Princess

by Sapphire Knight

  It dazes shady fuck enough for me to glance toward the shaken woman. Her red lipstick’s all over her mouth and chin, her mascara smeared down her cheeks from her tears, dirtying her up a bit. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful before.

  Her gratitude-filled blue eyes meet mine like I’m some sort of fucking hero or a saint. As the wetness continues to trail over her cheeks, it ignites an entirely different creature. The urge to breed—to fuck her into submission—grows rampant. The animal wanting to claw it’s way free and take over what this shady fuck was about to do.

  I never said I was a decent man. Upstanding citizen hasn’t ever fit in my description. There are these thoughts I have; it doesn’t mean I’ve acted on them before. But fuck if it isn’t the strongest right now, wanting to take this bitch and ride her hard.

  The asshole starts to squirm, my grip slipping slightly and stealing me out of the spell. “Go,” I grunt and tighten my hold.

  “O-okay.” She swallows, pulling her shirt front together attempting to hide her bra, from where the douche ripped it completely open.

  Her tall heels are forgotten as she takes off in a sprint toward the front of the building. Fumbling along the way, she calls someone, continuing to run. Probably her friend, to let her know what happened.

  Shady fuck moves again, and I release my grip. He falls, stumbling to catch his balance as I plant a powerful punch to his gut, causing him to gasp for air.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Stomping my heavy boot into his foot, I grind my heel down, planting him in place.

  “Fuck you Oath Keeper!” he replies stubbornly.

  I’ve always been an impatient man, hitting first and asking questions later. This idiot got a courtesy and didn’t even realize it. My curiosity wanted answers, but my need for punishment wins out.

  Pulling the small hatchet from my belt, I let loose a dark chuckle at what I’m about to do. I wanted to laugh when I was hitting him against the wall, but I would’ve terrified the beauty. Without another thought, I flash a grin and impale the blade of my ax into the top of his skull. It’s not an easy feat, but I’ve had many times to practice throughout the years, and not to mention my size.

  The brother’s call me Viking for a reason, with my thighs resembling small tree trunks and my arms massive enough to make grown men cringe. My height easily dwarfs the average man; hell, I even tend to make the bigger ones look feeble when standing near me—if they have the guts to get that close in the first place. Usually, if the size doesn’t scare them, then it’s the Nordic Viking tattoos all over my body and the hatchet I keep on me.

  There’s a large gasp on impact, and my gaze flies to his expression. His eyes widen in shock, his mouth gaping in a horrific, tortured scream as I use both hands to wiggle the conveniently sized ax back out. It’s wedged snuggly into the hard shell of his skull and takes some plying to remove. My favorite part’s when they scream like this. Their eyes always widen with terror and disbelief that I’m going to kill them, and it’s going to be painful.

  Once the blade’s free, he becomes motionless, staring like he’s in a trance and I bring the hatchet down again. This time, the sharp object reaches far enough into the brain to do the damage I was craving. The man’s once evil gaze glosses over as he falls to the ground, his life finished.

  My dick hardens further as the rush of adrenaline sets in with the fact that I just killed for her. She’s mine. My body hums in triumph.

  With that one thought, I know I’d do it again. I’d kill for her as many times needed, no matter the reason. There’s something about her that speaks to my darkness. It’s fucking with my mind; I know absolutely nothing about her.

  Hearing the bar door, I turn from the shady fucker and notice the chick’s black heels she’d left behind in her haste. The light hits the shoes just enough to pick up the glossy texture and make them shine. They stand out like that stupid fairytale the girls in grade school used to talk about. Only I’m no Prince Charming, more like the big, bad wolf ready for dinner.

  “Vike?” Spider rounds the corner, flicking a glance at the dead guy on the ground then to me. He watches as I place my hatchet into its holster on my leather belt. “You need some help dumping the body?”

  “Appreciate it, brother,” I reply, and he fist-bumps me.

  This is a prime example of why I’m a part of this crew; they always have your back no matter the situation. There’s not a bunch of bullshit questions or accusations, and the best part of all, they’re all pretty fucked up in the head just like me.

  “You wanna bury or burn it?”

  There’s a river not too far away, so I have a different idea that may not gain us attention or make us get all tired and filthy from digging. The only way I’d get dirty tonight would be if a sexy Cinderella were involved.

  “Do you still have that container of liquid acid in your saddlebag?”

  “Yeah. Fuck, you’re gonna melt him?”

  “I’m thinking we could pour some over his face and head where I hit him, and then dump the body in that river back there.” I gesture into the darkness toward the sounds of rushing water.

  Texas got so much rain this past week that it’s been causing major flooding. The river here is up seven feet so far and still rising; authorities and weathermen are calling for everyone to stay away for fear of injuries and drownings. They’ve even closed some of the lakes as well. I’m betting it’s the perfect scenario to dump a body easily. I could probably dump a dozen before anyone noticed.

  “Good idea. I’ll get it real quick.” He takes off in a rush toward the front parking lot where his bike’s located.

  I’m drawn back to the shoes. Bending, I pick them up and inspect them closer. Her calves in these were utterly fucking sinful.

  They look tiny in my hands and Cinderella’s no small woman. I’d guess her to be around five foot eight or a little taller, but her shoes still look petite. There’s nothing significant about the heels or on them to help me figure out who she could be.

  Bringing them to my nose, I inhale, wanting some hint of her scent. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that they smell flowery. I’m guessing she must’ve put lotion on her feet before wearing them tonight.

  I take another deep sniff like some psycho stalker, but I couldn’t be fucked about that. She smells good—edible. This is the scent I would most likely incur as I ran my tongue up her calves, biting into the muscle tenderly while reveling in her smooth skin. You know it has to be soft; bitches like that always feel like they’re an entirely different breed than the rest of us.

  Spider hurries back; his chains secured to his wallet jingling with each step as he carefully carries the container. He peers over at the shoes I’m clutching for a moment, confused, but keeps his questions about them to himself.

  “You want me to grab one of his legs so we can drag him?” His gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. I know he only offered so I wouldn’t have to put down the woman’s heels and I won’t forget it the next time he needs a brother to back him on something. Little shit like that goes a long way with me.

  “Appreciate it, brother.” I nod, carefully holding the pumps to my body and grab the right leg of the dead man.

  Spider lifts the left ankle, holding the acid with his other hand as we set about dragging him in the dark toward the sounds of the river. He’s fairly easy to move, save for him occasionally getting hung up on small bushes and what not. We both take careful strides; you never know where a snake hole or a dip may be, and I’m not trying to carry Spider’s ass back ‘cause he rolled his ankle not paying attention.

  The aroma of rich topsoil grows stronger as we near the river’s edge. The odor eventually becomes murkier—like muddy rainwater as we arrive at the bank.

  We each drop the dead weight. Spider cautiously opens the acid, handing the container to me.

  “Wait,” he grumbles, pulling his cell phone out. The screen illuminates as he taps on it a few times. Eventually, a bright light shines out of it. “Fl
ashlight app.” He grins, pleased with himself.

  “Nice.”

  Stepping toward the dude’s head, but not too close, I tip the acid all over his face and the top of his skull where I had chopped a nice sized hole in it with my ax.

  “Is it working?”

  “I don’t know. You sure do talk a lot when we’re attempting to quietly dispose of a body, though.”

  “We’re usually riding or drinking. Can’t do much talking when there’s a loud engine or music blaring.”

  “It’s weird.”

  “I don’t like the quiet.”

  Shrugging, I hand him the acid and the shoes.

  I’m not checking if the guy’s face is melted off; it’s an image I can live without. I’ve gotten used to the blood and broken bones over the years, but I’ve never seen anyone melted before. The toxic smell floating in the air is enough to tell me not to look.

  Not wanting to get any of that shit on me in case it really does burn your skin off, I turn the shady fuck over on his side and lift him, so his back is facing me. Inhaling a deep breath of burnt skin and damp earth, I powerfully toss his body out in front of me, biting my lip until I hear the splash of him hitting the water.

  Spider shines his phone light over the water in front of us, and then along the banks. Either it’s too dark, and we aren’t seeing him, or the body landed in a good spot and is busy floating away.

  “I need a beer,” he mumbles after a beat.

  “Fuck beer; I want whiskey.” I need a sexy-ass blonde who wears super high black heels also, but I leave that part out.

  Taking the shoes from him, we make the short trek back to the bar.

  “I have to go back tomorrow,” I declare, glancing over at Bethany.

  Her mouth gapes and she shakes her head. “Are you crazy, Prissy? No way! You were just attacked!”

  She’s called me Prissy for years. It only comes out when she’s worried about something, though.

  “Look, I know I was upset…”

  “That’s one hell of an understatement; seriously, think about what you’re saying.”

  “I told you, that guy saved me. He didn’t try anything either, just stopped that creep from hurting me further.”

  “How do you know the jerkoff who hurt you won’t be there when you go back?”

  “I just do.”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  “I saw the big guy hit him, and then when I was running away, there was a loud wail. I don’t think the biker made it easy on him.”

  In fact, I know he didn’t. Once I was far enough away, I had glanced back and seen him hit my attacker with something that wasn’t his fist. The outline from the weak lighting made it look like a scene out of a horror movie.

  The fucked up part about it all is that I’m not frightened. If anything, I’m curious. I want to go and see what he did to the bastard, see if he killed him.

  I’ve never had anyone convey that type of violence for me before. Being so terrified and then witnessing that same feeling wash over my attacker was exhilarating. My savior didn’t scare me one bit; he empowered me.

  I’ll never be some biker bitch or approve of my father’s ways, but deep down, I know his blood runs through my veins. Pair it along with my mother’s and it’s no wonder I’m suddenly craving an outlaw. I need to see him.

  He’d watched me all night. I could feel his blistering gaze on my back; it had taken every ounce of self-control I possessed not to look back and meet him head on. I don’t think he’s used to aggressive women and at first, I was on a mission to add him to my list. Now though…well, I have no idea what to do, but like a moth to a flame, all I can think about is getting back to him as quickly as possible.

  “I still don’t like it. I think you should stay away from that bar; your father’s MC has a ton of other guys you can go for. Look, I get it; you’re used to being a badass around normal people, but Princess, these guys aren’t everyday people. You’re a little woman compared to them, and if you go in there alone, they could kidnap you or something crazy and I’m betting no one would bat an eye.”

  Huffing, I count to five, so I keep my calm. Wait, why am I getting upset over her talking down about those bikers anyhow? I hate them just as much, if not more.

  “You forget, Bethany, that my father’s in charge of them. Besides, I won’t be alone. You’re coming with me.”

  “It’s been two hours since I had to drive my best friend home because she was attacked and too upset to drive, and now she’s sitting here, planning to drag me back to the place where it all went down? No way, cuz.”

  “Yes, that’s right, I am your best friend, and I need a wingman. And for the record, stop with the cuz and cousin shit; people are going to think we’re related, and I don’t kiss my cousins!”

  “Fine, but I’m not fucking one of them,” she replies, her nose going up in the air like she’s calling all the shots.

  Yeah, okay, I won’t hold my breath on that one. Those guys have her name written all over them. My snort pops out before I can hold it back.

  She shoots me a heated glare, irritated.

  I shrug, not saying anything and after a few moments her frown changes into an evil grin.

  “Shut-up, I’m not going to sleep with them,” she mumbles, and I outright laugh.

  “Want to put some money on it?”

  “No.”

  “’Cause you know I’m right.”

  “Whatever. I’m sleeping in your bed tonight, and since you’re dragging me back tomorrow, I’m borrowing your clothes too.”

  “You’re only in my bed if you’re naked,” I flirt and kiss her cheek.

  “Won’t be the first time.” She smiles and lifts her shirt over her head, exposing her pale breasts.

  Nope, definitely not the first; we’ve had plenty of fun together, and I love her for it. She’s always had my back, and when I was feeling low and unattractive, she let me know just how beautiful she found me, turning me on to something I would never have guessed would be mind-blowing.

  Don’t get me wrong, we both love men, but occasionally it’s fun to have a woman too.

  VIKING

  The next day…

  Shedding my shirt, I use it to wipe the sweat from my brow. The sleeves are ripped off, but it’s no match for this Texas heat. Beads of perspiration run down my chest, and I quickly swipe over them too. South Carolina’s hot, too, but it’s a dfferent kind of heat, more humid than Texas. Here, I feel like my nuts are going to melt off.

  “What the fuck could it be?” Nightmare hisses angrily, staring at his ride.

  He has his bike partially taken apart; random pieces are strewn about in the motel’s parking lot. I saw him get pissed and kick the old wooden picnic table outside, so figured he could use some help. We’ve been out here for a while and have gotten everything back together where it’s supposed to be, but he’s still irritated. I would be too if my shit weren't running right.

  Letting out a deep breath, I pat the back of my neck with my shirt and then tuck a piece of the material into my jeans pocket, thinking about what the issue could be. “We’ve been over everything. The only issue I can think of at this point is if the gas had something in it. You filled up at that ghetto petrol station a ways out, and we all skipped it to eat. I’d clean out your tank with some fresh gas and hope that does it.”

  “If that weasel’s selling fucked up gas and screwed my bike up, I’m going back and torching that fucking station.”

  Ruger steps out of his room, wiping down his piece with a cloth, right in the open. “’Sup.” He chin lifts, and we return the gesture.

  “Brother,” Nightmare acknowledges.

  “Talkin’ about torching another place?” he asks, and I chuckle, remembering how much fun we had blowing up the last building.

  Night shrugs. “If the fuck down the road sold me shoddy gas, I’m burning that shit hole to the ground.”

  “I’m down,” Ruger replies.

  “
Yep, me too.” I nod. If the owner has insurance on the place, we’d most likely be doing him a favor anyhow. It’d be good if Nightmare had a few of us watching his back as well.

  “Has Scot mentioned a new job yet?” Ruger asks, and I turn toward Nightmare, curious as well.

  I’m a bit surprised we’ve been stationary for this long considering we didn’t get paid for helping out the Oath Keepers with their California problem. I’m not hurting for money; I don’t use much out on the road, but some of these guys blow through it like they have an endless supply.

  “Nope, he hasn’t said anything.”

  “Surely one of the Chapters needs more weapons; we haven’t taken shit up to Montana in almost six months,” he mumbles, but brings up a good point.

  “He has a point.” I cock my eyebrow at Nightmare, and he shrugs.

  “I think Scot has a thing for the bartender,” he confesses after we stare at him for a moment.

  “You fuckin’ with me? That bitch has been ran through so many times; she probably couldn’t keep a dick in her twat if she tried to.”

  They both laugh as a car passes by on the old highway that runs between the motel and bar, gaining our attention.

  “Goddamn!” Ruger gushes as the driver and passenger drive by slow enough for me to realize it’s Cinderella.

  Once it registers, I let loose a loud wolf whistle, trying to get them to stop.

  Nightmare’s lip raises a touch in his ‘I don’t ever fucking smile’ sort of way, ‘but this is the look you’ll get when I’m amused.’

  Ruger grins. “I could stick around for some chicks like that.”

  My temper ignites almost immediately, wanting me to teach his mouth how to stay shut when it comes to her, but I fight myself inside to hold back. Taking a few deep breaths, I begin to feel like my normal self again when a car turns into the gravel drive of the motel. It’s not just any car, though; it’s her car.

  Ruger puts on a cheesy smile, strolling toward the passenger side that’s closest to us. The girls have the windows rolled down and music blaring, but it gets quieter as they come to a stop directly in front of us.