Double Trouble: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 8)

by Dixon, Ruby

  And Monster is perfect for what I need. If anyone’s going to scare the shit out of Stuart, it’d be this guy.

  “Can I get you a drink, honey?” The bartender asks me, interrupting my thoughts.

  “N-n-n-no,” I say, hating my stammer. Time to face the music. I slide out of my stool and go to approach my prey, on the verge of a panic attack.

  I can do this. I can. It’s the only way to save myself from the same brutal, ugly death that Stuart’s heading toward.

  With that thought in my head, I push forward, keeping close to the bar. There are so many people crammed in the place that I have to skirt around strangers and shove my way through the crowd. I keep my face averted in case one of my brother’s friends happens to notice me, or worse yet, someone else looking for a girl. From what I understand from overhearing my brother’s stories, a red thong basically means open season. If a Butcher claims me as his, I won’t get help because I was ‘asking for it’.

  This panty raid thing can be a double-edged sword, I realize.

  But I’m in this far. Might as well go all the way, especially when I see a guy that fits my needs perfectly. I finally make it to the end of the bar. Both men are talking, and haven’t noticed me standing behind them. From this vantage point, I see that both of them are wearing the brazen BEDLAM BUTCHERS patches across their backs, NEW MEXICO curving around the lower back.

  Now that I’m here, I have no clue how to get their attention. Tap on the shoulder? Offer to buy a drink? I’m not confident around men—my Dad and Stuart have pretty much crushed any sort of self-esteem I might have had. A waitress starts heading in this direction and I see both of their heads turn toward her, and I panic. What if she’s coming to snatch them before I can?

  I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I want to be yours.”

  I say it so loudly that everyone at this end of the bar turns around, and shame makes my face bright red. But it has the desired effect. The two patches at the end of the bar turn around, and my gaze flicks to their vests to see their road names. The pretty one’s called Muscle, and the big brute is called Beast. Of course he is.

  I feel my throat clamp shut again in panic.

  “Of course you do, baby,” Muscle says, grinning at me. He’s all cockiness, this one, sure of his good looks.

  But I’m less interested in him at the moment. I point at Beast. “Him p-p-p-p-please.”

  “That so?” Muscle rubs his mouth and looks me up and down, sizing me up. Then, he glances over at his buddy, the Beast. “You sure you ain’t blind, baby?”

  Beast snorts and takes a swig of his beer.

  “I n-n-n-need him.” God, my stammer’s embarrassing the hell out of me. “I’m w-w-w-wearing red panties.”

  “Huh. You seem kinda scared to me, baby.” Muscle picks up his longneck and takes a long pull. “And Beast is usually pussy repellent. Someone set you up for this?”

  Mutely, I shake my head.

  “Size queen?” he chuckles, clearly having a laugh at my expense.

  I shake my head again. “I j-j-just want to be h-his.” I give Beast a beseeching look. Am I that repellent looking that I’m going to have to talk these two into having sex with me? Talking’s not my strong point, as evidenced by my stutter.

  “You know how Butchers roll, baby? We always bring a buddy.”

  So they’re going to take me up on my offer? I brighten, relaxing a little. “As l-long as I get him, that’s f-fine.”

  “Oh gee, I get to tag along? Lucky me.” His voice is hard with irritation. I’ve said something that bothers him, and I cringe.

  “T-that’s r-right.”

  He snorts and takes another swig of his beer. “You ain’t my type, baby, but Beast here needs to get laid, so come on. There’s a table out back.”

  All through this exchange, Beast has said nothing. He’s watching me, those thick, slashing brows pulled down as if he sees something he doesn’t quite approve of. But he finishes his beer just like Muscle does and they both get up from the bar and throw down a few bucks.

  Then, Muscle grabs my arm and begins to steer me toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  His hand feels like a brand on my flesh, but this is what I wanted, so I don’t complain. Lots of girls have sex, and if this is what gets me safety, I’ll take them both and not think twice about it. My mouth is dry as we push our way through the crowd to the outside. There’s a few bikers lingering at the front of the building, and they jeer both Muscle and Beast as they bring me out with them.

  “Someone’s ‘bout to get his dick wet,” one calls.

  “Try not to let Beast break her,” another teases.

  “That’s why I’m going first,” Muscle calls back, unaffected by their teasing. “Get her nice and sloppy so Beast can shove his little beast into her.”

  I’m starting to get a little panicky at this banter. You knew you’d have to take both, my brain tells me. But thinking it and hearing everyone joke about it are two different things. I glance behind me as Muscle leads me around the side of the building and sure enough, Beast is still with us, lurking a step or two behind.

  There are three guys sitting at the table behind the bar, on the patio. It’s a rickety old wooden table with attached benches, a plastic cup serving as an ashtray as they smoke. At the sight of Muscle and Beast, they jump to their feet.

  “Out of here, boys,” Muscle says, gesturing for them to take a hike. “Me and Beast wanna be alone with our little friend here.”

  The men give me an appraising look as they obediently put out their cigarettes and vacate the area. Then it’s just me and the two men, and a yellow light swirling with moths that illuminates the area.

  Muscle holds a hand out to Beast. “You got a condom on you, man?”

  Beast pulls out his wallet, produces a foil packet, and hands it to the other.

  I watch, eyes wide, as Muscle starts to unbuckle his pants. He sees me watching him and nods at the table. “Bend over that.”

  I stare at him a moment longer, then nod and bend over the table, my stomach pressing against the splintery wood. I close my eyes, bracing myself, and a moment later I hear the tear of the condom packet and what sounds like a man shifting.

  A hand touches my hip and I jolt, nervous. But Muscle’s only shoving up my skirt, and a cool breeze touches my bottom.

  “Cute ass,” Muscle says, and then he jerks my legs apart. Before I can think to clamp my legs together, he pushes aside the thong of my panties and shoves a finger inside me.

  I grip the table hard, because it hurts.

  “She’s fucking tight as hell. Dry as fuck, too,” he says.

  Beast only grunts.

  “Guess my pretty face doesn’t turn her on,” Muscle says in a snide tone. “I’ll try and stretch her out for you.”

  I hear him spit on his hand, and then he rubs his fingers up and down my sex. I squirm at the uncomfortable, invasive feeling. Just suck it up, Cheyenne, I tell myself. Act like you’re enjoying this or they’re going to ditch you.

  I’m not prepared, though, for the battering ram that slams into me. Muscle shoves himself deep into me, and for a moment, I’m blinded by pain. I can’t stop the sob that escapes my throat, even though I try to choke it back. I just wasn’t...ready for that. I don’t know that I’d ever be.

  The man impaling me stills over me, though. A moment later, the horrible pressure between my legs eases and I’m left with nothing but an aching throb, and more sobs that I’m trying to choke back.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Muscle says. “My dick’s got blood on it.”

  “Virgin?” Beast asks in a low voice.

  A rough hand grabs a handful of my hair and cranes my head back. “Well?” Muscle snarls in my face. “Are you a goddamn virgin?”

  I choke on my tears, trying to smother them. I try to give him a bright smile. I want to lie and say saved it for you, but all that comes out is “S-s-s-s-s-s-s—” Eventually, I give up and just nod.

&nb
sp; He drops me like I’m diseased. “Fuck!” I hear the sound of his pants going back up, and I stop and pull the skirt of my dress back down, confused. “Fuck,” Muscle snarls again. He sees me, grabs me by the arm, and hauls me up from the table. “That was a goddamn shitty move. I’m not a fucking rapist.” His lip curls as he looks at me, and then he shoves me away. “Get out of my sight. I can’t handle this shit.”

  And he storms away.

  I stumble, trying to keep my balance. “N-n-n-o, wait,” I call, but Muscle’s striding away, and with him, my only chance at keeping myself safe. I start to run after him, only to be grabbed by a rock-hard arm that nails me across my waist.

  Beast. He’s still here.

  He leans in, his craggy face all shadows in the yellow light, and I can’t help but flinch backward. My legs throb, my pussy throbs, and this has all gone horribly wrong.

  But he only holds me in place, and his hands touch my face.

  I still.

  He examines my cheeks, turning my face up to the light.

  “Someone beating you?” he asks me, in such a low timbre I can practically feel the bass vibrating in my toes.

  “N-n-no.”

  “But you’re afraid,” he guesses. “That why you picked me and not Muscle? Cuz I’m big and ugly and mean-looking?”

  My lip trembles despite my need to put on a brave face, and then I feel my resolve crumple and I start crying again. So much for my big plans.

  To my surprise, Beast tugs me against him and then a huge hand strokes my hair. He cradles me against his chest, surprisingly tender. “I got you. You’re safe.”

  My next sob is muffled against his stomach. “I’m s-s-s-sorry. I just d-d-d-didn’t know what else to d-d-d-do.”

  “Well, telling Muscle you were a virgin would’ve been my first suggestion,” he says. He sounds gruff, but the words are kind. “He’s got a hot temper and a big ego, but he’s not into hurting girls.”

  I nod against the warm chest, because it’s easier than protesting.

  “You in some kind of trouble? Illegal shit?”

  I shake my head.

  He grunts. “Okay then. You gonna tell me what it is?”

  I think of Stuart’s chilling expression. His suggestion that he trade me for drugs. I shake my head again.

  “You want me to just let you go and let you go back into the bar?”

  I shake my head a third time, and this time I cling to him. While he’s holding me, I feel safe. It’s the first time I’ve felt safe in almost a week. I don’t want him to let go of me, period.

  “Okay, then.” He pauses, strokes my hair again, and then says, “Thing is, if I’m gonna keep you for a bit, we gotta get Muscle on board, or people are going to think something’s up.”

  “I know,” I say softly. “Butchers ride in pairs, fight in pairs, and fuck in pairs.”

  “So you’re familiar with the club?”

  I stay silent.

  “Mmmhmm.” Beast sounds suspicious, but the grip holding me close doesn’t change. “Well, Muscle gets in dark moods from time to time. Best thing we can do is have you apologize and see what happens next.”

  I nod. “I want you guys to keep me,” I tell him. “I meant that.”

  He grunts again. “Keeping you ain’t like keeping a dog.”

  “I know. I know it means sex. I’m fine with that. I don’t mind the thought of having sex. I just...” I let my words trail off. I guess I expected it to be good. Of course I don’t say that—I’ve wounded enough egos tonight.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think anyone was prepared for that. We’ll go home and have a talk with my buddy. See if we can get him on the same page. All right?”

  I cling to Beast’s leathers, reluctant to let him go. Slowly, he pries my fingers from his chest, and tips my chin back so I meet his gaze. His face is still frightening and hard, but he’s been nothing but gentle with me, so I’m not that freaked out.

  “You want to go home with me? Last chance to bail.”

  I nod again. “I don’t want to go to my home ever again.”

  He squints at me and then flicks a hand, indicating I should hand him something. “Gimme your ID. I want to make sure you’re legal.”

  “I’m legal,” I tell him, and fish it out of my purse to show him.

  He studies it for a moment, then looks at me. “Cheyenne?”

  “Everyone calls me Shy.”

  He nods. “You look younger than twenty-one.”

  “I get that a lot. It’s because I’m small. Is my size an issue?”

  “Is mine?”

  “It’s a bonus,” I tell him bluntly. He’s the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the Bedlam Butchers. That’s exactly why I want him.

  His smile curls up one side of his mouth, and he’s almost cute. “Well then.”

  It’s not until I’m getting onto the back of his bike and putting my arms around his thick, hard waist that I realize I haven’t stuttered since Beast hugged me against him.

  For a scary guy, he sure is good at making me feel comfortable.

  Chapter Three

  We pull up to a house in the suburbs, and my mouth goes dry. I live in a falling-apart doublewide that should have been scrapped years ago. The house we’re parking in front of is a palace. A McMansion palace with two stories, palm trees and manicured bushes in front. The lights are on in the house despite the late hour, and when the automatic garage door opener goes up, I swallow hard.

  These guys have money. It makes me uncomfortable, and I kind of wish that we were pulling up to a shack out in the sticks somewhere. I’d feel more at home there. Here, I’m even more out of my element.

  Beast parks his bike in the garage next to another tricked out Harley. Also in the garage is a white work van that reads MUSCLE AIR REPAIR—HVAC CERTIFIED. The garage is full of tools, too, all neatly shelved and put away.

  I slide off the bike, my eyes on my surroundings as I wait for Beast. He turns his bike off a moment later, and then looks at me. His dark hair is mussed from the ride, and for some reason, I want to run my fingers through it and fix it for him. “Now, Shy. I’m gonna tell you something about Muscle. You gotta listen to me, though, cuz if you fuck this up, I can’t help you. Understand?”

  I nod, my entire body tense.

  “Thing with Muscle is—he’s got a big mouth and a bigger ego.” He thumps a hand against my breastbone. “Biggest heart of anyone I know, though. You feel me? You just gotta take the whole package.”

  I understand what he’s telling me. Muscle’s a blowhard, but I’ve offended him. I need to appeal to him in order to get through to him again. Now I suddenly get all his bitter comments at the bar about tagging along. He’s so good looking, he’s probably used to women falling all over him, and instead, I insulted him. Boy, I’d really put my foot in my mouth, hadn’t I?

  “Thank you,” I tell Beast softly.

  He grunts. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m not a saint. You want to get laid? I want to get laid.” His gaze moves over me. “Been a long time for me. But it’s not going to happen unless you fix things with Muscle.”

  I nod again.

  “Come on, then.” Beast hauls off his bike and shuts the garage door with a click on his keychain. Then, he heads for the door on the far side of the garage, and I follow like a lost lamb.

  The interior of the beautiful house is surprising. It’s a mess. A complete and utter mess. We step into a large kitchen that looks like animals have been in it. There might be granite counters underneath and rich wood cabinets, but every inch of space is covered with boxes and dirty dishes. There’s a dining room table the next room over, and it’s covered with stuff, too. As we pass through the house, I see dirty clothes and empty beer bottles everywhere. Clearly no woman lives here.

  The fact that no women live here—or even come here—is reinforced when we enter the living room. There are two big leather couches angled across from each other and a massive recliner that Beast immediately goes to sit in. On
the wall is an enormous flat-screen television that’s probably bigger than my room in the trailer. Sitting on the couch, sucking on a beer bottle, is Muscle, an intense frown on his face as he watches sports on TV. He looks over when Beast sits down and then scowls at the sight of me.

  “What the fuck’s she doing here?”

  “She needs protection,” Beast says. “Wants to belong to us for a bit.”

  Muscle makes a noise that sounds like disbelief. His gaze focuses back on the television.

  I stand there awkwardly a moment longer, waiting for someone to talk to me. But no one does, and I’m anxiously aware of the sore throb between my legs and Beast’s gaze locked on me. I need to act. I steel my courage and approach Muscle. “C-can I talk to you?”

  He gives me a dismissive look and then returns his attention back to the TV. Oh jeez, this is hard. He’s not giving me any chances, is he? Despair threatens to overwhelm me, and I blink back tears again. “I s-s-s-should have told you I was a v-v-virgin,” I say, since that seems like a good place to start.

  “Ya think?” he says in a biting tone. “I’m not a fucking rapist.”

  “I know,” I exhale. “I know you’re not. I just...I w-wasn’t thinking all that c-clearly. I don’t like c-c-crowds.” And my brother was there and I just wanted to escape, but I don’t tell them that part. “I didn’t mean to make it s-s-s-seem like I wasn’t interested in you. I j-j-j-j-j-just...” I swallow hard. My nervous mouth is having a hard time forming around the words.

  “Needs protection,” Beast says in that bland voice. “Which is why she wanted me. Wasn’t ‘cause she thought I was hot.”

  Muscle smirks at that and takes another swig of his beer, and my face flushes uncomfortably. It’s not that I find Beast unattractive, honestly. There’s something comforting about his size and his gruff demeanor. No one would ever call him ‘hot’ but I do find his protectiveness sexy and appealing. Muscle, however, is raw masculine beauty and he knows it.