Demolition: Twisted Mayhem, Book Three

by Cat Mason

  “Mmm,” he hums in satisfaction before wrapping his lips around my clit.

  My body tightens like a spring with every flick of his tongue. Colt eats at me like a man starved, bringing me to the edge over and over, only to keep me there, hanging on by a thread each time. I writhe and whimper, begging for release in incoherent sobs of pleasure and desperation. “Come,” he growls, thrusting two fingers inside me. His mouth goes to work on my clit again, sucking and flicking in time with each thrust of his fingers. My hips buck off the bed, riding his face and fingers like I need the orgasm they are about to give me in order to live.

  “Colt!”

  Bolting upright, my eyes fly open, my body sore and aching, quickly reminding me of my injuries. Finding myself alone in my bed, I fall back against the pillows. “Holy shit,” I gasp, my entire body humming as I stare up at the ceiling, trying like hell to get a handle on my breathing.

  “Hey.” Colt’s voice nearly has me leaping out of my skin. Looking over, I find his broad body filling the doorway. His feet and chest still bare from before. His jeans hang low on his hips, exposing the top of a bandage on his right side to go with the various bruises and scratches that mar his chest and arms. Beer in one hand, he leans against the doorjamb, concern filling his eyes. “Heard you yellin’. You okay?”

  Fuck a duck. I want to climb this man like a tree.

  “Yeah. Just a dream.” Pushing the blanket away, I sit up and slide my legs off the side of the bed. “You actually get any sleep?” I ask, pushing to my feet. “Or do you run on junk food and testosterone?”

  He chuckles, the sound washing over me like the warmest ocean wave. “I caught a couple hours before I had to check on some shit,” he tells me, though doesn’t elaborate. Not that I figured he would. “I’m about to eat breakfast. You hungry?”

  “You cooked?” I ask, not quite sure if I believe it. Colt has the appetite of a ravenous wolf, but I also have never seen him eat anything that wasn’t takeout, junk food, or prepared by Cheyenne at the clubhouse.

  “Hell no.” Pushing off the doorjamb, he gestures for me to follow. “I had the prospect bring Denny’s. I can’t get Huck’s dog to eat my cookin’.”

  The kitchen island is stacked with black plastic containers, to-go cups of coffee, and cartons of orange juice. “Jesus,” I breathe, taking in the insane amount of food. “Did you order enough for the entire building?”

  His eyes snap to mine. “Fuck no,” he answers, his tone stone cold serious. “I’m hopin’ there’s enough to share with you.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Babe.” His brows raise, disappearing behind the veil of blonde hair. “I never joke about food.”

  “I can see that.” Snagging myself a carton of orange juice, I take a seat at the table.

  Grabbing two plates from the cabinet, Colt goes to work on dividing up the food. Sipping my juice, my eyes are glued to his bare upper body. His arms and chest muscles bulge and flex with every move he makes. I could spend hours tracing every hard, ink-covered line of definition on his body with my fingers and tongue. I’d also be forced to spend extra time anywhere that resulted in one of those hot as fuck growls that vibrates from deep in his chest.

  Picking up both plates, he rounds the island, making his way toward me. Something so simple as Colt being domestic in my kitchen has me damn near salivating.

  Freaking hell, what’s wrong with me?

  Putting the plates down, he grabs another container before sitting beside me. Looking between the two, I laugh at the insane amount of food on them. “Colt, there’s no way I can eat all this,” I say, gesturing to the pile of eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast on my plate.

  “I’ll eat what you don’t finish. First, try this.” Placing the container between us, he flips open the lid. Inside, is an order of nachos. The chips covered in both nacho and shredded cheese, chili, pico di gallo, sour cream, and scrambled eggs.

  “Do you really have scrambled eggs on your nachos?” I ask, fighting the urge to smile as he stares at the mess like a kid seeing his gifts under the tree on Christmas morning.

  “Open for me, babe,” he purrs, flashing me a smile. Grabbing a chip, he holds it up to my lips. “Prepare to have your fuckin’ mind blown.”

  I blink at his words. My mouth falls open. Not because of my willingness to try his breakfast nachos, but in surprise at how his words affect me. Not wasting a beat, Colt shoves the piled chip into my mouth, before grabbing a bigger one for himself.

  “Good, right?” he asks before shoveling in his bite.

  “Not bad,” I admit, reaching for one of the forks sitting between us. “Where’s Donnie?” I ask, not seeing him on the couch.

  “Had some shit to handle,” he answers around a bite of food. “Be back later tonight.”

  “Club business?” I ask, glancing his way.

  “Club business,” he nods.

  Colt and I sit, eating in comfortable silence for a while. Although, it should be said, Colt doesn’t simply eat his breakfast. He demolishes it. By the time I have made any kind of dent in my plate at all, the big man beside me has polished off his sizably larger portion, along with almost all the nachos. “Need to ask you somethin’,” he says, pushing his empty plate away.

  “Yes,” I giggle, sliding my plate his way. “I’m finished.”

  “Thanks.” Grabbing the fork, he starts stacking eggs, bacon, and the last of my hash browns onto one of the two remaining slices of toast. Inhaling half the sandwich, he looks my way. “But that wasn’t my question.”

  “Oh,” I shrug my good shoulder. “What is it?”

  “Some major club shit goin’ down next couple days,” he explains, watching me carefully. “Need you at the clubhouse while it goes down.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a question,” I challenge. “Sounds like you’re dictating orders and expecting me to fall in line without giving me all the information.”

  He sighs, the sound coming out more like a frustrated growl. “Fine.” Turning his entire chair and body to face me, he grabs the lip of my chair, yanking it until it bumps his. My hands fly up, flattening against his chest, his pecs twitching beneath my fingers. Running his hands up my arms, his thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts. His eyes darken when I tremble. “What if I say pack a bag and come crash at my place? I wanna see that fine ass sprawled out across my sheets.” Pushing my hair off my shoulder, he leans in, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “Dyin’ to hear the sounds you make when I bury my face in that sweet pussy.”

  My stomach flips, my clit pulsing with need. “Jesus,” I groan, slamming my eyes shut. Reality and my dream starting to mesh together, making it almost impossible to separate the two in my head. Or gather my thoughts on the shit he is laying out. “We need to talk about this, Colt.”

  “Hotness,” he growls, smiling against the sensitive skin below my ear, his beard only adding to the rush of sensation. Sliding his hand up the back of my neck, he tangles his fingers in my hair. His other hand goes to my ass as he carefully pulls me astride him. I gasp when his hips shift, grinding me onto his already hard cock. “Don’t waste energy arguin’ the inevitable,” he murmurs, bringing his lips to mine. “Save it for ridin’ my face.”

  Nine

  Colt

  Leaving Henley behind while I handle loose ends is the last thing I wanted to do. But when a lead came in on the piece of shit driving the black car, I could only focus on one thing. Payback.

  With Doc and Jinks along for the ride, we hop in my car and head toward the state line to scope out a strip club called Rain. The place is a shitty dive on a dried-out highway, outside the city limits. The moment we pull into the lot, it is clear our leather isn’t welcome. Def Leppard is blasting while two girls in gold bikinis grind on each other on the center stage. Pool tables are tucked away in a private corner, with a smaller stage on the opposite side for chicks who want to see if they can work a pole better than the paid professionals.

  �
��Bartender’s dealin’,” Jinks says, jerking his chin to the fat fucker behind the bar. “I’ve seen at least four hand offs in the last fifteen minutes.”

  “You think Merc knows this shit’s sittin’ in his backyard?” Doc asks, nursing his beer.

  Laughter from the pool tables catches my attention the second the music dies down. Looking up, I spot the reason we’re here. Travis Wheeler. The guy looks smaller in person than he did in the photos Jinks managed to dig up on him. Dropping down into a chair, he pulls a waitress into his lap. She shrieks, her tray filled with glasses and empty bottles falling to the floor. Glass breaks at her feet, scattering all over the concrete floor.

  “Let go,” she yelps, frantically swatting at his hands.

  “You’re a goddamn cocktease, Adria,” he growls. “That stops tonight.” Tightening his arm around her waist, he squeezes her tit through her black t-shirt with the other until she cries out.

  “Please stop!” Her cries become more urgent.

  “Motherfucker,” Jinks seethes, shoving out of his chair. “I’ve seen enough.”

  “Yep,” I bite out, pushing to my feet. My fists ball at my side as I stare down the piece of shit I came here for. “Let’s get this done.”

  “Fuckin’ finally.” Doc leaps out of his seat like a damn spring. Shaking his hips, he struts toward us, a smile spreading across his face. “Time for the shit kickin’.”

  Keeping my temper in check, I size up Wheeler and the people around him. The bulk of his crew are oblivious to what’s about to go down. Most of them either too drunk to see me coming or riding out a high that dulls their give a damn.

  Either way suits my ass just fine.

  The guy is skin and bones with dark circles framing his bloodshot eyes. His arms are covered in fresh track marks, and from the smell coming off him, I’d bet he hasn’t showered in at least a week. The guy’s greasy ass black hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and he is rocking a wicked case of meth mouth that makes my goddamn stomach turn. He gropes the girl, laughing, when she begins to cry. My blood fucking boils. Killing this son of a bitch would be a public service.

  “You Wheeler?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Who the fuck wants to know?” he tosses out, not even bothering to look at me.

  “Hear you’re the guy to talk to about an extermination problem.”

  His head snaps up, eyes hardening, as he stares me down. He nods. “Hang out and have a beer on me.” Thrusting against the chick’s ass, he smirks. “I’m busy breakin’ in the new girl.”

  “Let her go,” Jinks grounds out, stepping beside me. Raising his shirt, he flashes the gun in his waistband to Wheeler. “Now.”

  Wheeler’s jaw ticks. Dropping his arm, he shoves her into the floor. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” he barks, standing to his feet.

  Grabbing a pool stick from the rack on the wall, I crack my neck from side to side. The last thing I want is Jinks putting a bullet into this bastard. Even if he deserves it. Bullets could mean cops, and cops showing up right now would ruin everything I have planned for this worthless fuck.

  “I’m the one callin’ the goddamn shots, asshole.” Before he can respond, I swing as hard as I can. The stick cracks across his face, snapping in half the second it makes contact. Wheeler yelps, the force knocking him back into the chair so hard it flips backward and slams to the floor. “Get the girl clear of this shit,” I say to Jinks, who moves into action before I even finish the sentence.

  “Sonuvabitch!” Wheeler barks, rolling onto his stomach on the floor. Pushing up onto his knees, he cups his face, blood seeping between his fingers. “What the fuck’s your problem, asshole?”

  Doc laughs. “Clear out,” he barks, shoving two of Wheeler’s guys back when they start to charge our way. Like father, like son, he flashes his gun. “This is a private party.”

  Yanking on my black leather gloves, I look to Jinks. Hoisting the girl into his arms, he looks fucking murderous. “Tell the prick at the bar it’s closin’ time. Let him know, he wants to get loud about it, he finds out how flammable edible glitter and crank can be.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Watch the front!” Doc yells to Jinks. “You know the drill, kid.”

  Grabbing Wheeler by the throat, I yank him to his feet. Slamming his back against the wall, I tighten my fingers until his eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Who paid you to take out Henley Wolfe?” I ask, barely able to contain the rage roaring through my veins.

  “Who?” he heaves, gasping for breath.

  “Sounds like someone’s havin’ issues with their memory,” Doc chimes in, hitching his ass on the far corner of the pool table.

  “He’ll talk.” Punching him hard in the stomach, I let him fall to the floor. Wheeler wheezes and heaves like a little bitch. “Won’t you, Travis?”

  “Fuck off,” he hisses, spitting blood onto the floor. “I don’t know shit about that bitch.”

  “Wrong answer, dumbass,” Doc chuckles as my boot connects with Wheeler’s face.

  Jerking him up by his shirt, I throw him onto the pool table. Landing on the black felt with a thump, he curls into the fetal position. Taking in the room, I can’t help the satisfied smile that spreads across my face when I see that the place has cleared out in record time. Snagging half of the broken pool stick off the ground, I bring it down hard on his knee. Bolting upright, he wails. “Start talkin’,” I warn, pressing the sharp edge into his side. “Or I start makin’ holes.”

  “Fuckin’ genius.” Grabbing Wheeler’s face with both hands, Doc yanks him back down, his head bouncing off the table. “Whadaya think, VP? Shish kebob an eye?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “Or a nut?”

  “Who says we’ve gotta choose?” I fire back, jamming the stick through his right thigh.

  “Ah!” Wheeler screams, flailing on the table like a fish out of water. “Fuck!”

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Wrapping my fingers around the stick, I twist. A rush of adrenaline rolls through me when he screams. It steadies my focus and keeps me in check. It feels good to unleash rage I have kept buried on someone who deserves it, but I also have a job to do. “Guaran-fuckin’-teed you won’t be runnin’ down any more women after tonight.” I twist again. “I hope the high was worth it, because you’re gonna pay for every bruise you put on what’s mine. Every drop of her blood, every tear she tried to hide from me.” Grabbing his chin, I lean in close, soaking up the fear and pain filling his eyes. I smile wide. “You’re gonna feel all that.”

  My fist connects with his ribs, stealing what little breath he was managing to drag in through the pain. I don’t let up. Not until I’m sure they’re broken. I want him to feel everything Henley did. And then some. This motherfucker will regret bringing his ass to Milford that night if it’s the last thing I do.

  “I’d start talkin’,” Doc suggests when I step back and shake out my aching hands. Walking around the side of the table, he grabs the other half of the broken pool stick from the floor. Tossing it to me, he braces his hands on the side of the table, staring down at the now silently sobbing man. “Only way you walk out of here alive.” Chuckling, Doc taps the pole sticking out of his leg. “Right. Sorry. Guess you won’t be walkin’.”

  “Fuck you,” Wheeler chokes out.

  “I’d try that again,” I warn, whacking him in the side of the face with the stick. “Who sent you to Milford?”

  “Go to hell,” he grunts, spitting at me.

  “You have no idea what hell is, Travis,” I say calmly, the darkness I work so hard to control digging its nails in and slashing its way to the surface. The man that stays calm and collected is losing his edge, and I can’t be held responsible for what happens when the balance shifts and the monster I work so hard to keep buried wins out completely. “But I’m more than happy to send you there. First fuckin’ class.”

  “You won’t kill me,” he challenges arrogantly. “I’m no good to you dead.”

  “No
good to us alive either, asshole.” Doc’s tone turns cold and unforgiving. “Worthless bastard just filled an order that came down the pipeline. Grunts don’t get access to the top of the food chain.” Pulling out his gun, he presses it to Wheeler’s temple. “I say put a bullet in his head. We hit his place, do the same with his crew, his family. Flush the bastards out like rats.”

  “No,” Wheeler croaks, his arms flying up. He breathes deep, his entire body shaking. “Had a call come in a few months ago. Dude wanted some chick followed up in Milford. I took the job. Couple weeks ago he left a note in the money drop. Upped the ante. Wanted to send a message. Scare her.”

  “Scare? You nearly fuckin’ killed her!” I roar, grabbing him by his shirt. “I’m gonna want that contact info.”

  “Never called from the same number twice,” he blurts, his eyes wild and frantic. “The drops were never face to face. Said his name was Reed.”

  “Reed?” I ask, yanking him upright. “Just Reed?”

  “Yes,” he gasps. “That’s all I know. I swear.”

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it Travis?” Satisfied that I’ve gotten all there is from this shithead, I force the other end of the pool stick through his opposite shoulder. His screaming turns into heaves. “We’re done here.” Tired of his whining, I knock him out with a punch to the face. Taking the keys and wallet from his pocket, I grab a half-empty bottle of vodka from the table beside me and splash the contents onto him and the blood covered felt.

  “What now?” Doc asks, fishing his smokes from his pocket.

  Throwing the empty bottle against the wall, I toss Doc a pack of matches I grabbed from the bar when we came in. “We burn this shithole to the ground.”

  Ten

  Henley