Nitro: MC Biker Romance (Dark Pharaohs Motorcycle Club Romance Book 4)

by Ivy Black

  I drove a pair of fingers deep into her as I took her clit into my mouth, sucking on it furiously. I pumped my fingers into her, lapping at Hadley’s swollen bud with a passionate ferocity that made her entire body quiver. With her hands still in my hair, pulling on it, she holds me there, pressed against her core. She grinds herself against my mouth, taking my fingers and tongue even deeper into her.

  I feel Hadley’s body tighten up, her every muscle locking. And then all at once, the dam inside of her seemed to break as she threw her head back and cried out, a powerful orgasm crashing down over her. Hadley’s entire body trembles, and her cries are long and stuttering. But as she continues to grip my hair tightly, I lick and finger Hadley through her orgasm, prolonging the pleasure that’s coursing through her body and trying to take her even higher.

  She leans against me, her breath slowly coming back to her, but her entire body feels limp so I help keep her on her feet. She gives me a crooked, wavering smile, a mischievous glint in her eye as she sinks to her knees. I gasp when she swallows my cock whole, taking as much of my length into her mouth as she can, then grabs my staff around the base and squeezes it tight. Her eyes are locked on mine as she starts working her hand and mouth in unison, sending a current of electricity coursing through me.

  I look down at her as she continues to move her hand and mouth up and down on my staff, and I let out a stuttering groan when she teases the soft, sensitive spot beneath the head with the tip of her tongue. She tightens her lips and hand around my shaft and continues to pump and suck me furiously. I throw my head back and let out a long, loud groan.

  My body is shuddering, and my every nerve ending feels like it’s on fire. I reach down and take a fistful of Hadley’s hair, gripping it tightly as I’m battered by waves of sensation. As I start to thrust my hips, she looks up at me and digs her fingernails into my hips. Her eyes are alight with a lustful glee as I fuck her mouth and she moans, the vibration of her voice traveling the length of my cock. As she tightens her lips around my staff, I very nearly lose control. A choked gasp bursts from my throat, and I have to take a step back, a wicked grin on my face.

  “Jesus,” I gasp. “Not yet. I’m not done with you yet.”

  She gets to her feet and smiles seductively at me. I step forward and press her hard against the wall behind her, my mouth crashing against hers. Our kiss is intense, and my veins feel as if they’re filled with liquid fire. My cock growing impossibly hard, I pick her up and hold her against the wall. Hadley wraps her legs around my waist and she cries out as I drive my staff deep into her.

  Hadley leans forward and sinks her teeth into my shoulder, drawing a sharp hiss from me. But God, the feeling of being so deep in her and how tight she is around me, feels so good, so intense, that every cell in my body is tingling. I kiss her neck and give her collarbone a nip as I start slamming myself into her harder and faster.

  The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes around the shower, mingling with our moans and cries. It’s a sweetly erotic symphony that fills my soul with light and joy—it’s something I never truly thought I’d ever feel again. I press my mouth to hers, savoring the feeling of her kiss, the feeling of being so deep inside of her almost too much for me to bear.

  I set her down and turn Hadley around, bending her over at the waist so she has to plant her hands against the shower wall. I reach up and grip her shoulders tightly then drive my rigid staff into her again, and she cries out. I plunge my cock into her and pierce her core, sucking in a breath as I feel my thick shaft sliding along her wet inner walls, the overwhelming sensations gripping me.

  I reach up, grip a handful of her hair, and yank her head back, and she lets out a low moan. With one hand on her shoulder, the other in her hair, I pull her backward onto me, forcing her to take my staff even deeper.

  “God, Milo, yes,” she cries out. “You feel so good.”

  An unintelligible grunt escapes me as I pull her head back even harder while I power myself into her. I close my eyes, reveling in the feeling of being so deep inside of her. Hadley arches her back and presses herself against me, tightening herself around my staff. Her muscles tense up and then a long stuttering cry passes her lips as her body starts to quiver. She writhes wildly as she cums, and I just keep thrusting myself into her, making her scream even louder.

  I feel my cock swelling within her and my groans blend with her stuttering gasps, and with my stomach clenching, I burst inside of her. We rock back and forth together as I fill her with my seed. My staff throbs and pulses as I drain myself inside of her, my body shaking and my breath ragged. But fuck, it feels amazing.

  Slowly, our breathing returns to normal, and the fire inside of me gradually fades. Hadley stands up and turns around, wrapping her arms around me. I pull her to me tighter, wrapping her up in my arms. It seems like it’s been a lifetime since I last felt this content. Since I looked into her eyes and felt so cared for. It feels like a lifetime since the last time I felt this happy.

  She looks up at me and smiles. “This is going to be complicated, isn’t it?”

  I flash her a roguish grin. “I certainly hope so.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nitro

  “Did he say anything weird that day of the pickup?” I ask. “Do anything weird?”

  Blake purses his lips and screws up his face as he thinks about it. “Not that I recall. I mean, he’s kind of a strange dude, so can you be more specific?”

  I chuckle because it’s true. Grease is a strange guy. He’s on the fringes of the MC and kind of an outsider. He’s usually cranky and kind of an asshole. But even still, I’m having a hard time believing that he’d turn traitor on us. I have a hard time believing anybody in the MC would turn traitor on us.

  But I guess that’s my blind spot. I have such faith in this MC—and all the guys in it—and love my brothers with such ferocity that I have a hard time thinking they’d do anything to hurt us. It’s funny that I tend to think the worst of most people, but when it comes to my brothers-in-arms, I can’t ever help but see the best in them. Even in a guy like Grease.

  I take a drink of my coffee and sit back in my chair. Blake and I are sitting in the clubhouse that morning. Prophet shot me a text last night, telling me to be at the clubhouse bright and early. It was fortuitous that I ran into Blake because I wanted to talk to him about Grease. I had some questions for him.

  “Well, did he make any calls? Get any calls?” I ask. “Like, was he secretive about his calls or texts?”

  Blake frowns as he thinks about it. “Well, I mean, he did get a call, but I didn’t really pay attention to it. It wasn’t my business, so I didn’t really pay attention,” he says. “I try to avoid getting all up in other people’s business.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I reply.

  “What’s going on? What’s up with all the questions?” he asks.

  I don’t say anything for a moment as I sip my coffee. All the while though, I can see Blake’s mind working. And then he might as well have had a cartoon light bulb flash to life over his head as his eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

  “You think he had something to do with us getting jacked, huh?” Blake asks.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to, bro. I mean, your poker face is for shit. Seriously.”

  I chuckle. “Kiss my ass.”

  “Seriously, are you looking at Grease?”

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair. Obviously, I need to work on my interrogation skills. They make getting information without tipping your hand look so easy in the movies.

  “Okay, listen, what I’m about to tell you is in the strictest confidence. Seriously, this is between you and me,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, no sweat.”

  “I’m serious, Blake. This can’t leave this room.”

  He looks at me, his expression serious as he nods. “My lips are sealed, man.”

  This doesn’t happen of
ten, but I feel like I can trust Blake. He seems like a good guy, but more than that, he seems trustworthy. I think he’s solid.

  “We think we’ve got a mole in the club. Somebody’s setting us up to get jacked,” I tell him. “So Prophet has me looking into everybody. I’m tasked with finding out who’s selling us out. And why. My guess is that money’s at the root of it. Somebody’s getting paid to give up the intel on our runs.”

  “You really think somebody’s screwing us like that?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to believe it. But the evidence we’ve got so far seems to suggest we do. I mean, don’t you think it’s pretty coincidental that we get hit on two separate runs?”

  “Well, yeah, but I thought you were looking at Cort?”

  I shrug. “Like I said, I’m looking at everybody right now.”

  “Even me?”

  “Are you part of everybody?”

  “I guess so.”

  “There’s your answer,” I say with a grin.

  The truth is, there are certain people I’ve already ruled out. I know Hadley doesn’t think I should rule anybody out and that everybody is a suspect, but I think there are certain people that don’t fit the profile of a traitor. Leadership, for one. These are the guys who built the club. I don’t see that any of them would turn around and sell it out. That doesn’t make sense. I also don’t see Monk, Spyder, or Domino doing it either. They’re loyal to a fault.

  After giving it some thought, there are only a handful of guys who make me question their loyalty to the club. And Grease is one of them. To be honest, he’s probably the one who’s highest on that list for me. The thing I get hung up on is his motive. What could possibly make him turn on his brothers? Money? That’s usually the motive. And if that’s Grease’s motive, it begs the question: who’s paying him for the intel on our shipments?

  But before I can start trying to untangle this possible conspiracy, I need to figure out whether my instincts about Grease are right or whether I’m barking up the wrong tree.

  “So you didn’t hear anything when he was on his call?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No, man. I’m sorry.”

  “No worries,” I reply. “But like I said, keep a lid on this.”

  “You’ve got my word.”

  The door to the clubhouse opens and Prophet walks in. Cosmo and Monk are right behind him, all of them looking grim.

  “Nitro. Let’s ride,” Prophet says. “We’ve got a meet with Tarantula, and I need some backup.”

  “You got it, Prez.”

  “What about me, Prez?” Blake asks.

  Prophet grins. “You stay here and wash the vans, prospect.”

  I give a frowning Blake a thumbs up and a laugh as I follow Prophet and the others out of the clubhouse.

  ***

  “So what’s the deal?” I ask.

  “Tarantula called me this morning and asked to meet. I didn’t like his tone,” Prophet replies. “I wanted some backup in case shit went sideways.”

  “You think they’re lookin’ for war?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. But he’s definitely got a stick up his ass about something. And I’d rather have some—deterrent—in case he gets squirrely on us. Hopefully, you guys being here will help cooler heads prevail.”

  “Great. This sounds fun.”

  Prophet chuckles then walks away to quietly confer with Cosmo and Monk. We’re in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse that sits halfway between Blue Rock and their clubhouse where we usually meet for pickups and drop-offs. It sits in an unincorporated stretch of land that’s been abandoned which makes it ideal for the sorts of things we get up to out here. It was out here where we blew up the Zavala cartel and destroyed them. Literally.

  As the three of them kept talking, I took the opportunity to walk the perimeter of the parking lot and lay out a few surprises of my own. If shit does start going sideways on us, I’m going to give us the edge on Tarantula and his guys.

  Tarantula is the president of Montezuma’s Warriors, a Mexican MC that operates mostly in the Central Valley. We’ve dealt with them for a long while now, but over the last year, they’ve become pretty tight allies for us. We’ve gone through some shit together. With Tarantula leading them—and after he cleaned house—I think they’re solid. They seem to be stand-up guys. So to hear that Tarantula’s got this sudden hard-on for us is troubling. Though, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what it might be.

  The rumble of Harleys fills the air and when I turn, I spot four bikes rolling our way. I unhook the holster my sidearm is in for easy access. I see the others do the same. Then I slip the detonator out of my pocket and press the button to arm the charges I laid out there. Prophet gives me a nod.

  “Eyes up, boys,” he says. “You know the rules—don’t engage unless they make a move first. And if they do, put them down.”

  It’s not a very comforting sentiment after Prophet told us he’s not expecting trouble. But hey, I guess it’s better to be prepared. Better to be ready and have nothing happen than to have some shit go down and not be ready for it.

  Tarantula and his guys rumble to a stop and cut their engines. They dismount and take their time to strip their helmets and gloves off. The tension in the air is already thick with a whispered promise of violence. And I don’t like it. I hang back from the group a bit, though not too far, and scan the surrounding area, looking for the telltale glint of sun off a glass scope. I search for anything that tells me we’re being set up.

  “Relax, ese,” Tarantula’s VP, a guy named Bala, tells me. “There ain’t nobody else out there.”

  The Warriors are a hard-looking crew, but it’s Bala that worries me the most. He’s the sort of guy who shoots first and doesn’t bother asking questions. The guy is wound tight and can shift from mellow and relaxed to violent madman in the blink of an eye. He’s got an intimidating presence that not even Tarantula has. And he’s loyal to his prez. Bala will literally walk into fire to protect Tarantula.

  I flash him a grin and shrug. “It’s my job, man.”

  Bala grins and nods as if he understands. And maybe he does. I stand at ease, but I don’t stop scanning the land around us. Like I said, I don’t trust anybody. Least of all, a rival MC. We’re allies today, but I know that alliances are usually built on shifting sands.

  “Three of my men are dead, homes,” Tarantula says.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Prophet replies. “Cartel retaliation?”

  Tarantula clucks his teeth and frowns. “Nah, man. I think you know what happened,” he said. “And I’m here because I want to give you guys a chance to get right with this. Get right with me.”

  “What are you talkin’ about, man?” Cosmo asks.

  “You really gonna stand there and pretend like you don’t know?” Bala retorts. “What do you think? We’re a bunch of chumps?”

  “Fellas, we have no idea what in the hell you guys are talking about,” Prophet says.

  Tarantula and Bala exchange glances. The two men standing behind them subtly inch their hands down toward the guns in their belts.

  “Easy, guys,” Monk says. “We didn’t come out here for trouble.”

  “Okay, let me lay it out for you,” Tarantula says. “Way I heard it, you had a couple of your shipments jacked. Yeah?”

  Prophet nods. “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Uh-huh,” Tarantula says. “After your last shipment got jacked, three of my men get shot to hell, homes. You tellin’ me that’s a coincidence?”

  We all exchange glances, the confusion on Prophet’s face mirroring that on the rest of ours. Prophet finally turns back to Tarantula.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you. We had nothing to do with your guys getting shot,” he says.

  “We got a call, ese,” Bala tells him. “A tip from somebody who said you fools clipped our guys thinkin’ we jacked your goods.”

  �
��Oh yeah? And who told you that?” Prophet says.

  “Doesn’t matter, homes,” Tarantula says. “I want to know if it’s true. After all we been through together lately, I at least wanted to give you the courtesy of a face-to-face before we get it on.”

  “Tarantula, there’s nothin’ to get on. We didn’t do it,” Prophet says. “And we never said you jacked our truck. That thought never crossed our minds, man.”

  “You sure about that?” Tarantula asks.

  “Yeah, we’re sure,” Cosmo snaps. “You guys weren’t even on our radar for that.”

  “Then how do you explain the phone call?” Bala asks.

  “I got no idea,” Monk growls. “But none of that shit came from us.”

  Tarantula and Prophet stand there staring at one another, the tension in the air growing ever thicker. Nobody moves for a long moment as everybody is squaring off. It’s like a street in an Old West town at high noon, right before the climactic gunfight. And then all at once, there’s a flurry of motion as we all draw down on each other.

  I stand there with my eyes narrowed, my gun sighted down on the guy standing behind Tarantula. Everybody’s got their guns pointed at one another, everybody waiting for somebody to make the first move.

  “This is fucking stupid,” I say. “Think about it, Tarantula.”

  “It’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about for days. Those were my friends, ese.”

  I can feel the situation slipping away from us. Things are about to go off the rails, and we’re all going to die out here unless we can inject a little common fucking sense into the situation. So before anybody can do something stupid, something we can’t take back, I press the button on my remote, triggering my first surprise package.