Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2) (8 page)

The sheriff shook his head. “And kidnapped your boyfriend?”

A sigh of exasperation burst through my lips. “I. Told. You. Not my fuckin’ boyfriend.”

“There’s no need for language like that young lady.”

“Fuck off.”

His brow creased and the look in his eyes grew menacing. “I’m warning you, Miss, you can’t talk to an officer of the law like that.”

“Fuck off.” I turned my gaze away and was pleased to see a worried looking Bottle eavesdropping on our conversation.

“Do you want me to arrest you?”

I put on my most apologetic look. I leaned forward toward him and looked into his eyes. A little smile flitted across my lips and I saw his expression soften. “I want you,” I said, “to fu—”

Bottle grabbed me by the arm and leaned in quickly, his body coming between me and the sheriff. “She’s had a lot to drink, Sheriff.”

“Maybe she needs to spend the night in the drunk tank then,” said the lawman, frowning.

“She won’t be any more bother, I can assure you. Is there anything else we can do for you today?”

I wanted to protest that I hadn’t been drinking. Not since I’d woken up again anyway. But Bottle was probably right, I shouldn’t be antagonizing the sheriff. And spending the night in the drunk tank sounded even less appealing than the booth I was in, or wherever else I might end up.

A moment later Bottle was leading me roughly away from the booth. He had a vice like grip around my arm as he led me across the floor of the clubhouse toward a door. I was going with him whether I liked it or not.

I liked it.

K
aren

Bottle pushed open a door and led me out of the main room of the clubhouse to a hallway with a few other doors leading off of it. When the door swung shut behind us the din of music faded.

“Why’d you interrupt us?” I asked him.

“Why the fuck do you think? Shit. I’ve got enough crap to deal with as it is without you getting arrested.”

Fiery. I like it.
“I’m a big girl, Bottle. I can handle getting arrested again.”

He raised his eyebrows when I said
again
. “I’m sure you can. But in case you forgot I’m down a man and you’re helping me find him.”

Oh yeah. Red. A wave of guilt rushed over me. I bit my lip as I looked up at the angry biker in front me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Fuck. Don’t be sorry. Just...”

“Just?”

“Just don’t antagonize that asshole. He already hates us, but he’s mostly been leaving us alone lately. I’d like to keep it that way.”

I nodded and stepped toward him. “I’m sorry,” I said into his ear. I pressed my soft lips against the stubble of his cheek, below his teardrop tattoo, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek in apology.

His visage immediately softened and he looked slightly off-kilter, slightly stunned. I guess he hadn’t been expecting that. I felt a surge of satisfaction seeing the effect such a small gesture could have on him.

“That’s okay,” he said, and pulled me toward him, patting me on the back.

My breasts pressed against his chest and I slid my arms around him, hugging my body tightly against him.

What was it about men like this? First Red and now Bottle and
God
they could turn me on.

Was it the tats? Was it the attitude? Was it the body? Was it the born to be wild, live free and die young lifestyle? Was it the disregard for the law and it’s appointed officers? Was it the whole package?

I felt his hand slide down my back, not a light touch but a firm press that sent a shiver down my spine. How could just a touch do that, I wondered. What mechanism allowed a touch to send pleasure surging through my body like that. His hand went lower, not pausing at my waist, but instead pressing against and then grabbing my ass through the denim of my jeans.

He knew what he wanted and he took it.

I pulled my upper body away from him to look up at his face. A flash of confusion began to cross his eyes and I felt the hand behind me begin to let go. I shot my left hand down and behind rapidly, pressing his hand back in place.

Our gazes interlocked and I reached up with my right hand, wrapping it around his head and pulling his mouth down to meet mine. I used my other hand to grab him by
his
ass.

In the dark hallway of the clubhouse our mouths met and it was everything a first kiss with a new man should be. Hot and damp, a little rough and very enthusiastic.

Some people might think me some kind of slut the way I was getting with this guy I hardly knew. But some people are fuckin’ assholes.

I’d been deprived for years, hardly been with anyone except my ex- and then Red, so anyone who wants to blame me for getting a little wild now that I had some freedom is a dick. And shit, he was
hot
. Tats and strong hands, a bigass badass motorcycle, a bunch of men at his command - any girl whose panties didn’t get at least a little damp at the thought must have a screw loose.

One hand yanked at my hair, splitting our hot lips apart.

“Come on,” he commanded as he grabbed me by the arm.

I let him lead me ahead to a padlocked door. He released my arm for a moment while he used a key from the chain that hung on his waist to undo the lock. It popped open and then he was pushing me inside, a firm hand on my ass.

I heard the door swing shut behind us but I was still being urged forward across the small room to the single bed by the wall.

The room was dimly lit by a small red shaded lamp in the corner. It was simple and tidy, decorated with a club banner and two national flags; one Mexican and one Old Glory.

By the side of the bed he spun me around so we again faced each other and again our lips met, this time hungry tongues flew at each other, rubbing and twisting in our wet mouths. He tasted
good
.

One of his hands slipped under my shirt and ran firmly across my stomach before sliding up under my bra and squeezing a breast. We both moaned as he pinched at my nipple before his hand slid down again.

The button at the top of my jeans popped open as he skilfully undid it with strong fingers and a moment later I felt his hand brazenly slide down, palm pressed against my skin, over my stomach, under my panties to my waiting hot dampness below.

His middle finger slid down my slick slit making me moan into his mouth. When his finger slid up inside me I bit his lip and used my free hand to push my jeans down, urgently kicking my shoes off and trying to wriggle out of the jeans without letting his finger slip out of me.

He pulled his mouth away from mine.

“God, you’re hot and tight.”

“And wet too,” I said as I kissed him again. He used his free hand to pull my panties down and again I wriggled until I could step out of them. “So wet for you.”

My words caused him to let out a moan of arousal. He pulled his finger down slowly, slowly until it almost left my body. I moaned in disappointment and tried to grind my hips to get him back deeper inside.

I needn’t have worried. When his finger was almost out he slid it deeply back but this time with his index finger too. I let out a gasp as both of his fingers slid inside me.

“You like that?” he asked before pushing his lips back against mine.

“Mmmm,” I moaned as I reached down and grabbed at the front of his jeans. I could feel him hot and hard underneath

Was it wise, what I was doing? Probably not. But at the same time I was desperately craving affection, a body, a man, a release.

For a moment the thought of Dewey flashed across my mind. God, he would be
furious
if he knew what I was up to. I felt a wave of pleasure as I reached forward and squeezed the biker’s hard cock through his jeans and imagined how Dewey would react if he could see.

“Are you a bad boy, Bottle?” I whispered in his ear.

“Bad as they come,” he said, thrusting his fingers deep into me.

I gulped and moaned and scrambled with my hands to undo the front of his jeans.

I didn’t get a chance to.

Bottle withdrew from my body then wrapped two hands around my waist and half-lifted and half-threw me down onto his bed.

I bit my lip as I looked up at him furiously tearing off his clothes and revealing his hard tatted body. He wanted it as much as I did.

My hands worked frantically on my own remaining clothes, pulling off my t-shirt and bra and tossing them at his feet.

“You’re gonna get it now.” His face was covered with a grin that was half arousal and half excitement. Is there anything as hot as a sexy man who desperately wants your body? Probably, but I couldn’t think of it then.

“Give it to me bad boy. Give it to me
hard
.” I ordered.

My time in prison had toughened me up, the old shy girl I had been before was dead and now I made sure I got what I wanted. And right then, I wanted him. Him, the big, bad, biker.

Him the tough guy, one minute standing over me, the next clambering on the bed, his arousal hard and proud before him as he grabbed me.

I reached my arms up as he knelt above me and grabbed him by the back, my claws digging in. My nails raked his skin as I yanked him down until his hard chest touched my just-as-hard nipples.

He had two hands around my thighs, forcing them apart just like I wanted him to. There was no messing around. We were both fucking horny as hell.

My fingers slid down to his buttocks, scratching as I desperately encouraged him to enter me.

I felt his hardness nudge against my thigh, my groin, my pussy. I shoved with my hips and yanked with my hands. With a flick of his powerful hips he was there. Hot. Hard. And sliding inside me.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he said.

“Mmmmmm,” I moaned, momentarily losing the power of speech.

His thrust was thick and long and hard and deep and filled me up exactly how I wanted, how I
needed
.

“Ohhhhh yeah.” I wrapped my legs around his back. He wasn’t going to escape now.

He had the same thought as he pressed my body down into the bed. I wasn’t going anywhere.

He thrust into me hard and fast causing me to let out a little yelp every time he did so. That were a
lot
of yelps.

“You like that?” he said into my ear as he paused a second deep inside me.

“Mmmm,” I answered. Fuck yeah I liked it. I loved it.

People who meditate say that it lets them forget about their stress, and cares, and worries. I was rapidly learning a good fuck can do the same.

Thoughts of Dewey and the sheriff were gone from my mind. All that existed were me and him. The biker and me. Bottle and Karen.

I dug my fingers into his hard body and bit at his chest tasting his sweet salty skin.

That night, we were the only people in the world.

D
ewey

It was getting late now, but he hoped the third time would be the charm. If the dumbasses were going to look for him in a motel, then damn, he’d best be in a motel.

He’d listened to their conversation in the clubhouse while parked a hundred yards down the road. The range on the bug wasn’t much better than that. Unfortunately he couldn’t listen all the time.

First, he’d stopped at the imaginatively titled “Road Motel” to inquire about a room there. From the outside it had looked promising - it had the kind of shitty vibe that seemed appropriate - but when he went inside things fell apart. The woman behind the counter was about a hundred years old and seemed to be going senile. A fat lot of good she would be.

He escaped by asking if they had a honeymoon suite — of course they didn’t — and expressing disappointment at their lack.

Where would he and Karen honeymoon, he wondered? Would they go somewhere far away, Hawaii perhaps? Or after their years apart maybe it would be better to simply stay at home, together. He considered the multitude of options happily as he drove to his next stop.

After the Road Motel he visited somewhere called the Jones Motel only to find it closed. Maybe the Jones’s died of old age, he mused.

The last one however seemed like it just might be what he needed.

Dewey parked his car in the dusty lot. The individual rooms which made up the motel complex were arranged in an L shape, with an office at the end.

The place had certainly seen better days and he guessed the nearby interstate had taken away most of the passing traffic and customers.

Who would use a place like this now? Perhaps some of Farmington’s high fliers bringing their mistresses and hussies for a secret romp in seedy surroundings. Maybe people trying to keep a low profile.

What was most intriguing about the place, apart from its shittiness, was the motorcycle parked outside the office. It was some kind of Harley Davidson (bikes weren’t really his thing, but he could read the name on the gas tank), and that probably meant the owner knew the Sons of Dumbness.

Dewey closed the car door behind him, adjusted his sunglasses, and then headed toward the door of the office.

When he pushed the flimsy door open a bell attached to the frame let out a weak tinkle.

The room had a couple of lawn chairs off to the side, and a counter with a wide eyed and confused young man behind it.

“Good evening,” he said to the glassy eyed youth behind the counter.

The clerk opened his mouth but nothing came out. What the hell was wrong with him? Dewey estimated him to be a similar age to himself, maybe a couple of years younger, but it was obvious he’d made some poor life choices, unlike Dewey.

“Sorry to disturb you so late,” he tried again.

This time the man behind the front desk managed to work his mouth. “’Evenin’”

Dewey flashed his white teeth in a smile. “I was wondering, do you have any rooms available?”

The clerk blinked. “Rooms?”

“Yes. Of course, if you’re full, I’ll be on my way.”

“Rooms. We got rooms. Sure.”

Dewey gave a broad smile of relief. “Fantastic. I’d like to stay for two or three nights, if that’s okay?”

The clerk’s mouth gaped open then slammed shut again as he recovered. “Sure. Stay as long as you want. It’s fifty a night.”