As I press in, I meet resistance. I’m stretching her, wide. She’s tight. She’s wet. Hot, and eager.
I can’t get inside. And then she cracks open. And she cries out.
“You didn’t tell me!”
“Fuck me, Iron. Fuck me hard and raw.”
She’s so tight. I pierce her and spear her, sinking deep.
My hips bang into hers. Slamming, hammering.
“Yes,” she claws my back, and I look into her eyes and watch them widen. “Yes, Iron. Yes!”
I lift her ass, holding her hard. Rough. I’m driving deeper. Higher. Tilting her pelvis so I can scrape, high and hard, all the way up at the front.
Her neck reddens. Stretches. Her head thrashes from side to side as her back arcs. Her toes curl and fingers scrape, hard down my back to grab my ass. She claws, squeezes as her pelvis rocks, splashing against me like ocean waves hammering a seawall.
She shouts again and I’m pounding her, hard. Her head goes all the way back and the sight of her soft throat tips me over the edge.
Tingling thrills crackle up and down my thighs. Through my abs and up into my chest. She’s rocking and I feel her clench and gush.
I feel like I’m filled with a burst of light from the depth of an ocean as I hose long, hard, hot fountains of sticky jizz to fill her and coat her inside.
We smash into each other until we’re exhausted. I hold her and she curls up in the shelter of my body.
I find her awake at about four a.m., standing at the window in her tee shirt, watching the rain and the moon. She hears me move and her head turns. Just a little. I want to go to her, but I sense that she doesn’t want to be crowded. I stay on the cot.
“So. No bikers?” I keep my voice gentle. “Did you get hurt?”
“I don’t want a guy. A man. Not any kind of a man, Iron.” She looks in my eyes, her lovely face picked out in the moonlight. She comes near. Reaches out to hold my face and frowns as she takes a kiss. “I don’t want the attachment. I’m not answerable to anyone. I don’t have to tell anybody where I’m going, what I’m doing. Nothing.” She licks her lip and her brow tenses as she looks at my mouth. She takes another kiss. More slowly. “I’ve got no reason to give up my independence.” She turns away. Looks back over her shoulder. “I’ve always felt that way. I still do.”
“Don’t worry.” I tell her, “I’ll protect you. I’m going to take care of you. You’re mine now. Completely.”
“Don’t you get it?” There’s pleading in her voice. “I don’t want to be under anybody’s protection, Iron. Nobody’s going to stamp ‘Property Of’ on me.”
I know she means what she says. But from the tension in her voice, I know there’s also more to it.
I tell her, “When I was a kid, my dad worked for a while on a ranch. One of the few places I ever really felt at home. Even though we were probably there about three months or less. He used to break horses. Steers sometimes, too.”
“You’re going to tell me I’m like one of those steers?”
“A Palomino. Fantastic foal. Beautiful. But willful. Definitely knew her own mind. Did not want to be ridden by anyone.”
“So. What happened? I mean, I think I can guess the end, but how did it happen?”
“Dad told me he had to show the horse that he can handle what she would dish out. It wasn’t about him dominating her. He sat on her back until she accepted him. It was about them both accepting each other.”
“Nice story. And then he handed the horse back to the farmer or the rancher or whoever, and, don’t tell me, she got sold to some rich guy to give to his daughter as a birthday present, right? And they all lived happily ever after.”
“No, Tyler. It wasn’t like that. Dad broke the horse, but nobody else could ride her. She wouldn’t have anybody but him.”
“So what happened?”
“The boss told dad, you can buy the horse… Or she’s out of here.”
“What did he do?”
“Dad? He had no choice. He couldn’t afford a horse. He didn’t have stables or anywhere to keep her. There was just no way.” Telling the story affects me more than I expected. I take a breath. “Broke his heart.”
Her voice softens. “Sounds like it might have broke yours, too.”
“I don’t know. I think I am tougher than that.”
“Really? Is that why you won’t let anybody in? You saw what happened to your dad. You know the risk.”
“Well, ain’t you the smart one.”
“Ask me how I know.” She looks out at the moon through the rain. “That time you spent with your Daddy? I would trade you any number of Palomino’s for that.”
Chapter Nine
Curled up in his arms, I’m ready to drift away to sleep. Away from everyone and everywhere that I know, wrapped up in the protection of this huge man, this hard man with a warm, caring core, I could get used to this.
Speaking low into my ear he asks me, “Why were you there, really?”
“Where?”
“You know.” he shakes my ass, “You’re playing for time.” Does he really know me already?
“I needed a job.”
He’s quiet for a few moments. Then he says, “Okay.” And I know that he means, ‘Okay. You’re not going to tell me.’ It reminds me that I shouldn’t have let him get involved in this. I know I can say that he dragged himself into it. But it’s not true. He was only trying to help me. To save me.
If I don’t do something about it, it will end up really bad for him. As I’m finally drifting off to the sound of the rain, I know what I have to do.
Rain still drums on the cabin roof in the morning and I don’t like what I have to do. I get up early, find a tin with some coffee and a coffee pot.
He’s awake, yawning and stretching by the time the coffee is brewed.
I pour coffee into a tin cup for him and then some for myself.
He looks out the window. “They’re still not going to come trekking up woodland in the rain.” Sipping at the hot lip of the tin mug, “They’re bikers. Not hikers.”
“That’s an odd thing to say,” I tell him.
He looks up at me, his eyebrows lifts.
“They—you said, ‘they.’ Talking about bikers.”
He hesitates. “I’m talking about the Outcasts. The club down at the Rusty Bucket. Motorcycle clubs are not all the same. Any more than bikers are all the same.” I watch him. He’s holding something back, I know he is.
When he goes to the john, I swallow as much coffee as I can, gulping it down. It’s still searing my throat as I close the cabin door, as quietly as I can behind me.
In my rush, I didn’t even pick up my shirt or my jacket. The fine rain quickly soaks my tee shirt as I slip down the side of the hill, hoping I can remember the way.
His bike is well hidden in the bush but I find it easily enough. The seat is soaking wet. And the ground is, too. The motor fires up first time, but I’m careful letting the clutch out on the soft, mossy ground.
I need to be away fast. He’ll have heard his bike motor on the first spark.
I take off, straight ahead to where the ground is most level. I head through the trees, and I see a road straight ahead. Both wheels slip, but they grip as soon as I get them up on the road.
I head downhill.
Chapter Ten
I would know the sound of my own bike’s motor in my sleep. I pull my jeans and tee shirt on. My feet are in my boots but they’re not laced. Grabbing my jacket, I dash out of the cabin and I run hard, hurtling after the sound of the Harley.
The way that she’s going, she’ll get to the road in no time. That’s two bad things. The first is, I may be able to pace her across the rough ground—I guessed she could ride, but maneuvering the Harley-Davidson Sportster over a wet forest floor isn’t the easiest riding practice.
The other bad thing, though, is way worse. If she gets on the road, she’s going to run into guys from the Rusty bucket.
After that, I don’t know how I’m going
to save her.
I run like my heart’s going to burst. I can hardly get a breath. Feels like my lungs have contracted about eighty percent when I hear her bounce the bike up onto the road. My heart sinks but I have to push myself harder. I’m easily fifteen or twenty seconds behind her.
When I get to the road, I know the way she’s gone. I don’t see her, and I don’t hear a sound above the rain and the wind in the tall trees.
Around a bend, downhill, around the next curve. I run full pelt. My chest burns like it’s going to explode. I run around the next turn. Then, when I feel like I can’t go any farther, when I get to the top of the curve after that, I see her. On my Harley. Surrounded by three bikers.
Tyler is surrounded by the three Outcasts. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but she keeps turning around, spinning. One says something to get her attention, then another one talks to make her turnaround. Disorient her. Soften her up.
We used that routine with hostiles when I was in the corps.
One of the bikers sees me. It’s Connie, I recognize him. Small, sweet faced kid. Doughy, with curly hair and bright lies. Mean, vicious little bastard. Classic example of the short ones being the most savage.
Addison is on the other side. A dull-eyed, brutal thug. Built like a brick outhouse.
I can’t see the other one, but I think it’s Razor. Outcast’s enforcer.
I lift a hand. An easy greeting. Walk toward the group. Slow.
I don’t want to add a sense of urgency to the proceedings. Razor shouts, “Girl got away with your bike, Iron.”
“Yeah,” Connie says, “we were about to return it to you,”
I dip my head, a nod in an acknowledgment. The longer they all wait, watching me walk towards them, the more calm they’ll be.
“I’m guessing you want your bike back,” Piggy faced Connie says. “We’ll keep the girl,” he laughs, “Saul will want to talk to her.”
I’m nearly level with the group now.
Tyler is calm, surprisingly. I’m impressed with her, all over again.
Addison says, “I’ll take the girl,” and he laughs. “She’ll be comfortable with me.”
I look from one to another of the three men.
“I’ll take her. We can ride together.”
If she’s afraid, she doesn’t show it. She handled the bike well, too. I don’t think I’ll tell her just now, though.
“You can sit on the back,” she tells me, “I’ll get you there in one piece.”
I believe she would, too.
I tell her, “On your bike, maybe.” I keep my voice flat. She juts her chin at me in defiance. I take her by the waist and lift her off the saddle.
Holding the bike up with the other hand, I pull her to me. My nose almost against hers. “Stealing a man’s bike is a bold move, little wildcat. There are consequences.”
Keeping my arm around her waist, I climb into my own saddle. I squeeze her tight enough to see her wince and I ask her, “You want to ride with me, or shall I let one of these guys take you?” She scowls. I look at Connie, Addison and Razor. “You can see they’d all love to give you that ride.”
She clambers onto the back. A pout clouds her face.
“Hold on,” I tell her and I kick the bike off, fast. Downhill.
At the head of church, Saul sits in the big chair. Judah, Razor and the other club elders sit either side of him. Tyler is made to stand alone, at the far end of the long table.
“We don’t allow women in church,” Saul says, “but since you already been in here, there wouldn’t seem any point making up another room for a trial.”
She raises her chin. “Not much point in a trial, either, if you already made up your minds.” That look of defiance makes my chest swell with pride.
“Well, ” Judah snarls, “you have to think whatever you fucking think.”
“Easy, Judah,” Saul tells him, “let’s give her due process.”
Judah looks at me. “He don’t belong in this, though. It’s got nothing to do with him.”
The little wildcat speaks up. “Turns out it does.”
“No,” Judah cuts across her, “he was just playing Good Samaritan. Aiming to get his candle wet in the bargain. Carried off some sweetbutt, ain’t nobody here’s going to fault him for that. Kept her hot and fresh overnight, ready for us in the morning.” He looks around the table, grinning, “No harm, no foul I say. But he ain’t a part of this.” He turns back to Tyler.
“She was spying,” he says, stretching out his hands, “in church. That’s between us and her.”
“Turns out,” Tyler says, “in different ways, and for different reasons, Iron and me, we were here about the same thing.”
“So, we get to it.” Saul asks her quietly, “Why are you really here?”
She points at the red scarf hanging on the wall behind her. “You know who this bandanna belongs to?”
Judah says, “There must be a million do rags that look exactly like that.”
“Yeah,” she says, “not exactly like that. If you look in the bottom corner of that bandanna, there’s a tear and some marks. Writing, made with a blue sharpie. It’s not all that clear, so you’ll have to take my word for it that it’s my name. But it’s there because I ripped the bandanna. Benny made me sign it.”
Saul gestures and Razor moves down the room to collect the bandanna. As he inspects the end of the fabric, then hands it to Saul, Tyler says, “The rip, it’s jagged. At an angle. I was trying to steal Benny’s new scarf from him. He wouldn’t let go. When it tore, he made me sign it where it ripped.”
“What is that supposed to prove?” Judah says.
“Only that I know the owner of that scarf.”
“So what?” Judah says. “Were you his sweetbutt or something?”
Her eyes are on him, cold as steel. “I don’t like your use of the past tense. I am his sister.” My heart swells.
There’s an intake of breath from around the boardroom table. I sense where this is going.
“The kid that came here, wearing that bandanna,” Saul’s voice is low and firm. “He was declared to be a rat. A snitch. Was at the back of a pretty bad situation.”
Her face is red. Her eyes narrow. “Who called Benny a rat?” Her fists clench and her knuckles show white.
The Outcasts’ board all look at her from this end of the table. Nobody says a word.
“Benny told me he was coming here to warn the Outcasts. He said he knew…”
Judah slaps his hand on the table. “I don’t see what good any of this is going to do.”
Saul leans back in his chair, “Let her speak,” and he looks hard at Judah.
Her eyes narrow and she’s looking right back at Judah. “He said he was coming here because he knew of a rat. Said that the club was in danger.”
“What else did he tell you?” Saul’s voice is gentle, but my heart is in my mouth.
She tells them, “He said an important deal was about to go down. He didn’t tell me anything about it, but he said there was a rat who was going to sell the deal out.”
“Why are we listening to this?” Judah says, starting to rise.
Saul calmly lays a hand on Judah’s wrist. “It’s what we do, Judah. Due process.”
“None of this is true,” Judah’s voice is tightening, “this is all bullshit.”
“How are you so sure, Judah?” I look in his eye.
He points a finger right at me. “We got to listen to him, too? The fuck is going on here?”
“We know what you said, Judah,” Saul is studying Judah’s face, “but there was a part that didn’t sit right. Is there something you want to tell us? Something more that we should know?”
“The kid was a rat.”
Razor said, “Nobody else spoke to him, Judah. Only you. You said he came looking to muscle into the deal with the Dark Lords, and he was going to rat out the meet, tip off the feds. Isn’t that what you told us?”
“So he was.”
Razor
“Well, it’s a pretty weird coincidence. The feds didn’t get on it, but somehow the mob intercepted the shipment.”
“Kid was working with someone,” Judah says, “he had an inside man.”
“So now Benny’s a kingpin?” Tyler says. “Some of you saw him, right?” she’s looking at Saul, and around the club members at the head of the table. “He was a troubled kid, for sure, nobody could argue that he wasn’t. He had practically no impulse control. But Benny couldn’t have kept a conspiracy straight. Not with anyone.”
Judah jumps up, onto the table. The Outcasts all lean back. Church is sacred. Nobody behaves like that in church. Not in any motorcycle clubhouse. Judah has a gun drawn.
Every man climbs to his feet.
“No weapons in church, Judah.” Saul says, his voice lower, “you know that.”
“I’m the fucking Sergeant at arms,” Judah turns back to face Saul.
Tyler has jumped on the table and leaped onto Judah’s back. Her arms wrap around his throat, and her legs clamp around his waist. She moves like an athlete, and bends her to push, so his neck is in the crook of her elbow.
“What did you do to my brother, you fucker?”
He turns, waving the gun.
I don’t see that I have much choice. I grab hold of Judah’s ankle with both hands. I pull and jerk upward making him twist. He falls. He lands hard, face down, on the dark wood table top. I jump for his gun hand. He’s twisting the barrel toward me.
I have both hands on his wrist, and I still can’t hold him.
Tyler has her arm round his neck and her left hand on the back of his head. She tries to bang his head on the table.
The gun goes off. A shot fires into the wall.
I get his wrist flat to the table top. I hammer the back of his hand, between the third and fourth fingers with my knuckle. His hand flexes to open but his fingers are curled under the pistol grip. The gun fires again. Another shot in the wall, but I can’t shake his grip.
There’s banging on the door, but I guess we’re locked in.
Hard as Iron: Hard For Her 5 Page 3
