Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition

by Elizabeth Knox

  Instead of driving up to the biker bar, they parked a half-mile out and went the rest of the way on foot. Quake, Beast, and Mason went in advance of the others. The less that was seen of them, the better.

  Finding a good position, they watched the bar, waiting until some of the bikers filtered out. Luck was on their side when one of them hung back to take a piss around the side of the building.

  As silent as ninjas, Quake and Beast stalked up behind him while Mason played lookout.

  Bracing a hand on the side of the building, the jackal had his fly open and his cock in hand.

  “Christ, that thing is so small, I’m surprised you can aim with it,” Beast commented beside him.

  Head whipping up, the man gaped at him, his eyes wide with shock.

  “I bet the girls have to fake it every time, don’t they?” Quake joined in, causing the man to spin around.

  With a blow to the neck, Beast rendered him unconscious, leaving them both to stare down at the jackal’s pitiful excuse of a dick.

  “You could have waited until he finished,” Quake grumbled.

  Beast shrugged. “Where would be the fun in that?”

  “I’m not touching his prick.”

  Releasing a sigh, Beast dropped to his haunches, ripped off the tail of the guy’s shirt, and used it as a potholder to tuck his handle back in his jeans.

  He didn’t touch the zipper, knowing whose hand had pulled it down. “You know I’ve gone the distance for at least all of you once when you’ve gotten drunk and passed out with your cock in some hoe.”

  Quake rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that image.”

  “Stop being a baby, and let’s get the fuck out of here.” Hauling the unconscious shifter up, Beast carried him in a fireman’s hold over one shoulder.

  Mason was waiting for them on the other side of the building when they rounded the corner. Nodding, he led the way as they set off to meet the others.

  Things had gone better than expected. As long as no one realized that this particular jackal was missing, they had plenty of time to get what they needed out of him.

  They loaded him into the cage that Stone was driving, knowing they’d need it to haul a body, dead or alive. This one was still kicking . . . for now. They took him to a secret room in the basement back at the clubhouse, one rarely used but stained from when it was.

  A floor drain and bleach helped, but you couldn’t wait to clean up and expect to get it spotless.

  The jackal’s eyes bugged to see the chair with restraints that they slapped him in.

  Stone studied him for a long, suspenseful moment. He nodded at Mayhem, who loved his knife nearly as much as his bike.

  Mayhem drew his blade from its sheath and waved it in the air, making the sign of the cross before a sinner in need of confession.

  “Talk,” Stone ordered. “What do you know about that purple car sitting in a ditch two miles from here? Who has her and where did they take her?”

  The jackal looked ready to piss himself. Sweat beaded his forehead. His eyes danced a mad fandango, searching for a plausible lie. “I don’t know nothin’!” he insisted. “I’ve been at The Snake Pit all morning.”

  Stone cast a look over his shoulder. “That true?”

  Eagle Eye punched up something on his phone. It took a minute before he had the answer. “Nope.”

  Turning the screen, Quake saw that he’d tapped into the security camera feed for the bar. The footage showed this son of a bitch and his buddies laughing and patting each other on the back as they went inside.

  The timestamp placed it thirty minutes after Magenta had dropped him off.

  Mayhem cut off the tip of his nose for lying.

  The jackal screamed. He screamed again when Chaos cauterized it.

  They were only beginning.

  The trouble was, this jackal was more afraid of his President Atilla than of them.

  “Bullshit,” Quake ground out. “The Death’s Head ran Magenta down, shot out her tire, and took her. Her goddamn car’s still sitting in the ditch. Maybe you should see how it feels.”

  Getting a nod of approval from Stone, he dragged the jackal out back to a drainage ditch on the property behind the clubhouse. Passing him to Ryder, who’d love nothing more than an excuse to use his axe on him, Quake went to the shed and returned with barbed wire and a shovel. With the lightning speed of their kind, he dug a hole nearly six feet deep in the lowest part of the ditch, wrapped their prisoner in barbed wire, dropped him into it, and buried him to the neck with only his head sticking out.

  By this time, the jackal was squealing like a stuck pig.

  “You ready to talk yet? No? Okay, then. You’re not gonna like what happens next.”

  His brothers snickered, curious to see what he planned.

  Motioning Wraith to come with him, Quake got a two-hundred-foot water hose, set one end in the ditch, and hooked the other end to a hydrant. Leaving Wraith to open it, he returned to where he’d buried the jackal.

  “One last chance,” he warned.

  The jackal only sobbed with pain.

  Quake motioned for Wraith to open the tap. The jackal had no idea what was happening until the first trickle of water hit him on the back of his neck.

  “What the fuck?” he screamed, tears streaming from his eyes.

  Quake hummed. “You’ve got maybe half an hour before the water covers your mouth. An hour tops until it covers your nose. Of course, you’ll need to talk before that . . . while you still can . . .”

  “Please!” he begged. While shifters had accelerated healing, most of them could be killed by ordinary things. Bullets striking vital organs, knives severing arteries and making them bleed out, poison, smothering . . .

  Drowning.

  More afraid of what was coming than the wrath of Atilla, he started singing like a canary, telling how they’d recognized Magenta’s car and followed her. He claimed Phantom called for a cage and an extra man, shot her tire, and dragged her from her bug. He loaded her into the cage and took off with her. To where, he didn’t know. One of their prospects had ridden Phantom’s bike back to the Death’s Head clubhouse.

  “What kind of van?” Quake demanded. They needed to know what they were looking for.

  The jackal gave them the make, model, and color of the cage. He was no help with the license plate but the passenger van was registered to their club. Eagle Eye could pull the plates from the state’s database.

  Quake fisted his hair and growled in his ear. “Which way were they headed? You sure the fuck saw that much at least.”

  “N-n-north!” he grated, panicked to feel the water lapping his chin.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “And that’s all you know?”

  “I swear!” he bawled.

  “Final answer?”

  “Yes!”

  Quake stood and brushed the imaginary cooties off his hands.

  Stone arched a brow. “What do you plan to do with him?”

  Quake smiled cruelly. “Exactly what they did to her car. Leave him in a ditch.”

  The jackal’s dying howl still echoed in his ears when four of them got on their bikes and rode north.

  8

  Khan could hold his liquor. Six beers weren’t enough to slur his speech or dim the look of lust in his dark eyes.

  He dragged Rory by the hair to his room and threw her onto a rumpled king-sized iron bed, the kind with a headboard built for kink.

  She tried to crawl away but he caught her hips and dragged her back. Wrapping her waist-length hair around his palm, he held her in place with one hand and unbuckled his belt with the other. Spitting on his dick, he poked her seam until he found her opening and muscled his way inside.

  Rory grunted from the force of it. He wasn’t Quake’s size but he was big enough when he was set on claiming her like the spoils of war.

  Closing her eyes, she clenched her jaw and pretended he was just another john. A filthy-talking asshol
e who’d paid for her time and intended to get the biggest bang for his buck.

  Rory slipped into Magenta mode, donning the persona that helped shield her from what was happening. Her alter ego protected her every night. It would serve to protect her now.

  Magenta was strong. She didn’t take shit unless she knew there’d be a payoff. She was the star of The Pole Barn. Madam Belle’s most expensive whore. The woman every man wanted and few could afford.

  She didn’t do pity fucks.

  She’d done Quake because she’d wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Learn if gargoyles really were that different. And oh, my God. Were they ever. She’d never had cock like that in her life, not in all the years she’d been sexually active. Candy, that lucky bitch, was their regular go-to when the Hell’s Fury MC members came to the club. She was a favorite because she could handle being tag-teamed or gang-banged and more than a few of them liked to share.

  Which was fine with Candy. Her motto was the more, the merrier.

  Khan jacked his hips, pumping into her, oblivious that she could put him so easily from her mind. “That’s it, bitch,” he growled, picking up speed and slamming into her. “Phantom was right. That’s premium pussy. Some bidder’s gonna pay top dollar for you. Here. Let’s see what you can do with that mouth.”

  His warning served as her reality check, pulling her from her reverie and forcing her back to the present. Slipping free of her pussy, he sat on the bed and shoved her onto the floor. She grunted with pain, landing on the gritty tile hard enough to bruise her knees.

  At least she didn’t have cum running out of her box. He’d stopped before he climaxed.

  “Blow me,” he ordered. “And no teeth if you know what’s good for you.”

  Fisting her hair, he pulled her face to his lap and forced his cock into her mouth, driving deep enough to trigger her gag reflex and cut off her air. Chuckling when he made her eyes tear and her nose run, he pulled her off and shoved in again, scraping her palate and poking her tonsils, feeding her his length. Controlling her with his hold, he fucked her face, jacking his hips, breath hissing between his teeth as he drove himself to completion.

  The break in his rhythm warned her that he was on the verge of coming. He grunted his release, shooting his wad in her mouth, filling it to overflowing.

  “Fuck,” he drawled, shuddering to a finish. “Now swallow. That’s it, bitch. Drink it down. Every drop or you’ll be licking it from the floor.”

  Magenta performed that service, swallowing his cum and pretending that it didn’t turn her stomach. Screwing Quake had been a blessing and a bane. He was her new measuring stick, the man every other john would have to compete with.

  She didn’t know if anyone could compare to him.

  Khan wasn’t even close.

  Ignorant of the fact, he pulled her up and threw her over his lap with her hips over one denim-clad thigh and her boobs hanging clear of the other. When she bent her elbows and pushed up with her forearms, Khan growled a warning and walloped her ass.

  “Settle, slut,” he ordered, smacking her again. “Or you’re gonna get the buckle end of my belt.”

  Magenta went perfectly still, not daring to breathe until she was certain he wouldn’t follow through on his threat. The President of the Death’s Head MC Valley of Fire Chapter was a kinky fucker with a spanking fetish. He blistered her bottom, setting it on fire before he was done. Admiring his handprints reddening her ass, he ordered her to stay put and found some rough jute rope.

  Just her luck, he had a bondage fetish too.

  The bastard bound her wrists together and tied her to one of the upright bars on his headboard. Securing her to a single point let him flip her front to back without undoing his knot. He positioned her on her back at first so that he could maul her breasts, biting them, sucking them, fastening his mouth here and there, and leaving hickeys.

  Satisfied that he’d marked her up, he flipped her onto her stomach. Reaching for the lube, he squirted some in her crack, dragged his glans through it, and zeroed in on his target. Guiding his cock to her backdoor, he made her squeal when he lunged, brutally thrusting inside her, not stopping until he was buried balls-deep in her ass.

  “Oh, yeah,” he crooned, pulling halfway out and slamming back in again. “I figured you’d be loose as a goose with all the men you handle but your twat’s snug and your ass is nice and tight.”

  He shunted in again, enjoying the feel of it.

  Magenta focused on yielding, keeping tension from making it worse. He wasn’t a paying john but her job right now was to lie here and take him. She wouldn’t put it past Khan to mark her permanently, carve her up, or brand her. She’d prefer to come out of this alive with the fewest injuries and scars as she could.

  Magenta was used to servicing clients. She leased out her body every night. Well, Madam Belle rented it for her. But Khan’s talk of a bidder made her certain that he planned to sell her. And when that happened, she’d be someone’s slave with no rights. No freedom to make decisions of her own. No choice to go or stay. She’d be some rich man’s fucktoy, forced to submit, to do whatever he demanded, no matter how depraved.

  She couldn’t live like that. She’d die in captivity.

  Her only chance was to escape. The only way she could do that was to wear Khan out, make him so tired she could sneak out of the clubhouse while everyone slept and head for the hills.

  She promised him if he cleaned up, she’d give him the blow job of his dreams. She swallowed his dick and kept on going until she’d gotten him hard again. Spreading her legs, she begged him to bang her pussy, then rolled onto her stomach and teased him until he was hard enough to ream out her ass.

  When she finally wore him out and he fell asleep, she started working the ropes with her teeth, tugging and gnawing as if her life depended on it. After long, breathless minutes, she managed to slip free.

  She had no clothes. No shoes. Nothing but determination and speed in her favor. Praying that luck was on her side, she eased open the door and listened for sounds of life. Hearing nothing but snores, soft and loud, she tiptoed into the hallway and headed for the side door that she’d seen when Khan had dragged her to his room.

  Gaining the outside, she took the first breath of freedom. Feeling the mild temperature, she thought that good fortune was with her until she found she couldn’t shift. Whatever drug they’d given her was wearing off but still strong enough to impair her abilities.

  Left with no choice but to maintain her human form and run, she headed for the rugged moonlit hills in the distance. They were farther than she thought. She was nearly at the base of a rocky ridge when she heard the sound of motorcycle engines screaming in the distance, ripping through gears, headlights bouncing as they came.

  A rush of adrenaline gave her speed and helped her reach the ridge. But by then, the jackals had caught up to her. She was grabbing for a handhold when someone triggered the shock collar on her throat, sending enough electricity through her to send her to her knees and make her piss herself.

  Mother. Fuck.

  Phantom laughed, the bastard. Khan strode up to her and backhanded her across the face. The instinct for self-preservation kicked in. She lashed out, clawing the shit out of the President’s face before Phantom shocked her again, leaving her jerking uncontrollably on the ground.

  Khan touched his face and came away with blood on his hands. Glowering at her, he hauled back his foot and kicked her in the ribs, cracking at least one of them. “Goddamn bitch,” he snarled. “You nearly took out my fucking eye! That’s it! No more Mr. Nice Guy. You’re going in the pit.”

  He’d brought more rope. Or maybe it was the same one he’d used in his bedroom. Either way, he bound her wrists and marched her along behind him, forcing her to keep up or be dragged. She judged that they’d gone a mile before reaching what looked like an abandoned mine.

  He stopped when she was near the edge. With only the light from the moon and their headlights, she stared into the
stygian darkness, an endless ink-black void.

  Untying the rope from the back of his bike, Khan grabbed her biceps and shoved her toward the pit. Her bare feet touched the rim, almost sending her down.

  “You can try and claw your way up but you won’t get out,” he promised. “No one ever has.”

  Swallowing hard, she darted a nervous look at the blackness that waited to suck her down. One of the jackals wrapped a rope around her waist and knotted it. Focused on what he was doing, she failed to see the syringe Phantom jabbed into her neck until it was too late.

  She felt the sting of the needle and a familiar warmth flow through her. She looked at her fingers, wondering why they wouldn’t work. Her legs started to buckle, offering no resistance when Khan pushed her backward over the edge.

  A scream tore from her throat as she tumbled down the shaft, crying out in pain when her flailing arms hit the jagged, narrow sides. She cried out again when the rope jerked, breaking her fall. It cut into her, making her cracked ribs hurt like the devil.

  “Stop struggling, bitch!” Khan shouted above her. “Unless you wanna break something.”

  Clutching the rope that left her dangling in the air, Magenta fought not to panic. She had no idea how far she would fall when they let go of the rope and let her drop. A scream tore from her throat, thinking this was it, but she hit the ground with an oomph.

  With her keen shifter sight, once her eyes had time to adjust, she could make out the walls of her prison. There was no way out but up. No tunnel she could crawl through. It was a shaft. A pit, exactly what they’d called it. If she wanted to leave, someone would need to lower a rope or ladder.

  Chin tilting upward, she could see Phantom and Khan peering down at her from far above, their faces illuminated and their heads backlit by the headlights of the bikes.

  Magenta rose on shaky legs, her hands flattening against the rocky wall. “Let me out!”

  Their laughter rained down on her, cruel and harsh, confirming what her sinking heart already knew.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Phantom called. “It’s a long night and it gets cold out here.”