focused on his aggressive stance toward me.
“It’s your turn, Breaker. Shut the door behind you,” Biggs calls out from the open door.
Breaker lets go of me and walks into the room; a different man than the one who shared a bed with me. This was the other side of him, the motorcycle maniac linked and loyal to a total psychopath. And suddenly, I’m back to that question; what the hell have I done?
I ignore Henry, still stammering about how tired he is, and run towards the outer edge of the motel where the parking lot is. I know I can’t run far. If I even cross this line, I’ll have at least ten bikers on my trail within minutes. Desperation comes over me, but I’m stuck where I am. My feet become cinder blocks attached to weak legs, and I fall to the ground overwhelmed with grief.
From this spot, the highway becomes the waves from my past. I remember staring out at them three years ago when I ran away for good. I had run straight towards the edge of the island and, having only found the ocean, I tossed rocks into the waves until my eyes became heavy and the sun rose.
Hours earlier, that very day, my dad had hit me again. I was only eighteen and ready to go to college, but he caught me in my mom’s purse. It was the first time I had attempted to steal from them, and he made it known that it would be the last. Every part of my face burned with the imprint of his hand, but I packed up and headed towards the water in hopes of finding a way to escape.
And there it was—right as I was about to leave, I noticed a green, designer purse handle buried under a pile of sand. It called to me as I clawed it out of the fresh groove. Inside the purse was my freedom—over $200 in cash and some credit cards with IDs. The girl looked nothing like me, but it would get me out of here if I played it right.
I booked a ticket to California hours later, and I never looked back at those waves again. Nor did I ever let myself fall victim to a man like my father or the ex who taught me how to steal like a pro. Those rocks sinking into the water was me promising myself that this was it. There was no way I would be a victim to anyone again. I was going to survive whatever was out there waiting for me.
Still in the motel’s parking lot, slumped on the ground, I find a cement rock within reach. I pick it up, examining its curves and edges, before hurling it out towards the highway. It hits with an audible crack, breaking into a tiny, unseen pieces on the ground. I close my eyes again, listening to the roar of the cars passing by, and I think about all the promises I have made to myself thus far.
I am a survivor. I will make decisions that will help me live to see tomorrow.
I will give Breaker what he wants in exchange for the freedom he has promised me. But I am not going to let myself be owned by anyone, no matter what Biggs may say or threaten.
From here on out, I do what my mind and body think is right.
Chapter Eight
Breaker
“You get her in line, Breaker. You’re an enforcer. You should know how to keep a woman in line…” I’m on minute twenty of Biggs’ lecture, and quite frankly, it’s becoming nothing but a long stream of bullshit. He continues on, though, even as my eyes glaze over. “The situation with Wesley can’t happen again. She’s just a little bitch. She’s not worth breaking the fucking club up over it!”
Finally, I can’t take it any longer. I find myself standing up and walking towards the door with my back to Biggs. He spins me around with his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Breaker? You dare to walk out on me?”
“Yeah,” I snap, my nostrils flaring. “I’m walking the fuck out of here. I’m done with you scolding me like a kid. I’m not a fucking kid. I’ve been in this club for fifteen years now. I know the rules. You know I’m loyal and wouldn’t do shit to bring it down over some girl.” I sigh as I add, “If you can’t see that, then I’m more than happy to take my services elsewhere.”
“Don’t be such a fucking bitch,” he snarls. He walks back towards the dresser and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up, he continues speaking through the fresh smoke. “She’s a nice pair of titties and has a sweet little ass. I’m more of a blonde kind of guy, but that’s what the boys want nowadays.”
“What’s the goddamn point, Biggs?”
“The point is that when we get to Texas, we’re going to need new avenues, and she could be a start. You keep her in line, or I’ll make the decision to send her out walking with the rest of the ladies I’ve got lined up.”
“You wouldn’t,” I respond in disbelief. “You gave her your word that she could work for you fair and square.”
He laughs, but it catches in his throat, and he ends up hacking up half a lung before he can continue. “If you’ve been in this club as long as you say,” he says, a quiet menace seething through his voice, “you know my word means shit to anyone but real club members. I can do whatever the fuck I want to do with her if it’s good for business.”
My blood boils as I growl back, “She’s my woman now. You agreed. Whatever decision you make goes through me.”
He lifts his hands in defense as he continues to shake with la
ughter. Bitter sarcasm fills his voice and darkens his face. “Oh, I hear you,” he says with a nasty grin, “I really hear you, Breaker. She’s your girl.”
Again, I’ve had enough. I walk back towards the door, swinging it open in a rage. I walk the short distance back to my motel room, not caring about the few men watching me from their windows or Henry waiting for me outside. I’ve had to deal with too much shit today as it is.
I shut the door behind me and peel back the bedding, which is still a mess from earlier—it even still smells like Aimee. In the room next to me, Biggs turns the volume up on his TV again. I turn off the lights and try to drown out everything, including the thoughts running rampant through my head.
A few minutes pass, and I hear the click of the door. Someone fumbles with the lock, shaking the handle. I sit up straight, wondering if this was Biggs exacting some revenge. I reach for the gun I placed earlier on the bedside table, and my hand wraps around the handle.
“Who the fuck is there?” I ask louder, puffing out my chest.
The door clicks again, unlocking this time. A beam of light creeps in, and a figure appears. My grip tightens on the gun until I hear her voice.
“It’s me. It’s Aimee. Henry said I should sleep in here tonight.” The door shuts, and she enters the darkness.
I watch her shadow sit down on the old upholstered chair near the desk. “Can I borrow a blanket?” Her voice cracks as if she’s been crying; though I can’t imagine a girl like her shedding any tears no what matter the reason.
“Why don’t you just sleep here?” I say before I can stop myself.
“Are you sure?”
Even she senses my reluctance.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Just lay down. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and we’re both going to feel it in the morning.”
Without a word, she slips in next to me, and I notice she must have stripped down on the chair, as she’s only wearing her bra and a pair of panties. Her sun-kissed skin is still warm, though. We both lay facing the ceiling, neither turning towards the other nor rolling away. Eventually, she falls even more still, and the small amount of light on her face shows that her eyes are closed, with her lips slightly open.
Hours pass where I do nothing but listen to the sound of her deep breathing into the pillow. It’s oddly comforting, though, in the past, the last thing I have ever wanted is someone laying next to me like this. I’m not one for body heat and compromising the middle part of the bed. Most girls got kicked to the curb the minute I pulled out of them. Still, I listen to each breath, eventually counting them down until my eyes finally grow heavy and her breathing becomes my breathing.
….
“Good morning Colorado! It’s another beautiful day out there. Sunny, high of eighty-two, and not a cloud in sight. For all of you already out on the road and on your way to work, here’s a song to start your day off right…”
The bedroom fills with the sound of some 70’s pop song I vaguely recognize playing over that damn alarm clock I forgot I had set yesterday. I moan into the pillow as I look over at the time. It’s a little after eight. No one should be that goddamn cheerful this early. I slam my fist into the clock until I hit the right button.
“Can you fucking believe that? Why can’t it just be an alarm and not set to some whack-ass…” I turn towards the side of the bed where Aimee slept last night, but there’s nothing. “Aimee?” I call out several times, hoping for a response.
I glance over at the mirror directly across from the bathroom. It’s steamed up, but I can make out the door of the bathroom cracked open just a little. The sound of the water beats in soft rivets, and then there’s a voice. Shit if I can believe it, but Aimee is in there, singing. I don’t recognize the lyrics. They’re in a language I’m not familiar with, but she murmurs the words to herself as she tries to find the tune. She’s about as good a singer as she is a motorcycle rider.
Throwing the blankets off of my legs, I force myself to be fully awake. I stretch my arms wide into the air and then pop the tense bones in my neck and back, just as I do every morning. The hangover I predicted I’d have isn’t too bad. I manage to get up and out of bed with no problems before stumbling my way towards the bathroom.
“You know, you suck at singing!” I call out from outside the door. The water and her humming suddenly stop altogether. “No, no, no. Don’t stop on my behalf. I actually enjoy listening to you butcher some native folk music.”
“It’s Hawaiian,” Aimee finally responds as she turns the water back on. “It’s a war chant.”
“That sounds appropriate.” I slip even further into the bathroom and see the outline of her naked body through the glass screen. She runs her long fingers through her soaking wet hair. Her tits rise up with her arms, and I can even make out the buds of her stiff nipples.
I lick my lips as I slowly pull back the screen. She doesn’t turn, but by the raised bumps on her body, I know she senses I’m near.
“You know,” I say, as sly as I can, “We have to get going. The motorcade leaves in about an hour.”
“I take warm showers when I’m hungover. If you want me to be in any condition to ride, you won’t bother me.” Aimee’s tone seems reluctant, but she peers over her shoulder at my naked body with eyes that seem to glow against her wishes. Her arms circle her breasts, and she further hides under the showerhead. As if that is going to stop me.
I laugh as I reach over her, grabbing the motel’s blue, slimy shampoo and body soap. Our bodies touch, my cock grazing over the top of her hip. She doesn’t shy away or fall limp against the tiled wall. Instead, she places a hand on my arm, taking the body soap bottle from me. Facing me, she pours a small amount into her hands and rubs them together until it forms a lather. Without breaking her steel-like glare, she begins to wash her body, reaching down to massage her ankles and toes and then moving up towards her thighs, her stomach, and her tits. Her whole body becomes covered in streaks of silky white bubbles, obscuring all the right parts, almost like a dress I’m dying to peel off.
When Aimee is done cleaning herself, she walks into the stream of water and repeats the process, this time, moving down with her hands and splashing the excess soap off of herself. I can’t take it anymore. When she stands up, I practically maul her. She doesn’t even have the chance to get a good breath in before our bodies are mashing against the wall with the G-force of an oncoming rocket. My arms wrap around her bare skin as she claws back into mine. We kiss with open mouths; our tongues locked in a wrestling match. Near-scalding water beats onto my back, but the pain feels even better with Aimee’s legs wrapped around my hips.
I break into a smile as I begin to move her into position like a rag doll. I wrap her arms around my neck while my stiff cock is already at attention, angled towards her wet opening between the crook of her legs. She moans, relenting, before reaching down to stroke it between the kisses I plant on the line of her clavicle. Her wet, soapy hands feel as smooth as silk as she strokes and gently tugs at my member. My hands let go of her legs as I am forced to brace myself on the wall for support.
Aimee looks at me, her lips slightly pursed, as she asks, “Do we have time for this?” Her eyes float down to my cock molding in the palm of her hand.
I let out a long, primal groan that comes from a place deep within me. I chuckle. “Girl, we always have time for this.”
Aimee’s legs fall back down to the ground, and she pushes me back so that I am standing out of the direct line of the water. She passes through the stream and clears away the dark strands of her hair that cover her face. She pulls the bundle of hair to the side before falling to her knees on the shower mat. With both hands on my cock, she leads it towards her waiting mouth.
At first, she only takes the tip. She sucks lightly, spinning her tongue around the opening. But she gets bolder with every bit of my ten-inch cock. She flicks, flutters, circles and traces my dick centimeter by centimeter until it fits neatly into her tight, suctioning mouth. My breath escapes me as I
lean my back against the cold subway tile for support. “Fucking hell, Aimee…”
She laughs, and the vibrations echo through my shaft. It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before, but I want her to talk more. I want her to read me a fucking book with my cock stuffed in that pretty little mouth of hers. But she doesn’t linger long on my cock. The girl slips her lips off and replaces them with her hands. They knead at me while she plunges down towards my stiff balls.
Not every girl would be willing to take this on, but she fearlessly places one into her open mouth. It bounces around with her tongue, moving to the pumping motion of my cock. As her grip gets tighter, so do her lips around my most sensitive skin. I pound a fist into the wall, needing to hold on to this moment. I am not about to come here until I take back control, but with every stroke and lick, she is making it impossible for me to remember that.
Raw Torque_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Gravediggers MC Page 7
