Rider: An MC Club Alpha Male Romance (17 page)

CLAIRE

Doug sent me to the hospital right away. I had a few bruises left from my beating-in, but nothing serious. Really, I think he just wanted to make sure I didn’t go off and try to find Fatman myself.

As soon as I got into my hospital room, I collapsed on the bed, without even taking off my clothes. I only awoke when my phone began to ring. I assumed it was Doug—assumed he was calling to give me some inconsequential update.

But instead, I saw it was from an unknown number. I grabbed it and answered, hoping against home that somehow, some way, it would be Fang.

“Claire,” the voice on the other line said. It was practically drained of emotion, though I had to admit that it sounded familiar. Who the hell could this be?

Then, my eyes widened. Misty.

“Misty? Is that you, Misty?”

“Yes. I’m with Fang and Fatman.”

“Is Fang alive?”

“Not for long. Fatman wants to kill him. I think he’s trying to figure out if he can use him as a bargaining chip or not but he’s lost it. Like, really, really lost it. He’s paranoid and everything.”

“Where are you?”

She gave me the address. I didn’t recognize it but I wrote it down.

“We’ll be there soon, hun. Where are you now?”

“I’m at a payphone around the street.”

“Okay. Get to a hospital or a police station as soon as possible.”

The phone clicked off. I bit my lip. I hoped to God she would.

I forced my exhausted body out of bed and grabbed my gun. I called Doug immediately and told him what had happened as I threw on my shoes.

“I’m going there right now,” I told him.

“No, Claire, we’ll send a SWAT team. You’ve done enough.”

“No! I’m not going to let Fang face this alone!” I screamed at him. “I’m going to get him and you can’t stop me.”

I threw the phone against the wall. I was on the war path now, and there was nothing that would stop me.

FANG

I heard the sirens roaring down the street and that’s when I knew it was all over.

“How the fuck did they find us?!” Fatman demanded, storming into my cell-like room. I had nodded off, my head leaning forward in exhaustion and agony.

“Extra-sensory perception?” I suggested casually with a shrug. He groaned and slammed his fist against a wall.

“You’re going to die now, you son of a bitch…” he growled as he advanced on me, his knife drawn. As he came within rang, my leg shot up and kicked him hard in the crotch. With a groan, he doubled over.

“Fuck…” he moaned, falling to his knees.

I stood, the chair still tied to my back, even though my shattered legs screamed at me, begged to be allowed to buckle. I flung one of my legs hard into his face, as hard as I could, feeling my own broken bones and smashed tendons protest, protest screaming, as I sank us both into a world of agony.

Then, I turned around suddenly, smashing the legs of the chair into his already bloodied face. That’s where my luck ran out, though—he tackled me, knocking me to the floor with his enormous girth. His weight pressed down hard on my broken legs and I arched my back, gritting my teeth in pain.

His fat, plump hands were around my throat then, squeezing hard, choking me. I felt my airway close up and then I felt my world going black. I struggled as best I could: I flailed, I pumped my lame legs, I tried to bend my neck down far enough to sink my teeth into his sweaty, bloodied hands.

Claire. I thought of Claire as my world went black. I hoped she was okay. I hoped she would move on from this.

I hoped she would be happy.

I’m sorry, I tried to say as I slipped out of consciousness. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry about Fred. I’m sorry we could never give us a chance. I’m sorry.

I wanted to be with her, to be free with her. Well, maybe in the next life, I supposed.

And then, a thunderous boom rang out. Fatman’s hands went limp around his neck and he collapsed onto me. I rolled my beaten, abused body against his, forcing it off me, slick with his gushing blood and the stink of his death.

There, in the doorway, stood Misty, her little malnourished chest rising and falling slowly and resolutely. In her hands, smoking, was Fatman’s cherished .50 caliber rifle. It was almost as big as she was.

“Good shot, kid,” I murmured as I glanced at the dead bastard on the floor. The round had bored a hole straight through Fatman’s chest and come out on the other side—in other words, it tore out his heart.

What happened next was a blur: we heard the doors being broken down on the first floor of the safe house.

“Put the gun down,” I ordered Misty. “Before they think you’re with him.”

She nodded, a look of terror on her face—to have come so far and get mistaken for one of Fatman’s loyalists. She heaved the gun as hard as she could, sending it clattering a few feet into the corner.

Then, SWAT team agents streamed into the room. Misty put her hands on her head as they forced her to the ground.

“She’s on our side,” I yelled. “Be gentle with her.”

But my words were cut off my hot lips pressed to mine. Claire was in front of me, now, still dressed as a biker, un-showered, sweaty, but alive. She had either hand on my face and she was kissing me and I was kissing her.

“Welcome back, kiddo,” I growled as I passed out.

CLAIRE

Instead of flowers, I brought Fang a burrito and a variety of hot sauces from his fridge.

It was two weeks before they’d let me see Fang. He’d passed out almost as soon as we got to him and the doctors said he was in an especially bad state: he’d had three ribs broken, his knee caps shattered, and one of his kidneys had failed. The wound on his lower back also had the beginnings of a nasty infection that threatened to spread to his other organs.

They told me that he didn’t even wake up for the first two days. Doug insisted I go to the hospital myself during that time, which I think was really just a ploy to keep an eye on me.

“Hey you,” I said as Fang looked away from the TV. He was shirtless, sitting in his hospital bed under just a sheet, tattoos gleaming. He was heavily bandaged but somehow, that just made him look sexier to me. I, meanwhile, was just wearing a Florida State t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

He grinned as he clicked off the TV.

“I was wondering when you would show up. Or if.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I told him as I set down his food. I leaned forward to press my lips to his and he put a hand around my head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I never told you about Fred…”

“It’s fine. We’re here now. We’re together,” I whispered back, kissing his lips as I nibbled at them.

“For now,” he grunted. “They’re going to put me in witness protection soon. I’m going god knows where.”

“Then it’ll be just like that night on the beach,” I said, starting to pull my shirt over my head. I undid my bra and grinned at him, holding it still to my chest until he pulled my hands away and placed his warm, powerful arms around my waist, pulling me close, pulling me on top of him.

“Ah…” he gasped, ever so slightly, from the pain as I eased myself onto him.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. My ribs are just still kind of tender.”

“Will this help?” I asked as I kissed down his bandaged chest, catching one of his nipples in my mouth. He gave a bestial grunt as I suckled and teased him, running my hand beneath the sheet to find him totally naked.

I wrapped my hand around his manhood, savoring the feel of it in my hand as I began to stroke it, getting him harder and harder with each passing second.

“I want you inside of me, Fang…” I whispered softly, tugging at his nipple. I stood up, dropped my pants, and—here, I had worn a second little thong that I thought he would like. One that I had bought specially for him. The crotch was covered in little hot peppers.

“Oh, hey,” he said with an easy smile as he saw it. “That looks delicious.”

I bit my lip as I slid it to the side, showing him my hot center, all ready for him. I mounted him and gasped as I slid myself down onto his thick, throbbing tool, whimpering in delight as I began to ride him.

“Oh, Fang… Fang…” I moaned, grunting in time with him. He began to thrust up and into me and I found myself throwing my head back and gasping, whimpering in delight as his cock dug into me. I wanted this so badly, wanted to feel him inside of me once last time.

“Fang, baby… Please…” I grunted, groaning with passion.

“You’re even tighter now than you were before,” he growled hotly and I found myself giggling like I was back in college.

And I felt like it too. I felt like I was a whole new person with him, like I had been reinvented, like I had been reborn. I loved it and I didn’t want to let it go.

“Fang! Fang!” I gasped, grinding myself into him, leaning down over him and letting his hot mouth rake its way over my needy flesh. “Please… Please, baby…”

And suddenly, he grabbed me hard around the waist and flipped us both over, all without exiting my tightness. I gasped in delight as he was suddenly on top of me, suddenly pumping and pounding into me, his hardness pistoning into my tight, wet core, filling me up.

“Oh, god!” I shrieked with delight, wrapped my legs around him, pulling him into me, my body all but sucking in his long, hot flesh, savoring every inch of him. I felt filled like I hadn’t felt in so, so long…

“Harder, harder, harder…” I whispered as I felt myself getting closer and closer, all from the way Fang’s powerful hips grinded harder and harder, deeper and deep, powering his shaft deep into me. “Please, don’t stop… Please, make me cum…”

“That’s it,” he growled in my ear, a hot groan escaping his lips. I found myself grabbing his lean, muscled ass tight as I pulled him into me. “That’s it.”

And suddenly, he arched his back, groaning a loud, deep, animalistic groan as he released himself into me. I squealed with delight, his hot seed filling me, flowing deep into me as his cock spasmed inside of me. That all pushed me over the edge and a moment later, only a moment, I was on top of the world, my mind and brain spinning with pleasure. It felt like the bed was shaking, like the entire hospital was shaking as I went flying over the precipice of pleasure, my muscles gripping and clenching and unclenching tight around Fang.

Finally, he pulled out of me and we lay there in that tiny hospital bed, covered in each other’s sweat, our chest’s rising and falling slowly, methodically.

“I love you, you know,” he whispered.

“I know,” was all I replied as I pulled him in for a kiss and rolling on top of him once more. If we only had one night together, one more night, I was bound and determined to make it worth it.

EPILOGUE: CLAIRE

“The Damned has completely ceased to function as an organized criminal enterprise…” Doug was saying. I couldn’t bring myself to concentrate on the words, though. I knew Fang was in witness protection now, knew he had been moved somewhere on the other side of the country. Reminders of the case, like the recent prosecution of the surviving Damned MC club members, just brought Fang’s ghost to the forefront of my aching heart.

“All thanks to you, Powell,” Doug finished. We were in his office—his new office, since he had been promoted after the sting—and it was getting near evening. As we talked, the parking lot outside continued to empty, car by car at first, and then faster and faster as employees left in droves.

“And Fang,” I pointed out. “He did as much as I did. More.”

“And Fang,” Doug conceded with a smile.

My parents took Misty in as a foster child, since she refused to go back into the “system” as she called it. She was doing well, even though she still rarely spoke—she was in a special class at the local high school for kids who had experienced especially terrible trauma. I had seen her just the last weekend: she had gained weight, I’m sure in no small part due to my mother’s Cuban cooking.

But Fang? I hadn’t heard from him. I wasn’t supposed to try and contact him, nor was I given any details as to where he had gone. And I knew if he were to contact me, I was obligated to ignore him. Witness protection only worked if the people in it cut all ties to their previous lives.

And, as strange as it was, I was now part of his previous life. I was part of his time with the Damned MC.

I was no longer an active agent. Instead, I was given a desk job, analyzing intelligence on organized crime. It was fine—much more boring than being a special agent, but also a lot less dangerous. And, unsurprisingly, I had to cover up all my tattoos. The bureau offered to pay to have them lasered off, but I couldn’t bring myself to erase that part of my life.

“You know, Claire,” Doug said suddenly, as I realized I had zoned out staring at the parking lot. “I heard of a good opening at the Bureau’s Seattle office. Organized crime work, like you’d be doing here, but at a higher pay grade.”

“Seattle? What’s in Seattle?”

Doug smiled and shrugged.

“No idea.”

My eyes widened.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

He gave me a hard, almost expressionless look.

“I’m telling you that there’s a very good job for you in Seattle if you want it. And now, I’m going to leave this folder on my desk and go to the bathroom and I’m not going to ask any questions when I get back.”

With that, he rose and walked out of his office without looking back once.

The folder in question was your standard, boring manila envelope. I opened it up and realized it was Doug’s own collection of documents related to the case: there were my notes on the Damned, transcripts of court proceedings, expenditure reports, a therapist’s report on Misty… It was a strange, chaotic collection of the textual trace of the last few months.

And then, there it was: a request for the transfer of an informant into witness protection. The informant wasn’t named in the application—he was just “Applicant 4958242.” But he had been transferred to Seattle.

It had to be Fang. This was Doug, giving me Fang’s whereabouts. Seattle.

I rested my hand on my belly as I stared at the file. My stomach had grown in the past few months. I had to go to Seattle.