Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  I gripped her boobs firmly and buried myself into her fully. After a short pause, I withdrew myself until the head was exposed.

  I gazed down at the glistening shaft, amazed that it could fit inside her.

  She cleared her throat. “Cash?”

  I kept my eyes fixed on my dick. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “God damn it, I’m fine.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I glanced up. “Looking at my dick.”

  “Is there something wrong with it?”

  “No,” I snapped back. “There ain’t anything fuckin’ wrong with it.”

  “Why are you looking at it?”

  “It looks cool when it’s covered in your twat juice.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked back at me. “How about you look at it when we’re done?”

  “Oh, you wanna fuck, do you?” I asked in a sarcastic tone.

  “I do.”

  “Fine.” I squeezed her boobs firmly. “I hope you’re fuckin’ ready.”

  In one quick thrust, I shoved myself into her until the tip hit bottom. The instant my hips came in contact with the cheeks of her ass, I withdrew the entire length, and did it again.

  As fast as I could, I fucked her without mercy, forcing her closer to the headboard with each powerful stroke. Within seconds, her arms were spread wide against the wall above the bed.

  I pounded myself in and out of her tight pussy, watching the flesh of her ass jiggle each time my hips slapped against her.

  A tingling sensation tickled my balls, and I felt my scrotum tightening – a forewarning that I was going to cum. The excitement of having her back in my life, being inside if her, and fucking her forcefully from behind was simply too much.

  It was time to change things up. Switching positions would buy me some time. After a few position changes, the newness of her pussy would wear off, and then I’d be able to go all night.

  I was sure of it.

  I took one last stroke, and then pulled free of her confines. “Time to switch this shit up,” I said, my tone demanding, yet playful. “I’ve got a lot of fucking to do, and it ain’t all going to be doggy style.”

  In one fluid movement, she flopped onto her back and hiked her legs high in the air, exposing her pussy for the taking. I glanced at her glistening twat and then into her eyes.

  I pressed my stomach against the backs of her thighs and forced her knees against her chest. Eager to fuck her into submission, I gripped my throbbing cock in my fist and guided it between her legs.

  A sigh escaped me as I slid into her warmth. Being inside of her compared to nothing else on earth. It wasn’t simply sex. It wasn’t about getting off. It was an unexplainable sensation that only she could provide. An initial feeling of euphoria followed by an elation that caused my heart to palpitate at an irregular pace.

  I took a few strokes, pressed my weight against the backs of her thighs, and forced her knees hard against her chest.

  She opened her eyes.

  I leaned forward, intending to kiss her gently before fucking her into a mild coma. She raised her head, planted her full lips against mine, and kissed me like I’d never been kissed.

  Inside her, my cock throbbed wildly.

  Her lips melted into mine. Our tongues tickled one another. The sensation of being inside of her, the excitement of having her in my life once again, and the passion of the kiss proved to be too much.

  My cock twitched.

  And, I came.

  She moaned into my mouth as the cum pulsed from the tip of my cock. Then, without so much as a single stroke to evoke it, I felt her pussy contract.

  Our kiss became more passionate.

  Her pussy’s contractions varied, some long and deep, while others were sporadic and shallow. I remained buried deep inside of her the entire time, fearing moving would end the sensation that was sure the be something I’d spend a lifetime trying to duplicate.

  In thirty seconds, it ended.

  The series of orgasms was so intense it drained every ounce of energy from my soul.

  I collapsed at her side, prepared to make excuses for what had happened, telling her how excited I was to see her, and that I’d do all I could to make it up to her the following morning.

  “I love you, Cash,” she whispered.

  “I love you, Kimberly.”

  Numbed by the rush of emotions, we laid side-by-side in silence for some time. Eventually, right as I was fading off to sleep, she broke the silence.

  “How’s it feel to be back in our bed?” she asked.

  “Pretty fucking good,” I said, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Been sleeping in the clubhouse on the couch since that night I left. How’s the weather over there?”

  Silence.

  I waited for a good thirty seconds, and then tilted my head to the side. Sound asleep, the woman I loved was snoring lightly.

  I got a blanket from the wicker basket in the corner of her room and covered her with it. Then, after carefully snuggling against her back, I closed my eyes and thought of our future together.

  A future where I could hopefully last longer than ninety seconds in bed.

  77

  KIMBERLY

  After giving Tito my account number and the name of the institution where the money had been held, I waited anxiously for him to tell us anything. He gave no assurances that he could find out where it went, but Cash swore there was nothing beyond his grasp.

  Sitting at the kitchen table with a small Microsoft Surface Pro tablet, his fingers worked the keys like a concert pianist. Interested in the jumbled mess of letters and numbers that scurried across the laptop’s screen, I tip-toed toward the table and came to a stop a few feet behind him.

  He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Cash!”

  From the living room couch, Cash responded. “What, Brother?”

  “Get her out of here.”

  Cash looked at me. “Can’t look over his shoulder. It freaks him out.”

  “Each time you stop me, I have to start over,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just anxious.” I motioned toward the living room. “I’ll go in there.”

  “How long’s this going to take?” Jennifer shouted.

  “Hard to say,” Tito responded.

  I sat at Cash’s side on the couch. He reached for my bouncing knee and steadied it. “Relax. If it can be done, he’ll get it. If he can’t, nobody can.”

  “They said it was turned to cash,” I said. “I seriously doubt he can find cash. John said it doesn’t leave a trail.”

  “Never know,” he said. “Who the fuck’s John, anyway?”

  “My father’s friend. The financial planner.”

  “You have no idea who might have done this?” he asked.

  “I don’t,” I said, even though I had a hunch.

  My ex-husband was a finance major by trade, and an ex video-gamer who had been a computer nerd since we were kids. He had the ability to write computer code and worked for Meryl Lynch.

  I had serious doubts about his ability to hack into a computer and steal my money, but then again, it sounded like he used passwords and log in information to do half the work.

  “I still can’t believe this shit,” Jennifer said. “If this dick-brain gets caught, I say you let Dolla Bill loose on his ass.”

  I shot her a glare. “Stop.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

  “Found the IP address of the computer used for the initial transfer,” Tito said. “Wasn’t easy. This guy’s no novice.”

  I jumped from my seat.

  He raised his hand without looking up from the screen. “Not yet. Stay where you are.”

  I paced the living room floor.

  Tito’s fingers slid across the keyboard without making a sound. Sixty seconds later, he grinned from ear-to-ear.

  “Got the physical address of the computer used for that transfer,” he announced. “This g
uy’s a dumb fuck.”

  I stopped in my tracks. My heart climbed into my throat. “What. What is it?” I stammered.

  “Number eighteen south Camino Shores, La Jolla,” he said. “Sounds familiar?”

  My entire body tensed. Then, I felt dizzy.

  Cash stood. “Sounds like a high dollar neighborhood.”

  “It is,” Tito said. “According to the county, the home appraises for twelve million.”

  “You know the address?” Cash asked.

  I steadied myself against the wall and nodded.

  He clapped his hands together. “Put up your toys, Tito.”

  “He’s not there right now,” I muttered. “He’s at work.”

  “You know this fucker?” he asked.

  I nodded. “It’s my ex.”

  “Marvin?” he asked snidely. “He lives in a twelve-million-dollar house?”

  It was our old home. Instead of explaining, I simply looked at Cash and shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “I ain’t looking to get in another jam with you over something, so I guess I need to ask.” He raised his clenched fists to chest height. “Can I whip this motherfucker’s ass?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But only after you get my money back.”

  He grinned. “What time does he get home?”

  “Seven-ish. Maybe seven thirty.”

  He looked at his watch. “That’ll be just about enough time to round up the fellas and get inside.”

  “The home’s got an alarm,” I said. “You won’t be able to get in.”

  Cash’s mouth twisted into a smirk. He looked at Tito. “Text a nine-one-one to the fellas. Tell ‘em to meet at that taco place off the eight-oh-five. The one with that big platter.”

  “Does he have any guns in the house?” Tito asked.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Does he carry one?”

  “No.”

  Tito nodded and then began to type a text.

  Cash kissed me lightly. “See you when this is over.”

  “Be careful,” I said. “And don’t believe a word he tells you. He’s a pathological liar.”

  “He won’t lie to me,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because,” he said with a sly grin. “I’ll take my lie detector test with me.”

  “Oh. Wow. I’m glad you’ve got one of those.”

  “Me, too,” he said with a wink. “Never leave home without it.”

  78

  CASH

  Short of the absence of gold-framed pictures, the home in La Jolla had a high resemblance to the home we robbed in Encino. With each of us positioned in a different location throughout the vast space, we waited for Marvin to get home from work.

  “Coming up the drive now,” Tito announced from the kitchen.

  I relaxed against the burgundy velour of the chair I’d chosen, rubbing my forearms against the soft fabric of the wooden arm’s pads. “I’m ready.”

  “Someone got the bedroom, to force him back to Cash?” Baker asked.

  “Got it,” Ghost said.

  “We good, Tito?” Baker shouted.

  “Pulling in the garage,” Tito shouted in response.

  “I’ve got the mudroom entrance,” Goose said.

  I glanced at Reno, who was seated across from me. “Ready, Brother?”

  He simply nodded once.

  Standing beside the entrance that led from the living room to the kitchen, Baker’s focus was on Tito, but his hand was raised high in the air.

  Five extended fingers turned to four, then three, then two, then one. His clenched fist was in perfect timing with the sound of the door opening.

  The alarm beeped, no differently than if it were armed normally. Tito had disabled all interior motion, sound, and glass sensors, leaving only the door sensors and exterior cameras enabled.

  The sound of Marvin disarming the alarm was followed by the heels of his shoes clacking against the hardwood floor of the entrance.

  My location in the living room had a view of the kitchen, the corridor that led to the downstairs bedroom, and of the stairs that went to the upstairs bedrooms. In our initial survey of the home, we’d learned that his bedroom was downstairs.

  With my pistol clenched firmly in my hand, I waited for the sound of his footsteps to stop – an indication he’d stepped onto the carpet.

  Click clack.

  Click clack.

  Click clack.

  Silence.

  I drew a shallow breath and raised my pistol as the back side of him came into view. Without noticing the two men that sat in his living room, he turned toward the hallway that led to his bedroom.

  “Where you going, Marvin?” I asked, my voice low and filled with bass.

  He did what most everyone did when they were scared out of their wits.

  He jumped three feet in the air, screamed, and took off on a dead run toward his bedroom.

  Ghost stepped in front of him. “Afraid not, motherfucker.”

  A shrill shriek shot from his lungs, and he turned and ran straight toward where Reno and I were seated.

  I trained my pistol on his chest and shook my head. “There’s nowhere to go, Marv.”

  He either didn’t believe me, or he didn’t hear me. With his feet six inches above the floor and his legs working overtime, he scurried around the corner – out of view and toward the garage – hoping to make his escape.

  The unmistakable sound of him coughing up his guts let me know the MC’s new muscle had stopped him with a thunderous body punch.

  “Kid hits like a mule, don’t he?” I asked into the open room, knowing he was incapable of responding.

  As the sound of Marvin coughing and attempting to catch his breath echoed throughout the wooden walled home, I stood and walked into the kitchen.

  Dressed in a pair of gray slacks, a bright blue dress shirt, and a dark blue tie, Marvin was rolling from side to side on the kitchen floor, clutching his gut.

  I stepped on his shoulder, pinning him in place. “Remember me?” I asked.

  His gaze met mine. Then, his eyes darted to Tito. Then, Baker. Eventually, they came full circle, meeting mine again.

  “Where’s the money Marvin?”

  He swallowed hard. “What…what money?”

  “A man would think I’d enjoy the freedom I’ve been given for this little escapade, but I’m so far out of the mood, it isn’t funny.” I lifted my pistol and looked at it admiringly. “You see that thing screwed to the end of the barrel, Marvin?”

  He looked at the pistol but didn’t respond.

  “It’s a silencer,” I said. “It lets me fire this damned thing without making much noise to speak of. Hell, it’s not much louder than opening a door.”

  His eyes darted from the pistol to me.

  The weapon was a twenty-two-caliber pistol. The choice of assassins, murderers, or anyone hoping to kill someone silently with a head-shot, the gun was useless for much else. Shooting Marvin in the head would kill him in an instant. Placing one of the small bullets anywhere else would do nothing more than hurt like sheer hell, bleed, and maybe require a little surgery.

  “I’m going to ask a question,” I explained, my tone without an ounce of emotion. “You can choose to answer, or you can lay there and act stupid. If you do the stupid thing, well, I’ll shoot you. That’s a promise, Marvin. I’m a man of my word, so you can bank on that. I will shoot you.”

  He looked at me like I’d explained everything in Swahili.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  “I uh. I’m not...” he stammered.

  “You’re not what?” I asked. “Ready?”

  He looked at Tito, and then at me. “I don’t understand what you’re after.”

  I pointed the barrel at his thigh. “Where’s Kimberly’s money?”

  His mouth opened, but he didn’t respond. At least not quick enough to save his leg.

  I squeezed the trigger.

  Thwack!

/>   An instant after the bullet bore into his thigh, he clutched his leg. His eyes went bug-eyed.

  “You shot me!” he bellowed.

  “Don’t act like I didn’t warn you, Marv.”

  Tito tied a tourniquet on his leg and stuffed a kitchen rag in his mouth.

  I looked at him and out a sigh. “We’re going to do this again. I’ll ask the question. Then, you can either do that dumb thing you’re so good at, or you can choose to respond. Ready?”

  He nodded eagerly.

  Reno leaned over, pulled the rag from Mavin’s mouth, and pointed his pistol at the leg I’d already shot.

  “We’ll both shoot you this time,” Reno warned.

  “Where’s Kimberly’s money?” I asked.

  “There’s a safe,” he blurted. “It’s…there’s a BMW on the far side of the garage. It doesn’t… it doesn’t run. Move it, and there’s a floor safe under it. I’ll give you the combination, but not all of it’s hers. The money. Some of it’s…”

  Reno stuffed the rag into Marvin’s mouth before he could finish speaking.

  Without provocation, Tito and Goose turned toward the garage. After pushing the old-school BMW out of the way, Tito was in the safe within a matter of minutes.

  He began handing Goose stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

  Incapable of seeing in the safe, I tried to see over Tito’s shoulder. “What’s in there? Is it all there?”

  “There’s stacks of ten-thousand-dollar bundles of hundred-dollar bills,” he said.

  “How much was on that spreadsheet?” I asked. “From the investment place?”

  “Her account had two million, three hundred sixty thousand, and change.”

  I edged Goose out of the way and peered over Tito’s shoulder and into the safe. Stacks and stacks of hundred-dollars bills lined the interior of the large safe.

  “Jesus.” My eyes bulged at the sight. “How much does he have in there?”

  “Hard saying,” Tito responded.

  After piling the ten-thousand-dollar bundles into stacks of ten, we counted the hundred-thousand-dollar bundles. Thirty-one bundles equated to three-point-one million dollars, or roughly six hundred and forty thousand more than Marvin had taken from Kimberly.