Rock Bottom

by Manda Mellett

  Bo’s acting as though his hand really was cut off, pulling his arm against his body. He might not be the most intelligent tool in the box, but his imagination must work well enough.

  Prez waits until he brings himself under control. “Just wanted to get your attention.”

  The man’s blubbering, then when he looks at his wrist, vomit spews out of his mouth. Drummer neatly steps back to avoid it.

  “Seems you weren’t taking me seriously,” Drum says conversationally. “I suggest you start talking now. If you stop, or tell me something I don’t believe, I promise you, you won’t have either hand left to jerk off with.”

  Just the threat of having part of his limb removed has stunned the man. Drum gives him a moment, and even moves away as though to let him take in the number of men watching him, none of whom show the slightest unease at what he’d been threatened with simply for not talking. If he could pale, he would be doing so now.

  It’s Blade who finally loses patience. Having swapped the blow torch for one of his blades, he waves it in front, menacingly.

  “Got a call. Got money. Got asked to do it. Seemed a simple job. I was to place a bomb in your compound. Cased the joint first, didn’t seem any way of getting in. Thought I’d buy an old banger and drop it off in your shop.” The words tumble out one after the other. It takes a moment to process what he’s said.

  “You know explosives?” Peg snaps out.

  “No. I never had anything to do with it. Man dropped it off. Said he’d set a timer. I made sure it wasn’t going to go off with me anywhere near it.”

  “But you didn’t care how many of us you took out.” Drummer’s tone changes again. “My ol’ lady fuckin’ works in that shop. She’s pregnant. You could have killed her along with any of the brothers who’d be in there that day.” He speaks so sharply his voice alone could cut a limb off. “Who was the man who brought you the bomb? And why you?”

  “I head a small crew. We do jobs like put the heat on, you know? Man came to me with a message from Hawk.”

  Again Drummer steps forward. “How do you know Hawk?”

  “I don’t know him. I know of him. Seemed odd he’d come to us.”

  “Why odd?”

  Fuck, Drummer’s got some patience. This is like pulling teeth. Perhaps I should suggest he does that for real. Might hurry things along.

  “Hawk’s one of the white supremacists. Goes round with Nazi types. Only time he’d mix with my crew is to spit on us.”

  “So why did you take the fuckin’ job?”

  Bo shrugs. “It was good money. And we got a free pass for when we needed it.”

  Prez wipes his hand over his beard. As he turns to me I see him rolling his eyes. Can Bo really be this dense? Hawk wanted us to blame Black for it.

  Peg’s had enough and steps up himself. Bo’s eyes widen at the sight of the annoyed sergeant-at-arms, who looks like he isn’t going to pull his punches. He tries to scrabble backward. But Peg’s not using his fists. Not just yet. Even so, the threat in his eyes has Bo shaking.

  “You fuckin’ stupid?” his voice thunders. “Even the fuckin’ car was registered to you. You had to know we’d catch up with you.”

  “I didn’t,” Bo wails. “Tried to find a hot one, but couldn’t get hold of one in time. Saw this old banger going for a song so I bought it. Cash. How was I to fucking know the dude would change the registration to my name? I used fake licence plates…”

  “For fuck’s sake!” I can’t prevent the roar coming out of my mouth. “Don’t matter if he’s stupid or just fuckin’ careless. End result is the same. Our brother’s in the hospital fightin’ for his life, and we’re just lucky there’s no one else in there alongside him.”

  “Name or description of the man who gave you the bomb?”

  Bo cries out. “For fucks sake, I didn’t ask him. He was white, that’s all I know. You all fucking look alike, how can I describe him? Taller than me, heavy set.”

  “Sick of this, Prez,” Dollar groans. “He’s got nothing useful to give us.”

  Prez nods slowly. “Yeah, I agree. Time’s up, Bo.”

  Bo’s face looks terrified.

  At that moment the door to the storage room opens, and in walks Truck, looking tired as he’s just come off a twenty-four hour shift. Prez half turns, recognises him, then turns his attention back to the man strung up. “Don’t think you want to be here for this, Truck.” Truck’s a firefighter as well as our prospect. He’s got a reputation to uphold. We keep him out of anything that’s not strictly legal. And delivering our form of retribution on a man who hurt one of our own certainly comes under that.

  “Prez, I want to be here.” Truck speaks in a chilling tone I haven’t heard from him before. It even sends shivers up my spine. Without waiting for an invitation, he steps up alongside Drummer, his eyes shining with disdain he regards the man before him. Truck’s a huge man, and at this second, as terrifying as Peg. “I attend fires started on purpose. Men, women, kids die. For once I’d like to see the person responsible getting what they deserve. Oh,” he turns to Drummer, “I’ll keep my hands clean. But I’ve heard the screams from people we can’t get to in time. I’ve seen relatives devastated by their loss.” He turns back to Bo. “Do you know how painful it is to burn? To have flames covering your body? And as for a fucking bomb, know your limb has been blown off? Have you any fuckin’ idea what that feels like?”

  We’re all staring at Truck, seeing his hands clenching and opening at his sides. The big man’s almost shaking he’s so wound up. Blade nods, goes off to the side, and when he returns, takes a lighter out of his pocket and applies the flame to the blow torch he’s brought back.

  “I reckon we show Bo exactly what you’re talking about, Truck.”

  Truck doesn’t speak, nor protest as Peg steps forward and cuts Bo’s shirt off. Then he undoes his jeans and pushes them down his legs, sliding his boots off with them. Bo tries to kick out to prevent him, but Joker and Lady step up and hold him steady. Soon we have a very naked black-skinned body in front of us. Idly I notice it isn’t true what they say about Blacks. Well, no, it’s not in Bo’s case. Or maybe it’s the circumstances.

  “You fuckin’ racist pigs!” Bo screams. “It’s because I’m black…”

  “It’s because you hurt one of our own,” Drummer says calmly and coldly. “Don’t matter what colour your skin is. Go ahead, Blade.”

  Bo writhes as the heat of the blow torch approaches, and when it touches his skin he screams like the pig that he called us. The flames burn the skin from his back. As he goes rigid with pain, Blade continues without mercy down his legs. The air becomes tainted with the odour of burning flesh. It’s vaguely reminiscent of barbeques we’ve had.

  Truck crosses his arms, stoically watching the man’s skin blacken, a darker shade than his natural skin.

  “Burn off his fuckin’ cock. Do it for Slick,” Shooter yells out, causing a rumble of laughter. Yeah, Slick would certainly approve of that form of punishment.

  Bo’s almost unconscious, but comes back to life at the cry. “No, don’t. Don’t, I beg you!” For the first time it seems he’s starting to accept he won’t be getting out of this. “Don’t do that! Kill me now!”

  Prez gives Blade the nod as we all stare on, intrigued with the damage that a blow torch can do to a man’s balls. First the hair singes and an acrid aroma reaches us. His cock has shrivelled so much it’s almost invisible. But Blade homes in on his target.

  I didn’t think Bo could scream any louder, but he does, until the sounds cut off as he passes out from the pain.

  Viper steps up with a bucket of water. One dousing doesn’t do it, but the second causes moaning to start. Bo seems incapable of forming words.

  Drummer views him impassively, then barks out, “You hear me, Bo? You understand me?”

  A different moan seems to indicate he does.

  “Slick was caught in the back by flyin’ debris. From the bomb you planted. He might survive, he migh
t not. Now we’re going to show you what that must have felt like. To be hit by an object propelled at the speed of the explosion.” He pauses and gazes around. “Each man takes his turn. Leave his head to me.”

  One by one we step up. When it’s my turn I swing my fists at his chest, hearing a satisfying crack from one of the few ribs which hasn’t already been broken. By the time we’ve finished it’s hard to tell the man in front of us was ever a human being. Teeth smashed out, eyes blackened and closed, his arms broken but one still chained to the ceiling. I don’t know whether he’s still alive or not.

  When it’s Drummer’s turn he walks around the back of Bo and swings the hammer with all his might, meeting his skull with an audible crack.

  There’s a moment of silence, then Prez speaks. “Take him down and bury him.”

  Chapter 34

  Becca

  When Rock returns from whatever he’s been up to for the past few hours, his face is unreadable, tension radiating off him. So much so I don’t dare ask what he’s been doing. I think it’s probably best I don’t know. All the brothers had been missing, something the other old ladies didn’t even feel the need to comment on. Taking my lead from them, I’ve been keeping myself busy helping in the kitchen. If Sam knew what was going on, she didn’t enlighten us.

  The women are easy company, and I soon settle in working alongside them, laughing at Sophie exaggerating her use of the English language and showing mock horror we were serving mashed potatoes and gravy with fried chicken. Even after two years of being here the VP’s old lady still wants fries, or chips as she calls them, with hers. Our looks of disgust equal her expression of horror, and we’ve been called bloody heathens more than once this morning. I suspect it’s her way of easing the tension, and that I’m not the only one wondering what’s going on.

  Finally the men appear, accompanied by an aroma that’s hard to explain. A bit like they’ve been barbequing, but no grills are alight out back. As Wraith, Drummer, and Heart head for their women, Rock makes a beeline for me. He pulls me by the hand and, without speaking, almost drags me up to the suite. He’s focused, not even stopping to talk to his brothers.

  When we reach our destination he pushes me through the door. Immediately slamming it shut with his foot, he leans back against the wood, then waits, his eyes half closed, his brow furrowed. As the words come out, his voice sounds hoarse. “I need you, Becca.”

  His admission steadies me, lets me know whatever has got him so tense is not down to me. Whatever he’s been dealing with wound him up tight.

  He needs me. Just as I needed him. When I did, he’d been there for me. It’s my turn now to take care of him. For a moment I stand undecided, knowing he’s watching me through his eyelashes, letting me make the first move. My hands flutter by my sides, more used to taking direction than deciding what to do for myself.

  That Rock’s stance is unthreatening makes me braver. Without asking permission, I move toward him, going up on tiptoe and placing my lips against his. His mouth softens as I trace my tongue over the seam, and when he opens I take advantage and push inside. He doesn’t take control, doesn’t place his hands on my head, simply lets his tongue follow mine as I enjoy the warmth and softness of his mouth. I love this man. So much. Overcome with emotion, my only desire is to make him feel as good as he makes me. As I extend the kiss I bravely put a hand to his denim-covered cock, slowly tracing its form, squeezing gently, feeling pride as it lengthens under my touch. He moans gently into my mouth, a sign that what I’m doing is right. I fondle him again, and in amazement feel it steadily hardening.

  Taking a deep breath to fortify myself, I drop down to my knees, and with shaking fingers, undo the button on his jeans. The hiss which comes from his lips tells me I’m still on the right track.

  Fighting with myself so I don’t look up to check I’m doing it right, I boldly push his jeans down over his hips. Having gone commando, his bulging, already hard cock bobs up to greet me. Ignoring the hard, tiled floor bruising my knees, I place my hand on the velvety smooth skin which covers the steel underneath. Then, with my other hand, balance his balls, gently massaging them, full of wonder and pride as his cock stiffens more.

  His soft moan providing encouragement, I lean forward and suck one of his balls into my mouth, his pubic hair tickling my chin as I breathe in his heady, musky essence. My tongue continues to work, first one testicle then the other until I feel brave enough to slide it up the side of his cock and lick the drop of salty pre-cum off the tip. He hums as my tongue probes his slit, hoping to find more moisture leaking. I’m not disappointed. Again emboldened, I place my lips around the head, gently sucking it into my mouth.

  A loud gasp. Reaching out his hand, his fingers toy with my hair. But he doesn’t force me, doesn’t push into my face, just holds me. A gesture of reassurance, leaving me in control. My tongue plays, licking up then down, a gentle suck to the head.

  “Becca,” he breathes out. His hands move away, then back, as though he’s struggling with himself.

  I smile into his cock, then open my mouth further, letting him slide inside, involuntarily gagging as he hits the back of my throat. I don’t want to lose him, want time to get used to his size, so my hands go around his ass, holding him to me. He lets me experiment, trying to take all of him in. But he’s large, too long and thick for me to take all the way. I manage as much as I can and swallow around him, one of my hands holding tight the length I’m unable to accommodate.

  “Fuck, Becca. Don’t know what fuckin’ spell you’re weaving. Never felt so fuckin’ good.”

  It’s not the first time I’ve given head, but the first I’ve done it of my own volition. Now I’ve free rein I want to take the time to enjoy this. The feeling of being in charge, of controlling him, exhilarating and welcoming. I suck him back in, hollow my cheeks, and swallow again.

  “Becca, I’m close,” he warns.

  I want him. Want to feel his cum in my mouth, want to taste it and swallow it. While I’ve enjoyed teasing him, he’s stretching my mouth and I won’t be comfortable continuing much longer, so I massage his balls and fasten my pace as I bob up and down his shaft.

  I take him as far back as possible. I feel his balls tense.

  “Becca,” he cries out. “Becca, fuck, Becca.”

  Warm liquid floods my mouth, and I swallow as fast as I can, not wanting to miss a drop. Some escapes onto my lips. I lick him clean, then my tongue comes out to get the bits that I’ve missed. Finally, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. Seeing his eyes now open and focused upon me, I lick my hand clean.

  For a second, I worry. Have I done it right? Men like having their cock in a woman’s mouth, but this time I wanted to give him pleasure, something he could get from no one else. A blowjob delivered out of love, not duty or force or an act to illustrate subservience.

  “Becca.” He bends slightly, curling his hands around my biceps, pulling me to my feet. His eyes stare into mine for a second, then his mouth is on mine. This time he’s in control. His lips and tongue move frantically as though he can’t get enough of me, seeming not to care he can taste himself on me.

  I meet him thrust for thrust, our tongues swirling in and out of each other’s mouths, almost duelling in our intensity.

  When he finally pulls away he looks down in amazement, his pupils dilated and softened. “Fuckin’ love you, Becca.”

  I grin. I can’t help it. I wanted to ask him if I’d done it right, but his expression needs no word of explanation. It’s clear that I have.

  Then he’s taking over. His hands still on my arms, he starts pushing me back to the bed before realising, once again, his jeans are around his ankles. We both look down. Just as I’d done the time before, I giggle.

  “Minx.” My chuckles erupt, and I don’t care that he gives me an instruction. “Take off my boots.”

  I obey, dropping back to my knees, in my hurry fumbling with the laces. He lifts one foot then the other so I can take his boots off, and I
help him slide his jeans over his feet.

  Now he’s stalking me. Crab-like, I scramble back toward the bed. Before I can get there he’s impatiently lifting me in his strong arms and throwing me on it. He straightens, his breath coming heavily, his expression intense. But it doesn’t scare me. I’ve raised the angry beast, and I don’t mind a bit.

  He tugs me to the edge of the bed, and this time it’s his knees which hit the floor, and in the same motion pulling my shorts down my legs, taking my panties with them. I wait, poised, ready for him to begin, already knowing I’m wet and ready for him. But when he leans over me, his hands caressing my sides and smoothing across my stomach, it’s unexpected. My skin ripples with anticipation just at his touch.

  With a serious look on his face, his eyes fixed on mine, he lowers his mouth to my nipple, sucking it gently into his mouth. The zing to my clit makes me jerk. Then he applies his attention to the other, alternating between them until the nubs are hard and stand out.

  Now it’s me moaning. My body starts jerking again, without conscious thought trying to get him where I want him most. A huff of warm breath, then his tongue touches me, tracing my labia on each side. My clit’s screaming for attention, but he avoids it. Suddenly his tongue sweeps inside my slit. The feeling is intense, wonderful, but it’s still not where I need it.

  Lowering my hand, I place it on his head.

  “I’m getting there,” he mumbles against me.

  He pushes my legs further apart with his hands. For a second, he does nothing. I open my eyes, which I’d somehow closed, to see him looking at me, examining me. In embarrassment I try to close my legs, but he holds them open.

  “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Becca. Such a pretty cunt.”

  His words do something to me. I stop struggling only to be rewarded by a finger pressing inside me, then another, and then, at last, his mouth closes over my clit. A gentle suck while he massages my internal walls with his fingers, then he starts licking, seeming to automatically know what pressure I need and where.

  Then I’m incapable of even thinking as a warm rush of feeling seems to reach from my extremities and land just where his tongue is. I’m breathing fast to get oxygen into my lungs, my nerve endings singing. I feel light headed as all my muscles tense and my stomach feels like a million butterflies are fluttering inside it.