by Marata Eros
My fist comes down once, twice, three times.
Third time's the charm. I drop a bleeding gangbanger on the steps in front of the building, and he cooperatively drapes over the cement treads like a human rug. Just out of our path.
Noose steps away from the other two. They're out cold.
“We're fucked now,” Noose says in a conversational tone.
I put my hands on my hips. “If they'd just been open to some honest-to-God discourse.”
Noose quirks a brow, cracking his raw knuckles. “Right.” He tries to eyeball his front. “Got any blood on my cut?”
My eyes sweep down his cut. I hold my thumb and index almost together.
Noose grunts. “Goddammit. Dry cleaning bills get excessive. Should have left it in the trunk with the leather.”
I don't point out that if we weren't beating people up regularly, it wouldn't be an issue.
Lariat smirks.
He pounds on the steel door, and a full reverberating echo sounds, making the interior of the building ring empty.
We know it's not.
I hear shuffling of feet, and our knots come out.
The first thing I see is Shannon. Can't say I was anticipating her being right there.
Navy SEALs are trained in basic EMT skills, and I'm handy enough to know when I see the beginnings of shock.
Shannon's got them. Her skin's gray, and she's wearing brains and blood. Back spray from a close-range shot.
The Blood who's got his hands on her is going to die. He holds her like he owns her.
That's the moment when I know I've been kidding myself.
Shannon's mine.
“Luis Lopez,” I say with a calm I don't feel.
“Road Kill scum,” he acknowledges.
“We were gonna be all polite and shit, but now I don't feel compelled,” Noose says.
“We came to get the girl,” I say, not looking away from Lopez. I know he's king.
And the king of the Bloods has my girl.
A girl I haven't claimed.
My eyes flick to hers. Shannon blinks, licks her lip, and grimaces at the taste of someone else's blood. Her gaze also pleads for me to let her go.
Fuck that.
“She your property?” Lopez licks the top of her ear, and she cringes away from him.
The fibers of my rope feel like individual threads of death in my hand. Lopez’s death.
My tongue runs over my lip, anticipating a rope on a certain throat. “Yeah.” A weight I didn't know I was carrying lifts. Sometimes it just feels straight up good to admit shit.
Shannon quickly shakes her head.
“Shut up, bitch!” he growls, and his lips close around the top of her ear.
Tears streak down her face, making clear paths through the drying blood.
Lopez's eyes go to my knot, which is subtly turned to do damage. He snorts, yanking Shannon. Her injured arm bangs against his hip, and she yelps.
“You think your little rope's gonna do anything?”
Noose and Lariat are as silent as the grave.
Lopez swivels his chin to the sides of us, and his minions come at us with knives. Shannon gives a big tell, tensing to her left.
I whip out the double knot and take the knife from dickless at my left, hitting the hilt hard.
The knife skitters, and I snap the weighted end, where one knot is larger than the other, hitting him in the nose.
Cartilage explodes, sending a geyser of blood out of each nostril.
“Get them,” Lopez bellows.
“Let go!” Shannon screams. Her heels make marks in the blood as he drags her from the fighting.
Four more men come at us, and I wonder where the guns are.
Shannon collapses, and Lopez doesn't anticipate the move.
I love her for it.
I toss the knot I used on dickless at Lopez.
Like a bola, it swings, hitting him in his arrogant snout. He bleats like a wounded goat, hands coming to his face.
Shannon crawls toward me.
I can't deal with saving her right then because two guys land on me.
I wrap the rope hard on the neck biter who tries to latch on to me through my cut.
Gotta love leather.
He flies over my back and onto the floor, effectively hanging himself on my shorty length.
Squeezing, I uncross my arms, and he flops to the floor like a rag doll.
“Wring!” Shannon screams.
And our eyes lock.
I see her warning and duck, swiping a longer length out, and use it like a tripping wire.
Two guys tumble past me like bowling pins.
Noose roars, and I spare a glance.
He's got three down. All unconscious.
Lariat's got the door.
Only Lopez is left.
He's got a gun. He points it at me.
I see my death. I've seen it a lot in my life.
A slender leg swings, hitting the gun as it fires. The bullet goes wide, embedding in the unfinished insulated ceiling.
Fiberglass rains down like spun sugar. I run to Shannon and scoop her up.
“Fuckers!” Lopez yells.
Noose kicks the smoking gun away from Lopez, and it skitters across the concrete like an out-of-control metal insect.
We leave him alive as a sign of goodwill. The others lay beat up and bleeding, but alive.
I cradle Shannon against me, and Noose takes rear position, securing my back, as Lariat leads.
We leave as we came. In violence.
*
“Mom can't see me like this,” I say as soon as we get back to where the guys’ bikes sit.
“No shit?” Noose says with a snort.
“Come on, have a little compassion,” Wring says.
Noose laughs silently. “Feeling great,” he says.
Wring's eyes move heavenward. “Because we used knots?”
He nods, throws a fist in the air, and they bump fists.
“I'll take Shannon to Vipe's place in Ravensdale, get this shit figured out and clean her up.”
I hear the other biker guy fire up his bike and watch him for a second or two as he pulls out.
He gives Wring and Noose a nod and leaves.
Noose turns his attention back to me. “I can have Storm drop by your place and,” he throws a hand up, “tell your mom shit's okay.”
“Please put me down,” I say to Wring.
He does, and I grip his arm to keep standing. “They might retaliate—hurt Mom.” I can't stand the thought of that.
“Nah.” Noose winds his long hair at his nape and reties it, man-bun style. “Fucking Bloods don't have the cojones.” He grabs a pack of cigarettes out of a pouch between his handlebars, puts one between his lips, and lights up in a sequence of moves so smooth they look orchestrated. A ring plumes out of his mouth.
I watch it float into a sky filling with glittering stars, and out of nowhere, I start shaking.
His eyes narrow on me. “Shock,” Noose states.
My teeth start to chatter.
“Yeah, fuck,” Wring agrees, and I try to sit down on the curb.
“Nope, can't stick around.” His face whips to Noose's, and I watch and listen to the interaction like I'm having an out-of-body experience. “Text Storm, get his ass over here on the QT.”
“On it,” Noose says, extracting a cell and punching in stuff.
Wring turns my face with gentle fingers. “Listen, Shannon.”
I nod.
“Taking you somewhere safe, quiet.”
Quiet's good.
“You can't faint.”
No fainting. I start to laugh.
“Hey,” he says softly, “don't freak out right now. I need you to wait until I can transport you.”
Wring settles me on the curb and puts a tender hand on my neck, pushing my head between my knees. “Breathe, babe.”
I breathe and concentrate only on that.
Not on the fact that Luis
Lopez has marked me. Or that Mom's in danger.
Or that I'm going off with Wring from a motorcycle gang.
Covered in Vincent's brains.
I just breathe.
Chapter 13
My fingers are numb by the time we get to this place Wring told me about in Ravensdale.
Thank God he lent me his leather jacket. I've never seen him wear it, only the leather vest with the patches on it. There’s a Road Kill MC patch and a little black, diamond-shaped one with the one-percenter symbol. Whatever that means.
I pray that somehow that other guy, Storm, will get to my house and calm Mom down. But these biker guys are rough, so Mom feeling calm may not happen.
I sigh against his back.
Wring pulls up in a semi-circular gravel drive and parks in front of deep and wide wood steps.
Night has come, and I can't make out much. But the structure looks like a smallish log cabin sitting perfectly on a small knoll. Graceful branches from well-established cedar trees sweep the corners of the roof like sentinels.
Wring shuts off the bike and holds out his arm. I take it gratefully and slide off.
My teeth are back to chattering.
Wring gets off and takes my hand, tugging me behind him as he taps a quick text to someone. I stumble up the stairs, and with a soft curse, he shoves his cell in his pocket and dips to literally sweep me off my feet.
“Sorry,” I mutter, exhausted.
He gets to the front door and plucks a key that dangles from the same chain as his wallet and inserts it into a keyhole.
With a low shriek, the door opens wide.
A dim interior forges shapes of growing shadows as the deepening of the night seeps from the edges toward where we stand.
“Gotta get you a shower.” He kicks the door shut behind us, and a latch falls into place.
I want a shower worse than I've ever wanted anything in my life.
“Wring,” I call softly.
He ignores me, moving into a tiny bathroom with barely enough room to fit a person inside. A toilet stands crammed between the shower stall and a minuscule sink and vanity combination.
“Yeah?” he asks, holding me against him with one hand and turning on the shower with the other.
“I can—I'll clean up.”
Wring studies me, shadows fleeing when he snaps on a light. The naked bulb blares down at us.
“I know that. But we're hooking up. Tonight.”
“What?” I ask, and my hands go to his massive shoulders. If I tried, I could probably tuck my head underneath his chin; he's that big.
“Hooking up?” My voice sounds like a squeak.
“I'm cleaning this shit off you, and then I'm fucking you, Shannon. You're going to be my property.”
I shake my head, denying him, though his words make my lady parts throb. My face infuses with heat—I remember what he did to me against that wall. I'll never forget. But him telling me what to do?
No.
That's what that Blood did. Luis Lopez hit me, then he killed Vincent.
Wring caresses my face, and I pull away. “I'm dirty.” Fresh tears brim over my eyes and sink into the old tracks of the last ones. “I have to get… I have to get clean.” I don't want Wring to touch any part of me while I'm covered with someone's liquefied body.
“I know. You've been through a lot, and I shouldn't lay this on you.”
My gaze locks with his. “But you will.”
Wring pushes me up against the wall, narrowly missing a towel ring. “Yeah. I will. You put yourself in harm's way, Shannon. What in the righteous fuck did you think you were doing going over to Blood territory?”
Steam from the shower rises.
I don't answer. I can't think of a response that makes any sense.
“Ya know what? Fuck it.”
Wring pins my wrists above my head and tears my filthy shirt over my head, pulling my wrists away from the wall. Then he tosses the shirt outside the bathroom.
Vincent's blood didn't soak through to the skin, and my boobs bounce in time with my heaving chest.
Wring's eyes latch on to my chest. “Fuck, you're a gorgeous girl.”
He dips his head and, still holding my wrists, dives his face between my breasts, kissing the flesh there. My emotions are so raw—so close to the surface—I go from angry to lustful instantly. Still holding my wrists, he uses his other hand to scoop my boob out of my lacy bra. He takes my nipple into my mouth.
Each erotic pull is a tender thread that tweaks deep at my core, and I moan at the new sensation.
“Yeah, baby,” Wring murmurs and drops my wrist to tug my bra off. He doesn't bother with finesse, just grips the straps and yanks. It slides down one of my arms, and I fling it off.
Next, he unhooks the waistband of my jeans and slides them over my hips.
His hand cups my sex over my sheer panties, and I catch my breath. Can't take another breath.
Or think.
“Gotta get you clean, Shannon.”
I nod and manage to gasp a yes in there somewhere.
Wring's angry that I went over to the Bloodsʼ territory and tried to reason with Vincent.
But none of that matters when his hands are on my body.
Suddenly, I'm naked, and I'm sure Wring will ravage me. Instead, he gently places me underneath the running water. I'm drenched in seconds.
Soap runs over my body as his hands clean me. He swipes away the remnants of Vincent off my face, and suds run pink with what's left. I shut my eyes tight.
Shampoo and firm hands lather my hair, and I sigh, letting water run inside my mouth and drip off my chin. His sure hands glide down my sides, framing my ribs, his thumbs a breath away from my breasts.
“Shannon,” Wring says softly, and I open my eyes.
“I'm no rapist.”
I give a languid smile. His hands warm me, soothe me, and clean me. “No,” I readily agree.
“I want to come in there with you.”
The expression in his eyes is almost painful. He's waiting for me to reject him. If I was even a little bit smart, I would.
I'm not.
“Yes.”
Wring strips out of his clothes in record time and stands there, letting me look at him.
He spreads his powerful arms away from his body, a faint smile hovering at his full lips. “Like what you see?”
I nod, putting my face in my hands, and cry. I'm so thankful he saved me from that horrible guy.
“Hey, shhh…” He bends down to take my hands away then kisses my face.
“Thank you, Wring.”
“Oh, baby—I tried to fight it. Can't. Gotta have you. The moment you put those green eyes on me, I couldn't get away, say no. Nothing. But hear me.” He tips my face up, and I meet his nearly translucent eyes, the color of glaciers tinged by blue. “Don't have sex with me—or do anything with me—ʼcause of gratitude. I'm not going to be a mercy fuck, baby.”
I start giggling.
He frowns. I pull him into the shower, and our bodies touch, my bare breasts mashing against his ribcage.
Wring puts a hand beside my face, and the molded plastic shower back is cold against my skin. I wince.
He pulls me tight against him and I feel his erection.
Scary.
Exciting.
“You laughing at me?” His lips twist into a smile. Wring takes ahold of my wet hair and flings it behind my back.
“No,” I say, cradling his face. “You—I don't think anyone would have sex with you out of mercy, Wring. You're safe there.” I give him a speculative look. “Maybe they'd beg for mercy.”
His hands run down my sides, tickling me, and I squeal. The laughter feels so good, I hiccup back more.
Wring's hands go to my breasts, mounding them, and my laughter fades. “Beg,” he whispers beside my temple, and I shiver against him.
My breath stills as water runs over his shoulders and between his hands, settling and filling between my breasts. He kisse
s first one nipple then moves to the next.
My hand sinks over his skull. The short hairs stand stiff and wet underneath my hand.
“Gonna clean ya,” he whispers against my skin.
I nod, realize he can't see me, and say, “Yes.”
His hands find my wetness easily, and I move my knees apart.
“Shannon,” he breathes against me, and before I know it, his dexterous fingers have split my folds. I throw my head back, wrapping my arms around his neck.
His fingers leave me, and I groan at their absence. But Wring's not through with me yet. He hikes me up and puts his face against my sex.
His breath is hot.
I automatically tense, stopping him with a hand, though I know if he wanted to keep going, nothing could stop him.
No man goes to these lengths to rape me after he's saved me twice.
My inexperience makes me unsure, though.
“What?” he asks, eyes rolling up from between my legs to fasten on my face.
I swallow, embarrassed. “I've never done this.”
Wring grins, and his cheek moves against my inner thigh, rubbing it like a cat. “That's okay.”
Then his mouth is on my center, and I yell out.
I feel him smile against my slickness, then his tongue is working my clit, while the fingers of one hand play against my entrance.
Back and forth, his mouth presses against me.
“Wring,” I struggle, pleasant heat suffusing my vagina.
“Hang tight. Gonna make you blow.”
Blow? Oh yeah—cum.
I close my eyes, momentarily relaxing, and one more swirl with his tongue at the same time his finger enters me partway. I shudder, my walls pulsing around him, as I push myself against his mouth.
“That's it. Let it go, Shannon.”
I do. Everything that's built up inside me rushes out in blissful waves of pleasure.
Wring's fingers bite into the flesh of my butt cheeks while his face is buried in my most sensitive area, and a new wave of pounding pleasure sears through me again.
Gradually, his tongue slows, and he withdraws his finger. He lets me down like I'm made of glass, and I lean against the shower wall in a semi-daze.
“That's the look I like.” His smile is proud, satisfied, and content.
“Get me out of here,” I say feeling suddenly too hot.
Wring picks me up, sets me on my feet on top of a bath mat, and wraps me carefully inside a huge bath towel. He shakes his head, and tiny droplets of warm water strike my face.
