Magenta shook her head. “Amos and the other bouncers will be around from lunchtime on, and it’s broad daylight. The Death’s Heads would be crazy to pull anything now.”
Quake wasn’t so sure. As much as he would welcome spending more time with Magenta, he’d rather have her stay safe here than ferry his ass around. “I can have someone come get me.”
She insisted on having her way. “No, I have errands I need to run. I can leave a note for the others so they don’t worry. I’ll probably be back before anyone gets up anyway. I won’t live in fear. If I do, then Phantom’s won. Knowing Belle, she’s warded the property by now. She’s done it a few times before so people with bad intentions can’t get through the magical barrier around us.”
“Must be handy having a Fae in the house,” Quake remarked, forking more of her fancy eggs into his mouth.
“Belle is like family to all of us. She’s more than an employer. She took each one of us under her wing, and she watches out for us all,” Magenta told him. “Everyone is here by choice for as long as we choose to stay. We’ll all move on eventually, but when anyone leaves, she’s our biggest supporter, sending us off with faery blessings and letting us fly free.”
She sighed wistfully. He wondered if she was thinking about former coworkers or if she was dreaming of the day when she’d be ready for the next best thing.
The thought that she’d leave—just one day up and disappear—was disturbing as all hell. In his mind, she was always there to watch . . . to listen to . . . to dream about. What she said about moving on made sense. That’s what the girls here did. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially after being with her last night.
“What would you do?” he questioned abruptly. “If you left.”
Magenta’s violet gaze sliced to his. “Open my own business maybe. Do something I have control over.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It’s a long way off anyway.”
Hearing it, Quake was able to relax again. The unfamiliar tension that had been coiling around his chest eased.
They finished up their breakfast and coffee, scraping any leftovers into the compost bin while she washed the plates.
Magenta dried her hands. “I just need to fetch my license and keys. And write a note so no one worries when I’m not here. It won’t take long.” Guiding him to the front door, she unlocked it and let him slip out.
The nip in the early morning air made him glad for his cut. Breathing deeply, Quake stretched, surveying the scenery around him. Last night the front of the club had been packed with cars. Now the lot was empty. Nothing stirred. As far as the eye could see, it was quiet. Peaceful.
He sincerely hoped it stayed that way.
Hearing the door open, he turned to find Magenta sneaking out with a leather purse hanging from her shoulder.
“Come on, it’s this way.” Beckoning, she headed around the side of the house.
They walked toward one of the outbuildings being used as a garage. The long, open-front shed had a concrete floor, wooden walls, and a corrugated tin roof. It looked like something used to shelter livestock when this was a working ranch.
Quake scanned the parked cars, wondering which one was Magenta’s.
She stopped beside a purple classic Beetle with a beige interior.
He arched his eyebrows, wondering how she expected him to ride in that thing. “This yours?”
“Yup.” She smiled proudly, patting the top.
“It’s gonna be tight,” he pointed out, already not relishing being cramped inside.
Magenta pouted. “Hey, this is my baby. The trick is getting inside the right way.”
Quake eyed the vehicle, unconvinced. If he was seen in that, he was going to have a dented strong guy image.
“Get in the car,” she ordered when he didn’t make a move. “Ass in the seat, duck your head, and swing your legs in. It’s easy.”
Hearing the growl in her tone, he opened the door, followed her instructions, and folded himself inside.
Amazingly, it worked.
Climbing into the driver’s side, Magenta nodded her head in approval. “Well done, big boy.”
Quake grunted in response.
Turning the key, she brought the engine to life and backed out of the shed. Reaching for the radio, she switched it on, filling the car with music from a local station. Creeping down the road past the house, she stepped on the gas when they were farther away.
Gripping the sides of his seat, Quake sat tensely when she pressed on the accelerator. He didn’t know how this bucket of bolts could go so fast. It didn’t feel safe. Not like his bike or the van the club used.
Humming to herself along with a song, Magenta seemed oblivious to his unease.
“You might want to go a little easy on the gas,” he suggested.
Slicing him a glance, she did a double-take when she saw his expression. “I thought you bikers liked to go fast and furious.”
“We do,” Quake confirmed. “On bikes, not in a flimsy little metal box that could rip apart if the wind was strong enough.”
“Hey! Don’t talk about my baby that way,” Magenta quibbled. “Don’t let him hurt your feelings, honey.”
Tilting his head, he watched her pet the dashboard affectionately. “You named it, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did. I bet you named your bike,” she countered, keeping her eyes on the road.
“That’s different.”
Magenta arched an eyebrow. “How?” she challenged.
“Um . . .”
“Exactly,” she smirked. “Let me guess. You called it . . . Nightmare? Lightning Bolt? Thor’s Hammer?”
“Drago,” Quake replied drily.
She sliced a glance across at him. “Like a dragon?”
“Yeah. So, what about yours?”
Magenta bit her lip. “Bee.”
“Bee?” he echoed. “Seriously?”
“Don’t listen to him, honey,” she told her car. “Yes, Bee. Like Bumblebee. From those giant robot movies.”
Quake laughed. “Bee the bug minus the transforming.”
“Hey, don’t make fun of her,” she scolded. “She’s pretty and purple, like those bees in Florida. The first time I saw her, I knew her name and knew she was mine. I asked Madam Belle for an advance but she said I wouldn’t need one, to save up and she’d be there when I was ready. I suspect there was some fairy glamour involved, hiding her from people who were looking at cars. It took two more paychecks to make a down payment, but she was there when I went back. We’ve been together ever since.”
A thirty-minute drive of light, flirty banter and they arrived outside Quake’s clubhouse, a sprawling two-story structure built of wood and stone with more than enough room for the thirteen Hell’s Fury MC members. The clubhouse was located on a square mile of land with The Dragon’s Den on the far side of the property and a private lake in between. The front entrance opened into the main communal living space, a lounge with a soaring ceiling, a massive stone fireplace, and a well-stocked bar. Their dining room table sat twenty-four when members of other chapters and cadres visited.
The gourmet kitchen was the domain of Cookie, their Mexican chef, a gray wolf shifter who excelled in spicy cuisine and comfort food. The club’s communications room was run by Eagle Eye, an eagle shifter who owned a wolfdog and hunted with it when he wasn’t doing surveillance and surfing the internet.
Eagle Eye must have seen them coming because every brother and his dick was out front to greet them.
“Fuck,” Quake muttered, running his fingers through his hair. He needed to shave. He needed to brush his teeth.
He really needed to fuck Magenta again.
“Well, here we are!” she chirped, pulling to a stop in the front. “Thanks for last night.” She bit her lip and eyed the crowd who’d gathered. “I guess I’ll see you around. Tell the wait staff, your next tab’s on me.”
Drinks. She was going to buy h
im off with drinks. Pretend that she hadn’t tried to suck him off to completion. Ignore the orgasms that he’d given her or how perfectly her pussy had molded itself to his dick.
“Right,” he growled and climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut and patting Bee’s ass to send her on her way.
He should feel good about a job well done. All he felt was the burn of rejection. She was Madam Belle’s number one girl, top draw at her shows, and top dollar for her time upstairs. As long as she worked at The Pole Barn, their night together would remain nothing more than a bittersweet memory.
6
Rory slapped the wheel and cursed herself for being seven times a fool. She’d fucked a gargoyle and cut him loose, adding insult to his injury by offering to pay his tab next time he came to the club.
He was probably bragging to all his brothers about how he’d fucked her. Telling them about the hot tub and the shower they’d shared. It served her right after what she’d just done. Swearing roundly, she huffed out a breath. She’d truly enjoyed spending time with Quake. Talking. Joking around. He probably wouldn’t approach her again after this.
Not that anything could come of it if he did. Dating customers was a big no-no in her line of work. Boyfriends got jealous easily. She’d seen it happen with other strippers. Rory didn’t need a possessive male.
Remembering how he’d felt inside her, she squeezed her thighs together, trying to stem the needy ache it brought. There would be no more gargoyle cock for her. Maybe she could order something just as big online. It wouldn’t be the same but she’d have it when she got the urge. A monster dildo. There were plenty of websites that offered fantasy sex toys if you looked in the right places. She even had one in the shape of a unicorn horn.
Rory was half-way home when she heard the roar of engines behind her. Lost in thought, she hadn’t realized bikers were following her. Wondering if it was Quake and his brothers, she checked the rearview mirror.
Her eyes widened in shock when she saw who it was.
The Death’s Head jackals were right on her tail. At the head of the procession was Phantom.
Fuck.
Slamming her foot down on the accelerator, Rory took off, speeding away. If she could outrun them and get home, they wouldn’t be able to touch her. Keeping her eyes glued on the road, she reached for her bag on the passenger seat. Groping for her phone, she swiped it on, intent on calling for help. Zero bars. Damn it all to hell. The blank signal icon taunted her from the screen.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted, dropping it back on the seat.
As long as she kept driving, they couldn’t get her. Maybe they just wanted to spook her. Phantom’s way of playing mind games. Stalk her all the way home just to turn her into a nervous wreck.
That thought didn’t last long. The car jolted and pulled to the right when her back tire blew. She kept a death grip on the wheel, a scream tearing from her throat when she lost control and started spinning.
Bee came to a stop in the ditch. The door was wrenched open, and Phantom reached inside. Still dazed from the accident, she clawed his hand when he fisted her hair.
“Bitch,” he hissed, dragging her out.
Rory grunted, her knees hitting the ground, stomach churning with nausea. Surrounded by jackals, her only hope was to shift and try and outrun them. As her attacker hauled her to her feet, she felt the familiar energy gathering inside her.
Someone forced her head to the side and jabbed a needle into her neck. She hissed at the sting. A spreading warmth doused the sensations building within her, making it impossible to shift.
Phantom’s laughter sent fear flooding through her veins. “You ain’t going nowhere, sweetheart. There’ll be no change for you for now.”
“What the fuck did you do to me?” she snapped, gasping when her arms were jerked behind her back. Something was looped over her wrists and pulled tight, cutting into her flesh.
Taking her chin, he forced her head up. “You should be worried about what else we plan to do with you. This is nothing compared to what’s coming.”
Darkness descended as a burlap sack was pulled over her head, stealing her vision and sending a fissure of fear racing down her spine. Rory was trying not to panic when a bruising grip on her biceps yanked her to her feet. Pulled off balance, she stumbled and fell.
Above her, Phantom laughed.
Hands lifted her, forcing her to move until her feet met the edge of the road. She could hear the low rumble of an engine. It sounded as if a door slid open. A van? She was shoved forward, guided to step up. Lowering herself, she perched on the end of the bench seat beneath her.
Someone shoved her to the far side and sat where she had been. Snaking his hand across, he grabbed her by the nape of her neck and forced her head down until her nose was in his crotch.
How could this be happening? It was broad daylight. Surely someone passing by would see them. Even if no one spotted her in the van, there’d be no missing the purple car she’d been forced to leave behind.
Her best hope lay in the note she’d left waiting in the kitchen to be read. When she didn’t return home, Madam Belle would guess something was up. The problem was, she had no idea where Phantom planned to take her or how hard it would be to find her when they searched.
“Hold still unless you want a permanent smile.”
Rory froze at the warning. Fingers felt where the sack covered her face, finding her nose and chin. The snick of a switchblade warned what was coming. It sliced through the fabric, making a glory hole. Stowing his blade, Phantom unzipped his fly and pulled out his erection. “You better get used to the taste of jackal cock, bitch, because that’s all you’re gonna be getting for a while.”
Fisting her hair through the burlap, he shoved his dick down her throat, making her gag from the force of it. He fucked her face, ruthless, uncaring, demanding that she service him like the whore she was.
She might be a sex worker, but even prostitutes had limits. Phantom didn’t care what hers might be. He was the Alpha in charge, the stud to her bitch, determined to use her in every way he wanted.
And he wanted them all.
The ninety-minute drive was a nightmare marathon of forced compliance, humiliation, zero pleasure, and too much pain. By the time they stopped, he’d marked her every orifice with his seed.
She’d lost her clothes long ago. As soon as they stopped, he took off her hood, too, gripping her hair to haul her outside. She didn’t recognize the place but the terrain was rough and the clubhouse equally so. Phantom marched her into it. A crowd of leering jackal shifters parted like the sea to let them pass
Phantom hauled her over to the bikers’ bar. Grabbing her waist, he lifted her onto it.
“You like to dance. Move those hips and give us a show,” he laughed, slapping her ass.
The bastard was enjoying this. Rory glared at him, hating him with every fiber of her being. She was filthy. Used. Phantom’s cum was smeared on her face and running down her thighs. She needed a shower. God knew when she’d be allowed to have one.
“Dance,” Phantom ordered, accepting an opened bottle of beer from one of his brothers. “Or I’ll let my friends here line up and fuck the sass out of you instead.”
None of them would use a condom. Phantom hadn’t. The thought made her shudder in disgust, his semen still burning inside her. Thank God, she was on shots for birth control, but she still had to worry about STDs.
Taking a shaky breath, Rory rose to stand and began to move. Slowly at first, just a roll of her hips from side to side. Closing her eyes, she pretended she was back at the club. Snaking her hands up her body, she cupped her breasts. She could hear the familiar pulse of a song in her head. Feel the crowd’s eyes on her. Moaning softly, Rory tipped her chin up to the ceiling.
“Yeah! Work it, baby!”
“Fucking hell, she’s hot.”
Voices rose from around her, slamming her back into reality, making her movements falter. She opened her eyes to find a r
oomful of bikers ogling her from where they stood. Some had their cocks out, pumping into their fists while they watched her.
A hand grabbed her ankle, pulling her down and dragging her off the bar.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Got stage fright? Because I sure as shit know you dance better than that,” Phantom taunted.
Handing his beer off to another biker, he hit her, fist striking her cheek in a cruel blow.
Taken by surprise, Rory stumbled, falling to the floor with a cry.
“You bitches are only good for one thing,” he snarled at her, grabbing her hips and forcing her onto her hands and knees. “Fucking and breeding.”
His cock slammed into her, making Rory squeal.
Laughter rose around her. Groping hands felt up her tits. Fingers pumped suggestively between her lips. Phantom rode her savagely, determinedly, like he was trying to break a wild mustang to the saddle. Shunted forward with each snap of his hips, she whimpered softly, praying that he’d finish soon and terrified what would happen when he did.
“Premium pussy right here,” he boasted, using her hair like reins and forcing her head up.
Her pain seemed to excite him more. A few more thrusts and he roared his release, filling her with his cum.
Rory slumped to the floor when he let her go, rolling onto her side into a protective ball. Above her the men crowded in, jerking off until they’d covered her with their semen.
She could hear Phantom chuckling. The other bikers moaning and groaning to a finish. Her humiliation was raw, tinted with anger.
“Take her out back,” he ordered when they were done. “Hose her down and show her to her new home.”
Rough hands grabbed Rory’s biceps, hauling her onto her feet.
“I’ll fucking kill you for touching me,” she threatened, baring her teeth.
Phantom grinned. “And we’ll fuck you raw while you try. I promised the Prez a piece of you, and I know he likes it when they fight.”
Rory was dragged to a rear entrance. When one biker darted ahead to get the door, she was sickened to see these bikers belonged to the Death’s Head MC Valley of Fire Chapter, nearly ninety minutes north of the Hell’s Fury clubhouse.
Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Page 89
