Ride or Die 1

by Claire C. Riley

  Her breasts were perfect—large enough to fit comfortably in my hands, with round nipples that were begging to be sucked on, so I did. I took her nipple in my mouth and nipped it before sucking hard, and she groaned. She reached between us with one hand and cupped me through my jeans, and she groaned again when she felt that I was already hard enough to cut ice.

  “I’m Natasha,” she mumbled between needy kisses, the palm of her hand grinding against me.

  “The fuck I care?” I said, pulling her off of the sink and turning her around so she was bent over it. I flipped her skirt up so I could get a good look at her ass, and I rubbed my hands over it.

  I hadn’t noticed the mirror above the sink, but I did then, and I didn’t miss the hurt look flash across her pretty face. Not that I cared as I was tearing off her panties with one hand and unbuckling my jeans with the other. She looked over her shoulder as I pressed my hand to her lower back, pushing her further down so that her ass was in the air, and then I guided my rock-hard cock into her.

  She gasped as I filled her and then she smiled, but I was more focused on slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint and using her hair like reins to give a shit. I pumped into her roughly over and over, needing the relief to get rid of the remaining anger I had inside of me. Sure as shit couldn’t fuck Laney like that. Because nothing about this was sex, or love.

  It was fucking.

  It was brutal and angry.

  It was everything I hated about myself.

  Natasha reached around to touch me, but I slapped her hand away and grabbed her hips and continued ramming into her. I didn’t want her hands on me. All I needed was her tight pussy wrapped around me while I took what I needed. Her head was hanging low and she was groaning and crying out loudly—too loudly. I reached around and clamped my hand over her mouth, wanting to shut her the hell up. Not because I cared if people heard us, but because I didn’t want to hear her.

  Because when I heard her it reminded me that she wasn’t Laney. And doing this would finally make Laney hate me. But that was what I wanted, right? Right? I squeezed my eyes closed and gripped her hip tighter. Bending over her body, my muscled front to her bony back, going balls-deep, one hand around her waist, holding her to me tightly, and the other over her mouth to make her shut the hell up while I slammed myself into her. I felt the rush as I brought myself home with a grunt, and sweet relief washed over me as I panted against her neck. I kept my eyes closed as I caught my breath, feeling the shudder of pleasure run down my spine.

  Of course it was never as good as when it was with Laney. Now that woman could drive me wild with that body of hers. She owned me with those hips and that juicy ass that just cried out to be squeezed. And that smart mouth—goddamn it, she made me want to kiss the words straight off of that beautiful mouth of hers.

  Laney.

  Fuck.

  The guilt began to fill me, and the guilt was worse than the anger at that point. But the anger was better than the pain, so around and around we go, right? I opened my eyes and looked down at the woman in front of me, still bent over the sink like a dirty skank, and I felt shame creep into me.

  I didn’t even use a fucking condom.

  The door to the bathroom swung open and another woman started to walk in. “Get the fuck out here!” I yelled at her, and I thought she called me an asshole before turning and walking back outside.

  That brought me back to the present and I slid myself out of Natasha and put myself away before buckling my jeans back up. She stood up and picked her panties up off the ground, quickly assessing that they’d been ruined, and she threw them in the trash. Then she turned to me with a lipstick-smeared mouth and smiled.

  “I hope that means you’ll be buying me some new panties later,” she giggled, putting her breasts away and licking her lips. She reached out with one hand and placed it on the patch on my leather cut.

  I knew what girls like her were like, what they wanted from men like me, but she wouldn’t get it from me.

  I reached over and grabbed her chin with my finger and thumb and then leaned in. She thought I was going to kiss her again; her tongue dipped out to wet her lips in needy anticipation. She expected kisses, and flowers, and probably the promise to buy her breakfast and new panties for another taste of that fine body of hers, but she was wrong.

  I wasn’t that type of man. If I was, I’d have been at home with the woman I loved, fucking her until she forgot what her own name was. Not sticking my dick in trash like this.

  “Go fuck yourself, whore,” I whispered instead, and let go of her chin.

  She stumbled backwards, more from my words than anything else. Her eyes were wide but there was a fire in her belly. “Fuck you!” she screamed.

  I laughed in her face, batting her hands away as she tried to slap me, and then I pushed her so she fell to her knees. Where she belonged. I glared down at her, cracking my knuckles.

  “You’re an asshole,” she yelled up at me, and I smiled.

  “You’re not wrong there,” I laughed. “Tell you what, you know where the Devil’s Highwaymen’s clubhouse is?”

  She was still on her knees, still angry as fuck, but she nodded. “Of course I do,” she snapped.

  “Why don’t you drop around tomorrow night around seven? We’re having a coming home party and could use another whore around the place.” I smirked, enjoying hurting her more than I’d enjoyed fucking her.

  She didn’t say anything to me, and some of the fire had gone out of her eyes.

  I leaned down and she lifted her chin defiantly. “You look good on your knees, bitch.”

  I turned and walked out of the bathroom and went in search of Casa. He was on the dance floor, grinding against some chick he’d just met. He smiled when he saw me, and I headed over.

  “You get what you need?” he asked, as the girl ground her ass into his crotch. He downed his beer and dropped the bottle on the floor before sliding his hand up her leg.

  “I got something,” I replied.

  “Probably fucking chlamydia!” he laughed.

  “Fuck, don’t say that, brother!” I dragged my hands through my hair, ignoring the lust-filled stares of all the women around us. The door to the bathroom opened and Natasha came back out. Her cheeks were flushed and it looked like she’d been crying, and I felt guilty for that too. I was cruel to her for no fucking reason at all, other than I was a sick fuck who enjoyed hurting people to cover the fact that I was full of hate and anger and so much pain that it was killing me.

  She grabbed the bottles she’d been collecting earlier and headed back to the bar, ever the professional, avoiding my stare. I sure as shit hoped she did turn up at the clubhouse the next day, because I wasn’t wrong when I said she’d do well there. Woman like her would go over well with the boys that was for damn sure.

  The girl in front of Casa stood up and turned around; she leaned in to kiss him on the mouth and he pushed her away.

  “Come on, baby,” she purred. “Just one kiss.”

  But she didn’t know Casa, because if she did she’d have known he didn’t do kissing. He pushed her away again, done with her. “Get the fuck out here, girl,” he said, and she stumbled off with a pout.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said, already done with the place for the night. I was done with everything.

  Another woman had already slipped in front of Casa and taken the first bitch’s place, but Casa slapped her on the ass and pushed her away. “Laters, girl.”

  I should have apologized for making him miss out on so much pussy that night, but he could get that shit anywhere, and I had no doubt he’d get some by the end of the night regardless. He always did. Hence the name Casa, short for Casa-fucking-nova.

  We threaded our way through the overcrowded bar and back outside. The dumb fuck from earlier was still on the ground passed out, but there was a crowd around him by then, and the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. A couple of people looked over at me as I headed t
o my bike, but no one said a damn thing to me about it. And no one would say a damn thing unless they had a death wish.

  I started my bike and pulled on my helmet, feeling every bit like a new man—apart from the facts that my boots were covered in blood, my dick was still dripping with Natasha, and I felt a shame so bad that my stomach hurt.

  I promised her I’d never cheat on her, yet that was how far I’d sunk. That was where I’d had to go to get her to hate me. To make her walk away. Part of me was scared at the thought, because I knew that once she found out, then that’d be it. It’d be truly over.

  I’d die without her. That was a fact.

  But she’d live without me. So that was the way it had to be.

  “Ready, brother?” Casa said, and I nodded.

  He’d been with me every step of the way. Lots of brothers tried to stem my flow of anger and hate, but they saw I was a lost cause. But not Casa; he’d stuck by my side through it all. I was gonna have to cut him loose soon, though.

  I cracked my neck again, and I pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the blacktop with Casa following me that time.

  I was a bastard, I knew I was, but it was too late for me to change.

  Chapter Three:

  1983

  Jesse

  I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist before smearing a hand across the mirror and taking in my reflection. My beard was starting to thicken up, finally. I rubbed a hand across it, thankful.

  I had been an early bloomer, already starting to fill out into the body of a man by the time I was twelve years old. But it had been my damn baby face that had always been the giveaway to my age. Still was in many ways. But a beard—a beard would make that all better.

  Butch’s fist thumped against the door. “Hurry up, Jesse! I need to piss!”

  “Fuck off!” I called back, only half-joking.

  He’d been out drinking until around five that morning, and had woken the whole damn clubhouse up when he got back in and started to party. Not that I minded too much—it wasn’t like I was some good choirboy in bed by nine, and of course he’d brought women and booze back with him, so who was I to complain?

  “I’m gonna break it down if you don’t open up!” he yelled, thumping the door again.

  I ignored him in favor of brushing my teeth and spraying on deodorant, because fuck him, that’s why. At some point he started to shoulder barge the door, but I still didn’t open up for him. A crack started to form down the center of the door and I smirked at it, knowing he’d catch shit from Hardy when he saw it. I was done then, so I reached over and twisted the lock before pulling the door open and letting Butch fall inside, hitting the dirty floor with a loud crash.

  He groaned and rolled onto his back, putting his hands over his eyes, and I looked down at him and laughed. Butch never knew when to stop drinking, and he never could handle his liquor.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be riding out later today?” I asked, kicking his leg with my foot. He’d only been back two days after a long stint on the road. It pissed me off that he was leaving again so soon, but it was what it was, and I wasn’t about to complain like a little bitch. He was my big brother, not my dad.

  He groaned again and started to sit up. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Hardy’s gonna kill me.”

  “Yep,” I laughed again.

  “Why didn’t you stop me?” His words were slurred, but his plea genuine.

  I helped him up off the floor, and he patted my shoulder and headed to the toilet before pulling himself out and taking a piss, one hand on the wall.

  “Old enough to know better, brother,” I replied. “Besides, I did try but you were so caught up in snatch that there was no tearing you away.”

  Butch finished pissing and tucked himself away, a sloppy grin on his face. “Yeah I was.” He shoved his long hair out of his eyes and walked toward me, and I high-fived him as he went out into the hallway and headed back to the main clubhouse. I trailed after him, not ashamed to be almost naked in front of any of the bitches there.

  Like I said, I was filling out nicely and my almost-sixteen-year-old ass wasn’t shy about my body. I headed to the small kitchenette and brewed some coffee for us both before bringing it back out to Butch in the hopes that he’d sober up some more before he took to the road. He was lying across one of the sofas, an arm flung across his face again to blot out the light, and I placed his coffee on the table in front of him after clearing some of the bottles out of the way.

  The place was a mess: women and bikers half comatose in every available space, and all of them practically naked. Looked like a damn orgy happened the night before. I wasn’t concerned with who was going to tidy up the mess, though; that was the women’s job, and they’d be up and sorting it soon enough.

  It had been this way for as far back as I could remember. Partying, sex, drugs, alcohol, and then someone else cleaning up the mess for me. Butch and I had raised ourselves when we’d been brought there. Well, between the old ladies looking out for us and making sure we were always fed, and the brothers watching our backs making sure we were safe—but we’d done the rest. Can’t say we didn’t do a damn good job, either.

  Hardy, our dad, practically never spoke to us—not unless it was to bark an order. Though I could tell he had a nicer streak for Butch than me. But most of the time we avoided one another at all costs. Ain’t nothing good ever came out of seeing my dad. He made sure we were fed and clothed and that we went to school, but that was where his parental responsibility ended.

  Of course it was different for Butch. Now that he was a patched-in member of the Devil’s Highwaymen, he had to deal with Hardy much more—taking orders from him, going on runs, club business. But not me; not yet anyway.

  I slurped some of my coffee down, and that seemed to rouse Butch. He sat back up and grabbed the coffee before drinking some. I opened my mouth to speak, but a loud banging came from the front door and both Butch and I stared at each other in confusion.

  Men began to stir all around us, all of them coming out of their drunken stupors as the banging continued. Butch sobered up automatically, and he pulled out his gun and stood up before telling me to stay where I was. Of course I didn’t, and I followed him to the door as some of the older brothers came charging out of rooms, guns in hand. We both looked up at the screen above the entrance, the image showing us who was outside.

  “You know her?” Butch asked, and I shook my head. “She looks about your age.”

  I shrugged. “I ain’t seen her before.”

  “You fuckin’ sure, Jesse? Cause she seems about your age, and Hardy will blow his nut if you’ve got angry teenage bitches coming around here causing shit for him!”

  “Dude, I’m telling you I ain’t seen her before.”

  The girl was looking down, her hair covering most of her face, but as she reached up to bang on the door again I got a good look at her face.

  Long dark hair trailing down her back, smooth olive skin, dark eyes that sucked me in and a mouth which was begging to be kissed.

  “That’s Gauge’s kid, ain’t it?” I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious in only a towel.

  “Yeah,” Butch replied, unbolting the door, the tension leaving his body. He looked back to the center of the clubhouse. “Back it up, brothers, it’s just Gauge’s kid.”

  “The fuck she doing here?” Skinny called to us, looking pissed off—and rightfully so. He tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans and scratched at his bare chest. His jeans were on, but he wasn’t zipped up and he was obviously butt naked underneath, the denim riding low enough on his hips that he was practically hanging out of them.

  “Put your junk away,” I snapped, hating that she’d see him half-undressed.

  Skinny was kind of new around there, barely twenty-five and already fully patched. The brothers loved him because he was a crazy motherfucker who never backed down from a fight and was always the life and soul of every party, and the women all loved hi
m because he was supposedly hung like a fucking donkey.

  Without waiting to be asked, Laney pushed her way past us as soon as the door was opened, and I saw right away that she had been crying. Hot tears pouring down her olive cheeks, making them flush pink.

  “Where is he?” she said, her gaze on Butch as her chin trembled.

  “Who?” Butch asked.

  She nodded. “Gauge? Where the fuck is Gauge?”

  Butch scratched his head. “Ain’t seen him for a day or so now. He’s out on club business, but he’ll be back tomorrow. You all right? Someone fuck with you?”

  Butch looked over to Skinny, who stepped forward, his hard gaze on Laney while he waited for his orders of who to kill and how quickly to do it. Because if anyone had fucked with her, that someone was a dead already.

  “No!” she sobbed. “Well, yes, sort.”

  “Need we to kill someone, darling’?” Skinny said, coming forward.

  She looked at the serious look on Skinny’s face, realizing that he was serious. And then her gaze traveled down to his near-naked body. “God, you bikers are all the same, aren’t you!” She threw her hands in the air and stormed past me and Butch.

  Butch looked to me for help, as if I’d know how to calm down a hysterical teenage girl. “I’ll go call Hardy. Keep an eye on her,” he said, slamming the door shut and bolting it. He patted me on the shoulder as he passed, nodding his head to Skinny to follow him. By the looks of things, Skinny was as happy as a pig in shit watching Laney’s tears soak through her white tee. I couldn’t blame him either, because goddamn she looked hot as hell right then. Small denim cutoffs, dirty ankle boots, and a T-shirt so tight I could practically see her nipples. I worked hard to control my own teenage hormones and the fantasies that were running through my mind.