by Snow, Nicole
Her eyes locked onto my name patch. I was about to reach for her sweet, sexy face and take what my cock commanded me to when her plump lips opened, too plush and healthy for any Tennessee whore I'd ever known.
“Skin? Seriously?”
Fuck, maybe she was actually half as innocent as she looked. I smiled, reached up, and pounded my fist on my chest.
“That's what they all call me, babe. Don't wear it out before I fuck you ragged.” My dick throbbed again, harder every time.
I hated fighting the unruly bastard. I seriously wanted to do everything I said, but I didn't come here to fuck whores. I just had to make her believe it.
Her cheeks flushed. Turned honest-to-God red, like some prom girl on a date letting a man see her panties for the first time.
“You got a name? Or at least a sexy nickname from your jackass pimp?”
“Fresh.” She paused. “You know...like fresh meat.”
I threw my head back and laughed. It was cruel, absurd, and downright fucking stupid. That couldn't be the name I'd call her by. Not a fuckin' chance.
I reached for her face, cupped her chin, and squeezed. Leave it to Ricky to give the most beautiful woman I'd seen in this place the stupidest goddamned name on the planet.
“Seriously, what the fuck's going on here?” I gestured to the limp leash with the chain on the floor. “You don't seem as whacked out as all the other girls. I know you get special treatment. The bastard was all nervous before I came in here, begged me not to see you alone. Why does he chain you up if he's so hell-bent on selling your mouth to strangers?”
My eyes fell to her lips. Fuck, they were moneymakers, if I ever saw any. Sweet, glossy and vibrant. Just the kinda lips I liked to imagine wrapped around every inch of me, pulling on my balls, stamping wet kisses up and down my body before I claimed the wet heat between her legs and shook her 'til she screamed.
“Because I'm Ricky's favorite. His prisoner.” The minute she said it, she spun around, refusing to face me.
I watched her little hand cover her mouth. Prisoner, huh?
Now, we were getting to some meat and bones. My arm went around her waist and I pulled her tight, slamming her into me, making me gasp 'til she met my eyes.
“Start talking. I knew he was sweeping something under the rug.”
“I can't,” she whispered, wiping the long, hot tear sliding down her cheek. “Please, just let me do my job. I shouldn't be telling you any of this. This is what you're here for, right?”
She jerked toward the nightstand, bending in my arms. A drawer popped open, revealing the biggest stash of condoms I'd ever seen.
Blood rushed to my dick. For a second, I seriously considered letting her gag on my cock if she didn't want to talk. Too bad I was born with a conscience, and all the violence and dirty deals in the MC hadn't beaten it outta me yet.
She turned gently, wearing a shaky smile, tearing at the foil with her teeth. My fingers darted out and I flicked the condom out of her grip. It hit the floor with a loud bounce.
Surprise shone in those perfect blue eyes. But it wasn't half of what I saw a second later, when I picked her up and moved her across the room, flattening her against the nearest wall. She gasped, so sharp and sudden I wanted to hear it a hundred more times, preferably naked and moaning.
“What do you want? I thought you'd rather have me on my knees,” she sputtered, shock crinkling her face.
“I want you to sing. I'm not here to fuck. My brothers and I hit this dump to see what Ricky's been up to, and you're the first interesting thing I've found. Who are you? Really?”
She cracked. I loosened my grip as more hot tears fell down her face. I ran my fingers through her chestnut hair, noticeably cleaner and softer than the other girls I'd seen. They couldn't compare.
“Megan Willow Wilder,” she hissed, soft and harsh in my ear.
“The fuck?” That was a fancy name for a place where the girls were supposed to have stupid names like Honey, Cherry Anne, or Fresh.
She shook her head, tightening her face like she couldn't believe I'd never heard the name.
“Spill it, babe,” I growled. “You're not supposed to be here, and I need to know why.”
“I was kidnapped. He drugged me, brought me here, chained me up. Ricky pimps me out to cover my upkeep, but he really wants to find me a buyer for bigger bucks. I'm a virgin.”
I had to catch another laugh tearing at my throat. No fucking way.
Did she really expect me to believe this? A virgin in a trucker spa, sucking off guys and wearing a kink chain? For all I knew, she was Ricky's favorite, the pimp's personal slut that he used to unwind after a long day of work. Some of the bastards had them, after all.
“I'm Eric and Judy Wilder's daughter. Look them up, please.” She sounded desperate. Probably noticed the skepticism lining my smirk. “You have to believe me. We're rich, my dad owns three businesses all over the state, just do a search and you'll see. You have to get me out of here, Skin. Please. Get me out, before Ricky gets what he wants. I don't want to die a fucking slave!”
That did it. My fingers smoothed their way through her hair, and then I pulled it tight. I forced her to look at me through the tears.
I had an incredible ear for bullshit. Always had.
This chick's story sounded like a drugged out fairy tale, but damn if she didn't put up a good act. “It's not too late, Skin. Take me with you. I'll do anything to get out of here.”
Her tongue flicked across her lips. Her small, soft hands pushed against my chest. Those palms traveled downward, and I saw lightning in her eyes when she moved them over my abs.
My cock screamed, begging me to take her, to do the one crazy thing I couldn't. Not today, anyway.
Not after the shit she'd just told me. I wasn't gonna fuck an honest-to-God slave, no matter how hot she looked in that cheap getup. Not unless she surrendered willingly with nothing more than unbridled lust.
No bullshit. No quid pro quo. No bargaining.
Fuck. I grabbed both her wrists and pushed her away, putting some sorely needed space between us.
A man can't think rationally when he's been without a woman this long. Especially a man who's used to getting what he wants, fucking women with ease, feeling them fall all over him just because he's got the right patch and a hard, inked body underneath it.
“I can't do it,” I growled, eyeing the disappointment in her face. “There's no way to know you're not putting up a smokescreen 'til I check you out. I get it, I asked, but what the fuck do you think I'm supposed to do with a question like that? Throw you on the back of my bike and ride off into the sunset after I shoot the pimp in the gut and leave him here to bleed like a stuck fuckin' pig?”
Her eyes shined hopefully. Damn if it didn't sound good to me, too, but I'd been in this lifestyle long enough to know it was too simple. Too convenient. We couldn't be reckless – not when the Deads were certain to come sniffing around a dead pimp under their protection.
Dust and Joker would give me hell if it went off like that too. I had to go back, check this woman out, and clear it with my brothers. If rescue was in the cards, then I needed backup. There wasn't another way, not if I wanted to keep my sanity and make sure we all stayed alive.
“If you gave a shit, you would,” she said coldly.
I narrowed my eyes, wondering what kind of sexy, strange little thing I was really dealing with. Challenges didn't scare me away, but damn if she wasn't asking for the impossible.
I had to prove her wrong. I had to get her the fuck out of here, and trash the dirty pimp keeping these drugged out chicks chained up like dogs.
“I'll look you up, Meg, and I'll be back.” She shuddered as I grabbed her, jerked her close, pinned her in my embrace.
“Bullshit. I shouldn't have said anything.” She sighed, her voice straining with more sadness. “You men are all the same. You're the first one I thought might be decent enough to save me, and I told you everything. I can't believe what a fucki
ng idiot I am.”
My fingers pinched her cheeks, hard enough to shut her the hell up. Then I folded my hands behind her soft, fragile neck and pulled the heavy silver loop off my ringer finger.
My eyes pierced hers. I'd let her keep clucking about how bad I was. Didn't give a shit if she thought I was the devil himself.
“I slipped up,” she whimpered. “Go ahead. Leave me here. Pretend you didn't hear anything.”
Just a few more days. She'd see how flat out wrong she was.
“I'm telling you, I'm coming back. Take this and stuff it somewhere he won't find it,” I said, pressing my ring into her hands. “You'll give it back to me when I break you outta here for good. This is a club ring and a family heirloom of sorts. My brothers tugged this thing off my old man's dead, cold fingers. It's all I've got. If you think I'm gonna abandon ship, then you'd better take a good, hard look at who you're dealing with. That ring's mine, babe, and so are you. I'm not leaving either one of 'em to rot in this shithole.”
I fist-thumped my chest, right across my name tag. I wanted to burn my name into her brain every waking minute.
She'd better get used to hearing, thinking, seeing Skin, and nothing else. That was the name she'd be calling her savior soon, the one she'd be begging with those lush little lips, the only name she'd be screaming when I threw her into bed and fucked her so hard I wiped away every last trace of the dirty, violent bastards she'd served in this place.
“Give me a couple days or so. I'll be right back here for you, baby, and next time you'll be coming with me. I promise.”
Her lips pursed sourly. For a second, I thought she meant to give me more sass, more of her ridiculous doubts. But she squeezed her palm around my dad's club ring and brushed away more tears.
“I need to go. He'll start wondering what the fuck we're doing in here if I linger too long.” I gave her a sharp look. “Keep that thing safe. I'm counting on it. Anytime you start to doubt, think you're meant to be here forever, you pick it up and fold your hand around it just like that. Hold on 'til it burns your skin. You don't belong here, Meg, and I'm not letting you spend a second longer in this fucked up cage the instant I get my brothers on board.”
I put one arm over her shoulder, guiding her to the bed. Tears rolled down her face in steady, hot rivulets. I brushed away as many as I could, feeling her jerk softly each time I touched her face.
Fuck, that face.
For a whore, she really was beautiful. It wasn't just the lighting or my own imagination. Hell no.
The woman was real, every damned inch of her. Prettier than the vapid party girls who normally sucked and fucked every inch of me. They came to ride cock and put their lips on a biker boy when their dirty mouths weren't on the bottle, or some weaker man.
Yeah, the girl in front of me had sucked off too many strangers to count, and the only thing I saw on her lips was a rough desire for freedom. Something about that struck a cord, making me finger the gun near my holster.
Who the hell knew irony could be so sexy?
I kissed her on the forehead and turned, before the urge to walk out and blow the pimp's brains against the wall became too much to resist. The rat bastard stood in the hall, waiting for me like an impatient hall monitor, when I stepped out and gently pushed the door shut behind me.
“Well? Did you enjoy yourself?” The cut on his bottom lip was starting to dry, but he'd have a lot more swelling soon.
Good. It was the first punch of many the asshole deserved if even half of what she'd told me was true.
I didn't say shit. His scorned ass didn't deserve an answer. I walked right past him, heading for the beat up lobby, and found the rest of my brothers waiting there. Firefly gave me a look like he'd been waiting forever, wondering what the hell I was up to.
I pulled Ricky's gun out of my belt and jerked the clip off, then passed the empty shell to the pimp. “Just making sure you don't do anything stupid before we leave. Thanks for the bullets and the bitches, pimp. Are we ready, boys?”
“Yeah, we got what we came for.” Sixty winked and held up a black leather bag, flexing his arm, causing the flaming dice tattooed all over it to bulge.
I looked at Ricky. The seething look on the pimp's face told me we'd emptied every last penny we could find in this hole.
I nodded, motioned to Sixty and Crawl, and pushed open the door. Firefly lingered behind a second longer, and I heard his gravely voice warning the pimp on our way out.
“You keep this between us now, asshole. The Prez is letting you off light. If it were up to me, I'd charge you interest on top of your licensing fees. Consider yourself lucky, and don't breathe a word about this to the Deads, or you'll be seeing us again real soon. And next time, we'll bring our shovels.”
The pimp swore. He probably pissed himself at the thought of us digging his grave.
The boys laughed as the flimsy door slapped shut. I watched our Sergeant at Arms inside, shoving a shitty looking club card into his hands, the only evidence we'd ever been there.
We didn't worry about him showing our rivals anything. Hell, I hoped he fucked up and did it. Then I'd have all the excuse in the world to kick his ass before I put a bullet in his head.
My brothers smoked and traded bawdy jokes while we waited for Firefly. Just before the Enforcer came stomping out and signaled us to get on our bikes, Crawl ribbed me, flashing his big, bright smile.
“Did you really get head from any of those bitches? Everyone I looked at was too damned greasy and run down for my liking, but shit, if their tongues make up the difference...”
“None of your damned business, brother. You know I don't kiss and tell.”
Sixty snorted. “Aw, shit. That's our Skin – silent and sensitive as a baby. It's okay, bro, if you don't wanna tell us how some chick tripped out on crystal gagged on your dick, I don't need to imagine it. Just hope you wrapped it up, or else you're smart enough to get a shot to make sure that shit doesn't fall off.”
He pointed between my legs. I reached over and elbowed him in the ribs. Both guys were still laughing when Firefly climbed on his bike and whistled, so loud and sharp it nearly burst my damned eardrums.
“Let's get the hell home, boys. No time to dilly-dally. Prez'll want the loot in the vault by sundown. We've got bills to pay. We didn't come here to drink and do stand-up comedy.”
Word. I climbed on my Harley and strapped on my helmet. A few minutes later, we roared into the mountains, satisfied that the club would live to fight another day with the dirty cash infusion.
I couldn't stop thinking about Meg, chained up in that grimy little room. This whole operation was about second chances. The MC deserved another chance, and so did she.
God willing, I'd give her one. And I never let anybody down on my word.
Back at the clubhouse, I crashed in my room with a beer, and lingered there 'til about midnight. I needed the break after I'd hit my laptop and looked her up.
Megan Willow Wilder. Heiress to a multi-fucking-millionaire. One time prom queen. Missing person.
Everything she told me was the honest-to-God truth. I knew it from the dark edge in her voice, the desperation, but hearing it and seeing it on my glowing screen were two different things.
I ranged. I fought the urge to pick my computer up and smash it against the wall, then ride back to Ricky's dump and get her the fuck out all on my own.
I shouldn't have waited another minute to blow the pimp's rotten brains out and take her home.
She'd been the number one missing person's case east of Nashville 'til the story got buried with time.
Her parents were as rich as she said – business barons with the cash to offer a quarter million dollar reward for any intel leading to her recovery.
That was a goddamned golden hoard for anybody short on cash. I thought about the reward money, but mostly I thought about her crying, hurting, sucking off nasty motherfuckers for the pimp.
No woman captivated me like she did. It wasn't just my sex star
ved dick talking either.
I had to bust her out, and I needed help to do it. I'd lean on the greed motive, whatever it took to get my brothers on board, maybe even the Prez himself.
Any talk about money brought Dust out of his hole these days. I expected him to come rapping on my door in a couple hours anyway, and I'd have a late night ahead of me talking to him about the club's bleak financials.
I got up, exited my room, and crushed the beer can into a nearby trashcan next to Dust's office. I heard him in there, shuffling around, agitated and deep in thought.
The rest of the boys were at the bar, minus Joker, who was probably off laying on a bed of needles or something.
Our Veep's road name was the most ironic one in the club. He'd never been anything but a stiff, deadpan, fish-eyed motherfucker from the moment I'd been patched in. Having him out for the evening always eased tension in the clubhouse.
Crawl and Sixty looked up at me as I reached over the bar for a bottle of...what the fuck?
“Smoky Mountain Bronze? What is this shit?” I popped the cap on the half empty bottle, took a long whiff, and instantly recoiled.
“Fuck me. Doesn't smell like any whiskey I know.”
Truthfully, the shit smelled like bootleg, brewed in some empty farmhouse.
Sixty smiled. “Shut up and drink it, brother. It's all right if you mix it with something...fuck do I miss drinking the good stuff straight.”
Bad sign. The bastard was still sober. That's what told me the booze was really sour.
Crawl suppressed a hiccup as I sat between them, reconsidering the shots I'd planned to nurse while we huddled. Screw it, I was better off sober for this talk anyway.
If I wanted Meg out ASAP, then I had to be reasonable. I had to whip them into line and convince them to ride with me on this crazy ass mission underneath the leadership's nose.
“I gotta talk to you guys about something,” I began, lowering my voice and looking back and forth to make sure they were paying attention. “You gave me shit about seeing a whore, and I shrugged it off. Well, truth is, I did see one in the back – but she wasn't a drugged out ice queen like all the others.”
