Contents
Hawk - Roid Rage
For Gat, my rock.
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
BEANIE - CHOKE HOLD
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© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014 - 2018
HAWK
2
ROID RAGE
Steel Riders MC
Alice May Ball
Gat, my rock.
Without you,
it wouldn’t mean a thing
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Prologue
LITTLE CARLIE’S EYES STREAMED and she gagged noisily. Beanie’s inked bicep bulged as he shoved the back of her head hard into his lap. He was a tight squeeze for her soft little wet mouth.
I had no choice. Priest had taken me in to work for the night, and now there was real work to be done. Hawk’s huge weapon of hard flesh heaved out of the denim and loomed in front of my lips. His hand gripped my hair tight and yanked my head towards him. He was still pumped from the fight and gleaming shards of rage lit his eyes.
I would be trapped in the clubhouse in the middle of the desert until I could show him something. Something to earn my money.
Chapter 1
MY DENIM SKIRT WAS way too short for climbing onto the back of a huge Harley Davidson. but that’s just what I did. I got onto the bike behind Priest and my thighs clamped around his heart-stopping ass. He fired the bike up and the beast shook and throbbed into life. The vibration from the bike was a loud velvet jackhammer, beating and throbbing up through the saddle.
My breath caught as he turned the throttle and the bike rose. We were pulled up and out of the curb and as my body was dragged forwards, my neck stretched and I clung to the Priest’s back. We swept out onto the flat black ribbon of straight highway that cut through the desert scrub.
I’d ridden on bikes before, but the boys in my hometown all rode skinny little Japanese crotch-rockets. This was a whole other kind of a ride. My body shook, and it wasn’t from the cold.
We’d left my little ancient brown Honda parked in front of the diner and I felt like I’d abandoned the last fragment of the life that I knew. Some life. But I was thinking now about the wisdom of accepting the biker’s offer of work in the MC clubhouse.
On the back of Priest’s jacket was an emblem with a death’s head in a wheel of bullets. Around it read, Steel Riders MC.
A dark orange glow loomed at the horizon beneath the heavy blue-gray Nevada sky. We roared by the parched scrub of nothing much on either side, towards the wide expanse of nothing much else ahead.
How could somewhere so hot look so cold?
I shivered as I held tight around the strong body of a man I hardly knew. A man who had my life in his hands ion more ways than one. I peered over his shoulder to see the landscape of my future racing at me. The bike growled and thrummed beneath me, stirring up my body and setting my emotions alight.
I had the clothes I wore, less than ten dollars to my name and no place to go back to. And I had a dead cellphone. Soon I would be a strange girl with big boobs in a flimsy t-shirt and no bra, on my own in a clubhouse bar full of bikers. What could possibly go wrong?
The horizon in the desert was low and distant an there wasn’t a single man-made structure in sight. Priest leaned the bike into a bend then straightened. A few minutes farther on, a low, flat wood building poked up ahead, surrounded by scraggy bushes and scrub. As the old covered deck and the gray pitched roof crawled nearer, I saw a bigger building behind it like a barn. The whole place looked like a run-down Wild West saloon.
The motor picked up pace and the bike surged forward like an animal sensing prey. My thighs quivered and inside I shook in waves. Cool air pushed hard around my body. It swept inside my little t-shirt, up around my thighs and up my skirt.
At the tops of my thighs, the contrast between the cool, dry rushing air and my hot, wet panties made me cling tighter to Priest’s back. I squeezed tight around his ass. As we got nearer to the wood clubhouse, I saw more than thirty bikes leaned up outside. That mean that there were thirty bikers inside at least.
Chapter 2
MY BODY STILL TREMBLED as Priest stopped the bike by the rail in front of the clubhouse. He waited for me to scramble off before he leaned the cycle onto its stand and swung his leg over the seat to dismount.
Priest’s dark eyes smoldered over his shades at me. His voice was strong and low, “You ready, Belle?” My knees were weak and unsure.
I made the best smile I could. “Sure,” I said. I felt about three feet high. I’m not tall or especially strong and I was wearing almost nothing. You could say that I felt exposed.
I tried to sound breezy and light. I made myself act about as ready as I could and hoped that the feeling of confidence would follow on behind. On the inside I just wanted to run. As far and as fast as I could. My eyes flicked around the horizon. You could run a long, long way in any direction. Most likely you’d be exhausted long before you’d have gotten anywhere.
I don’t think that Priest would have stopped me, but there wasn’t anywhere for me to run to. The fact of the matter was that this bar was the best chance that I had in the whole world right now. I had known Priest for less than an hour, and I had to trust my whole life to him. Surprisingly, of all the men that I have trusted in my life, this felt like one of the better decisions.
Of course, I remembered, they all start out feeling that way.
“Ready?” His was a big man’s voice. Dark and smooth. Strong and sure. Like his eyes. I nodded.
“Good.” With a strong hand on the small of my back he ushered me onto the deck. The bass from the heavy metal pumped from inside the bar. The deck shook under my feet. I was excited and terrified in about equal measure. As he pushed open the door, a wash of noise flooded over me.
In the gloom of the colored lights inside, the noise had me expecting more people. There were about a dozen bikers, shouting over the roar and thumping grind of Metallica. Big men, mostly broad and bearded, all wearing denim and black leather. I didn’t think then to wonder where the rest were.
The light inside was colored and artificial, red and blue mostly. The windows were covered and the slatted wood walls looked old. A number of ragged flags hung on the wall, and an emblem of the colors on Priest’s back, Steel Riders.
Priest’s return was marked by hands around the room that lifted and heads that made short nods. Looked like everyone made a point to offer him some kind of a greeting. Among all of these big men, I figured that Priest was a big man.
As he showed me to the pain wood bar, all the bikers we passed put out a hand to bump fists or touch fingers with his free hand. The fingertips of his other hand stayed on the base of my spine.
As he guided me I felt a connection. Or maybe I imagined it. It happens. Sometimes I read those signals wrong. Seemed like, as my spine moved, his fingers followed the sway. Like a kind of a dance. A secret dance that only he and I knew was happening.
At the bar Priest his hand moved up my back and rested on my shoulder. He introduced me to the bartender, “Belle, this is Crosscut. He’ll take care of you tonight.”
Tall and round with a reddish beard and a soft glow in his pale gray eyes, Crosscut seemed
a little older than the rest of the club members.
“Crosscut, take Belle behind the bar to start with and try and not let her break anything,” a look passed between the two men. “Try and not let her get broken either.” Crosscut had a smile that was warm and confidential. I felt safe with him. For now, at least.
Priest told him, “Pour us a couple of shots to get started.”
Crosscut filled two shot glasses with bourbon and slid them across the bar. Priest lifted one and said, “May the road rise with you.” He expected me to slug the shot down in one with him.
Well, I thought, It probably won’t be the hardest thing I’ll have to do tonight.
The bourbon sparked on the back of my tongue and blazed all the way down my throat. I sighed and licked my pursed lips as it dropped to my stomach. And I saw Priest watching me. No expression, only an intense concentration.
He slapped the bar with the flat of his hand, he and Crosscut exchanged nods and Priest was gone.
Crosscut took me behind the bar. He showed me where the beers and bourbon were. He said, “Don’t worry about prices. I’ll take the money for tonight.” In his eye I caught a glimpse of him watching me.
“There’s not too many club members out front tonight. That’s on account of the game in back. Your first night, I don’t think you should be out in the back room.”
While he was kindly, he still was wary. Ready to take me under his wing, but I thought that he was also wondering who the fuck I was. Understandable, I guess.
In the corner of the room was a low stage. A girl danced slowly in the beat of the pumping heavy metal. A few very appreciative bikers clustered around the edge of the platform.
As I got familiar with where the glasses were kept and the washing machine that cleaned them, I watched the dancer. Her hips and shoulders snaked on the rhythm. Waves of blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her big, soft boobs bounced above and below the knot of a tied rebel flag.
She clawed one hand through her hair and threw her head back dreamily as her other hand slid into her sheer black panties. Tall heels made her long legs seem extra lithe as she writhed her hips against her hand.
The nearby bikers leaned forwards. On each beat of the bass, her pelvis flicked forward. In her panties, her hand flexed and clenched. The tip of her tongue slid around her parting lips and she looked in the eyes of the bikers, one by one. She was exposed and pretty vulnerable, but she looked like she was in control of her situation.
Watching her I felt encouraged. Her dancing was pretty hot and her audience were getting excited. A buzz ran up through my stomach as I wondered how she would handle them as they got more and more worked up. My nipples hardedned as I watched.
Her hips ground lower and her thighs parted wider. Slower. Her dips grew longer and deeper. She danced closer to the edge of the little stage. I caught my breath as she reached her free hand out to a biker. She pointed. Grinning he shifted closer. She ran a finger down the front of his shirt. She shimmied over to the next man and wiped her thumb along his lips.
His eyes were wide. Her crotch flicked, back and forth, inches from his lips. She licked her lips as she patted his cheek. Even in Vegas, I had never seen a public show as raunchy. In here, apart from the bikers around the stage, no-one else appeared to paty any attention at all to anything that was happening.
The girl danced sideways to the next biker. Her to lip curled back and her teeth bit into her lower lip. Her free hand slid down the biker’s shirt, over his belt. She lingered on his elaborate buckle.
Between her thighs, her hand slid down and plunged deeper. Her pelvis rocked a little harder. Her eyes opened wide as she slipped her palm down over the bulge in his jeans and pressed out taut in the front of his denim. She gripped him and his grin turned to a hard leer.
I was surprised how uninterested everyone else appeared to be. Around a table at the back, four rowdy bikers had a clear view of the stage and they seemed to be taking no notice at all.
Then I spotted a brown head of hair, bobbing in one of the biker’s laps. The huge, black-haired biker wiped his bandito mustache before he grinned and his hand rested on top of the head in front of him.
His dark eyes fixed on mine before my eyes swivelled back to the stage.
The dancer’s hair billowed as she whirled around. Her pert butt bounced and ground around in front of the biker’s face. She peered back over her shoulder into his eyes. Her hand still rose and fell inside her sopping panties.
The biker lifted his hands towards her inviting ass, but she waved the index finger of her free hand and grinned as she shook her head slowly. This girl was definitely in control. She touched her finger to her pursed lips. Her eyes widened as she turned to move her buttocks closer to his face.
If she went on teasing him harder like that, getting closer in his face, surely he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Her thighs parted wider and her ass rolled lower. Her pussy was right in front of him. He must have been able to smell her, taste her, practically. His mouth opened.
She rocked her hips again. He grabbed her ass. She waited a moment before she span around. She shook her head slowly with a theatrical schoolmarm look on her face. Her finger reached out to wag in front of his face. The guy’s neck was red.
She put her finger under his chin. She stepped backwards. With his eyes bulging, he followed her up, onto the stage. She stood him in the center of the floor, then turned. She danced with her back to him. Pressed and rubbed her buttocks against him.
Each time his hands moved, she tapped them with her fingers or wagged her finger to stop him.
With her legs splayed wide, she bent forwards. Her ass ground up and down against the strained front of the biker’s jeans. Her eyes were comically wide as they swept the tight clutch of men at the stage’s edge.
The biker’s face was reddening. The dancer turned and landed on her knees in front of him. She put her fingers on his pelvis. Pushed and pulled on his hips. Her hands came closer together and her mouth opened.
The tip of her tongue pressed against her front teeth as she reached into his fly for his buttons. The girl turned to the audience with her eyes wide as she popped each button.
She hauled out the biker’s fat, stiff cock and she licked the bottom of the shaft. Her hand reached into his open jeans and she popped out his balls. She took them into her mouth one at a time.
Then she got her lips over the head of his cock and slid her mouth slowly all the way down it. He couldn’t hold himself back then, and he grabbed her hair. His hips thrust his cock deep into her mouth.
She drooled and wet clucking sounds escaped from her throat as his cock plunged all the way into her wet face. His thighs widened and tensed as he gripped her hair. His buttocks clenched as his shaft rode into her throat. She gave a loud, wet gasp at each and every long, hard stroke.
Veins stood out on the biker’s neck as he leaned over and buried his fingers deeper in her hair.
Crosscut’s voice snapped me back. “You won’t get paid for watching the show.” There was a mischievous twinkle in the older guy’s eyes as I turned back to him. “Whatever you want to do while you’re here, it’s up to you. And whatever you don’t want to do, that’s up to you, too.”
He was talking about the girl on the stage. “But you do need to do something to make Priest see that you earned your money,” he winked, “And you aint making any tips standing there with your chin drooping on the bartop, neither.”
Crosscut had me help him pour four mugs of beer and said, “Take these over to that table at the back.”
I grabbed the handles of the four mugs and headed for the table. I was self-conscious as the huge, black-haired biker watched me, all the way from the bar to the dark table where he sat. Under his cut-off bike jacket he wore another leather jacket, hooded.
There were silver buckles on the jacket and on his heavy belt. His boots had silver fastenings. The dark, reddish complexion of his slick, oily skin contrasted with thick silver rings
that studded his fingers and sliver bracelets hung on his wrists, and the massive watch under his left sleeve. The skin around his neck and cheeks was red and rough.
Hawk: Roid Rage – A reverse harem MC romance (Steel Riders Book 2) Page 1
