THORN: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “Yeah. They are nice. That’s one silver lining to being out here in the middle of nowhere, I guess.”

  Isabel reaches down and pulls her hoodie over her head, revealing a black tank top underneath. It hugs her body and frames her soft breasts. I notice she’s not wearing a bra. I quickly look away and take a swig of my beer.

  “Thorn,” she says, her eyes growing serious. “Look. I know you don’t exactly like me. And I’m sorry you have to be here.”

  “I don’t hate you,” I mutter. Warning bells start to go off in my head.

  “It’s okay. I don’t blame you. I probably would too, if I was you.”

  “I don’t hate you, Isabel,” I say again. I should stop right there. But like a plank, I don’t. “In fact, you’re not entirely the spoiled little brat I thought you were.”

  “Little?” She’s amused. “I’m five foot eight!”

  “You’re young,” I correct.

  “I’m twenty-one!”

  How fucked up is it that I’m relieved she’s not a teenager anymore?

  “That’s young,” I point out.

  “It’s old enough.”

  Isabel stares at me for a long moment.

  Slowly, without breaking her gaze, she bites her lip.

  “It’s old enough,” she says again, more quietly this time.

  Jesus H. Christ.

  My cock is instantly hard as a bat.

  “Old enough to be a pain in the ass,” I half-croak, pretending I don’t catch her meaning.

  This is the first time in my entire life I’ve turned down sex.

  And suddenly my head is swimming with so many thoughts of what I want to do to Isabel, I’m having trouble remembering why.

  Isabel chuckles softly. “My mom used to say that to me when she was mad.”

  “What?” I say, trying to concentrate through the fog of fucking lust.

  “When I’d try to argue with her about doing stuff she thought I was too young for and I’d tell her I was old enough. She’d say, “Ees-a-bel, you are old enough to be a pain in my ass.”

  “Ees-a-bel,” I repeat, feeling out the syllables on my tongue. “Is that how your name is pronounced in Spanish?”

  She nods.

  “Sibéal,” I murmur.

  “What?” she asks, frowning at the strange word.

  “Sibéal,” I say again. “It’s Irish for Isabel. Sort of like Sybil.”

  “Shi-BAIL,” she repeats, concentrating. Her eyes lock on mine and I nod.

  Something in the air shifts between us.

  “What about your name? Thorn?” she asks softly.

  “Thorn’s just what the club calls me. My given name’s Sean. O’Malley.”

  She smiles. “Good Irish name.”

  “That it is,” I agree.

  “Well, Sean O’Malley.”

  My name sounds different on her lips. No one calls me that anymore. No one in the States, anyway.

  Only her.

  “Well, Sibéal Mandias.”

  “That’s a beautiful name,” she breathes. “When you say it.”

  Her eyes are still on mine. Her lips part. I can see her breasts rise and fall as her breathing speeds up.

  “Fuck,” I swear softly. “Isabel.”

  My cock is throbbing, begging to be inside her. I can’t think anymore. All my fucking willpower is gone.

  “You are driving me crazy,” I breathe against her ear.

  “Thorn,” she whispers, shivering.

  Gripping her hips, I pull her against me, letting her feel my stiff, needy shaft. She gasps and writhes against me as my mouth comes down on hers.

  It’s over. This is happening. Fuck the rest.

  17

  Isabel

  Thorn’s kiss is hard, animalistic, urgent. I feel like I’m being devoured. I moan against his mouth, almost delirious with need. I’ve wanted him so much, my body has been calling out for him like a beacon signaling to a ship. At his touch any thought of resisting abandons me. I’m burning for him, frantic as I clutch at his shoulders and hold on for dear life, surrendering myself to him.

  As his tongue probes, insistent and demanding, Thorn’s hands move under my shirt. Rough, callused fingers graze my skin. It’s delicious, the best thing I’ve ever felt. I want his hands all over me, I want him to touch me everywhere. I want him to make me his, to mark me, bruise me, make every inch of me remember him long after this is over. He pulls me closer, and my wet, throbbing core presses against his hardness, making me gasp, and I wonder if I’m about to come just from this.

  “Sibéal,” he murmurs, his lips against my throat. I shiver as I feel the heat of his breath against my bare skin and realize my shirt is already off. His lips continue to travel down, the rough bristle of his whiskers scratching along the way, until he comes to my breast and latches onto my hardening nipple with his lips. I cry out, it’s so good, it’s never felt like this before — not even when I’m alone and imagining some unknown fantasy man who would know how to make me feel. But Thorn is that man and he knows exactly what to do, and then I’m crying out again, my arms locked around his neck as he teases and torments me. My hips writhe and buck against his hard shaft, and he moves to the other nipple, licking and biting the taut bud, and then something snaps inside me and I’m already coming, shaking and calling his name helplessly as I cling to him.

  I’m still lost in the fog when I feel Thorn pick me up and carry me across the room. He strides into the hallway and then into the bedroom, setting me down on the bed. I open heavy-lidded eyes to look at him and see he’s pulling off his shirt and stepping out of his jeans. His heavy, thick cock springs free, and I draw in my breath and just stare at it for a second because it’s huge and gorgeous. I didn’t even know that was possible but it is, and God, I can’t wait for him to be inside me. My lips parted, I look up at Thorn’s face. His eyes are dark, hungry. He leans over and yanks off the thin yoga pants I’m wearing, then spreads my legs apart, and before I know what’s happening he’s between my legs and plunging his tongue deep inside me. I cry out again as he licks my juices, teasing my already sensitive nub into submission. I gasp and writhe, my knees falling further apart, and I can feel another wave building inside me, stronger this time, powerful and uncontrollable. My whole body tenses, and seconds later, I explode again, gasping with the force of it.

  This time, when my orgasm starts to subside, I open my eyes to see Thorn towering above me. There are no words between us as his gaze locks on mine. We haven’t spoken at all, only our bodies communicating with flesh and heat and need. He kneels between my legs. Hardly aware of what I’m doing, I reach down to take his enormous shaft in my hand. Thorn groans, his eyes half-closing as I squeeze him and stroke once, twice. Then, in one swift movement, he pins both of my arms above my head. With his other hand, he guides the head of his shaft against my slickness. I inhale sharply, loving the heat of him against me. Then, grabbing my hip, he pushes inside.

  I freeze at first, and a soft whimper breaks from my lips. He’s so large it’s painful for a second, but I want him so badly that I arch toward him and beg him with my eyes to continue. I need him like this. I need him.

  Thorn begins to thrust into me, fast and hard. His lips graze my sensitive nipples, my neck, my lips. He’s like a man possessed, taking what’s his, and I rock upward to meet him. Thorn increases the pace; his shaft slides deliciously against my clit with every thrust. He fills me deeper and deeper every time, and I can’t get enough, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him, and this. Once again, I feel myself start to climb higher and higher as a third orgasm approaches, and I can tell Thorn can feel it too from the way his eyes are burning into mine. His rhythm increases, growing erratic and jerky, and as I reach the top and shatter around him, he shoves deep inside me one final time, then pulls out and releases himself with a deep groan all over my stomach.

  I’m clutching the bedsheets, drawing in ragged breaths, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I can hear th
e blood rushing in my ears. The mattress sinks a bit, and Thorn bends down and grabs his shirt from the floor. Gently, he wipes his hot seed off the skin of my stomach, then tosses the shirt away and eases himself into the bed. I move toward him, nestling against his chest for warmth. For a second, he freezes. Then I feel him reach up and begin to stroke my hair.

  “Thorn,” I whisper quietly. Just to say his name.

  My captor.

  I don’t want to think about that right now.

  I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to be with him.

  I just want this.

  Again and again.

  Thorn touches the starfish hanging around my neck.

  “Why a starfish?” he asks.

  I nestle closer against him, pulling the covers up around me. We’ve been lying in bed for about ten minutes now, not talking. I actually thought he’d fallen asleep.

  “My mom knew I spent a lot of time feeling out of place when I was a little girl,” I tell him. “I didn’t have a lot of friends. My family wasn’t exactly normal, white-picket-fence material. And having a dad who wasn’t around much made it worse.” I reach up to finger the small gold pendant. “She thought it was symbolic or something. An animal that’s at once a star and a fish. Both sky and sea. Adaptable.” I laugh softly. “Funny, to me it felt more like the symbol of a fish out of water. Not comfortable in either place. But I loved it anyway. And when I wear it, I always have a piece of her with me. Which is nice especially now, since she’s so far away.”

  “Is she coming back, or will she stay there?”

  “She’ll come back after my grandparents are gone, I think.” I sigh. “But that could be a long time. And of course, I can’t exactly hope for her to come back, because of what I’d actually be hoping for.”

  I feel him nod. “I see your point.”

  “Can I ask you a question now?” I say. “Since you got to ask me one?”

  Thorn’s muscles tense for a second, but then I feel him relax a little. “I suppose that’s fair,” he concedes.

  “Why did you leave Ireland?”

  He’s silent for a few moments. “It’s a long story,” he eventually says in a low voice. “But the long and short of it is, I was responsible for keeping a family member safe. I didn’t. So I left.”

  “Have you ever been back?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to go back?”

  He pauses a beat. “I can’t want to go back,” he says slowly. “Because of what I’d actually be wanting.”

  I’m silent, realizing how he’s worded his explanation to echo mine. Sensing he doesn’t want to say more, I don’t press it. Instead I lie there with him, wondering what could have happened to make Thorn leave his family, to make a new life here.

  “I should probably go check on the fire,” he murmurs. “If we —”

  Thorn freezes, his whole body going rigid.

  “What?” I ask, but he tightens his grip around me.

  “Sshhh,” he whispers, raising his hand in a silent command.

  I frown and prop myself up, trying to figure out what he’s listening to. About five seconds later, I hear it: a low rustling coming from outside.

  “Someone’s out there,” he rasps.

  I want to ask him if he’s sure it’s not an animal, but I’m afraid to make a sound. And besides, something tells me Thorn knows what he’s talking about. Noiselessly, he slips away from me and out of the bed. Crouching low, he pulls on his pants, staying clear of the window. I just glimpse the butt of a pistol before he slips it into the back of his waistband.

  Thorn leans in close to me. “Stay here,” he whispers. His face is deadly serious. “Don’t move. Don’t turn on the light. If anyone comes, get under the bed, quick as you can. I’ll be back.”

  I nod, my eyes wide and terrified. I know instinctively that Thorn wouldn’t be acting like this if there wasn’t something very wrong. And as afraid as I am right now, I trust him to protect me.

  I just hope I can trust him not to get hurt himself.

  18

  Thorn

  I glide across the floor of the living room holding my boots in my hand, careful not to make a sound. When I get to the front door I pull them on, then move carefully so I can see through the window without being seen myself. There’s no one there.

  I quietly move to the front window in the living room to confirm. Nothing there, either. At least, not that I can see.

  Slowly and silently, I open the door and slip out, then close it again. The porch is half-lit by the almost-full moon. I back into the shadow, regulating my breathing as well as I can. Leaning around the corner, I look around one side of the house, and see nothing. This side’s in shadow, as well, so I lower myself to the ground and get into a crouch. My left hand reaches back to pull out my Sig Sauer. The night air is chill, but I barely feel it with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’ve never been much of a one to feel panic or dread in these situations. I grew up in a world where danger was a constant, so I learned to live with it early. The feeling I get is more of a sick excitement — the excitement that comes from knowing you’re about to engage in the most basic of human instincts at the core level. The instinct to survive.

  But this time, there’s a thin thread of worry weaving itself through the anticipation. Because Isabel is inside, and she’s naked and alone. If I don’t get whoever is out here before he gets to her, she could be hurt, or killed.

  I can’t have that.

  Moving into the shadow around the right side of the house, I continue around to the back, looking behind me often with my gun raised and ready. My ears are scanning for sounds, attuned to the slightest noise, but all I hear is the quiet slip-slip of my boots in the dry grass.

  It’s too dark to see footprints or indentations in the earth. The tree line is fifty feet or so away from the house. All I have to go on is instinct, my ears, and what little I can see.

  Then, suddenly, I hear it: a small rustling behind me, followed by the merest creak. The bastard is going for the front door.

  Quick as I can, I turn around and hurtle around the corner, vaulting up to the porch. I tackle the man before he has time to register I’m there — the element of surprise is all I have on my side. In my peripheral vision, I see one of his arms rise up, and I block it just as a slicing pain nicks into my bicep. Reaching up with my gun hand, I crack him across the face with the Sig Sauer, then knock the knife out of his hands before he can sink it any deeper. The pain stuns him for a second, just long enough for me to punch him again, a solid uppercut that snaps his head back. He lands heavily on the porch, the wood groaning under his weight.

  I expect that to be the end of it as I rise to my feet with the gun pointed at him, but the fucker surprises me by kicking out with his legs and getting my right foot out from under me. As I start to fall, just before my left foot leaves the ground, I manage to get some purchase and rotate my body so I land with my right elbow connecting solidly with his groin.

  The cunt yowls like I just cut off his dick. He doubles over, nearly folding in half. I take the opportunity to punch him in the jaw one more time with the Sig, hearing a crunch as something breaks — probably his nose and a couple of teeth. I quickly reach forward to wrench one arm behind him. He howls again and screams, “Fuck!” at which point I pull up sharply on the arm, feeling something give in his shoulder. Then I swing him around so he’s on his stomach, and plant a knee hard in his back.

  “You fucking yell like that again, I’m gonna put a bullet through your skull,” I hiss, my face close to his ear. The cunt grunts and writhes, but he must believe me since he does what I say.

  “Is anyone else gonna come out of the trees and join us?” I hiss. When he doesn’t immediately respond, I yank up on his arm again. He swallows a yelp and shakes his head frantically. “You know if you have friends out there, I’ll have to end you so I can take care of the rest of them. Better tell me now.”

  “There’s no one!�
�� he gasps out.

  My knee’s pushing on his lungs so he’s having trouble breathing, but I don’t fucking care. I cock the pistol and aim it at his head. “You’d better not be lying, you cunt. Anyone who shoots me right now is about to shoot you by proxy.”

  He shakes his head back and forth convulsively. There’s no guarantee he’s telling me the truth, but I think if he had anyone out there, they’d be coming at me right now. Still, I keep an eye on the trees as I interrogate him.

  “Who sent you?” I growl angrily. “Was it Fowler?”

  Cunt hesitates a second, which is a second too fucking long. I grab his hair with my pistol hand and use it to slam his head down on the boards. “Who. The fuck. Sent you?” I growl into his ear, my voice cold as steel.

  I have to hand it to the piece of shit — he’s loyal to whoever his boss is. Loyal, and bloody stupid. I yank his head back again until I’m just short of breaking his neck, and stare into his wild, frantic eyes. “You know I’ll fucking kill you,” I say conversationally. “If you’re afraid of your boss killing you too, isn’t it better to take yer chances and disappear?”

  “I can’t disappear from him,” he rasps, his voice thick with fear. “He’ll find me, no matter what. And he won’t be quick about killing me.”

  Fuck it. This one isn’t about to talk. But the fact he’s not denying it’s Fowler tells me everything I need to know.

  I let go of his hair and pull back, keeping my knee on his spine.

  Then I shoot him in the head, execution-style.

  Moving quickly, I go through his pockets. I find a Beretta .9 mm and a thin wallet, both of which I take, and a phone with only one number in it. I stand up and stare at the number for a few seconds to memorize it. Then I smash it to bits with the heel of my boot. I scan the darkness quickly, making sure I don’t hear any more movement before I shove the Sig back into my waist band. Turning, I reach for the handle of the front door, but a thought stops me. Looking down at the mostly-headless body in disgust, I set the dead cunt’s gun and wallet on the porch railing and grab him by the boots, hauling him off the porch and into the darkness. Isabel doesn’t need to see any of this.