Roped (5 page)

“God, that’s hot,” Tek groaned.

Fuck yeah, it was hot, but he doubted for the same reason Tek thought. He loved having Tek’s gaze on him, and without dropping his eyes, he moved across the chick’s chest—he still didn’t know her name and didn’t care—and lavished the other tight nub with teeth and tongue.

There was no way in hell Jamie was going to go any farther down her body. Instead, he pulled off the nipple with a pop and waggled his brows at Tek. “Want a taste?”

“Fuck yeah!” Tek smirked.

Jamie stood up and turned the chick around in his arms, encouraged her to lean back against him without ever taking his eyes off Tek. Jamie grabbed her thighs, spreading them wide as Tek made his way down her body, going to his knees, licking and sucking at her tender flesh. Jamie couldn’t stand it; he closed his eyes, imagined Tek going to his knees for him. Tek’s lips wrapped around Jamie’s cock, the wicked tongue working his flesh. The image sent a thrill racing down Jamie’s spine, and he began thrusting against her, pushing her harder against Tek’s mouth.

Blondie’s whimpers turned to long drawn-out moans, the sound grating on Jamie, ruining his fantasy. He opened his eyes in time to see Tek working his fingers inside her passage, twisting and stroking. A flare of jealousy raced through Jamie, but he clamped down on it. This had been a bad fucking idea, and suddenly, he just wanted it over.

Jamie changed the position of his hands, gripped her thighs, lifted her up off the shower floor and spread her even wider so her legs were draped over his forearms. Tek sat back on his heels, continuing to pump his fingers in and out, but Jamie’s jealousy wavered. Tek kept his gaze on Jamie, his eyes dark with lust, and the change in position had exposed Jamie’s cock to Tek, who slid his fingers along the top of it. The image before him, the feeling of Tek touching him, nearly knocked Jamie on his ass, it was so powerful.

Without warning, Tek rolled to his feet, and in one swift movement, he removed his fingers and thrust deep inside Blondie. Jamie’s cock slid along Tek’s sac with each thrust, causing Jamie’s eyes to roll back in his head.

“Son of a bitch,” Jamie grunted as he was shoved against the tile wall as Tek began to snap his hips with more force.

Tek placed a hand on either side of Blondie and Jamie’s head and locked eyes with Jamie. “Best fucking birthday ever, man,” Tek groaned and emphasized each word with a hard thrust.

Jealousy and defiance raged in Jamie, mixing and battling with lust and need. Each movement of Tek’s body forced Blondie’s ass back against Jamie at the perfect angle to ensure that each thrust forced Jamie’s hard cock against Tek’s balls. The jealousy and defiance was quickly replaced until only the lust and hunger remained.

Jamie stared into those black eyes; his own need pushed higher and higher. His cock was against Tek’s sac, the chick forgotten, lost in Tek’s lust-filled gaze. Jamie fought to hold back the orgasm rushing down his spine. He was determined to keep his eyes open, wanted to see the pleasure on Tek’s face as he fell over the edge into orgasm. Christ, how he wanted to kiss that sexy mouth. Shove his tongue past those full lips, taste him again.

Tek doubled his efforts, thrusting hard and fast into Blondie, the rhythm increasing the friction on Jamie’s cock. He wasn’t sure he could take much more before he lost it—his cock so fucking hard it was going to burst, his sac full and heavy from the dual stimulation.

“Oh fucking hell,” Tek grunted as his spine arched and his head fell back as he gave in to his orgasm.

The blissed-out look on Tek’s face, the silky skin of his balls against Jamie’s dick ripped his release out of him so suddenly that it consumed every fiber of his being. He could only give in to the pleasure and ride it out as he bathed Tek’s balls with each pulse of his orgasm. That was the closest he’d ever gotten to his fantasy, the closest he’d ever dared to get.

It’s amazing the cruelties one man can inflict upon another. It’s been my experience that next to religious beliefs, the greatest acts of cruelty are done in the name of honor. One man steals from you, you cut off his hand. One dares to step on your turf, you take out his knees. Loss of a tongue the punishment for taking food from your family. The ultimate sin, putting a hand on someone you love, threatening them, the payment is blood and brain matter scattered across a flithy warehouse floor.

When did violence become the norm and the turn-the-other-cheek mentality become the rarity? When did we begin viewing men with the courage to walk away, to be the better man, as nothing more than weak? Has it always been this way? Will it always be this way? Why did I become one of the masses rather than a rarity of courage?

Tek Cain

C
IGARETTE
CLENCHED
between his teeth, wind blowing his hair back, Tek flew down the darkened highway; the lights of the city in the distance beckoned him. He loved the feel of his hog beneath him, the way it vibrated with power, as it ate up the pavement—the freedom of the road.

The brake lights of the lead bikes flashed red, and Tek eased off the gas. He followed Rocco and Sully, Jamie on his hog to Tek’s right, onto the gravel road. The feel-good moment of the open road was washed away with adrenaline as Tek’s pulse began to race. This was to be an easy hit, get in, grab the guns, set the C-4 and bye-bye Westside Bangers’ warehouse.

The Bangers had been a thorn in the Crimson VIII’s side for too fucking long. They’d started out as nothing more than some wannabe gang, running a petty dope operation. No real threat. The club had kept a close eye on them as their numbers began to grow, but as long as they didn’t interfere with Crimson VIII Motorcycle club biz, the bastards could grow all the dope they wanted. Fucking potheads were worthless. The law within the MC had zero tolerance for members who did any kind of drugs. Rocco had the club running meth and heroine for about ten years; it had been a very profitable business. But in the end, the loss became too great. They’d lost more members to overdose and pickled brains than they’d ever lost to bullets. When Tek was fifteen, Rocco outlawed all drugs. Members could drown in pussy, drink booze till it was pouring out their arses, but no drugs.

Had the Bangers stuck with smoking, munching, and giggling they would have been fine, but the dumb fucks had to go and get greedy. They just had to start cutting into Crimson VIII’s profit. Rocco assured Tek and the others that the run tonight was nothing more than a message. However, Tek knew firsthand how quickly shit could turn ugly. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as they parked the bikes in the woods.

Rocco crouched down near the end of his bike and pointed at Sully and Jamie and then toward the west side of the warehouse. He then pointed at Tek and gave the hand signal for ‘on me.’ Tek gritted his teeth against the protest that wanted out as he watched Jamie move off into the dark with Sully. He understood Rocco’s reasoning—a veteran with a younger member—but it just didn’t sit right with Tek. Jamie was his responsibility.

Tek pulled the Beretta 90-TWO from his waistband at the small of his back and pushed the safety lever into the “fire” position as he followed Rocco to the east. Tek’s attention was only half on Rocco as he watched Jamie’s familiar form move off to the west. Tek’s unease grew. He didn’t trust anyone to have his back other than Jamie, and Tek hated not being able to have Jamie’s. They were a team, a constant, one incomplete without the other. Still, he pushed the anxiety down, focused on the task at hand. Get in and get out as quickly as possible. The sooner they got this shit done, got back to the clubhouse, Jamie safe, the better Tek would feel.

Rocco came to a stop behind a small group of trees. He pointed two fingers toward his eyes and then to the front door of the warehouse where a lone figure stood smoking. Tek nodded. They’d done recon, and these yahoos never had more than two men on guard duty. No doubt the other was somewhere munching Cheetos. Fuck, Tek hated dopeheads. They were unpredictable.

They eased their way around to the side of the warehouse, Tek’s senses hyperaware of his surroundings. The pack on his back was filled with explosives—a solid weight. Constantly scanning the area, Tek strained to listen for sounds within, but it was difficult with the roar of blood in his ears as his heart hammered painfully.

Rocco made a fist, indicating to Tek to stop, and then the president pointed toward a window. Once again Tek nodded in understanding. He tucked his gun back into his waistband and pulled out his blade. Slowly, he eased up from his crouching position, having to trust Rocco to keep an eye out for intruders, and carefully worked at the lock on the window. He was in a vulnerable position; the glass covered in heavy tinting didn’t allow Tek to see inside, but anyone from within the warehouse would have a clear visual of him. Tek let out a sigh of relief when the lock gave. He flipped the blade closed and stuffed it into his pocket, then once again grabbed his gun, thumb sliding over the safety.

Tek glanced at Rocco who gave him a curt nod.
Here we go
. Tek eased up the window, finger on the Beretta moving to the trigger, expecting the blaring sound of an alarm. Nothing.
Gotta love druggies
. Tek smirked and pushed the window wide open.

The warehouse that once housed a small upholstery business was now littered with junk cars, boxes, and rubbish. The cloying scent of musk, mold, and gasoline filled Tek’s nostrils. A single low-wattage bulb hung from wires near the front door, the rest of the interior dark and in shadow. Tek scanned the area the best he could and listened for any sounds that would alert him to anyone’s presence. All was silent and still.

Easing back down to a crouching position and facing Rocco, Tek whispered, “I don’t like it. It’s too quiet.”

“Did you get a visual on the other guy?” Rocco inquired.

Tek shook his head.

“Probably napping,” Rocco surmised. “Let’s go.”

Tek pointed his weapon first to one end of the warehouse and then the other as Rocco made his way in through the open window, before following. They stayed to the shadows, making their way to the back of the building to hook up with Sully and Jamie.

Tek’s trepidation grew, his stomach clenching when they arrived at the rendezvous spot with no signs of the other members. From his vantage point behind a large crate, Tek studied the west side of the building, searching out a familiar form.
C’mon, you crazy son of a bitch. Where are you?

Tek jerked when Rocco tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “Set the charges.”

Tek bit down on the angry snarl of protest that was poised on his lips. Fuck the explosives. Fuck the Bangers. Fuck the guns and the mission and profit and…. Tek stole another glance to the west, willed his friend to appear, but the warehouse stayed still and silent.
Goddammit, Jamie, where are you?

Obviously knowing what Tek was stressing about, Rocco patted Tek’s shoulder. “Get it set and we’ll go find them,” Rocco assured him.

“Watch for them,” Tek demanded, not caring he was ordering around the pres. Fuck him too.

With trembling hands, Tek removed the pack from his back and pulled out the C-4. He had enough material to leave nothing but a crater in the wake of the explosion. If he could just get his fucking hands to work.
Where the hell is Jamie?
Tek clamped down on his fear, pushed it out of his head. He needed to focus on the job, get in and get out.

“Hurry up,” Rocco hissed.

Tek was about to tell Rocco to fuck off, but he bit his tongue. The pres was right. Tek set the charges, dumped the pack, and stuffed the detonator in his pocket, careful not to hit the switch. Getting his ass blown into a million little pieces wasn’t part of the plan tonight. Tek rejoined Rocco in his hiding spot behind the crates and gave him a thumbs-up.

A loud crash and blinding lights disoriented Tek for a moment. He stared at the front of the building where the disturbance came from. He shielded his eyes from the high beams on the truck that had crashed through the doors. He caught up quickly however when four men jumped out of the truck and bullets began whizzing by his head.

“Told you this looked too fucking easy,” Tek snarled at Rocco as they dove for cover.

“I hate party crashers,” Rocco growled.

Tek dodged and weaved, following behind Rocco and hoping like hell the sons of bitches chasing him didn’t get lucky and hit their mark. Behind a rusted-out old truck, Tek stopped long enough to return fire, unloading all ten shots and switching clips as he moved. Rocco gave covering fire.

Tek wasn’t afraid; the rush of adrenaline surging through him was all about survival. He had no time for fear. His pulse was thumping, sweat rolling down his spine, but his focus was narrowed. Looking ahead to the next hidden spot, aware of Rocco, the assholes behind him, and his weapon, there was no room for anything else in his head.

So focused on the next move, Tek wasn’t aware that the gunfire had ceased until he slipped behind another junk car and trained his weapon on the area he’d just come from. Nothing. The roar of the truck engine was still loud in the room, but nothing else. No one screaming, no blasts of gunfire. Tek’s brow dipped, and he shot a questioning look at Rocco who was crouched next to him.