Giving up is not an option for me … It never has been.
“There’s a time and a place to die, brother,” I say, scooping Trapper’s drunk ass up off the dirty floor of the bar with both my hands under his armpits. “This ain’t it.”
It’s a hole in the wall joint, the kind we find in small towns everywhere. It’s a step above a shack on the outside, and the inside isn’t much better: one open room, linoleum floor from the eighties. The bar runs the length of the space with a pair of saloon-style swinging doors closing off the stock room. We have gotten shit-faced in nicer, and we have spent more than our fair share of time in worse.
At the end of a long ride, a cold beer is a cold beer. Really, it doesn’t matter to us where it’s served as long as it has been on ice and is in a bottle.
“I’m nowhere near dying,” he slurs, winking at the girl he has had on his lap for the last hour. She’s another no name come guzzler in a slew of many we find throughout every city, town, and stop we make. “In fact, I’m not far from showing sweet thing here a little piece of heaven.”
“Trapper.” Judge, the calmest of us all, gets in his face. “She rode herself to oblivion until you fell off the stool. She’s done got hers, man. Time to get you outta here so you can have some quality time huggin’ Johnny tonight.”
We all laugh as Trapper tries to shake me off. “Fuck all y’all. That pussy is mine tonight.”
“Shithead, sober up. She’s off to the bathroom to snort another line, and she won’t be coming back for another ride on your thigh. Time to go, brother,” Rowdy says sternly.
Trapper turns to the redheaded, six-foot, six-inch man of muscle and gives him a shit-eating grin. “Aw, Rowdy, are you gonna be my sober sister tonight?”
I wrap my arm around Trapper, pulling him into a tight hold. “Shut your mouth now!”
He holds up his hands in surrender, and we make our way out of the bar.
Another night, another dive. Tomorrow is a new day and a new ride.
Currently, we are in Leed, Alabama for a stop off. The green of the trees, the rough patches of the road—it all does nothing to bring any of us out of the haunting darkness we each carry.
We’re nomads—no place to call home, and that’s how we like it. The six of us have been a club of our own creation for almost two years now. We all have a story to tell. We all have a reason we do what we do. None of us are noble or honorable. We strike in the most unlikely of places and times, all based on our own brand of rules and systems.
Fuck the government. Fuck their laws. And damn sure fuck the judicial system.
Once your name is tainted, no matter how good you are, you will never be clean in the eyes of society. I’m walking, talking, can’t sleep at night proof of it. Well, good fucking deal. I have learned society’s version of clean is everything I don’t ever want to be.
The scum that blends into our communities and with our children, the cons that can run a game, they think they are untouchable. The number of crimes outnumber the crime fighters. The lines between law abiding and law breaking blur every day inside every precinct. I know because I carried the badge and thought I could be a change in the world. Then I found out everything is just as corrupt for the people upholding the law as those breaking it.
Day in and day out, watching cops run free who deserve to be behind bars more than the criminals they put away takes its toll. Everyone has a line in the sand, and once they cross it, they don’t turn back. I found mine, and I found the brotherhood in the Devil’s Due MC. Six guys who have all seen our own fair share of corruption in the justice system. Six guys who don’t give a fuck about the consequences.
Well, that’s where me and my boys ride in. No one’s above the devil getting his due. We are happy to serve up our own kind of punishments that most certainly fit the crimes committed, and we don’t bother with the current legal system’s view of justice served.
We’re wayward souls, damaged men, who have nothing more than vengeance on our minds.
“Fucking bitch, she got my pants wet,” Trapper says, just realizing she really did get off on his thigh and left him behind. “You see this shit?” He points at his leg.
Trapper mad is good. He will become focused rather than let the alcohol keep him in a haze. He could use some time to dry up. He’s sharp. His attention to detail saves our asses in city after city. However, things get too close to home when we ride to the deep south like this, and he can’t shake the ghosts in the closets of his mind. At five-foot-ten and a rock solid one eighty-five, he’s a force of controlled power. He uses his brain more than his brawn, but he won’t back down in a brawl, either.
We help him get outside the dive bar we spent the last two hours inside, tossing beer back and playing pool. Outside, the fresh winter air hits him, and he shakes his head.
“It’s not that cold,” X says, slapping Trapper in the face. “Sober up, sucka.”
Trapper smiles as he starts to ready his mind. As drunk as he is, he knows he has to have his head on straight to ride.
“Flank him on either side, but stay behind in case he lays her down. We only have four miles back to the hotel,” I order, swinging my leg over my Harley Softail Slim and cranking it. The rumble soothes all that stays wound tight inside me. The vibration reminds me of the power under me.
Blowing out a breath, I tap the gas tank. “Ride for Raleigh,” I whisper and point to the night sky. Never forget, I remind myself before I move to ride. My hands on the bars, twisting the throttle, I let the bike move me and lift my feet to rest on the pegs. As each of my brother’s mount, I pull out, knowing they will hit the throttle and catch me, so I relax as the road passes under me.
We ride as six with no ties to anyone or anything from one city to the next. We have a bond. We are the only family for each other, and we keep it that way. No attachments, no commitments, and that means no casualties.
We are here by choice. Any man can leave the club and our life behind at any time. I trust these men with my life and with my death. When my time is called, they will move on with the missions as they come.
We don’t often let one another drink and drive, but coming south, Trapper needed to cut loose for a bit. He may be drunk, yet once the wind hits his face, he will be solid. He always is.
At the no-tell motel we are crashing at, X takes Trapper with him to one of the three shit-ass rooms we booked while Judge and Rowdy go to the other. The place has seen better days, probably thirty years ago. It’s a place to shit, shower, and maybe, if I can keep the nightmares away, sleep. I have never needed anything fancy, and tonight is no different.
I give them a half salute as they close their doors and lock down for the night.
Deacon heads on into our room. Always a man of few words and interaction, he doesn’t look back or give me any indication that he cares if I follow or stay behind.
I give myself the same moment I take every night and stand out under the stars to smoke.
I look up. Immediately, I can hear her tiny voice in my mind, making up constellations all her own. Raleigh was once a rambunctious little girl. She was afraid of nothing. She loved the night sky and wishing upon all the stars.
Another city, another life, I wish it was another time, but one thing I know is that there is no turning back time. If I could, I would. Not just for me, but for all five of us.
I light my cigarette and take a deep drag. Inhaling, I hold it in my lungs before I blow out. The burn, the taste, and the touch of it to my lips don’t ease the thoughts in my mind. Another night is upon us, and it’s yet another night Raleigh will never come home.
The receptionist steps out beside me. She isn’t the one who was here when we checked in earlier. When she smiles up at me, I can tell she has been waiting on us. Guess the trailer trash from day shift chatted up her replacement. Well, at least this one has nice teeth. Day shift definitely doesn’t have dental on her benefit plan here.
“Go back inside,” I bark, not really in the mo
od for company.
“I’m entitled to a break,” she challenges with a southern drawl.
“If you want a night with a biker, I’m not the one,” I try to warn her off.
“Harley, leather, cigarettes, and sexy—yeah, I think you’re the one … for tonight, that is.” She comes over and reaches out for the edges of my cut.
I grab her wrists. “You don’t touch my cut.”
She bites her bottom lip with a sly smile. “Oh, rules. I can play by the rules, big daddy.”
I drop her hands and walk in a circle around her before standing in front of her then backing her to the wall. I take another drag of my cigarette and blow the smoke into her face. “I’m not your fucking daddy.” I take another long drag. Smoke blows out with each word as I let her know. “If you wanna fuck, we’ll fuck. Make no mistake, though, I’m not in the mood to chat, cuddle, or kiss. I’m a man; I’ll fuck, and that’s it.”
She leans her head back, testing me.
“Hands against the wall,” I order, and she slaps her palms against the brick behind her loudly.
Her chest rises and falls dramatically as her breathing increases. She keeps licking and biting her lips.
“You want a ride on the wild side?”
She nods, pushing her tits out at me.
“You wet for me?” I ask, and she giggles while nodding. “If you want me to get hard and stay hard, you don’t fucking make a sound. That giggling shit is annoying as fuck.”
Immediately, she snaps her mouth shut.
I yank her shirt up and pull her bra over her titties without unhooking it. Her nipples point out in the cold night air.
“You cold or is that for me?” I ask, flicking her nipple harshly.
“You,” she whispers breathlessly.
I yank the waistband of her stretchy pants down, pulling her panties with them. Her curls glisten with her arousal under the street light.
With her pants at her ankles, I turn her around to face the wall.
“Bend over, grab your ankles. You don’t speak, don’t touch me, and you don’t move. If you want a wild ride with a biker, I’m gonna give you one you’ll never forget.”
While she positions herself, I grab a condom from my wallet and unbutton my four button jeans enough to release my cock. While stroking myself a few times to get fully erect, part of me considers just walking away. However, I’m a man, and pussy is pussy. No matter what my mood, it’s a place to sink into for a time.
Covering myself carefully, I spread her ass cheeks and slide myself inside her slick cunt.
The little whore is more than ready.
I close my eyes and picture a dark-haired beauty with ink covering her arms and a tight cunt made just for me. I can almost hear the gravelly voice of my dream woman as she moans my name, pushing back to take me deeper, thrust after thrust.
I roll my hips as the receptionist struggles to keep herself in position.
Raising my hand, I come down on the exposed globe of her ass cheek. “Dirty fucking girl.” I spank her again. “I’m not your fucking daddy, but I’ll give you what he obviously didn’t.” I spank her again and thrust. “Head down between your legs. Watch me fuck your pussy.”
She does as instructed and watches as I continue slamming into her. Stilling, I reach down and twist her nipples as she pushes back on me.
Her moans get louder as I move, gripping her hips and pistoning in and out of her.
I slap her ass again. “I said quiet.”
I push deep, my hips hitting her ass, and she shakes as her orgasm overtakes her.
“Fuck me!” she wails.
I slam in and out, in and out, faster and faster, until I explode inside the condom.
She isn’t holding her ankles by the time I’m done. She’s still head down, bent over with her back against the wall as her hands hang limply like the rest of her body, trembling in aftershocks.
Pulling out, I toss the condom on the ground and walk away, buttoning my pants back up.
“Collector,” I hear X yell my road name from his doorway. “You ruined that one.” He is smoking a cigarette. It’s obvious he watched the show.
The noise has Judge coming to his door and giving me a nod of approval.
I look over my shoulder to see the bitch still hasn’t moved. Her pussy is out in the air, ass up, head down, and she’s still moaning. Desperate, needy, it’s not my thing.
“I need a shower,” I say, giving X a two finger salute before going into my own room. Deacon is already in bed and doesn’t move as I go straight back to the shit-ass bathroom to clean up.
I wasn’t lying. I smell like a bar, and now I smell the skank stench of easy pussy. I have needs, but I can’t help wondering what it would be like to have to work for my release just once. It’s not in my cards, though. Just like this town, this ride, and that broad, it’s on to the next for me and my brothers of the Devil’s Due MC.
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Challenged (Vipers Creed MC#1) ©Ryan Michele 2016
Prologue
My head filled with a cloudy, dense fog that I couldn’t shake. Even with my eyes open, a filmy haze covered them, making everything blurry. Voices were muffled, as if I were under water, sinking. I thought I recognized one, but I couldn’t tell for sure.
Too hard to think.
I attempted to pull my arms up, but they were immediately halted by something. The hard, cold, heavy attachments clinked like metal. Even straining to move them, my muscles were so weak, so lethargic I couldn’t. I tried my legs, and the same thing happened.
A hard surface pressed against my back as the cool air of the room cascaded over my skin, my nipples, my stomach… Oh God, was I naked?
I opened my mouth, wanting to scream as deep panic set in. Unfortunately, nothing came out except air. Even that took more effort than I had in me.
Placing the pieces of the puzzle together, I couldn’t make heads or tails out of anything.
Heat at my side had me turning in that direction, only to see a fuzzy, black figure. I squinted then blinked, trying to get the focus to come back, but nothing. Not a damn thing.
“Hello, darlin’. Welcome to hell.”
Chapter One
Trix
A lump gathered in my throat settling like a rock, hard and brutal, sucking the wind out of me. My hand slightly twitched as I dialed the number I never in a million years thought I would call. I switched the phone to my other hand in an effort to shake out the trembling, because nervousness wasn’t an option. Trix Lamasters would not turn into some twit who couldn’t think straight over one phone call. Being a shrewd businesswoman, I’d learned from the best not to let shit get to me, how to compartmentalize things and deal.
I swallowed hard, moving the lump from my throat to settle into my gut like a boulder. As I focused, my breathing evened out. The thick steel in my spine could handle anything life threw at me, including this call. Including the man who would be on the other end of the line.
The green button stared back at me, my finger hovering over it. Then I pressed it and pulled the phone to my ear just as it started ringing.
One ring … two … three …
“What?” was barked through the phone line with a male’s voice tainted by harsh impatience.
“Can I talk to Cade? Shit.” I stopped myself. He wasn’t Cade anymore. I needed to remember that a lot had changed. “I mean, Spook. Is Spook around?”
Silence.
“Hello?” I pulled the phone away from my ear, looking at the bright screen, making sure the call hadn’t dropped. Nope, the little numbers in the corner were still counting away. I pressed it back to my ear, waiting a few beats.
“Who wants to fucking know?” His tone turned gruffer, almost as if he were a protective watch dog of Cade’s, and nothing or no one got past him.
Watch dog or not, I wasn’t about to get eaten.
“This is Trix Lamasters. I need to speak to him.”
Mo
re silence, not even a breath or noise in the background.
“Hello?”
His voice came over the line right as I intended to speak again. “Stop fucking saying hello. I’m here.”
Hell, maybe someone pissed in his Wheaties this morning, his attitude having nothing to do with me. Or maybe it was just him.
I slapped my hand to my forehead as the word dumbass rang in my mind.
“Sorry, I thought the call dropped.” Now I apologized to the rude man? Get a grip, Trix.
“What do you need with Spook?” The guard dog didn’t give me an inch. Nevertheless, he didn’t need to know my business.
I needed a diversion.
“Can you just get a message to him to call me?”
“Babe, either tell me what you need, or nothing fuckin’ gets to him.” His tone turned flat and resolute.
“Fuck,” I muttered then heard him chuckle. The damn man needed a bone before he played. Asshole. “An employee of mine has been seen at your clubhouse. I need to talk to her.”
“Call her,” he quipped.
“She doesn’t have a phone,” I retorted, feeling the fire burn in my veins.
“Not my problem,” the man sneered. From his attitude, I knew he would have no problem hanging up on me right now, never telling Cade I needed to talk to him. Good thing I dealt with assholes on a regular basis.
“Look, the bitch owes me money.” Anger raced through my body. I let it be heard through each clipped word.
He let out a deep laugh that was almost intriguing if he weren’t a jerk. “You may as well kiss that cash good-bye.”
My pride had other ideas.
“Fuck no. I want what’s owed to me.” I sighed, needing a different tactic. “Look, can you just give Spook my name?” He would either call or he wouldn’t, but maybe that would get the dog to want to nose around. Maybe curiosity would get him to spread my name at least.
“This is gonna be fun. Hang on.” The man must have covered the mouthpiece with his hand, because everything he said was muffled except for him calling Spook’s name. That, I could hear clearly. My adrenaline spiked at the thought of Cade coming on the line.
Originals Ride: Hellions Motorcycle Club (Hellions Ride Book 8) Page 12
