by Tia Lewis
I pretended to find him sexy, I told myself I wanted him. I actually wanted into the club, but he would be my Sherpa. I made myself like him. I made myself walk over to him, lingering by the deli counter as he placed an order for a dozen cold sandwiches. I waited until he finished, standing very close behind him so he’d bump into me when he turned around.
And just like that, he fell right into my trap, nearly knocking me down when he spun. He had caught me before I fell, and I gave him a genuine smile. It worked out better than I had hoped.
“I’m so sorry, Miss. Did I hurt you?” he asked, and for a second I thought I must have the wrong person. No way that a kid like him, who seemed sweet and courteous, could be a member of the Blood Riders or any outlaw motorcycle club. Then, I caught sight of the patch over his chest. Prospect. So, he was new. A rookie. They hadn’t yet indoctrinated him into the ways of violence and misogyny.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I flirted, touching his arm. Leaving my hand there longer than was necessary. “Thanks for catching me.”
“But … it was my fault you fell.” He looked like he might even be blushing, I noticed. He was too sweet for those creeps. I couldn’t think about that. Eyes on the prize, Nicole/Bree. Go in for the kill.
“No, I’m a klutz.” I gestured down toward my boots, shrugging. “I turned my heel.”
“Yo, man, are you gonna finish your order?” Uh-oh. Rico Suave wasn’t such a playboy once he saw me flirting with another man. Sorry, pal. You never had a chance in the first place.
“Uh, yeah.” My new friend read off the rest of his order from the back of a crumpled receipt. Then, he turned to me. “Can I order something for you? It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, that is so sweet of you.” I touched his arm again, giving him my biggest smile. “An Italian hoagie. Small. Oil and vinegar, please.”
“Whatever, man.” The kid behind the counter got to work, noticeably grumpier than before.
I turned to the Prospect, looking him up and down. Lean but muscular, and with a little work he could be an imposing presence. He might have just gotten out of high school. They recruited young.
“Thank you so much for the sandwich. I was starving!” I laughed. “I hate eating alone, and I don’t wanna go home until my stepdad leaves for work.” I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, I hear ya. That sucks. Maybe you can eat with my friends and me. We’re only right around the corner from here.”
Holy shit, it was too easy. At this rate, I would have my father’s murderer in prison in a week. “Sure, that would be cool. Thanks.” He nodded, blushing a little again, and then looked out the window. His creepy friend looked impatient. I couldn’t let him lose focus, so I put my hand on his broad shoulder. When he turned to me with a smile, I decided to cut to the chase.
“Hey,” I murmured, chewing my bottom lip. “Um, are you with the Blood Riders?”
3
Drake
“Fuck, Drake. Yes!” I held the hips of the chick riding me. Violet. Big tits, bouncing up and down. Nice thick ass banging against my thighs every time she slammed down onto my cock. She gripped me tight from the inside. I gritted my teeth and held on until it sounded like she was almost finished.
“Yes…yes…yes! Oh God, Drake!” The sound of her voice made it harder to hold back. I was used to it, women moaning my name. A lot of women.
She finally started shrieking, bouncing harder and holding me tighter as her wet pussy clenched up. She was coming. Finally—it took her forever. I let go, slamming her down, thrusting up into her until I finished. Not bad for a random Tuesday afternoon.
Violet fell on top of me, and I lifted her hips just enough to slide out and pull off the slippery condom. She didn’t want to move. “You can get off me now.” She made a surprised noise, but she moved like I wanted her to.
“Sorry,” Violet muttered, sort of throwing herself down on the bed.
“I had to clean myself up,” I reminded her, not turning around from where I sat on the bed. “I didn’t think you’d want any accidents, you know?”
Her tone of voice changed. “Oh, sorry,” she purred. Funny how the same word could sound completely different depending on how a person said it. “I didn’t think. You just fucked me so good, baby. My brain got foggy, and I kind of got lost in thought.”
Like you had one in the first place. I had to give Violet credit—I had never heard that one before. Where did she get her pillow talk? After throwing out the condom on the floor and wiping off on my black boxers by the side of the bed, I stretched out on my back.
She draped herself over me, even though I didn’t hold an arm out or anything. I didn’t know where she got the idea I wanted to cuddle. I just wanted to fuck. I tensed up, and she noticed. “What’s wrong, baby?”
That got me even tenser. I didn’t know where she got off calling me that. “For one thing,” I said, trying to keep my voice down, “the name’s Drake. You should know. You said it a bunch of times a few minutes ago.”
She pouted—I didn’t know if I hurt her or not. She was acting. Why couldn’t she just be real? I had known her for a while—maybe six months. She was one of the club’s girls, always at our parties. She hung around the clubhouse, too. I didn’t think she had much of a home to go back to. Hey, whatever. I knew how that felt. We had flirted all that time. Finally, I got bored and decided to fuck her while I waited for my lunch to show up. Obviously, a mistake, judging by the way she looked. I would never be caught dead in public with her.
“I don’t get you,” she muttered. The “oh, gee, my brain just got fucked out of me” look was gone. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth turned down in a frown. She was real, at least.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I put an arm over my eyes, wishing she would leave me alone already.
“You’ve been flirting with me for months. Today you pull me into your room. I think, awesome, finally. Now you treat me like shit.”
“I’m hungry and tired,” I muttered.
“And not horny no more,” she reminded me. “And that’s why you think you can talk to me like this.” She got out of bed. I felt the hurt and anger coming off her in waves, like heat.
“Sorry,” I sneered. “I didn’t know fucking meant signing a contract. Stop acting like you’re my girlfriend.”
“I’m not, Drake.” I listened as she put her clothes on, my arm still over my eyes. Even the way she dressed sounded angry. “Maybe just five minutes, you know? You could be a human being for five goddamned minutes.”
“You’re giving me a headache, Violet! You’re a slut! What do you want me to do?”
“Excuse me?”
“What the fuck do you want? Do you want to cuddle? A dozen roses? A bubble bath?”
“Whatever, Drake. Fuck you.”
I didn’t respond, and that only made her angrier. She stormed out of my little bedroom. I heard her cursing her way down the hall, out to the common area. Thank God. I didn’t think she would ever leave.
I sat up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the dresser as I did. I saw the confusion in my blue eyes, eyes women always seemed to go crazy over. Why didn’t they get it? I only wanted Violet’s body. I was horny—she was right about that—and I wanted to fuck. What was the big deal? She wasn’t my girlfriend just because I stuck my cock in her. If that were true, she would’ve been the girlfriend of half the guys in the club.
And you fucked her, I reminded myself. I laughed at my reflection. I never said I had good taste, did I?
A knock at my door. I froze, expecting it to be Violet again. What would it be this time?
“Hey, man. Sandwiches are here.” Good timing. I got up, stretched, and pulled on my club’s black t-shirt and black jeans. The pair of shorts I’d been wearing before we had sex was my last clean pair, and I had just wiped my dick with them. I had to ask one of the girls to do the wash for me. Obviously not Violet though, I wasn’t that stupid.
I ran my hands through my shaggy hair
as I padded barefoot down the hall. I couldn’t wait to see the look Violet would give me. Maybe she would be too upset to even act like she knew me. I could hope anyway.
There was a big group of my guys standing in the middle of the room, attacking poor Richie as he called out the orders. The guy at the deli had written each sandwich’s description on the white butcher paper he wrapped them with so we could tell them apart. It was evident from the way the guys pushed and shoved that they didn’t have the patience for him to take them one at a time.
“Where’s my Italian?” I called out, joining the group. “Come on, Rich. Get it together.”
“It’s in here somewhere,” he said, going through the bag. “Hold on!”
“I think I actually have it.” I looked up, finally seeing for the first time who Richie had come in with. A total stranger. She held up a hoagie. “Italian, oil and oregano, no onions.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.” I held out my hand, and our eyes locked. If I hadn’t just finished coming, like, four minutes earlier...
“Come on, Drake.” One of the guys pushed me from behind, and I turned to push him back. Josh the asshole. “I want mine, too.”
“Okay, okay.” I took the sandwich from the girl at Richie’s side. Who was she to him? A girlfriend? No way. Nobody as hot as her would waste their time with a rookie and punk like Richie, even if he were on his way to becoming one of us.
I took the sandwich to the bar, sitting on a wooden stool. “Want a drink, Drake?” Tamara, another one of the girls. She was cooler than Violet, which was good because Tamara was actually attractive. She knew her role. We could fuck around, and she didn’t give me trouble afterward.
“Yeah. A Lager.” She poured me a cold beer while I unwrapped my sandwich. She laughed at me.
“What a combination,” she smirked, sliding the pint glass my way. “You’ll live to the ripe old age of thirty if you keep eating the way you do.”
“And I’ll leave a good looking corpse when I do,” I smirked. Tamara rolled her eyes.
“Not if you don’t lay off the nitrates.”
“What the fuck is that?” I asked, my mouth full of food.
“It’s what makes up your sandwich, basically. You never heard of nitrates?” I shrugged. If that was what I was eating, they tasted good to me.
I heard Richie talking to the girl he brought in with him, and the conversation with Tamara was only a way to keep from looking at her. I had a feeling that once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Just the sound of her voice kept playing over in my head. Low, rich, velvety. The kind of voice that went straight to a man’s dick and stayed there. I wondered what she would sound like saying my name over and over.
She was sitting with Richie, laughing at something he said. Oh, she couldn’t be for real. Nobody ever laughed at anything that idiot said. Well, not in a nice way. I had to know more about her. Why was she with him?
“Yo, Rich! Who’s your friend?” I didn’t get up and go over. She could come to me.
Richie looked at me with wide eyes. He felt everybody in the room looking at him—we were all wondering who she was, why a girl like her would be with him. He looked at her, his mouth opened like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to. I glanced around at the other guys. All of us sat at the bar, on the black leather couches and chairs throughout the room. A couple of the girls sat on a pool table, sharing their lunch. We all stared at Richie and his new girl.
He was speechless. So the girl cleared her throat. “I can speak for myself.”
I heard snickers throughout the room. I didn’t look at anybody but her. She had a mouth on her. Fiesty. “Can you? Then why don’t you tell me who you are?”
“Who wants to know?” Another round of snickers—louder this time. More personal.
“Me. Drake Collins. Vice President of the Club whose clubhouse you’re sitting in. You could leave if you got a problem. It’s up to you.”
She began to stand up, but Richie stopped her, though, grabbing her arm. He looked at me, pleading without saying anything. “I met her at the deli,” he finally said, his words all jumbled together because he spoke so fast. “I bought her a sandwich because I almost knocked her over. It’s hot as hell outside and cool in here. That’s all.”
“So you brought her in here of all places?” I waved him over, murder on my mind. She could have been anybody. I would have taken him aside if he wasn’t such an idiot, and if I didn’t want everybody else to hear what I had to say. He came to me, rubbing his greasy hands on his jeans. The kid looked like he might piss his pants. I glanced over at the girl, with her almost see-through T-shirt and skin-tight jeans. She looked worried. Maybe because I was about to blow her cover?
“What the hell is wrong with you? We’re in the middle of a fucking war, and you just pick up random girls and bring them around here? You don’t even know who they are or who they know?” I grabbed him by the shoulders, and then shoved. “I should throw you out on your ass right now, and the girl, too.”
“Excuse me,” she interrupted.
“Fucking idiot, man.” I glared at Richie.
“Hello?” She slid between us, hands on her hips. “Who do you think you are, putting your hands on him like that? His father?” Her eyes blazed, staring right into mine. The room became silent, and few of guys perked up.
“What? Nobody fucking gets in my face, and nobody talks to me like that,” I growled. “You have until the count of three to get the fuck out of my face. One…two…” She held her hands up, stepping back before I reached to three.
“He’s telling the truth,” she said. Her arms were folded, this time, pushing her tits together. I wondered if she knew I could see almost everything she had going on, the slut. “I was just at the store to get myself something to eat and cool the hell off. Richie almost knocked me down, and he apologized. Like a gentleman. He’s not lying. Do I need to explain the concept better for you?”
“Ouch. We got a firecracker in here!” I didn’t know who said it since I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. One of the guys, probably Creed, the club’s sergeant-at-arms.
“I don’t need you to explain shit, but maybe I need to explain to you that we’re at war with another club. Or maybe you already know about that, and this idiot lets you right in so you could steal secrets and use them against us. That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”
“Wait. What? That you like oregano on your hoagie? Dangerous stuff.” The corners of her mouth twisted up into an almost-smile.
I should have been pissed as hell. I should have thrown her out and Richie with her. Instead, I laughed a little. The tension in the room, so thick I could have cut it with the knife in my back pocket, eased. A few of the others laughed along with me.
“Okay... But I don’t think you should hang around here, either way.” I looked at Richie. “Bringing new people in here isn’t a good idea, even if they’re not our enemy. The last thing we need is for the Cobras to find out there’s fresh blood around. Think!”
“Who are the Cobras?” My back was already turned, but I heard her mutter it to Richie.
“The less you know, the better,” I said, reclaiming my stool. She still stood where I’d left her, all dark hair and curves. She was so damned tall, almost as tall as me in those boots of hers. I wasn’t used to facing off with a woman almost my height. She could have been a model, easy. What the hell was she doing slumming around Jamaica, Queens? She would have fit better in Manhattan.
“Hey, come on, Drake. She just came in to eat lunch with us. You're paranoid. It’s not like she’s gonna be here forever.” Richie was really that desperate. She was probably the first woman to ever pay him attention, and it was probably all for the free sandwich. She was thin and didn’t look like she had a lot of money. Probably hungry, more than anything.
I looked her up and down, deciding. “What’s your name?” I asked. “You never did tell me.”
“Bree.” She said it without a smile, without a
ny friendliness at all. Just stating a fact. For some reason, I liked her for it. She didn’t play around. She didn’t pretend to be all coy and cute. She wasn’t afraid to let me know she didn’t like me very much, and she didn’t care if I liked her or not.
I did like her. More than that, I wanted her for myself.
4
Nicole
My knees shook so badly; I almost couldn’t stand. I was grateful for Richie for leading me back to the black leather couch to finish my sandwich—not that I could eat. Who could, after almost having their ass handed to them?
I’d more than held my own, however, and I knew it. I sensed this Drake guy wasn’t used to a woman telling him off. I saw it in his big, baby blue eyes. They’d widened when I’d faced off with him. He didn’t expect me to give him a taste of his own medicine. He probably expected me to fall at his feet.
I knew all about him. I knew he was Blood Rider’s vice president before he told me, thanks to my father’s recaps of his days at work. Drake was around twenty-seven, twenty-eight years old. He’d spent two years in a juvenile detention facility for nearly beating his stepfather to death. “For the record,” my father had said, “I don’t think the guy was any bargain. He was an abusive piece of shit. Drake snapped—hard. The kid almost took his life.”
I thought about that story as I watched Drake from the corner of my eye. He had a way about him. Cocky, for sure. I noticed that right away. It came from him in waves. He oozed it. The thought of pushing poor Richie around, just because he was kind enough to invite me to eat with them, was deplorable. What a fucking bully.
I noticed the way the girls on the pool table looked at him. They might as well have batted their long eyelashes and swooned. Or leaned back and spread their legs, one or the other. It was embarrassing. I was embarrassed for them.
So he thought I was a plant, huh? He had no idea. At least I’d managed to pass myself off as the kind of girl who would hang out with a club. The Cobras. Had my father talked about them at all? I went through my memory as I ate my Italian hoagie.
