by Nia Farrell
“The war?” she whispered. He had told her that she could ask him questions, this first time out. “Where was he deployed? What branch of service?”
“Diamond Springs, in the service of the club. Three years ago. We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
“Um. Okay.”
“Isabella, I believe that you know Anna Khan. She’s always talking about you. She’s been after me to give you a ride. Guess what, Anna? You got your wish. Happy now?”
She seemed anything but.
Anna looked guilty as sin and absolutely miserable. And she should be! She’d been lying to her for months now. Isabella thought they were best friends. Now she wondered if she really knew Anna at all.
“Izzy—”
Richie smacked her ass. “Hey! Did I give you permission to speak?”
Anna’s gaze caromed from Richie to Isabella and back again.
She shook her head, knowing better than to say anything more.
“Twenty,” Richie snapped. “Now.”
Steeling herself, Anna slid off his lap and draped herself over his thighs. Richie flipped up the hem of her summer dress to reveal her bare bottom. Drawing back his hand, he started raining down blows. By the time he reached twenty, her rear was as red as a firecracker and Anna was in tears.
He wasn’t done.
“Get up,” Richie said sternly. Anna pushed herself up and found her feet. “Go stand in the corner. Nose to the wall. I’ll decide when you’ve stayed there long enough.”
Anna bit her lip and sneaked a glance at Isabella as she passed, headed for her next punishment.
Richie rubbed the back of his neck and tunneled his fingers into his ruddy hair. “Permission to speak to your…to Izzy?” he asked his oldest brother.
“Isabella has agreed to train as my sub,” Luke informed them. “And yes, Richie, the two of you may speak.”
Richie took a deep breath and heaved it out. “She never told you…about us..., did she?”
Isabella didn’t want to add to his hurt, but she wasn’t going to lie to him, either.
“No, she didn’t,” she said gently.
“Do you think that her parents know?”
“I can’t imagine that they do. Her dad’s one of the top surgeons in the state and her mother’s an attorney. I don’t think being a submissive to a patched member is what either of them pictures for their only child.”
Or maybe they knew more than Anna thought. After weeks of fighting, Anna had been told that she was going to Bryn Mawr and that was the end of it.
“What?” Richie narrowed his gaze. “You know something.”
Isabella bit her lip. “Has she said anything about college?”
Richie shook his head. “Not really. She’s talked about rooming with you, how busy you’ll be. That we’ll have to see each other on the weekends that she can come home.”
“Richie,” she said slowly, hating to be the bearer of bad news, “I’m not staying on campus. I’ll be living here and commute.”
A litany of curse words blistered the air. Richie shot her a look. “If you’re here, then where the hell will Anna be?”
“Pennsylvania, I think. The last I heard, her parents enrolled her in Bryn Mawr. I’m sorry.”
Richie shook his head and laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Hey, it’s not your fault. It was fun while it lasted, but she lied to me. Lied to both of us. That’s it,” he told Luke. “I’m done with all the bullshit. You were right. You were right. Just don’t make the same mistake I did.”
He turned back to Isabella. “If Luke’s good enough to be with, he’s good enough to bring home. No excuses.”
“We’ve already discussed it.” Mad Dog pulled her closer, ran his fingers lightly up and down her arm, and nipped her shoulder. “Her parents are gone right now to his unit’s reunion. Booyah. As soon as they get back next week, we’re letting them know.”
Ritchie nodded. “Good. Good. When Anna’s timeout is done, I’m sending her home. I’ll let the guys know that she’s lost visiting privileges. If she wants to see me again, it will be outside the clubhouse, in public, and on my terms. No more hiding.”
Mad Dog murmured in her ear, “Thank fuck. About goddamn time. He’s just now seeing what I’ve been telling him for weeks. Nothing wrong with being a fucktoy if that’s agreed upon, but this sneaking around shit needed to stop. I owe you one. Good girls get rewards. I’ll have to think of something special. There’s always my belt.”
Isabella squirmed. Her ass was still tender from his spanking. “I thought I earned a reward. That sounds like punishment.”
Mad Dog pinched her tit and made her moan. “That’s because you haven’t tasted it. Nothing like a leather belt or razor strop to get the juices going, especially if you’re a painslut.”
“I thought I was your cumslut.”
“You are that, but I suspect you’re a bit of a painslut, too. I warned you that you’d get ridden hard. It only made you wetter. You can deny it all you want, but I know how your body responded, Isabella. You,” he murmured in her ear, “took it. You handled what I gave you, and your pussy wanted more. Your ass wanted more. You let me bury myself balls-deep and come inside you. Are you on the pill? An IUD?”
“No,” she whispered, pressing her knees together.
“Something else to do next week. I’ll finish elsewhere until you’re protected, then that pussy’s mine.”
Oh, God. Her panties were so soaked, she was going to leave a wet spot on his jeans.
“Isabella.” He crooned her name. “What are you thinking? What’s got you turned on? Is it the flogging?”
He nodded to another pair nearby, a tattooed biker with a woman’s head in his lap. “The blow job that one of the sweetbutts is giving Flynn?”
Isabella wasn’t sure how well she could work with him, after seeing that.
“Or maybe it’s the threesome that’s drawing a crowd. You like watching that cock drive into her pussy while she’s got another one filling her ass? Oh, make that a foursome. She’s gonna give some head now, too.”
It was like a train wreck. Isabella couldn’t look away.
“Suck me,” he rumbled, turned on by what they were seeing. “Get on your knees, Isabella. Take me out, and let me fuck that mouth of yours.”
He’d told her that the lounge would be her classroom. Clearly, this was her first test. If he wanted to see how she could possibly fit into his world of bikers and BDSM, she’d have to show him.
Isabella slid off his thigh, knelt between his feet, licked her lips, and smiled.
Chapter Seven
Isabella had just swallowed when she heard footsteps stop behind her.
Mad Dog tucked himself back in his jeans and zipped them up. “Mom. Dad. This is Isabella. Give her a minute.”
Crap.
Mad Dog took her chin and examined her face. Wetting his thumb, he cleaned a smear of cum from the corner of her mouth. “Beautiful,” he rumbled, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.
He took her arms and pulled her to stand with him.
She wanted to curl up and die. She was so mortified. Her cheeks felt as red as her underwear.
“Isabella. These are my parents, Patrick and Maureen McLanahan. They’ll want you to call them Papa Bear and Mama Mare.”
Papa Bear was around fifty years old and six feet tall with silver taking over his dark hair. He had tattooed sleeves, a pierced left ear, and gold-flecked green eyes that missed nothing.
If Papa Bear reminded her of Sam Elliott, Mama Mare looked like Julianne Moore. A little younger than her husband, she was very pretty and rather petite, standing maybe five feet three inches tall in her bare feet. She’d put her long red hair in a ponytail and wore a black leather collar around her neck. A leash was attached to the O-ring in front.
Papa Bear held the end of it.
“And this,” Luke said, “is my new sub, Isabella Castellari.”
Papa Bear schooled his features, but his reaction was pretty much the s
ame as Dylan’s. Mama Mare’s brow knit with concern. “Oh, Luke,” she whispered. “Are you sure about this?”
“Mare!” Papa Bear snapped her leash. “All fours and not another word.” She folded her body to the floor on command and kept her head and eyes down.
Papa Bear nodded stiffly. “I apologize for my wife’s rudeness. If Mad Dog’s invited you here, that says enough for me. Welcome to the Avenging Angels MC.” He tugged on the leash. “Come on, babygirl. You know what’s coming.”
Isabella waited until they were gone to speak.
“What’s coming?” she asked Luke.
He pulled her back onto his lap. “Domestic discipline. Probably a paddling. Papa Bear’s a bit too forgiving to give her the caning she needs.”
“Why does everyone look at me like that?” she asked him. “The minute they hear my name, everything changes.”
Mad Dog blew out softly. “It’s because of your sister,” he said. “And your uncle. And the war that I told you about.”
“You mentioned it, but you haven’t really told me about it.”
He exhaled a puff of mint-freshened breath. “No, I haven’t. And I won’t. Not here. We can go upstairs to my room, then we’re going to go for a ride. Fuck. We’ll go after we arrange a tow for your car. You got me so distracted, I forgot about it. If you have Triple A, they’ll want you to be there with your car. If you let our guys handle it, they’ll bring it in and probably get it checked out first thing in the morning.”
“Your guys are fine,” she said.
“We can leave the keys with Uncle Jack. He’ll take care of it while we’re gone.”
“Gone? Wait! Where are we going?”
Mad Dog looked at her, more serious than she’d ever seen him. “To Ground Zero, where the war started. Let’s make the call, then find you something to wear.”
As soon as he got off the phone, he caught her hand and pulled her upstairs after him, passing his room and entering another. It was clearly a woman’s room, from the colors and décor.
Isabella felt a flare of jealousy and stopped in her tracks.
“My sister’s room,” Luke tossed over his shoulder while he rummaged in a chest of drawers. “She keeps a few things for when she and Crash sleep over. They could just leave a duffle bag, but Mama Mare seems to think she needs to keep a whole fucking room for Rose and Michael. At least she says it’s for them. Personally, I think she’s hoping for grandkids now that Rose has passed her CPA. Here.”
He tossed her a pair of jeans and a Florence and the Machine tee-shirt, then went to a closet and found a long-sleeved flannel shirt to wear as a jacket. Thankfully, Rose wore her size jeans. The tee was snug, but it would work.
“How about these?” Holding up a ratty pair of sneakers with holes worn in the toes, he eyed the shoes, then her thigh-high stockinged feet. “They might be a little loose, but they’ll be safer to wear than those heels of yours. Try ‘em on.”
They were loose enough, he looked until he came up with a pair of cushioned sports socks to improve the fit. “You can wear them over your hose. I like knowing that you’re wearing a garter belt under those jeans. One more thing. Stay here.”
He disappeared into Rose’s private bathroom, returning with a hairbrush and a covered rubber band. “Brush your hair,” he said. “Get all the tangles out. I’d do it, but you can do it faster.” While she worked, he stretched the hairband over his middle three fingers.
“Done,” she told him.
“Turn around.”
Isabella pivoted to face the wrought iron bed. Mad Dog finger-combed her hair, then divided it into three sections and began weaving a braid. When he reached the end, he made multiple loops with the covered rubber band to secure it.
“Done. Now, do you want me to find you a helmet? I’d ask my mom, but I suspect that she’s tied up right now.”
Isabella was learning that Luke McLanahan had a very dry sense of humor. She didn’t know if he was joking or serious.
“I’m good,” she said, “except for a scarf or a handkerchief. The temperatures dip enough at night, I should probably cover my head.”
He found a red bandanna and tucked it in her hand. “Oops. Forgot bug spray.” Fetching some from the bathroom, he sprayed them both down. “Nearly all set,” he said. “Go pee, then we’re taking off.”
They gave her keys to Uncle Jack, grabbed his helmet, and made their way to the clubhouse parking lot. She had heard the club had sixty-six members, one number short of hell on earth. Looking at the number of bikes, she could believe it.
The chrome on Mad Dog’s bike glimmered under the security lights. Strapping on his helmet, he mounted up, popped the kickstand, and started the engine. Once Isabella was settled behind him, she wrapped her arms around Mad Dog’s waist and held on for the ride.
It took a good forty minutes to get where they were going. It looked like an abandoned farmhouse. The yard was overgrown, and there was no sign of life from inside. The outbuildings were equally dead.
Mad Dog parked the bike and helped her dismount. Pulling a small flashlight from his pocket, he took her hand and led her to the top step of the front porch.
Turning, he sat down on the wide board planks and planted his feet two steps below. “Come ‘ere,” he said, patting the space beside him.
Isabella sat with him on the porch and waited for him to begin. He sat for a long moment, gathering his thoughts.
“The first shots were fired here,” he said, “but the war started five days before. Remember that vacant lot we passed, where that old building burned to the ground?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“That used to be Angel Ink, the tattoo shop owned by the club. Flynn McGee’s the best around. He usually has at least one or two other artists working with him to do the piercings and simpler stuff, but they’re all shit at the business side of things. My sister Rose was still in college, working towards that CPA she just passed, but she was already keeping books for the club on all of its businesses. One night, she was working late, after Angel Ink hours. She was in there alone when a rival gang broke in, intending to burn it to the ground. They found her. Took her. The security system was off—a blown fuse, they said—so we couldn’t prove that the Blackwater Demons had her. We got called because of the fire. Mama Mare was a basket case, thinking Rose might be dead. Jesus, you can’t imagine…”
He shook himself. “But there was no body. And her car was still parked down the street. She’d fucking disappeared, and no one knew a damn thing. We couldn’t call the cops—not even after twenty-four hours—to report a missing person. They’d want to come to the clubhouse and interview, and with the weed the guys use, there’s no fucking way. So, we started looking. Asking questions. Kept hearing things, about how girls had been disappearing and never found again. Rumors ranged from being sold in the sex slave trade to being used as disposable fucktoys. Everything pointed to the Demons, but we still weren’t close to finding Rose.”
She could hear the torment in his voice. They’d only had to worry about Krissy for a few hours. He said Rose was taken five days before whatever happened here. Poor Mama Mare. Poor Luke. He’d have felt helpless—and that was never a good feeling, especially for a Dom who was used to being in control.
Mad Dog balled his fists, tapped his thighs, then rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Friday comes. It’s day five, after Rose was taken on Monday, and we’re still no closer to finding her. We’re frustrated. We’re fearing the worst and getting desperate. No one’s sleeping except in snatches. When I finally manage to get some rest, I get woken up in the fucking middle of the night by a phone call from Michael O’Flaherty. Now, Michael and I have been best friends since kindergarten. We joined the Marines together. Trained and served in RECON together. He’s as close to me as my own brothers, but calling like he did, with my nerves already stretched tight, I laid into him—until he tells me that he’s seen Rose. She was being held here…in the basement…with your sister….”
Chapter Eight
The bottom dropped out of Isabella’s stomach.
“Krissy was here? What? How?”
She felt sick, thinking about what he’d said. Blackwater Demons and disappearing girls. That could have been Krissy, if they hadn’t found her.
“Earlier that night, your sister went to a biker bar with the guy who was head of security for your Uncle Giovanni. Mr. Visconti had given Krissy a bracelet that had a tracker in it, but his guy took her off the grid so they could sneak out. From what we gathered, they were both looking to get laid by bikers. Anyway, your uncle gets a call that his guy was found dead behind the bar. And Krissy is gone. Your uncle needs her back online to find her but no one knows the password to access the computer files. When he asks around, Michael’s name keeps popping up. He gives him a call.”
She shivered. Mad Dog put his arm around her. “Cold?”
She was warm enough, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She needed his comforting weight to help anchor her.
“Michael’s been into computers since he was a kid. Got his nickname Crash in high school, fixing people’s bad hard drives. He’s taken to your uncle’s house. Hacks in and gets Krissy back on line. When they research the location, your uncle tells Michael that this is a safehouse for the Blackwater Demons MC. Now, Michael’s my best friend. He’ll never be a patched member, but he’s an associate of the club’s. He has a bike and rides with us from time to time. He’s been to the clubhouse plenty, and he knew enough about the Demons to know what they’d be facing, trying to get Krissy out. But he’s Marine RECON. He needs to scout it out. See how many Demons are here. Learn the layout, where the members are, where Krissy is. If he’s lucky, he might get an idea of how many weapons are in the house. But time is ticking. He has a few more hours of darkness. Once the sky starts to lighten, any rescue attempt is gonna end in a major bloodbath.
“And so, he comes alone. Parks down the road and walks a mile in. You can’t see it from here, but there’s an old logging road that cuts through the timber and ends at the edge of this property. He stays in the trees and uses his binoculars to scout out the place. There are no bikes in sight. The Demons are all upstairs. But there’s a light on in the basement. He sees Krissy…and he finds Rose, too.”
