Inside—speaking of the devil himself—was Brall.
Abigail squirmed slightly. “Go in there, would you?”
“That’s Brall in there.”
“So what?”
Robin shrugged. “He scares me, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just get it, okay? If I go in, he won’t stop bothering me, and I just put the fear of God in him yesterday.”
“The fear of your knife, you mean.”
Abigail smiled. “Six in half, half-dozen the other. God’s nothing without a few blades to do his dirty work, huh?”
Gathering herself for a moment, Robin walked into the store. She didn't know what to expect from Brall except for nothing good. Her hope was that she could walk around for a moment and gather what she needed before he worked up the will to talk to her.
But instead he approached her right away. All confidence. No fear of rejection or that their conversation wouldn't go exactly how he wanted.
“...hi.” Her voice was small.
“You’re gorgeous.”
His enormity was held in only by scuffed denim and his leather vest. No shirt. Every muscle visible. There was a soft smile on his barbarian face; his dark eyes solid.
Despite herself, Robin blushed furiously. In front of this huge, hulking stud, she had trouble thinking. Her life was built around numbers, and so therefore designed around analysis. Some objective viewpoint might have been able to tell her that she was just responding chemically, like women had for thousands of years, even far, far before the War. That her emotions were being jump-started by the primal, heated smells he gave off, all motor oil and musk, and that the lightheadedness should be expected in such a situation.
And, in being expected, also disregarded as some spontaneous spark of true, fiery love that would burn for a thousand years before it ever cooled.
Somewhere in her body, she knew this. But all she could do, standing there in front of this impossibly built stud, was mew softly and smile. Fuck, he was so hot. How was she supposed to let any thinking be on her mind when he was so fucking hot?
“Th-thanks.” She gulped.
His hand came down on Robin’s shoulder. So thick and rough. The palm cradling the entire ball of her shoulder easily. God, she was so little compared to him. She had never felt so tiny in her life, not even in front of Troy.
“Do you like that? Me touching you?” His hand slid down her body, fingertips tugging at her skin in the holes in her dress. She wished suddenly, desperately, that she was dressed up more. Her best finery on, just to impress him.
That was suddenly all that was really important. Impressing this monster of a man. Making him want her enough so that he would take her back to whatever cave he lived in and fuck her until she was full, full, full of his...seed, his warmth, his...
God, I want his babies. I want to be his woman, his bride, his fucking everything. What the fuck is happening?
Whatever it was, it was instant. Like a lightning bolt had come down and struck the both of them.
Outside, she saw Abigail grinning with a somewhat wicked look on her face. Robin didn’t have time to wonder what it was all about. Brall pulled her toward the back of the store.
“What are we...” She was breathless. “What’s happening?”
“Something wonderful.”
His hand rose up on one tit. Never before in her life had she ever felt such a sudden onset of pleasure as she did then. Her body shifted, eyes sparkling wide, mouth dripping open slow.
“I want you.”
Her mouth formed the words before she had time to stop them, consider them. For the first time in her recollection, she was acting without considering all the variables, all the endless ways in which propriety would find her culpable, all the different rules and ethicalities of her actions and how they reflected back again on the women of the Family.
She wanted Brall. And she didn’t care who knew or what they did about it.
“Good,” he said. Leaning down, he kissed her roughly. His face was almost twice the size of hers. A giant. She loved it. Loved his strength, his bulk. The incredible animalistic brutality lurking beneath his every action.
Surprised at her own fierceness, she slammed him back against the back of the store. The look on his face made it seem as though he thought she was going to fight him off. But Robin had only the opposite in mind.
Roughly, she ripped open his pants and pulled out the massive cock waiting underneath. A monster. Already mostly hard, and as thick around as her wrist. Warm saliva rushed to her lips, threatening to eep out in layers of drool. With no ceremony or waiting for permission, she lunged her mouth forward, sucking up the monstrous manhood of this impossibly built alpha god. His cockhead, so thunderously thick, plunged deep down her throat and Robin just kept sucking and moaning.
She could feel her eyes rolling back into her head, her body pulsing with shivering bliss as she took him inside of her. Nothing had ever felt so good in her life as tasting this man, taking him, enjoying him, giving him everything that she knew instinctively he had been waiting for.
“Lord,” said Brall, his voice shuddering and almost vulnerable. “Lord, god.”
Their gazes met once more, sweltering the air between them. The locking of his eyes on her forcing new shivers of intimate pleasure into Robin’s tiny, fertile little body.
There was so much of his cock. More than she could take properly—at least so far. Instantly she began to daydream of a day far in the future, when she had been fucked and bred and owned by him for years, when he would return home from a day full of conquering the worst and most evil of the wasteland’s bad men, and she would reward his hardship with a deep, soulful, loving blowjob the second he returned home. But for now, she took his massive meat in the tininess of her delicate grip and stroked him passionately. Her other hand rubbing along his thick balls. They must have been full beyond almost all measuring with potent, lifegiving cum. Her cunt was on fire with need. She was desperate to feel this hunk’s unearthly seed spreading all throughout her.
“Shit,” he moaned. “I’m going to...to...”
Robin knew what he was going to do. In her mouth, this powerful animal of a man had been reduced to a helpless muscled mass of need. Her body vibrated with the thrill of knowing that it was her, and her alone, who had done that to him. She knew instinctively that no one else ever had—because if they had, he would be fucking that woman right now instead of her.
The load splashed hard against the back of her throat, shooting down fast into her tummy. She moaned, slurping it all down. Her first blowjob. So perfectly performed, so effortless in her enthusiasm, and all of it so very sudden and surprising.
He slid down to the ground, cradling her in his thick arms. For several moments she just snuggled deeper into the thick muscles of his body, kissing him and adoring him.
Her entire world had just blown up, rearranged, just like that.
After nearly half an hour of this intimate cuddling and holding, though, Robin knew they had to get moving. It was a miracle they hadn't been seen already. They were right close to the wall of Temple, and always there were Family warriors making patrols.
“I think...”
He shifted. “What?”
She shook her head, almost not willing to say it. It was too much. So soon. It was the most stark of all possible foolishness.
“You’re in love with me?”
Her lip trembled. He had just thrown it out there. His fucking confidence.
“It’s all right, you know. You can be.”
“It can’t be all right,” she smiled, shaking her head. “That is the opposite of all right.”
“It’s perfectly all right if I feel it too, isn’t it?”
She gulped, nodding slowly. “Do you?”
“I do.”
“Tell it to me.”
“I love you. I want you to be mine.”
“I am yours. I love you too.”
Somewhere in her mi
nd, she knew the words to ring false. Not because she did not mean them—she meant them, indeed, more than any others she could ever remember saying—but because there was no way, no possible way, to ever make them last.
Chapter 7:
Toward the end of the day, Case and Troy made their weekly trip to Farner’s tavern, The Smoking Gun. It was outside of the Compound and open to any visitors who made their way into Temple.
Before Titus died, Case and Troy had gone together amiably for this duty. It was the errand that Titus had used to bring them together and for Troy to teach Case the ropes.
It was always the same. Troy was the muscle, and Case did the talking.
When they entered, the Tavern was rather full, as it usually was toward this time of day. Farmers were back from their fields, and traders had finished their trading for the day. A great many men sat at a number of tables, playing cards or rolling dice, and many more just sat and drank, swapping stories.
“Listen up.” Case rapped on the table. “Time’s come for donations to the Family.”
Groans went up in the crowd. It was never good news to be taxed.
“You all know the drill,” Case continued. “We keep you safe. We keep you protected. You want to stay protected, you gotta keep the fund going.”
Troy opened a thick leather pouch in his hands and began to walk around. When the first man he approached didn't pay right away, Troy swatted him in the face with the bag. That was enough. Soon, the bag started to fill, clinking with currency, and Troy walked to the next table over.
“Now,” said Case, “pay the man so we can leave you nice folks alone.
The Family was set up to serve all of Temple. They earned their income by raiding the surrounding territories and taking land, loot, and women for trade. Family members got first pick of each. Then those favored by the Family—the Kin, as they were called. And then just the normal denizens of Temple, so long as they paid their taxes.
Anybody could live in Temple, those were the rules. But only the tax-payers would actually receive the true benefits of the protection under the Family’s reign.
Currency was standard for all of the post-war arena of Texas—pieces of gold, silver, and bronze. Legend had it that the coins they had were forged from the first founder of post-war Dallas, an adventurer who had robbed the old Fort Knox and melted down all its earnings.
Whatever the truth, the coinage was around now and used widely.
Troy approached the barber and dentist, Hanley.
“I got nothing this week. I’m sorry, boss. But my daughter, Evelina, you know she’s of age. I can send her over later on.”
Case traded a glance with Troy. Troy shrugged.
“She’s a fine looking girl,” said Troy. “I’ll take a look. But we ain’t making no promises.”
A man who gave up his daughter to the family essentially paid off any debt he might owe to the Family for a year. If he had no debts, then he got his pick of more land, more loot, or more women coming his way before any others in the town.
And so, men had lots of daughters—procreation was important in Temple. It meant more protection, more favors.
In this way, the importance of women in their society had grown and grown. A father had to be good to his daughter, else she might catch the ear of a Family member and his debts might not go away, or he’d get his picks of the share last.
Sons were important too, of course. If a son was taken into the Family, then his entire clan would share his benefits.
After some ten minutes or so they had gathered up money from nearly everyone in the tavern, and left for a walk back to the Compound. As they did, Troy stopped against an alleyway not far from the tavern and looked inside the bag. He began taking out large portions of coins and stuffing them in his pockets.
“What are you doing?”
“Funds go to the Family. We’re running the Family. Funds go to me.”
“That ain’t how Titus worked it.”
They had taken the funds and put them in a safe, keeping them until they needed them.
“Titus ain’t around, is he? We got a new relationship. Time for some new rules.”
“Put it back.”
Troy stuffed his pockets once again. “The hell with you.”
Case punched him in the head once, and then once again. Troy stumbled and then tackled Clay, the two of them quickly grappling with one another in the dirt. The money bag flew to the ground, gold sprinkling across a small mud puddle.
And all the while Case thinking: maybe it was him. Maybe he killed Dad. Might as well strangle him and be done with it.
Someone approached from behind them. Robin.
“Hey,” she said. “You two. Cut that out.”
They continued. Case's hand wrapped around Troy's throat, squeezing just enough to choke him.
“Hey!” She grabbed at Case and then Troy, shoving them away from one another. Case was surprised at her strength. “Cut it the fuck out! What are you thinking? You’re in the middle of the street?” She looked around. “It’s just barely sundown. You think people aren’t seeing you? You think they aren’t already talking?”
Troy pushed himself upward onto his feet, crowding Robin. “You need to calm your mouth, little girl.”
Without a single pause, she slapped Troy across the face. “You need to watch how you act, little boy. No one is going to respect you two if you don’t respect each other.”
They all stared at one another for a time. Finally though, Troy walked off, muttering and cursing.
Case was impressed. He gathered up the coin and looked back at Robin.
“Where you been, Robin?”
She looked suddenly and intensely guilty.
“I’ve been...I was...with Abigail. We got separated.”
Case laughed. “No, girl. I meant all my life. Where’s this Robin been?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Things happen. Changes wake up in people.”
It was no answer, but it was the only one he gave her.
Chapter 8:
The next morning, Abigail moved to the next stage of her plan. She walked to the outer edge of Temple, where the addicts and the booze hounds lived under shambling masses that were less even than shanties, just sheet metal lean-tos pulled up over concrete blocks.
For Brall and Robin to hit it off was delicious. Her initial impulse was to follow in after Robin and thrust Brall’s attention on the dark-haired beauty in that way. But their own desires—like some magic spell rushing through them both—had superseded that notion.
Fine by her. Now, she had to escalate.
The thought occurred to her that maybe now it would all take care of itself. Maybe Robin would run off with Brall, and Abigail would have Case back to herself. She was the pick of the litter, after all, and he could invoke the right of clan. Or, she could. Women had done it before, in times of crisis.
But no, Robin was a coward. She would try to keep her love a secret for months or even years. After a little while, she might even tell Abigail about it. All the while, married to Case and carrying on an affair with Brall.
All the while, Abigail not getting any of Case’s cock back in her body.
She found Carthage knocking the shit out of a smooth addict near the eastern water station.
“You got my money now?” Carthage asked, kicking him again and again.
Abigail felt her blood rise, watching this hulking dark stud completely abusing someone helpless and weak. Fuck, but she was a slut for strength. Feeling her arousal at his actions made what she was about to do so much easier.
Still, she had a little sympathy for the addict. Smooth was an artificial drug, made in underground labs around the region. Most prominent in their region were the Deathheads—a gang that not even the Cauldron tolerated.
The drug got its name from the way it left a person’s brain—after enough usage—completely smooth and free of wrinkles. All their lessons, eaten away over enough time and hits. Apparently,
it was quite pleasurable, though Case firmly ensured that none of his crew or family were ever on the stuff. Too many problems possible. That didn’t stop them from selling it, though. That trade was an ocean of money to be tapped.
Finally Carthage finished with the addict. He stepped away and picked up a bucket, one wary eye glancing up at Abigail. He sat down on the bucket, his bulky form straining the metal, and lit up a cigar.
“I ain’t ask you to be around here. What are you doing here, girl?”
It was a mistake, Abigail knew, to let her prey set the terms of the engagement. Her father had taught her that well enough.
That was partly why she had dressed how she had. Tight denim short-shorts molded to her ass. High-heeled boots. Her shirt barely hanging down past her tits, baring her midriff, all of her hot body on display.
“It’s too bad he couldn’t give you a real fight,” said Abigail. “I bet you’re a monster in a real fight.”
He smiled and nodded, chewing his cigar. “I am.”
“You ever fought in the arena?”
“The Temple Arena?” Carthage scoffed. “I find better fights across every inch of the wastes. I don’t need to fight there. I seen ‘em. Don’t get me wrong, now. But they ain’t what I like. All those rules.”
“Sometimes, there’s no rules.”
“Sure. And sometimes an addict pays you what he owes. But I don’t count on it.”
“Fair enough.”
“What you want, girl? You want to talk to me about Arena fights?”
“I want to talk to you about joining your gang.”
He laughed. “Girl, I knew you was crazy. I knew for a long time now. Other fellas, shit. They don’t wanna listen. They wanna talk about how you hot. And you are, that’s for damn sure. But you want to come talk to me about my people? Girl.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to have that conversation.”
“Why not?”
“Because what do you think you gonna offer me? I know you're Family. You gonna take me in, is that it? Your boss dead, they offer you up to me to bring ol’ Carthage into the Family, huh? That’s how it is? It won’t work. I’m Cauldron. For life.”
Gang Up: A Bikerland Novel Page 4
