Then her whole body burst and clenched up, pulling her unyielding strength into a ball from head to knees. “God!— Fucking god!” Then her legs convulsed, slamming her heels back into the mattress, driving her hips into the air, and just as suddenly the voltage of the orgasm curled her back up, and then she was driving again to thrash in the air. The convulsions were fast, powerful, and the idea that she was somehow being electrocuted filled her astonished mind.
Suddenly Leo’s hand was gone, and the abrupt emptiness had her hips and ass fucking the air wildly, trying to find it again as she rolled to her side and quaked. Her body jerked and spasmed as if there were exposed live wires in her, popping and snapping.
Unexpectedly, she found herself on her knees. At the same moment, she realized that she was forgetting to breathe. She sucked in great gulps of air, giving no further thought to her position until Leo’s cock entered her with one hard thrust from behind, and her head snapped up off the mattress as she wailed a silent scream of pure bliss and agony.
Leo’s hand grabbed a fistful of her hair. He pulled her back and up onto her hands, and then further up, holding her fast in the air and fucking her with alarming power. She had never felt this controlled, this fucking used, before. The orgasms were violent and strong. She was fucking getting off on this savage caveman ravaging — not only getting off, but begging to be taken harder.
His climax was an experience of utter domination. His left hand grabbed her whole breast and squeezed, he pulled her back even further, bending her like a bow, and hammered into her with beastly thrusts.
Completely helpless, completely used. This was what early women felt like when their Neanderthal men took them and fucked them.
God, why did she love this so fucking much?
He let her go. Just opened his hands and let her fall. And she did fall, straight into the mattress, her head hitting the pillow like a stone. She panted and clawed ineffectively at the mattress with weak fingers, her ass still in the air, with no idea what she was expecting. It was over. He was done with her. Discarded.
His arms came around her and pulled her into him so they were spooning.
Oh yeah, this is why I love that so much.
Chapter Twenty
It was late in the afternoon, just getting dark, on Wednesday when Beverly left Yvette in the mothering care of Kim — the Kim who was married to sexy Preston the Dark — and headed for home.
She rode with a stress-reducing purpose, letting the bike drift a little in the lane and not rushing to get home. The sky was clear and deep blue. Spring was everywhere, and life, or rather, being alive, was a good thing.
She pulled into her drive and parked her Lowrider by the porch. She gave a glance toward Leo’s place across the road, but she decided to get a shower, possibly something to eat, and then call Leo. He had said he had a busy day today, anyway. Perhaps it would be best to give him until seven at least.
Tomorrow, though, he was back into it, whatever it was.
From what she had gathered so far, it had something to do with the Vasquez cartel, and maybe even Nomar himself. She figured that Danny was the one pulling the strings and Leo was working as perhaps a freelancer, rather than a patch holder of the Sinners. Secrecy, even from the Sinners, was paramount.
Something had to give with this secrecy stuff soon, though, because the rumors out there were festering until everyone was convinced they were facts. Nearly everyone who came by to give condolences to Yvette were already convinced that Leo had been the trigger man. When Bev told these men that he was with her, she got the sideways glance that said, “Sure dear, sure. Bet you would say anything as long as he kept dickin’ ya.”
“I swear to Christ, the next motherfucker that gives me that look.… No! I’m not going to wait that long,” she decided as she toweled off.
She put on blue jeans that weren’t as tight as normal and a thermal shirt under a black Harley shirt. Then boots. Not girly boots, but stomp-a-mud-hole-in-him boots. She pulled her hair back into a severe ponytail, and then she put on her knife. Anyone who knew her would say she was looking for a fight, and she was.
Grabbing her jacket and keys, she headed for the door, eyes filled with visions of how she was going to do this, when the door burst in just as she was going to reach for it. Three men came in at her hard and fast.
Reflexively, she palm-heeled the first man in the nose, smashing it so it sprayed blood, and used his momentum to throw him back behind her. He landed on the coffee table, smashing it to the floor. The second man grabbed her shoulder, and she grabbed his finger in return, yanking it back hard until she heard the crack of joints coming undone.
A hard fist hit her in the jaw and sent her reeling backward. Then the third man shoulder tackled her into the couch. She tried going for her knife, but it was too late. His weight and momentum jammed her into the corner of the couch, squishing her shoulders together and limiting her movements. He came down on her thighs with most of his lower body, pinning them to the seat bench of the couch.
The flash of a steel blade caught her attention. Unable to do anything, she watched it slash toward her throat. She felt it cut, but not deep.
The man looked at her. He was Mexican, thick and very powerful. His eyes were a dead, dull black. They were the eyes of a killer, someone who killed as easily as they put on socks in the morning, and some weeks, just as often.
“Now puta, you and me are going to talk,” he told her, his voice calm and heavily accented. “After that, I am going to kill you.”
Her eyes went wide with horror.
“Yes, puta, you die tonight,” he told her with exaggerated nods of assurance. “But there are many ways to die. Such as a bullet in the back of the head. Not so bad. You probably don’t even feel it, really. You’re just dead. No pain. Just dead.”
He let that sink in for a moment.
“Of course, there is also death by rape, and torture, where you beg me to kill you instead of going through it again, but I say no, I shake my head sadly, and then I do it all over to you again, and again, and again, until you die.
“See, this here,” he sighed while tapping her left tit, “is just another body to me. It has no meaning to me. I don’t care about how much pain it is in, or how horror stricken it becomes. For me, it is nothing.”
He let that sink in as well.
Beverly was growling in her mind, and she searched through everything she knew, every move her dad had taught her since she was fucking twelve, to keep this man from killing her. If he released her, for just a moment, she would choose option number three: die fighting.
She just needed a distraction, anything to get him to let her up enough to get her knife in her hand. Then … then motherfuckers were going to die.
Please God, please. Just one chance. Even if I fail and die, that’s alright. Just one chance. Please.
“Now, we talk,” he told her. “Now you tell me everything you know about Leo Hampton.”
“You mean like how he’s standing right behind you?” she asked sweetly.
He bought it, hook, line, and sinker. He drew back from her like a cobra and twisted around, dropping his knife with such grace while going for his gun that she marveled at the man’s skill.
Bev wasted no moment or movement. With over a decade of daily training and many years keeping that training honed, she went for her knife.
The man was pulling out his pistol as she slashed out with her knife, cutting deep into his exposed side with the same movement. His reaction was unbelievably fast — inhuman. All of his momentum, all of his energy snapped back on her, bringing the gun to aim at her head. Bev met him speed for speed, and as he forearm was lining up for the shot, her blade cut deeply through the extensor carpi radialis longus muscle. This muscle runs along the top of the forearm. It moves the wrist, helps to close the hand, and has control over the trigger finger. Ernesto could suddenly no longer fire the gun in his hand, and it fell out of his grip.
She didn’t wait to s
ee if that strike was enough, though, as she continued her attack. She swung the blade as hard as she could, using all of her upper body strength to drive her blade through the bottom of his jaw and up into his brain.
Her eyes were flaming with pure wrath.
But another hand caught her wrist, and the new man’s free hand backhanded her across the face.
She barely noticed the blow, already twisting her arm against the new man’s thumb to release her wrist and clawing with her left hand for his balls.
The report of a handgun filed the room, and the man that she was going to castrate by hand flew away. He was just gone, like a magic trick. Then the man on top of her, who was howling in pain and rage, was pulled back by his neck and thrown off of her. He landed on the man who had wrecked the coffee table, who still hadn’t moved since she had put him there.
“You fucking bitch, you fucking puta!” the man was screaming, and long curses streamed from his tongue in his own language.
She looked up to see Leo standing there with a gun in his hand.
“Please shoot him,” she asked.
Leo shot him. He shot him in the ass. The Mexican looked wildly around, seemingly unable to believe that he had just been shot in the ass.
“You didn’t kill him,” she snarled at Leo.
“No, but I will. I need him alive for just about an hour longer. Can I please have that hour?”
She looked at the Mexican, who looked at her with disbelieving eyes.
“Just a body to me,” she told Leo with a shrug.
Leo nodded, seeming to understand her completely, which scared her more than anything else that had just happened to her.
Leo loaded the two dead men into the back of the their own truck.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“Ernesto Morales. Enforcer for the Vasquez cartel and probably one of the most dangerous men in that organization.”
“And why exactly are you waiting to kill him?”
“To impress the most dangerous man in that organization, Nomar Vasquez. I want to impress upon him that this shit is never, ever, to happen again.”
She processed that for a few moments, and then asked, “And then you kill him?”
“Yes, and then I kill him.”
“No deals or wimping out?”
He raised an eyebrow at that.
“Well,” she defended, “it’s kind of like murder, right?”
“No, it’s kind of like war,” the told her. “The man is already a corpse. I’m just choosing where he will stop breathing.”
“I suppose no cops,” she assessed.
He kissed her lips. “I’ll be back within three hours.”
“You go have your fun. I’m in the perfect mood now to go have mine.”
“Yours?”
“Secret squirrel stuff baby, secret squirrel.”
Chapter Twenty One
Long before Leo would reach the Vasquez cartel with his truck full of bodies, Beverly pulled boldly up to the club and parked near the door. She still wore the same outfit which was splattered by other men’s blood. She had killed a man tonight: the first one in the door, the one she had palm-heeled in the nose. His nose had broken and the force of her blow had sent the bone spearing into his brain. He was dead before the coffee table smashed.
She thought she should feel bad about taking a man’s life, but she didn’t. When Leo told her he was dead, the only thing she could think was, “Why didn’t I do that to the other two?”
Tonight, though, something else had to take a beating, and she was in the perfect mood to start a fight.
When she walked through the doors, she scanned the long wide room. As luck would have it, five of the men who had come over to Yvette’s house and told her things like, “Just say the word,” and, “We know who it is, we got your back,” and similar things, giving Bev the whore eye when she told them Leo was with her that night, were nicely gathered together.
“Sorry boys, it just ain’t your day,” she growled as she walked up to the largest of them and sized him up. “Hey, you say I’m lying about Leo being with me on Monday?”
The big man looked at her. “I’m saying you’re a cheap fucking whor—”
Bev hit him. She didn’t hit him like a girl. She hit him like the daughter of a Recon master sergeant.
The blow surprised him more than hurt him, as she knew it would — she was going for speed, not power. When the big man’s head snapped back from her punch to his jaw, she balled up her left fist, extending her thumb just a little so her fist looked like a rock with a nail sticking out, and she drove that nail right into the man’s Adam’s apple.
Reflexively, he dropped his beer bottle and clutched his throat, displaying universal sign language for ‘I can’t fucking breathe, someone help!’ But she wasn’t done with him yet. Her knee came up as her hands grabbed the man’s shoulders, and she pulled and kneed him as hard as she could in the balls.
Again, the man’s body responded with reflex and doubled over, but instead of backing up, she went into his gut shoulder first, knees bent. As his weight curled around his gut, she took him up with her arms, rolling him across her back and shoulders, and then shot up as hard as she could with her thighs.
It looked like she threw him onto that table. It really did. Actually, she had just let his own weight roll across her shoulders — a major difference in the amount of strength required — but it looked impressive as hell.
The man hit the table with his back and lay sprawled across it as she walked up to him. “Whore, huh? Well, you’ve just been fucked, so I’ll take my fucking money, dickweed!”
She turned with challenge in her eyes. “Now,” she shouted to a near-silent audience, “who the fuck is next?”
There was quiet and shock, and then a voice behind her said, “Yes, please. Step up and call Bev a liar to her face. I haven’t had a good fight in, tsk, tsk, years, really.”
She turned and there was Preston, the dark, major heartthrob, and the sergeant at arms for the Sinners.
She remembered he was married and turned her attention back to the group she had first approached.
“You!” She pointed at one of the men at the bar. “Alright, mister, just give the word. That’s what you say to a grieving widow? That you’ll be happy to kill the wrong man for her? Step the fuck up!”
He stayed where he was, and even turned away.
“Then you! Mr. We all know who did it, come on.… I couldn’t do it in front of Yvette, but I can do it here. I can do it all fucking night! Step up and call me a liar!”
Again, this one turned away. She knew it was Preston behind her that was doing most of the scaring, but she had a strong suspicion that the blood stains across her body might have something to do with it, too.
“Alright, how about that group that wants to hang outside Leo’s house and jump him when he gets home? I should let you fucking try that. There you are. You five right there.” She pointed to them, walking straight at them.
One of them came at her. “You don’t want to bring that sh—”
She went into a blur of speed as she closed distance, skipping a step and spearing into his gut an organ-bursting side kick that lifted the man off the floor and sent him back a foot to land on his ass. Bev never stopped moving, though, shifting her weight and pouncing, following him all the way down. Then, grabbing him by his scalp, she hammered her fist into his forehead with a furious scream. The man’s eyes rolled and she dropped his head, hearing it thunk on the floor.
Then Preston moved past her. “My turn. Very sweet, Bev, but my turn.”
The remaining four ran.
Bev watched them go, a snarl on her face. Then she turned to the club and said in a clear, calm voice, “I’ll be at Yvette’s house every day until she can bear to be alone again. I swear to you the club and to God above, I won’t wait for you to show up here. I’ll fucking break you off right in front of her.”
Then she turned, nodded to Preston, who gave
her a salute, and strode for the doors of the club.
Then Preston’s voice rose up, cultured and thick with sappy sexiness. “Just one thing to add to Bev’s challenge. If you touch her, you deal with me. I don’t care if it is a kick, a poke, or a dirty look. You will answer to me and the rough riders. I will not be understanding. I will not listen to your reasons. I will not care about your grief. She stood up for Yvette when none of you fuckers would. She was who Yvette called when she needed someone she knew would show up. She is the one who has been there for her every day. So, you worthless rumor-humping whores, I say, shut the fuck up.”
Bev walked out into the night and got on her bike. She started the engine and slowly left the parking lot. She road home with a glide, and she soothed herself with the sway of the bike and the vibrations between her legs.
SAUL: The Pagans MC Page 39
