Crimson: Satan's Savages MC Book One

by M. L. Beeson

  My fists clench and I am happy to release my pent-up anger. I punch Lyle in the top of his head, pulling him off the girl so I can beat the ever-living shit out of him.

  “You, sick bastard, never take a girl against her will. You’re a piece of shit, stupid motherfucker,” I growl out.

  By the time I step back, Lyle’s body lay in the bloody mess on the floor of the office, unconscious. I am heaving trying to get my anger and rage under control before turning to see if the woman is ok. As I turn around, I am stunned by the big brown doe-eyes that meet mine. I’ve had my fair share of women, and hot women at that, but this woman is absolutely gorgeous. I am at a loss of words.

  When I finally gain my composure and shake my mind straight, I ask the girl her name.

  “Ginger,” she manages to whisper while trying to cower away from me.

  Ginger. That is a unique name. “Ginger, I am not going to hurt you. Are you ok?”

  “Yeah… no, no I am not ok. This bastard just tried to rape me because I was five minutes late to work.” Tears stream down her perfect face. I start to see red again. Well fuck me. I have made many women cry by rejecting them or refusing to let them stay after we fucked, and I have never once been concerned about their emotions and well-being, I don’t do this shit.

  While trying to rope in my thoughts, I find myself sliding off my cut and unbuttoning the flannel I put on this morning. I am wearing a black t-shirt underneath so I try to hand the long-sleeved flannel to the girl but she just looks off in a daze. I finally bend down on one knee and lean towards her so I can wrap my flannel around her. She starts to panic again and her eyes start to dart around the room looking for the quickest exit.

  “Slow down babe, I am just trying to give you something to cover yourself with because that fucker did a number to your clothes.” She looks down turning bright-red realizing I can tell she went commando under her torn jeans. She finally reaches for the flannel and looks directly at me, like she is looking through my soul. I hear a faint whisper of a, thank-you and I turn to give her some privacy to cover herself up.

  When I turn around, Ginger is swimming in my flannel which is a good thing because it covers most of her body. It almost looks like she is wearing a dress.

  “I am going to walk you to your car so that you can go home and you’re going to promise you will never come back here. I don’t want to have to come back and kill that son of a bitch for laying a finger on you again,” I bark out.

  Fuck, what is up with me today? I am moodier than a woman going through PMS!

  As I lead Ginger out of the store, I pause behind the counter and grab a pack of my cigs before returning to Ginger’s side. We finally make it out the front door and stop by my bike. Looking around, I don’t see any parked cars.

  “Where’s your car, babe?”

  “I don’t have a car, I walk. I live just about a mile and a half down the road.” She turns and starts to walk off.

  You have got to be kidding me. She walks? Alone in this part of town? The fuck?

  “Hold up! I’m not letting you walk home like that.” My voice comes out rougher than I had wanted.

  I throw my leg over my bike and turn the key and start her up. I pull up alongside of Ginger and stop. I hold out my hand and tell her to get on. She was hesitant but reluctantly climbs on behind me and gently sets her hands on my waist as she points me in the direction of her apartment.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GINGER

  I think I am going into shock, trying to process the events that just happened. Safe to say I’ll never work another shift at the Minuteman let alone walk into the place. I am stunned that this solid piece of man I am currently holding on to was able to kick Lyle’s ass before he succeeded in raping me; I already feel violated though. My mind swirls with the reminder that today’s events were so similar to those of the past. Swiping a lone tear from my cheek, my mind is over-processing the events, opening up old wounds that I have worked years to bury.

  I am pulled from my thoughts when the brick wall seated in front of me suddenly climbs off the bike and puts his hand out to help me.

  “Thank you for the ride and everything you did back there,” I say as nonchalantly as possible. I do not want him to know how much I am freaking out inside. Men like him probably hate showing emotion or dealing with it in any form.

  “You do not need to thank me sweetheart, that prick got what he deserved.” His nostrils flared, it was obvious he was trying to keep his anger at bay.

  “Would you like to come to the door? I will change, so that you can have your shirt back.”

  “Sure, lead the way.” He steps aside and motions for me to go ahead.

  Self-consciously I slip past him and head towards my run down, water stained stucco apartment-building. Thankful I live on the ground level I don’t have to climb the stairs in my half-naked state. My hands shake as I try to insert the key into the lock, once I am stable enough to unlock the door, I leave it open for him to follow me in as I head for my small second-hand dresser in my small bedroom. Hearing his heavy footsteps enter the apartment, clothes in hand, I make a bee-line for my bathroom.

  Locking the door behind me, I start unbuttoning the small shirt buttons, peeling the warm flannel from my body. I start to tear up when I look at my reflection in the mirror. Dark-purple bruises are starting to form on my neck, abdomen and back. They are going to hurt once all this adrenaline wears off. Pulling my emotions into check, I shimmy out of the shredded jeans and the Minuteman polo shirt and toss them into the small trashcan next to the toilet. I pull on my jeans and form fitting tank top and realize they do little to hide the trauma.

  Once I’m confident I can walk out of the bathroom without bursting into tears, I turn the doorknob and swing the door open to find my savior eying the back of my front door. I have a habit of carrying knives with me and like to practice by throwing them at the target that I taped to the back of the door. Damn, he probably thinks I am some of kind of looney.

  “Your boyfriend like knives?” He points to the three knives sticking out of my door.

  “No, I don’t have a boyfriend, I live alone. I love knives and specifically my throwing blades. I am ashamed to say I woke up late and was in a rush and that’s why I didn’t have a knife on me today.” My voice is barely a murmur. I feel like such a dumbass. This guy probably thinks I am some kind of damsel in distress, but I actually do pretty well taking care of myself. I am usually guarded and have some kind of weapon on me but today was a damn shit show to begin with. Shit luck.

  This hot stranger is eyeing me like I have two heads. Not knowing what to do, the situation is becoming awkward, so I shove his flannel into his chest and thank him for everything he did for me today. Not replying right away, instead he looks me up and down and runs a hand over his beard, giving it a little tug looking lost in thought; like he is battling some sort of internal battle.

  “Do you have another job? What are you planning on doing now?” His questions throw me.

  “No, I don’t. I guess if I do not find something soon, I will just move along down the road, see what else there is.” He tenses like he is bothered by my comment. “I have been on my own since I was seventeen and have had to do a lot of jumping from job to job; whatever it took to make ends meet.”

  “I have a bar in need of bartender. You ever bartended before?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Good. Grab a jacket and I will take you down to the place and introduce you to the manager to get you set up.” He wasn’t asking, he was giving me an order. This man must hold some sort of authority because he oozes power.

  I grab my black faux leather bomber type zip up hoodie, put on an old pair of Converse, grab my purse and start to walk towards the door. I turn around and head to my nightstand to grab two of my favorite blades, putting one in my back pocket and the other in my purse. After today I am never leaving the house without a one again.

  Once I get my apartment door locked up and walk
out of the foyer to the parking lot, I find the sexy as fuck stranger leaning up against his bike smoking a cigarette. He seems a lot more mellow now that he has nicotine pumping through his veins. When I get closer, I can’t help but notice how his eyes drag from my feet up to meet my eyes. Blushing unwillingly, I regretfully let the embarrassment take over. He can see the effect he has on me and gives me a cocky smirk as he turns and lifts his leg up and over his bike.

  From the first glance I see the Harley Davidson badge on the front fender and by the wide back tire, I can tell that it’s Fat Boy. As the sun dances off the matte black fuel tank, I could see faint lines giving me a glimpse of faint skulls that litter the tank. It is beautiful.

  He eyes me like I am taking too long and before my mind can process what I am saying I blurt out “before we go anywhere, I think I should at least know your name.” After today, I can’t help but be very cautious; even though he is the one that saved my pathetic ass.

  Giving me a stern look followed by a sexy smirk. “Blade.”

  “Is that your actual name?”

  “No. It’s my road name.”

  He doesn’t say or offer anything else, then it clicks. Fuck! The leather vest he is wearing says Satan’s Savages with the logo of Satan in goat form with two bloody looking feather arrows crossed behind his face. He is part of a MC. What have I gotten myself into?

  Ignoring the warning my gut is giving me, I lift my leg over the bike and straddle it. I must not have been positioned right, because the next thing I know Blade reaches back and grabs hold of my thighs and pulls me forward. My breasts are now firmly pressed again his back and my legs spread wide to accommodate him between them.

  Blade strikes up the bike and tells me to hang on. I place my hands on each side of his waist, not wanting to overstep by grabbing his whole middle, but as he throttles out of the parking lot we pull out on to the road and he speeds up really quick which then makes me grab him tighter. He pulls my arms around his waist and pats my hands when they’re where they need to be.

  I have never really been on a bike so this whole experience is frightening but exhilarating. I cannot help but hold on and enjoy the ride. Blade is radiating heat like a furnace so the crisp morning air feels amazing. I never knew how free you could feel, a motorcycle gives you the closest feeling to actually being free as you can get.

  BLADE

  I am cruising down the highway with Ginger behind me, clinging for her life. She is so stiff it’s hard to take corners but I can’t help but love the feeling of her gripping onto me, pressing her luscious tits up against my back and the heat of her pussy radiating from her jeans. I am currently riding with a hard-on that I am unable to fix.

  Once I get Ginger squared away with Dozer, the manager of the Dirty Devil’s strip club, I am going to find one of the club whores to suck me dry. I don’t think I have been this hard and sexually frustrated since my teen years. Fuck!

  Wrangling my thoughts, I pull into the clubhouse hoping that everyone is up and at ‘em. It’s nearing the noon hour and the last thing I want this woman to see after being sexually assaulted is naked men and women everywhere fucking or passed out. Pulling up to circle the lot so that I can back us into my spot at the head of the line of bikes, I kick down the stand, kill the engine, and hold my hand out so that Ginger can hop off. Once she is standing next to me, I throw my leg over the bike and join her.

  I turn to see Ginger grow wide-eyed as she takes in the clubhouse. That’s right, my compound is beautiful; without having all the bikes parked in front, you would never know that this lot housed some of the most dangerous men that have been patched into Satan’s Savages MC.

  “Is this the bar I will be at?” Ginger asks.

  “No, this is just the clubhouse. Dozer the manager of the Dirty Devil’s strip club is inside. I plan on introducing you here and then I will take you over to the place and show you around after I grab the keys,” I explain.

  “A strip-club? I guess I didn’t realize the bar I would be tending was at a titty bar,” she squeaks.

  I smirk demonically. “Well sweetness, I didn’t tell you where, didn’t want to scare you off, I need a bartender.” Chuckling and shaking my head I head for the door of the clubhouse. This girl is too innocent for her own good. I wonder if I am making a mistake by employing her at the club.

  Thankfully when we walk inside, a prospect is cleaning up the bar and main area, picking up all the beer bottles and trash and mopping up the floor. The clubhouse isn’t littered with naked bodies and bodily fluids anymore.

  Ginger is looking at her surroundings in amazement, and I can’t help but grin. The clubhouse I built years ago is as beautiful as the day it was finished. I had the clubhouse built to look like a giant cabin, we are in Idaho after all. It is made of logs and has immaculate woodworking throughout the place. We have a giant shoulder mount of a bull moose, mounted above the big fireplace in the main bar area. Of course, with the raging and crazy parties we often throw, there are many g-strings and bras hanging from the moose’s antlers from the drunken women. You would think that my men and whores would be more opt to respect my trophy, as it is a once in a lifetime hunt in our area.

  I motion for Ginger to follow me as I walk through the bar and up the stairs that lead to the second level which houses all the bedrooms that house my officers and men. I walk down to the third door on the right and start banging on it.

  “Dozer! Get out here now!” I hear some god-awful noises coming from the room. He must be with a whore. “Dammit Dozer, if you do not get out here this fucking minute—” I get cut off by Dozer opening his door naked showing all of his glory.

  “Yeah, boss. What’s up?” Dozer asks.

  I glare at my vice-president for a moment before finally breaking my focus and turning to Ginger; who is flushed and embarrassed that Dozer is standing there as if he wasn’t naked and sweaty.

  “This here is Ginger, she will be working at Dirty Devil’s. She is our new bartender,” I inform him.

  I can tell what Dozer is thinking just by the way he is eyeing her from head to toe licking his lips. She is beautiful. She isn’t the biggest thing in the world, standing maybe five foot five inches, light brown hair, dark brown eyes to match. But she has big tits, and a nice fucking ass. I look at Dozer and scowl. He does not need to be looking at her like that. Where the fuck is this protectiveness coming from?

  “How are you doin’ darlin?” Dozer finally speaks to Ginger.

  Dozer laughs when Ginger cannot make eye contact with him and tells him that she’s ok.

  “Get your ass dressed and meet me in the bar in five,” I bark out to Dozer. I was not asking nicely I was giving a fucking order. You don’t get to be the president of one of the most violent MC’s in the west by being a pussy and asking politely. Dozer finally comes downstairs and hands over the bar keys.

  On our way over to Dirty Devil’s, Ginger starts to relax and feel more comfortable on my bike as we cruise down the poorly paved road. Although her arms are firmly planted around my waist, she isn’t clutching at me for dear life like she was on the way over to the clubhouse. We park and I lead up to the dark red brick building, letting her enter the facility first.

  Ginger gasps as the lights come up. “This place is nothing like I pictured.”

  “What did you think? It would be a dump?” Her statement got on my nerves.

  The MC owns this joint and we launder and clean our money here. We designed this place to be a more sophisticated gentleman’s club rather than some trashy titty bar where the dancers are strung out of their minds. We have a huge clientele and make a good chunk of change off of this place. The dancers have never seemed to complain about tips either.

  “I guess I wasn’t expecting it to be so… pretty. I have never been in a place so classy,” she mumbles.

  I think I stopped breathing for a moment at the thought of her knowledge of other strip clubs. I am finally able to get out a little chuckle

  “You’v
e been to other strip clubs darlin?” There is an edge to my question. I never would have pictured her to ever go to a titty bar let alone judge the facility.

  She looks like she is deep in thought and then finally replies “I guess you could say that.” She turns from me and doesn’t say another word so I decide to give her the full tour of the place and wait for some of the other staff to come in to do inventory so that I can introduce her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  GINGER

  The Dirty Devil’s gentleman’s club is a fancy as hell place. Deep maroon velvet curtains that span the room’s perimeter are gathered together every five to six feet to expose the dark brown walls. There are about ten semi-circle booths that line the north and south walls and there in the middle is a main stage. The dim lighting shimmers from the most beautiful chandeliers I have ever seen. The bar is stocked with every liquor you could imagine; from the nasty vile shit to the top shelf. I am in heaven; I think this gig is going to do me some good.

  Blade finally pulls me from my thoughts.

  “Ginger, this sweet thing is Dolly. She is the other bartender you will be working with. If you need anything you go to her, if she isn’t around, find Dozer,” Blade instructs leaving me with my new coworker.

  “I will let you ladies get to it, I have shit to do,” he says over his shoulder as his heavy steps echo out of the club.

  Turning my attention away from the hunk of man that just walked out, I look over at Dolly who does not seem too thrilled to see me.

  “Hi, I’m Ginger.” Trying to break the awkwardness.

  “Yeah darlin, I heard Blade. Let’s get this over with. I will show you what you need to know then I am headed home until opening time this evening. I am too hungover to deal with this shit,” she mutters.

  After about an hour of helping Dolly do the inventory list for the liquor, she shows me where all the extra glasses, straws, napkins and rags are. Bartending is not rocket science. You just have to know your liquors, how to count, show a little cleavage, look sexy, and smile. You can make a great living off the tips you get. I can already tell that this is going to be much better than that stupid fucking gas station. I can’t help but smile about how my luck has changed in a matter of hours. All thanks to a helpful stranger.