Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC)

by Bink Cummings

  Gaze drifting upward, he stops on my eyes and the corner of his lip tips slightly. I almost miss it before it’s gone. Those same teal eyes darken as they leave me and shift to my right. Observing my arm tucked into the crook of Bonez’s elbow, a disgusted expression morphs his handsome features and his nostrils flare. With hands clenched at his sides, his forearms turn to inked steel. I take a step forward to go to him, to make it all better, but Bonez stops me by cuffing his paw over my arm. Lachlan takes notice and rumbles a low growl, igniting a standoff between my escort and himself, the man who makes my heart yearn.

  Sniper quietly approaches, as does Cas and a few other onlookers. Bonez is stock-still beside me, and I glance up to see his face clamp down, his expression nil. Seconds slip by at a sluggish pace as if they’ll last forever. The testosterone congested tension sifts through the air, making it hard and painful to breathe. I want to claw at my throat.

  A body bumps me from behind, knocking me forward. Bonez saves me from falling as Whisky stumbles into the mix, landing smack dab in the middle of it all. “Ooopps.” She pretend gasps, covering her mouth. “I’m sooo sorry. For a second, I thought we were at an old Western Showdown.” Throwing her hands up, she twirls in the center, dissolving the stare-off.

  Lachlan’s and Bonez’s eyes lock on her, and she grins, knowing that she’d accomplished what she had intended. “How about you fuckers stop acting like a bunch of gun slinging baboons and drink some beer and eat some damn food!” she yells, glaring at her brother, before sauntering over to Sniper, where she hooks her arm around his tanned neck and yanks him down to meet her lips. His big hands claim her ass possessively, and suddenly, we’re all privy to a hot and heavy porn show as Whisky mewls to his mouth and he devours her lips in a sloppy wet kiss.

  Bridget comes out of nowhere and takes my arm in hers. “Let’s get this set up.” She tugs me forward, away from the hot show and the two men who are about to rip each other’s heads off.

  “You look pretty, by the way,” she compliments as we come to a stop on the backside of the house where my food has magically appeared.

  “You do, too.” I pat her arm, admiring her clothes. The color of her shirt makes her stunning eyes pop.

  A gangly looking man-boy moves in beside us, throwing his thin arm across my shoulders. “Hey there, hot stuff.” He licks his lips suggestively, staring straight at my headlights. He reeks of beer, and I try not to gag.

  Bridget doesn’t take too kindly to this and shoves him away from me with a hefty push. He stumbles to the side, laughing, as his beer bottle lands on the ground, pouring into the grass. Staggering, he snatches it back up and takes a pull, draining the rest. “Mags, this is Muff; our resident vagina licker.” She points to the drunken man-boy who desperately needs a haircut. “Muff, this is Mags; Smoke’s old lady.”

  Righting himself, Muff straightens his back, and slurs, “Well, why didn’t ya say so?”

  “I just did,” she snaps, glaring at him.

  Smoke’s old lady? Those words knock around in my head as an unexpected heat filters through me with sweet satisfaction. Quickly, I thrust that feeling away; it doesn’t belong here.

  “Right.” He tips his imaginary hat to us, bowing. “No disrespect intended, my lady. I’ll be going now.” He thumb points back the way he came, snatching up a handful of my mini meatloaves before scurrying off.

  “That’s Muff,” she explains once he’s out of earshot.

  “I gathered that.”

  “He’s a harmless flirt.”

  “I gathered that, too, seeing as though you just shoved the poor boy and he nearly fell on his butt.”

  She giggles, smiling at the recollection, and goes about setting up the rest of the table. I join in, putting myself to work. “He’s not the brightest, but he’s not the one you have to worry about,” she notes.

  Tearing the wrapper off some paper plates, I tilt my head, raising a brow at her in question. “Who do I need to worry about?”

  Grabbing my forearm, she hauls me to her side and turns me so we face the yard. One by one, she points to each member, telling me their name, which I’ll never remember. And she explains if they’re someone I have to watch out for, because men in biker clubs aren’t to be trifled with. Not that I thought they were a bunch of sweet, cuddly bears, but the way she describes them leaves me a whole lot more leery of this place. Not that it’s all bad or anything. Still, some of these men are. . .how you say? One card short of a deck. . .if you catch my drift.

  Standing next to Rosie, who I’ve gotten to know a bit more since I started working at Cas’s, is her husband, Peanut. “He’s probably the nicest man here,” Bridget explains as Whisky walks over and joins us, her mouth bright red, hair a mess, wearing a smile on her face the size of the moon.

  Righting her skirt, she then smooths her hand over her hair. “Woo,” she fans herself with her free hand, “Sniper’s the Energizer bunny tonight.”

  “He’s the Energizer bunny every night,” Bridget deadpans next to me, both of us people watching.

  Or more specifically, biker watching. It’s not that exciting to partake in at this juncture. They’re all eating, talking, or drinking, as Guns N Roses booms through a set of tall speakers in front of the barn-garage thingy.

  “Is my brother?” Whisky playfully bumps her shoulder with mine, and a bad taste in my mouth rises. I don’t want to talk about this with her, or anyone.

  “Ewy!” Bridget fake gags. “That’s your brother and my dad! We can’t talk about that with her.”

  “I’m still a woman. I’m not asking to compare dick size. I’m asking if he’s taking care of his manly duties,” Whisky defends herself, throwing out her feisty attitude.

  Bridget continues to fake gag.

  Oh, please. They’ve got to stop talking about this. “Listen,” I snip, “not that this is anyone’s business, but we haven’t done anything in that department. So I can’t tell you. And if it gets to that...I still won’t tell you if he is or not. I’m not that type of woman.”

  “We’re all that type,” Whisky contends.

  “I’m not,” I argue right back, slinging my own brand of attitude at her. “I’ve never had any female friends before. So I’ve never had anyone to discuss sex with. I’m not comfortable talking about it.”

  “Well, seeing as though I’m your family, I hope you know what’s going to happen here tonight.” Whisky’s voice turns genuinely concerned.

  I shrug. “I sorta do.”

  “Groupies are going to show up, and those men,” she sweeps her hand, indicating the lot of them, “are going to fuck the groupies, or at least play with them. And they’ll do it in front of you, without a second thought. So, if you don’t think you can handle that, you’ll need to go inside with Bridget when they show up, because it doesn’t take but a minute for them to strip their clothes off and get down to business.” She’s not being bitchy; she’s just informing me because I think she cares.

  Last week, Bonez had warned me that this was going to happen when I came here. He went into a little more graphic detail than Whisky is, but it’s still the same information. Naked women, sex, leather, bikes, booze, music, and food. I’ve got the memo.

  “I know,” I state more confidently than I am.

  “Good.” Whisky slaps me on the back. “Now let’s get you a shot.”

  A shot. That sounds perfect.

  A shot will dull the senses, and curb this crippling unease that’s rolling around inside.

  I wish I fit in here.

  Standin’ outside of the garage, leanin’ against the side with my arms crossed over my chest, I watch in silence as Mags recklessly shoots another shot down the hatchet. Pain flashes across her face as the liquor stings her throat, endin’ with the burn in her gut. I’ve seen it a thousand bloody times tonight. Whisky’s detained her the majority of the evenin’, playin’ mother hen tae my lassie, while feedin’ her alcohol like it’s water. I guess it’s better than the alternative—her sp
endin’ time with Bonez, who’s been watchin’ her like a hawk the whole night, too.

  Aye, I only know that because I’ve been doin’ the same fuckin’ thing. I cannae help that I have tae keep an eye on my lassie. She’s been fuckin’ claimed, and I’ll be damned if anyone else tries tae make a pass at her. She can stay bloody pissed at me all she wants. We’ll work that shit out eventually. I just dinnae need someone gettin’ any bright ideas. This week has been torture enough. And dealin’ with her lookin’ like that, at a place like this, I know it’s bound tae stir up some trouble. Not that I’m opposed tae trouble. I could really use a reason tae kick somebody’s arse. Mags won’t talk tae me, and she has my life twisted in all sorts of ways. The wee outlet would come as a great relief.

  Now, I know I bloody well fucked up in the barn. I was scared outta my mind that she saw me like that. And from the looks of it, she saw the whole lot of it. That fucked with my head. I couldn’t stand the thought of her seein’ me like that. Do ye think I like tae puke after I come? Men are supposed tae enjoy it. I dinnae. I cannae. My head’s broken, and somethin’ up there hasn’t been right for years.

  Afterward, I might have said somethin’ that was meant tae hurt her. But I didnae mean the damn thing I said. What was I supposed tae do? Tell her aboot my problem? Na fuckin’ way. And then what? Have her pity me? Leave me? Think I’m a disgustin’ bastard? Which she probably already thinks after seein’ me do that; after she’d felt my hard cock brushin’ against her in the house.

  “Don’t you think I deserve a man who can please me, Lachlan? A man who isn’t deformed? Whose dick doesn’t look like some alien parasite?”

  Rubbin’ my temple, I blink tae wash the thoughts of Meredith away, and shove them tae the deepest recesses of my mind where I hope they’ll stay. That na good lass is outta my life. The divorce is final. Good riddance tae her. Now, all I’ve got tae worry aboot is her seein’ Pip, if she ever decides tae. Thankfully, Pip will be eighteen soon enough and this underage parental visitation horseshit will be done with. Not that Meredith gives a bloody fuck if she sees her daughter or not.

  Two sets of headlights flash in the night, headed our way. There ain’t nothin’ else out here besides Whisky and Sniper’s place, which means the underdressed club lassies are here. I can hardly control my enthusiasm. Not.

  Huckleberry and Banjo cut their music off, and my brothers make their way tae the gravel—tae pick out their nightly pussy.

  Mags doesn’t seem tae notice as she continues standin’ next tae Whisky, her eyes occasionally cuttin’ my way, even though I can tell she thinks she’s spyin’. There ain’t nothin’ aboot the way her eyes shift tae me, linger, heat, and then dart away that’s inconspicuous in the least fuckin’ bit. But I’ll just let her keep on thinkin’ whatever she wants tae think. As long as my bonnie lass is in that I-need-tae-blow-my-load outfit keeps checkin’ me out, and not Bonez. My cock agrees, ‘cause it’s been rock-solid under my kilt all night. And when she’s sneakin’ her innocent and sexy-as-fuck little peeks, I get that much harder. That’s all I need tae know for everythin’ tae stay right in my world. Even if my stubborn beauty won’t talk tae me because I was an arsehole. Which, I might point out, is not my standard cheery disposition. Didnae ye know? I’m all sweet, friendly, and shit. Haha, that’s funny just sayin’ it.

  I think it’s aboot time tae grab me another beer.

  “Here. Take this one, too.”

  Whisky hands me another shot. Of what? I haven’t the slightest clue. She’s been feeding me alcohol all night as she keeps me preoccupied. Personally, I think she’s rather enjoying the female companionship. She doesn’t seem to have any other girlfriends other than her niece, Bridget. I welcome the interaction and take the shot. It burns like a motherfucker going down, causing me to fan my mouth.

  Woo, wee, my mouth and my mind are in a tizzy tonight. I’m feelin’ a little too damn good at the moment. Fire in my belly, wetness between my thighs, and nipples that are begging for some attention. Alcohol lowers my inhibitions big time. Although, my brain always seems to function properly, even if my body and fuzzy mind like to revert to the basic carnal need to fuck and be fucked. Oh. My. God. See. . .I have a potty mouth! I think it needs to be rinsed out with soap. Or something even more tempting—like a certain Scottish man's you-know-what. Mmmm, yes, that sounds much more pleasing. I wonder what it tastes like, looks like, and feels like. Darn it, I’m turning into a horny, foul-mouthed slut tonight. It’s time to cut myself off.

  Ten minutes ago, scantily clad women arrived and have been making their street walker rounds to get attention. Over by the fire pit there are two men, the ones who were playing music earlier, who are now sharing a woman. One’s got his hand up her skirt, doing something to make her moan, as the other man with a long beard massages her naked breasts. Oh, well, now he’s sucking on one. I turn my gaze back to Whisky, who is completely unfazed by the lewd displays. I’m not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but you have to be very open-minded for this to not affect you. Or turn you on. It smells like bonfire, leather, alcohol, and sex. It’s a potent combination that’s readily fueling my neglected libido.

  “How in the. . .world. . .do you get used to this?”

  I gesture to another man getting his dick sucked by a blonde on her knees in the grass. Sniper and Cas are standing next to him, talking as if the woman isn’t even down there going to town on his pole. He fists her hair, pumping into her mouth as she reaches between her legs to play with herself. Wowza.

  A little tingle between my legs makes me shiver while goosebumps prick my skin.

  Whisky shrugs. “I’ve lived this life for so many years. It’s not a big deal to me.”

  “Did it bother you at first?”

  My question is rewarded with a barking laugh and a friendly slap on the back. “No, Mags. I used to suck Sniper’s dick in the high school bathrooms. And he ate my pussy any chance he could get.”

  Umm. . .okay. . .I guess she was already into public displays way back then.

  She keeps on. “We didn’t date back then. We dated other people, actually. But that never stopped me from meeting him in the boy’s locker room and jacking him off while he acted like he was in the bathroom stall taking a shit and talkin’ to my brother.”

  “You gave him a hand job when Lachlan was there?” I could never be that ballsy.

  “Hell yes, I did. I couldn’t get enough of that dick. We stopped things when he graduated and joined the military. Then, when he got discharged, he went and got all depressed, and used me as his fuck hole.” Her tone softens. “I let him. Then after a while, I got sick of being a fuck toy and decided I needed something real. I broke it off, and he didn’t like that too much so he proposed to me.”

  “Just like that?”

  How in the world do you go from being someone’s sex toy to engaged? That’s wild.

  “Just like that.” She nods. “We’ve been together ever since. Bought a house and started the club. . .Then got hooked up with another club Bonez’s brother, is the Sergeant of Arms of. . .”

  “His brother Gunz?” I interrupt.

  “Yeah.” Whisky gives me a strange look like she’s shocked I know that name. “He told you about Gunz?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Whisky waves me off. “Oh, no reason. I’m just surprised is all. He doesn’t usually talk club stuff with anybody, especially not a female.”

  “We’ve become good friends,” I state levelly, not wanting her to think I’m defending our friendship. I don’t need to defend anything. I’m going to be his friend regardless. He’s a very nice man, and he respects me. The end.

  “I suppose you have.” She sideways glances at me and tips the corner of her lip as she perks a brow. “That’s all there is. . .right?”

  Great, first Lachlan, Cas, and now Whisky, too.

  “There is nothing going on there,” I drone.

  “Okay, just checking.” She smiles and bumps her shoulder with mine, th
e interrogation immediately forgotten. “So, yeah, the club’s called the Sacred Sinners. You’ll probably get a chance to meet them all next year sometime when we go and party with them.”

  We. . .what?

  “What?”

  “The Sacred Sinners, we party with them,” she repeats like I didn’t hear her.

  I heard her loud and clear, even if the heat of someone’s gaze is burning into me again, and the sound of some woman climaxing is diddling with my equilibrium. Maybe it’s the alcohol doing the diddling. I can’t be sure.

  “No,” I blurt. “This whole we business.”

  “You’re family; it only makes sense that you’d attend parties with us.”

  “Parties like this?”

  I nod to the same woman who just finished sucking that one man’s dick, and has now crawled over to suck Cas’s. He’s smacking her in the face with it right now. If there’s one thing in this world that I don’t ever want to see, it’s my boss’s light saber. That’s plain wrong. I can’t be working with him and thinking about what his penis looks like. There isn’t enough therapy in the world to scrub those memories from my brain.

  I turn so my back is facing that scene. That way I’m not even tempted to look. I keep my gaze on Whisky, who’s now barefoot right along with me. We took our heels off about an hour ago. Blisters are not your friend.

  Whisky grins, noticing my back is now to the chrome sucking scene. “Don’t want to see Cas get blown?” she teases, waggling her brows, her eyes dancing mischievously.

  “Nope. I’d rather not see my boss’s dick in all its glory. Unfortunately, pouring bleach into my eyes won’t cure that image. I’d rather save myself the therapy bills,” I deadpan, and she laughs.

  “You’re pretty fucking forward when you’ve got a bit of alcohol in ya,” she notes with a genuine smile, and I blush, kicking myself in the ass for being so bold. “It’s cool, though. I like it,” she adds, and my nerves simmer.

  “About this party thing. . .” I prompt to move away from the Cas conversation.