by Lauren Hunt
Kelly opened the bathroom door and stopped in her tracks when she saw me. “Sorry I didn't mean to wake you.”
“No, I actually had thought you'd gone.”
Kelly took a cautious step towards me. “I thought about it. I really did. I guess sleeping on it helped. You need my help and I can't run away from that.”
I couldn't believe the words coming out her mouth. “So you'll stay with me?”
Kelly took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I agree that there's something special between us. I don't want to throw it all away once things get hard.”
“I don't want to throw it all away either. I know I can conquer this problem with you.” I went to embrace her in my arms.
She put her hands up to stop me. “We need to take things slow. I'm not ready to just dive right back into bed with you.”
“Of course.”
Kelly rubbed her arms and looked around. “So how is this going to work? Do I need to be within five feet of you or something for you not to feel this hunger you were talking about?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I have no idea. I felt fine when you were sleeping in the other room so I think it's probably more than five feet.”
“And can I never leave you alone again?”
“Depends on the last time I had some blood. You could leave me right now and I'd be fine for a couple days. It's when I'm with you and forget about the hunger that's the problem. When you go, it all comes rushing back and I can't get out to feed.”
“That's what you call it? Feeding? Sounds like you're eating people.”
“Do you have better word?”
She thought for a moment. “No I don't.”
“So if I make you forget your hunger? How is this going to solve your problem?”
“To be honest, I'm not sure. But I know you're the key to all this. I'm hoping the more time I spend around you, the less the hunger can take over when you're gone. Like my body will just forget about it eventually.”
“I still feel like I'm going crazy but okay. Let's do it.”
Epilogue
Kelly
One Year Later
“Are you sure you don't need help carrying that, Michael?”
Michael lifted the heavy toilet and strained as he began the ascent up the stairs. “No I think I got it.” His face went red and he blew out heavy breaths as he juggled the large object.
I led him up the stairs, guiding him up each step since he couldn't see over the porcelain. “You're almost there. Be careful of the wall to your right.”
“I see it. I see it.” Michael turned the corner and made it into the bathroom. He squatted down and gently placed the toilet in its rightful place. Michael craned his neck side to side and cracked it.
“Looks good, don't you think?” I asked him.
“It's a toilet, Kelly. It looks exactly how I imagine a toilet would look.”
I playfully hit Michael on the shoulder. “I mean the bathroom is finally coming together.”
Over the past year, Michael and I had been renovating my parents' house together. I had wanted to do all the work myself but Michael's curious condition changed all that.
We were together twenty-four seven. All day every day. We had tried out leaving him alone for any length of time but the hunger always came back like a freight train.
But it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Michael made a lot of sacrifices to make this relationship work. He moved out of his rich loft apartment and into my parents' house. He wasn't exactly thrilled about it but it was one thing in our negotiation that I wasn't going to back down from.
We didn't need to be in the same room all the time. In fact, we would spend a lot of time apart in opposite ends of the house. It gave me the quiet time I needed and I didn't feel suffocated. I think being so close all the time made our relationship grow faster.
I felt like we were truly meant to be together. Maybe it was the fact that I had this special power over him or it was the way he made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. Whatever it was, I could really see myself spending the rest of my life with him.
Our house had gone through so much work over the year. The flooring had been refinished, kitchen remodeled, every wall painted. The plumbing needed to be fixed on multiple occasions. A leaky ceiling was just a fixture of our life for awhile.
The guest bathroom downstairs was the last room to finish. I never thought we would get to that point.
When I first walked into the house, I thought it wasn't even possible. Even if it was, it would take decades to finish by myself.
That's why I have to give a lot of credit to Michael. He was beyond knowledgeable on house repair. I don't know where he learned it all from but it was much appreciated.
Michael slapped the dust off his blue jeans. “This house is really coming together. We only have the vanity and the tub to replace. Then we'll finally be done.”
“Doesn't seem real, does it?”
“You ever think about what we're going to do with all our free time when we are finished with the house?”
“I thought we could relax and enjoy the work we accomplished. But I can't live off your dime forever. I've let you pay for too many things already, including all the renovations on the house.”
“I think we should go travel the world,” he said with that dumb smile of his.
“Yeah that might mess with me needing to find a job.”
Michael waved my comment away with his hand. “You don't need a job. We can live off my money comfortably forever.”
“Oh so we're going to be together forever now are we?”
Michael nodded. “I was waiting until we were completely done with the house to do this but I can't wait a second longer.”
I had no idea what trick he had up his sleeve. Michael was always trying to surprise me.
Michael got down on one knee and produced a ring from his back pocket. “Kelly Marshall, will you marry me?”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I put my hand over my mouth. I couldn't believe it. The diamond ring was mesmerizing. The giant stone was set on a silver band with a million other tiny diamonds around it. I couldn't breathe let alone speak.
Our future together flashed before my eyes. I imagined us traveling the world and always returning to our perfect home.
Michael switched knees. “Are you really going to leave me hanging here. A yes or no answer will suffice.”
I snapped out of my daydream. “The answer is yes.”
Michael stood up and I jumped into his arms. He swung me around the half-renovated bathroom and we kissed. I couldn't stop giggling as he put the ring on my finger.
“Can we go traveling now?”
I nodded and wiped the tears from my cheek.
Michael rested his nose on mine. “I love you, Kelly.”
“I love you too, Michael.”
He was my Mr. Right.
The End
Pain
Description
But I can't fall in love. He's my captor.
The way his rough hands hold me... his lips pressed to mine. He taught me how to use my body in ways I never imagined.
I need to escape before I fall too deep...
Prologue
Pain
Present Day
The abandoned warehouse of the Devil's Hellions MC loomed before me. It's broken windows and peeling paint showed it's age. The old repair shop sign had faded away from the bright sun. The rows of Harleys in the front was same as it was thirty years ago. This club had been my entire life and I'd finally given it up.
Being the President of the Devil's Hellions MC was no easy task. The amount of blood on my hands would never be washed away. The things I did in the name of my brothers would never be forgotten. And the amount of whores I emptied my balls into could never fill the void. Stepping down lifted a huge burden off my shoulders but I didn't know what to do with the rest of my time. The club was all I knew.
Dagger was t
he new President now and he'd do a fine job. He was smart, strong, and above all else—willing to do whatever it took. But I could see the anguish on his face. Dagger was being slowly destroyed from the inside out. He was about to make the same mistake I made all those years ago. “Take my advice, Dagger, don't be like me and let the girl of your dreams pass you by. You're hardwired to fuck and forget but you don't want to be my age and wishing you did something different,” I told him.
Dagger didn't have to give his life to the MC. He could be President and find happiness. But only if he could get past his deep-rooted ideas of what it means to be a biker.
I stared up at the motorcycle club, it's white banner with Devil's Hellions written all over it flapping in the wind. My mind returned to the good ol' days when the warehouse was a motorcycle repair shop. We weren't really good at fixing customer's bikes—we could barely fix our own. But it was ours and we loved it.
I remembered spending my days in the hot sun, drinking a cold beer, oil and grease all over my face. It couldn't get much better than that.
The repair shop didn't last very long after Cash was gunned down. He was always the best with numbers. We almost lost the entire warehouse but a few threatening words with the landlord made us able to keep the place even though we weren't running a business anymore. I always had plans to reopen the repair shop but never got around to it. Real club business always got in the way.
When Blaze first brought up the idea of a MC in high school, we all thought he was crazy. Most of us didn't even own motorcycles or even have our drivers license. But he was our fearless leader and we would have followed him into the depths of hell.
I walked into the warehouse and the place was bustling with people. The MC was never this busy back in the day. No other chapters. Just the Sacks County MC. Coal used to sling drinks behind the bar and E-Z knew how to consume them. Cash was always in the office staring at financial documents behind his spectacles.
We had a good thing going until Emily came into my life. And everything changed. Her long, curly dark hair with blue eyes could bring any man down to their knees. My mind was lost in a fog of emotions. My club meant everything to me and Emily threatened it all. I always regretted letting her go and I couldn't let Dagger make the same decision. If he had a chance to live a normal life, he had to go for it.
The meeting room was empty when I entered. My fingers traced over the gavel at the head of the table. The long wooden table dominated the room with a Devil's Hellions spider carved into it. It took Tater months to finish the thing. I sat down in my seat, the chair creaking with age. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I'd made so many decisions in this room over the years. Some bad and some good. Blaze used to sit in here all day, dreaming about ways to take the club to the next level. But now it was Dagger's domain. His turn to steer the club in the direction he thought best.
I looked up at the row of pictures framed on the wall of our fallen brothers. There were too many pictures. We'd lost so many over the years. So many under my watch. Did I do a good enough job? We're those lives lost under my rule in vain? My eyes began to tear up and my throat choked.
I never meant to be President. I wasn't meant for all the pressure and responsibility. If Blaze was still around, my life would have been entirely different. We might not have lost so many men. There would have been a lot fewer sleepless nights.
I kissed two fingers and placed them on Blaze's photo. “Rest in peace, buddy. Hope you're giving God hell up there.”
I left the MC and hopped on my old Harley. The thing was still kicking after all these years. Kind of like me. Now it was time to begin the next chapter.
Chapter One
Pain
1986
My Harley roared underneath me as I shifted into gear and chased the group of Death Merchants. Coal and Tank were close behind, forming a V formation. I looked behind to see Tank with the biggest grin behind his bushy mustache. We lived for this. The Mexicans were in our territory and we had them on the run.
Sunday morning meant a lot of church traffic: old and slow drivers. The sun was barely overhead but the heat was already burning my leather cut. It was going to be another scorcher in the desert today. We swerved in and out of cars, the Mexicans not far ahead. They didn't dare fire on us with so many civilians around. Cars honked at us as we passed by and I returned their kindness by knocking their side mirrors off. The Black Widows owned these roads and this town needed to give us a little more respect. We were trying to clean their streets after all.
At a four-way intersection the Mexicans split up. I signaled to Coal and Tank and they knew what to do. I took the two Mexicans that made a right turn and followed them down Main Street. The church was at the end and the traffic was jammed. That didn't stop The Death Merchants. They popped onto the sidewalk and sped past pedestrians. Innocents could get seriously hurt but I had to follow them.
We zoomed past the storefront windows, the wind flicking back my long hair. My grip on my handlebars tightened like I was stroking my cock to finish. Old women in their Sunday best dived out of the way,spilling coffee all over their flowery dresses. The Mexicans turned the corner and onto an empty street. I followed, whipping out my Remington 1911 handgun and firing a couple shots. I wouldn't be able to hit a weaving target at this range but I wanted them to know I was close on their asses.
The two Death Merchants split up and I trailed the one that hit the dirt road. My bike bounced up and down over the bumps, the dust hitting my face from the motorcycle ahead of me. I shot a few more times, hoping for a miracle.
His back tire burst with my last shot and he went fishtailing, crashing into the bushes. My bike came to a skid at the Mexican's motorcycle but he was nowhere to be found. He couldn't have gotten far. I got off my hog and checked the magazine in my Remington—only three bullets left. More than enough to end this fucking wetback.
Before I could pop the magazine back in, the Mexican charged at me from the brush. The collision knocked me to the ground, sending my pistol and loose magazine soaring far away. I balled my hand into a fist and pummeled into his ribs, crunching bone. The motherfucker cursed at me in Spanish, holding his side. I kicked him off me and quickly got to my feet. I connected my boot to his face and he instantly shut up.
I went through his pockets as he writhed on the ground. Just a few dollars and change. He didn't even have a gun on him which reaffirmed our thoughts that The Death Merchants didn't even have the money for weapons. They weren't ready to play with the big boys yet.
I lifted the bloody wetback up and put him on his knees. His leather cut had the name Garcia and the symbol of Death with a scythe was on the back. “You boys dare come into our town and don't even bring guns. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
The Mexican looked back at me with furious eyes. He spat at me, his spit narrowly missing my face and hitting my cut. Now he had really done it. Nobody disrespects me and gets away with it.
I brought out my switchblade and the blade sprang out in front of his eyes. “I think I'm going to have a little fun with you before I send you off to meet your maker.”
He cursed at me with some more Spanish. I couldn't understand but I got the gist of it.
“You fuckers can't even speak English?” I grabbed a hold of his leather cut and began slicing. I took off his nameplate and member patch. “Your kind don't deserve to be a motorcycle club.”
The wetback tried to get up and grab me but I kicked him in the ribs and he doubled over, howling in pain.
“I'm going to leave you a gift to remember me by. Whenever you look in the mirror, you'll know that Sacks County is off-limits to your kind.”
I squeezed his face between my fingers and let my blade run down his forehead and across his left eye. His screams were lost in the wind as I carved up his face. He passed out as soon as I finished, falling over into the dirt. I stepped on his chest with my boot for good measure. I wiped my bloody hands on his jeans and safely stowed my switchblade in m
y back pocket. It would be a waste to kill him now. He was a work of art. The Mexicans would think twice about coming back into Sacks when they saw his fucked-up face.
Police sirens wailed off in the distance. My gunshots from earlier must have tipped them off. Didn't matter much. I was already done here. I collected my Remington from the dirt and put it in the back of my waistband. The Mexican lay in the desert, the sun baking him. He was going to be a sunburnt bean in an hour. I spit on him before going back to my motorcycle.
