Bang Lords Box Set (4 Book Series includes All Bonus Chapters)

by Dani Stowe

  I kept my eye on her though and asserted myself into her life regularly. She blossomed junior year, which fucking killed me.

  Boys. Boys of all kinds—short, tall, skinny, chunky, ragged, and dorky fuckers—began to see what I saw beneath Taloulah’s glasses. They began to see how crazy beautiful she was. Naturally, I threatened them to stay away from her until eventually everyone knew—the school, the town—that Taloulah was mine and under my protection... well, everyone but the rest of the Cunt Squad.

  Charlotte, Ursula, and Nancy—those chicks hated me. I suspect it was because they were the popular girls and I stole a lot of attention from the student body, attention that would’ve been awarded to those girls if I hadn’t transferred in. I suspected those chicks had plans about who should date who as well as what was and wasn’t cool.

  But my presence changed that dynamic and it most certainly changed the way those girls interacted with the geeks who admired them, which those chicks absolutely loved.

  I robbed those girls of all that attention when I befriended Elliot, Jax, and Don so the Cunt Squad loathed me for it. Their geeks became my geeks and those girls made us all pay with teasing and flaunting their hot bodies out of Charlotte’s window. I hated three of those chicks as much as they hated me but I still enjoyed the show.

  Taloulah never flaunted a thing, of course. Not even a damn bra strap, which was fine. I had an exceptionally wild and crazy imagination for the sick animal that I was.

  On the night of the fire, I did my best to keep my animal at bay. The fact that I could just hold Taloulah’s hand put me in beast mode. I wanted to pick her up, carry her off somewhere where no one could find us, where there would be no punishment sticks, no glass walls, no gossip, no stigmas or stereotypes—just me and her on our secret island where we could be ourselves, where she might not be so shy if I should attack her.

  And I wanted to attack her. I wanted to lay my filthy, ash-ridden claws all over Taloulah’s pure, untouched teenybopper body, lay it under me, and then lick it, eat it, and use it like she was my own little pet. My little pet beast. Inside of her, I suspected there was a creature lurking, a beaten creature, a creature like me waiting to be torn free.

  Somehow, I managed to keep my cool as I held her hand through Elliot’s house and when we got to the street, Taloulah said she felt faint. We both sat down right there on the curb, the fire blazing behind us. She complained of pain in her neck, so I rubbed it for her.

  “Harder. Harder,” she kept asking and fuck! It was in that moment, I realized how bad I wanted her, how desperate I was to have my way with her, and that I might actually do something I’d regret if I didn’t get control.

  I turned my attention to the street. Together, we watched the circus of partygoers, emergency personnel, and neighbors dance about on the black pavement while, one-by-one, each member of NIM acknowledged me before he disappeared into the night with his own little pet.

  I was ecstatic. I thought this was it! As shameful as it was that a tragedy brought us all together, I thought finally fate had shown its face. Those dumb lovesick geeks and I had just rescued these chicks and all our dreams were about to come true.

  But I should’ve known better than to trust fate. I hardly paid attention to any of those dumb teachers reciting their boring drawn out lectures, but I should’ve listened from the start when I’d occasionally hear them mention how we create our own fate. If I had listened, I would’ve trusted my instincts and took Taloulah away with me before fate took over. Because as fate would have it, there was another beast in town, a bigger one—one that would make an attempt to claim my pet as his own.

  The sheen of a black limousine glimmered as it slowly pushed its way between people on the street. I looked to Taloulah—her beautiful dark silhouette against the fiery backdrop lifted my heart and gave me hope.

  The passenger window to the limo came down but my bodyguard was not sitting where he should’ve been. I swallowed my heart.

  “Mr. Rohr,” said the driver, an older man in his usual black suit, “your father wants to see you. He heard about the fire. He wants you to come home.”

  I stood up reluctantly, releasing Taloulah from my grasp and walked to the open window, leaning into it. “Can you call my father and tell him I’m fine and that I’ll be home later.”

  “Your father insisted, Nicholas,” the driver groaned with an intense vehement stare, though the twitch in his fingertips across the top of the steering wheel gave away his fear. Fear of my father.

  A gentle hand met my back and the sweat—sticky on my skin—melted from Taloulah’s soft touch. “Can you take me home, Nick?”

  I turned around to see Taloulah, her one hand still on my back and the other rubbing her eye. She was exhausted. I didn’t want to take her home but I knew I had to. I checked in with the driver who agreed to drop her off and I opened the back door for her.

  After she climbed in, I climbed in right behind then sat right next to her, our shoulders and thighs flush against one another. I tried to put my arm around her, grabbing her thigh with my other hand. She jerked, leaning away, which made my heart ache until she grabbed my hand instead, entwining her fingers between mine. It was great! She was still afraid but not as before, so I figured I just had to make her feel secure. I’d have to go slow. Real slow. I was fine, elated, just to hold hands like normal kids. Being with Taloulah was the only time I’d ever feel normal and not so lost.

  It took quite some time for the driver to reverse and free us from the street madness, but once we were underway on the highway, the driver’s phone rang.

  A feeling of uneasiness flowed out of my gut to flood my body. I knew who was calling.

  “Hello, sir... Yes, sir... He has a companion,” the driver spoke. “Yes, of course,” he paused to listen to my father.

  I tugged my fingers out of Taloulah’s grip and wrapped my arm around her pulling her in tight with both hands.

  “Nick,” she squealed and squirmed with a measly attempt to push me off.

  “Shh.” I didn’t let go.

  The driver hung up. “Young lady,” he addressed Taloulah, pressing slightly on the brakes to slow down and steering off into a turn lane then making a U-turn. “I apologize, I’ll have to drop you off later. Young Mr. Rohr is needed this very moment at home.”

  Chapter 7

  Taloulah

  Nick keeps his face pointed towards his office windows and folds his belt into one hand. “Number.” He grits his teeth.

  I keep my hands over my mouth. My body is trembling with what I fear is in store.

  There’s no way I’m giving him a number.

  “Fine,” he turns with a pretty but wicked glance in my direction and darts towards the short hall that will lead him to the Bank. “A hundred it is.”

  “No!” I squeal shuffling after him.

  I pull at his hand and then his arm as he stomps towards the bank vault-turned-dungeon. I try to grab the belt from him but he flicks his upper limbs at me, to keep me from clinging to his arms where I accidentally scratch him. Nick lets out a low groan as a thin line across the back of his bicep seeps red.

  Fuck, I just scratched him! I think it will scar. Not another one! What the hell did you do, Taloulah?

  I put my hands to my mouth again, stopping in my tracks in the hall and I watch as Nick enters the Bank, slamming the door behind him.

  I hear a whack and then another and another. My eyes flinch as my body twitches in protest against the sound of Nick hurting himself. He does it so systematically in quick even strokes. Whack-whack-whack.

  My fingers spread across my cheeks and I rest my face into my hands. Whack-whack-whack.

  I hate this. Why does he still do this? I used to feel bad, but not anymore. Whack-whack-whack.

  I hate to always have to be a witness and never a friend. I’m tired of continuously being expected to have sympathy but never be allowed to help. I’m sick of being locked in Nick’s dark tower where others are punished but ar
e still free to leave, whereas I am a permanent prisoner. Whack-whack-whack.

  My ears are about to combust. I’m tired of being in this prison. I’m tired of being a prisoner. I’m sick of it. “I’m sick of this!” I yell.

  I stomp my feet straight to the Bank door and pound on it. Fist after fist, I bang against the solid metal door and call out to that dumb kid, Nick, who refuses to grow up, who refuses to submit, who refuses to just fucking say what needs to be said.

  I tug at the locked door knob, which won’t open, and then bang again, adding a kick of my foot. “Nicholaaaaaaas,” I scream. “Open the fucking door, Nicholas Rohr!”

  “Nicholas. Nick... Nick... Nick... Nicholas Rohr.” The high school morning halls were buzzing of gossip over the “rich boy,” “bad boy,” “prince,” and “billionaire,” who had just transferred in. I didn’t give a damn about some probably dumb dude destined to lead the cheerleading squad into yet another harem victory if the rumors were accurate on how cute he was. And I remember thinking, at thirteen, that no boy was worth all the frenzy, even if he was cute. The only reason people were talking about him was because he was new—new grain for the gossip mill, so I doubted I’d even bat an eye if I did notice him, which of course, I did. Nick completely caught my eye. He was hard to miss, especially since he was staring at me.

  It made me feel strange, the way Nick looked at me. It wasn’t something I’d ever felt before. He made my insides melt and my chest heave while my limbs fell to mush because my quivering heart was struggling to pump blood to my extremities. The bad boy, billionaire heartthrob strolled right into advanced chemistry looking like he owned the place with his pretty dark eyes fluttering of thick heavy lashes and his rosy cheeks blushing with a natural radiant heat. Lifting his chin to hold his head high, a devious smile fell across his face when we made eye contact.

  I stiffened. I knew straight away that look, that smile, was intended for me—silly little me—and I went straight into puberty at that very moment.

  For the first time in the history of high school, rumors were true. Nicholas Rohr was everything, if not more, than the talk that preceded him.

  Nicholas Rohr was every good girl’s bad boy dream.

  I shake on the door handle again. The Bank door won’t budge. I kick the damn door once more. “Nick, open the door!” I yell and flinch again when I hear another slap of the belt falling across Nick’s back by his own hand.

  This is ridiculous! He’s a grown man doing this to himself... again! Is he trying to make me feel bad for choosing not to stay with him? Why is everything always about Nick? I’m tired of everything being about Nick. I’m so fucking pissed that everything is always about Nick. Nick and his past. Nick and his problems. Nick and his...

  Pain.

  “I’m so sick of this shit, Nick! I’m sick of it!” I take a few steps backwards into the hall. I’m so angry and filled with so much regret I want it to end. I want it all to end. I need this to stop. The whippings, the lashings—it all feels like its intended to hurt me more than anyone else. I’m tired of dealing with pain, another man’s pain, another slut’s pain. I have my own pain and it is consuming me right now. I want to gouge out my eyes and ears for everything I’ve seen and heard over the years, everything I’m hearing right now.

  I smack the door. “Fine. If you want to hurt yourself, you go right ahead, and you know what?” I shout, turning and walking straight to Nick’s desk where I see the letter opener and snarl, then shout at the top of my lungs. “If you think its okay to hurt yourself, then I’m going to hurt myself, too!”

  The front of my thighs hit Nick’s desk where I lean over picking up the silver letter opener by the handle to see it gleam. If he’s going to beat himself, then I should cut myself. It’s my fault he beats himself anyway...

  Wait.

  What am I thinking? What am I doing? He makes me so crazy but not this crazy. I’m not really going to hurt myself over Nicholas Rohr, am I? Though, I’m sure anything would feel better than listening to him in that room for one more second.

  I hear the lock of the Bank door click then open, ushering in the repetitive slap of bare feet stomping swiftly across the black marble floors. I turn around with the letter opener held high in hand.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Nick comes straight at me, tossing his belt to the desk, and grabbing my jaw with one hand and then my wrist holding the letter opener with the other. “Put that down,” he grits.

  “No.” I push on him with my free hand. I’m not letting him command me anymore. I’m not his dumb pet.

  Nick leans his naked chest covered in dewy sweat onto me, forcing me to lean back towards his desk. My abdominal and back muscles stretch and strain, as they are no match against him. I try to kick but he leans in harder, capturing my gaze, and clutching my chin painfully.

  He spits hot into my face. “Put that fucking thing down right now, Taloulah.”

  I bite my bottom lip. I don’t want to put it down. Not now. Not if it means he’s going to remove himself from me and walk away only to hurt himself further. It has been a long time, a dozen years, since Nick has been this close to me, touching me, his body on me, his face in my face. His eyes—dark, but with a fervor blazing deep in their centers, burning as hot as they did on the night of the fire.

  My hand pulses, the blood constricted by the tight grip of Nick’s hand at my wrist.

  “Nick, you’re hurting me,” I say softly trying to adjust my position because I’m so uncomfortable when...

  My lips nearly graze his and my pulse races but he flinches! Why would he flinch?

  “Put the weapon down,” he breathes heavily.

  My own chest heaves against him. “Let me go first.”

  “I can’t.” His hips pin my body harder against the desk.

  “What do you mean you can’t?” I’m so confused. “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t, Lou. I can never let you go.”

  My hand is swollen and hot—he’s squeezing my wrist so tight the veins in his bicep are about to pop as mine are about to burst. I can’t hold the letter opener anymore. It drops and tears from my eyes drop with it.

  “I don’t understand, Nick. I disappoint you all the time to the point you’re hurting yourself and I’m never good enough for you. Why do you keep me around when you don’t even like me?”

  “I do li—, I lo—” He closes his eyes with a grimace, turning his head away.

  “You do, what?”

  I’m desperate to know! He was about to say something. Something big. Something meaningful. My insides are twitching. My heart is hanging, dangling by a thread.

  “What?” I shout, knocking his hand off my face and grabbing his shoulders to keep him pointed it in my direction. “You do, what? Damn it, Nick. Open your eyes and tell me what you were about to say!”

  He finally opens his eyes and snaps back. “I can’t tell you. I know what you want to hear, Lou, but I can’t say it because you and I are never going to work out. Not the way you want us to. You see...”

  He stalls.

  I wait.

  He’s about to confess.

  “WHAAAT?” I shout.

  He rubs his forehead with one hand, planting the other on his hip. “I don’t work.” His beautiful lashes flutter as he looks at me. “I can’t work for you, so I’m just going to disappoint you.” He swallows. “Because I don’t work.”

  I shake his shoulders again. “What do you mean you don’t work? Stop talking in code, Nick, and just tell me.”

  “Things don’t work,” he sighs and cups my cheeks in his sweaty palms. My body is melting, cradled by his hands, and our eyes lock as he repeats. “I. Don’t. Work.”

  Again, “What are you talking about? What about you doesn’t work?”

  “My dick!” he yells and bows his head then leans in. “It doesn’t work.”

  Nick’s forehead comes to rest on my chest and I’m delighted to feel his hot breath blowing over the tops of my breasts a
s his crown of dark lush hair brushes softly across my skin, but I don’t understand why he would lie about this. “Of course, it works. I’ve seen you work it in and out of lots of women.”

  “When they’re screaming,” he stresses and tilts his head up to look me in the eyes once more. “My dick doesn’t work like normal, Lou. I don’t get hard unless I know I’m physically hurting the partner I’m with.”

  Pause.

  Did Nick just say he has to hurt someone in order to have sex with them? This makes no sense but total sense after everything and...

  It’s great! Absolutely fantastic. This whole time, I thought there was something wrong with me, as in, he didn’t like me enough. Oh, all those hours I’ve spent spying on him doing all those dirty, naughty things has left me desperate. To think, every fantasy I’ve had of being the girl in the chair, the girl in the bed, or the girl hanging—tied up and at his mercy—has left me shamefully wondering exactly what it would feel like to be that girl. I’ve even spanked myself a few times with a wooden soup spoon to see what it was like. I need him. He needs me. We can accommodate one another!

  “It’s okay,” I put my hands up towards his bare slick chest. I want to caress him, but he grabs my wrists and pulls my arms apart. I capture his gaze. “You can hurt me, Nick.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, it’s okay.” I lean forward to kiss the top of his salted chest.

  He whimpers then groans in anger, grabbing my jaw once more. “No.”

  I pout. “Hurt me, please.” I’m begging. I’m panting. I want him. I feel like that silly naïve little high school girl so excited to have the popular heartthrob all to myself and I’ll do anything for him, write him a poem, send him a chain letter, lie to my parents, give him my virginity.