Vulnerable (Barons of Sodom)

by Blake, Abriella

“Tuck?! What are you talking about?” Athena cried.

  “Gave us...away...”

  “Tuck?! You fucking idiot! You know I would never—” But before the mechanic could finish her thought, Spivey had struck her across the face with the tire iron. Sark gurgled for a moment, then went limp.

  “YOU- FUCKING—” Tuck strained against his bonds. How was it that everything had gotten so fucked up so fast? Days ago, Spivey had been a pest with a chip on his shoulder. And here he was now, an easy killer, torturing women. It would have been easy to wish that the source of all this misery had never arrived. That little Baby Calyer had stayed well enough hid and let him go about his business. Then, across time and space, he remembered words from their sweet embraces last night, the last words he'd heard before falling asleep. About how love was best at the beginning, how the adventure petered off after the fall. With incredible effort, the biker looked at his quivering lover—bloody, bruised, but her chin still high. And in that instant, he knew it wasn't true. He knew they'd keep having adventures together—were perhaps destined to have adventures together—for years and years to come.

  “Look at this sappy FUCK!” Spivey chortled. “Can I do it, boss? Please, let me finish him off.”

  “I'd like him to watch his little loved ones leave the earth, actually. Can you think of a better punishment for a yellow-bellied traitor?”

  “You're gonna kill the girls, too?” the big man asked, his mad smile faltering for a beat. “But I thought—”

  “Do me a favor, Spy. You don't think, alright? It's not one of your strong suits.”

  “...yes, sir.”

  “Now, where was I? Oh, yes: last goodbyes. Who's got some?” Cannon ticked his gaze down the line. Tuck was still bent low with agony, attempting to gather his thoughts. Bridie wept softly. She hadn't imagined it would end like this. Zuzu had kept her eyes fixed on some unseen distance for hours now. And little Miss Sark...

  “Where did she go?!”

  “Huh?”

  “Just a second ago! You big, dumb, horse's ass—where the fuck did the mechanic go?” Bridie snapped to attention. Tuck yanked himself back from the edge of unconsciousness. And from above there came the sound of heavy machinery moving.

  “What the FUCK?!” Spivey called to the ceiling—but he was too slow. With a resounding and horrible crunch, six suspended motorbikes fell from the ceiling, crushing Officer Cannon and Robert “Spivey” McClursky of the Barons of Sodom, MC. Both men died on impact.

  “You really think I would flip, you horse's ass?” Athena's entire face was green and red and blue with blows, but Tuck could still detect a heavy hurt behind their hero's eyes. Athena was standing—entirely free from her bonds—by the garage's little red lever, the one by the door. In releasing all the motorcycles from the ceiling, she'd practically pulled the apparatus out of the wall. It must have been tough, he thought.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  DET. RAMIREZ: Wait, wait, WAIT. BACK UP.

  BRIDIE: What do you mean, “back up”? Everybody knows the good part of a story happens at the end.

  DET. RAMIREZ: But I don't even know what the hell you're—may I remind you that you are under oath? Everything you say in this room, is unquestionably true to the best of your knowledge?

  BRIDIE: Scout's honor. Now, if you'll excuse me...

  DET. RAMIREZ: Wait, Bridie! What happened after all of this? First of all—it was Miss Penny that gave away your location? She sold you out of her bar, despite the fact that she dressed Tucker's wounds?

  BRIDIE: Yup. These were hard times, detective. They'd posted a thirty thousand dollar reward, remember! Spivey thought that P had a sweet tooth for Tuck, but in my opinion? Her bar never had any customers, I'm sure she was wicked poor! And wait a second, just how is this pertinent to your investigation...?

  DET. RAMIREZ: ...well, I mostly just wanted to know.

  BRIDIE: You big goose! I will tell you, though—Tuck never forgave himself for thinking Athena ratted us out. Let that be a lesson to all of you on the force: follow your instincts about people. Believe the best of them, and don't doubt.

  DET. RAMIREZ: And what about Ms. Sark? How did she manage to wriggle free of the ropes?

  BRIDIE: Now that I don't know. You can very possibly ask her yourself, provided that this testimony is enough to get her out of hiding. You should be able to conclude that her inadvertent killing of Mr. Cannon and Mr. McClurksey was self-defense—but then again, leaders of an MC don't tend to trust the law.

  DET. RAMIREZ: Are you saying Ms. Athena Sark is the current leader of the Barons of Sodom, MC? Huh. They've been criminally dormant for years, I suppose...

  BRIDIE: I am absolutely not saying that.

  Let the record state that Ms. Calyer winked at this moment.

  DET. RAMIREZ: Okay. Okay. So, as most of these events transpired ten years ago—prosecution is going to be difficult. But you imply in this testimony that most of the men involved in Mr. Salvador Collins' murder and the cover-up surrounding your aunt's murder are not only still alive, but still with the police force.

  BRIDIE: And don't forget every little foot soldier enlisted to conduct an illegal search for myself and Tucker LaRouche the night of this so-called “race for my virtue.” I might start with every working member of the Waco PD who worked in close quarters with Officer Cannon, between the years 1995 and 1997. They'd have been concentrated on the East Side.

  But then again, I'm not the detective.

  DET. RAMIREZ: Christ, even the pawnshop division...

  BRIDIE: I hope this has been helpful. But fellas, I really gotta go.

  DET. RAMIREZ: Wait! You'd testify in court? You could identify faces, in a line-up? Christ, we're going to need more men on this. More people!

  Do you really think Ms. Sark would speak to the police?

  BRIDIE: You offer her amnesty, I'm sure she would. And yes, yes, yes. I'm a fan of the good egg, remember? Always believe the best in people.

  DET. RAMIREZ: And after what happened to you, you really believe that?

  BRIDIE: Especially after what happened to me, Detective. Now if you'll excuse me—

  DET. RAMIREZ: Just one last thing, please? Ms. Calyer?

  BRIDIE: ...Yes?

  DET. RAMIREZ: Tuck. Did you two ever...?

  BRIDIE: Ha! Gotta call my lawyer in for that one, Willy.

  Really nice meeting you fellas, honest to God. Go troops!

  End of tape.

  Epilogue

  He's waiting for me like usual—dark glasses all foggy, hair jammed up under a baseball cap. Ripped arms busting out of a wife beater. I'd swear on a stack of Bibles he looks no different than the day I met him, except for maybe that limp that's never fully gone away.

  “Been a good little street rat?” he jokes, pinching my ass.

  “Suck a dick, Lieutenant. And move your ass. I'm driving.”

  “I don't think so, woman. This is my baby.”

  “I thought I was your Baby.” Sucker—this gets him every time. He clutches his heart in mock ardor and throws me the keys.

  “Time to get the fuck out of Wacko,” I mutter. He laughs into my hair, which still manages to send shivers down my back.

  It's funny, how one gets to looking at things differently. They say that with age comes wisdom, but I'm not sure I'd call it that. These flat plains that once seemed so ugly to me now sparkle with possibility. I see the bluebonnets, not the roadkill. It's kind of retrogressive, in a silly way: I feel more eighteen these days than I did when I was actually “becoming a woman.”

  He burrows his mouth into the back of my neck as we drive, the way I like. His stubble tickles so much that I can't help swerving over the lane, attracting the angry honk of a few folks behind us. Like I give a damn.

  We pass a sign: 100 miles to Austin, Texas. 100 miles, then we'll be home.

  “Hey. Pull over!” Tuck shouts, practically slicing my eardrum in half with that characteristic holler. “Those bushes over there. Gotta take a leak!�
�

  “We're on the highway, dipshit!” I shout, though we can't much hear one another over the roar of the whipping land. He prods my hips, and I give in. We slide for the shoulder, and Tuck scoots off the bike.

  “Come here.”

  “You need help to take a leak now, old man?”

  “Not that kind of leak.”

  “Jesus, Tucker—you want me to leave a Triumph idling on the shoulder of a major highway?”

  “I want you, idling on my shoulder.” Then he grimaces. “That didn't sound nearly sexy enough.”

  “Ha. Nope, not so much.”

  I keep saying I'll stop doing things like this, but it's those goddamned eyes of his—well for one, they remind me of bluebonnets. For another, I've never gotten over the way he looks at me. Like an animal and a sensitive musician rolled into one. I let those eyes lead me into the woods.

  I let those hands start at my shoulders, then roll down the length of my body. I let them come to rest on my tits, and then my ass. I let those hands pull my clothes off, here in this clearing—slowly at first, but then all at once.

  “Get on all fours,” he grunts.

  “You don't tell me what to do,” I say—then I get on all fours anyway.

  He breathes against my neck, and I shiver.

  “What's a matter, LaRouche? You want me so bad you can't wait an hour and a half to get to bed?” He pulls my hair (slowly at first, then hard), yanking me into a sitting position. “No,” he whispers into my ear. I feel the pulsing heat of his taut stomach—still taut, after all this time—and the familiar quiver of his dick, brushing up against my ass. I tease him for a moment, through my wet panties. He groans as I rub myself against him. He wishes he could fuck me through the fabric.

  “Enough of this horse shit,” Tucker giggles, and I shriek with pleasure as he pulls me over to face him, grasping at my breasts, running fingers through my hair. I slip out of my underwear, as daintily as I can for being on the forest floor. Cars whip by on the road outside. I wonder how many of them can guess what's going on in here.

  It's always almost painful, how big and full he feels. I dig my nails into his chest, I arch my back along the length of his legs. I know he likes to look at me from this angle—it's like I'm a bike, splayed out before him. The second thrust feels the best. He fills up every last inch of my pussy, and I tighten around him like a fist. And soon we're bucking and pushing against one another the way we always have done.

  He digs his hands into my ass. I can feel where his fingers will leave marks. I clench my thighs hard and tight around his muscular legs, as if we're having some sort of squeezing contest. I watch his eyes for the few seconds before he comes. It's like Chicken—we wait for one another to look away.

  ...but I come first. I can't help it; I usually do. I seize up and pulse around his hard, thick cock; my juice drips down the both of our thighs. We're wet and dripping with the afternoon heat, the effort of sex, and suddenly it seems like too much work to get home.

  “Can we just stay here for a second?” I ask, collapsing against his chest. I hear his rapid heartbeat. I try to match it with my own, impossibly.

  “Anything you say, Baby,” he says.

  So, yeah. All that shit Zuzu shoveled about the “falling in love” part being the best? How love's an adventure ride that runs downhill from there? You know what I say to that, everybody listening?

  Fuck. That.

  THE END

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  Read below for an excerpt from the next book in The Depraved Club series “Circle of Death” by Colleen Masters and Celia Loren – coming in September.

  Prologue

  Off the coast of New England...

  My slender fingers tighten around the cold metal railing as the yacht skips over a tall, surging wave. A spray of salt water dashes itself across my cheek as my long black hair whips wildly in the wind. I’m standing right at the bow of this luxurious vessel, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of dry land. The rocky coastline disappeared from view in our wake after what felt like the blink of an eye. This whole insane undertaking is unfolding more quickly than I ever could have imagined. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be able to keep my head above water and see my assignment through. But as I glance around at the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean, I know one thing for certain:

  There’s no turning back now.

  A loud burst of music washes over the topside deck, followed by a chorus of tipsy giggles. I glance over my shoulder as a trio of gorgeous young women stumble through a swinging door and out into the open air, scattering my solitude to the salty wind. Ah, well. If I wanted peace and quiet, I could have stayed back in Boston like the good girl I’ve always been. Up until now, that is.

  “Logan! What’re you doing out here all alone?” asks one of the girls, a leggy blonde named Brie. “The party’s just getting started below deck.”

  “I’m saving up my energy for the island,” I tell her, pretending not to mind when she sloshes a bit of piña colada onto my black miniskirt.

  “That’s fair,” nods Ani, a pixie-like brunette who’s also decided to give the wild side a try. “From what I’ve heard about The Club, you’re gonna need all the energy you can muster. The guys there are supposed to be pretty ruthless.”

  “Here’s hoping!” crows the third girl, a petite redhead named Kari. “If I’m not completely spent in an oversexed haze by the time morning rolls around, I’m asking for my money back.”

  “Kari, you’re so bad!” Brie squeals, her blue eyes going wide as saucers. “I still can’t believe you talked us into this.”

  “Oh please, Brie,” Kari laughs, rolling her eyes, “You’ve been going on about this place for years, now.”

  “Ever since we were lowly little freshmen,” Ani grins, taking a long swig of her cocktail. “Don’t tell me this isn’t the best graduation present of all time.”

  “I know you’re right,” Brie sighs, leaning unsteadily against the railing, “I guess I’m just a little...nervous. It’s been nothing but preppy frat boys for me for the last four years. This is going to be...quite the change of pace.”

  “Scared you won’t be able to handle a real man?” Ani teases.

  “Maybe a little,” Brie admits.

  “Don’t worry,” Kari says, looping an arm around her blonde friend’s waist, “We’ll all look out for each other. We won’t let any of the big, bad bikers bite. Not too hard, anyway.”

  “I have to say,” Ani remarks, swinging her gaze my way, “I was a little surprised when you asked to come along tonight, Logan.”

  “Yeah,” Kari agrees, cocking her head at me, “You never seemed like much of a party girl in school.”

  “What can I say,” I shrug, smiling as gamely as I can, “People change, I guess.”

  The girls accept my vague answer and fall into giddy speculation about what the night has in store for us. I hardly knew any of them while we were undergrads together in Boston. But the second I caught wind of their plans to visit The Club as a graduation treat, they became my most valuable of acquaintances. It’s not just any pretty young thing who can get an invite to The Club, after all. A joy ride on this yacht is damn near impossible to score, unless you know the right people. Lucky for me, these three happen to be the exact right people. Talk about alumni netwo
rking, huh?

  “Oh my god,” Brie breathes, nearly dropping her cocktail overboard, “There it is!”

  I jerk my gaze back toward the horizon and feel my heart lodge firmly in my throat. There in the distance, a long strip of land rises up from the churning sea. In the gathering twilight, the island looks unremarkable. A jagged shoreline gives way to a thickly-forested rise. Just visible above the tree line is the imposing watchtower of an old military base. From my research, I know that this fort dates back to the days of the American Revolution. But this island is no place for a history buff’s field trip these days, that’s for sure.

  As the yacht skims across the gray Atlantic waters toward the island, a low thudding sound makes my ears prick up. The rhythm pulses more deafeningly with every passing moment. I wonder, for a second, if we’re not experiencing engine trouble. But when the crashing cacophony of hard rock sweeps in to complete the soundscape, I realize that I’m hearing a heavy bass line raging from the shore of the island. We hear the party before we see it, and I know this is my last chance to bail—to let the other dozen girls go on ahead of me and scurry back to shore with my tail between my legs.

  But then I think, for a second, about what I’d be running back to. A cramped two bedroom apartment, unpaid bills, a fruitless job hunt, an ever-dwindling bank account...I have to own up to the fact that I’ve got nothing to go back to. Nothing at all to lose. There was a time when that thought would have saddened me. But now, I realize that dwelling on my loneliness and fear won’t get me anywhere. I have to face them head on. Face this place head on. Take action for the first time in my life. And if I end up getting destroyed in the process...Well, at least I will have lived through something.