“I already got my whore,
babe. Might want to think twice about the shit that flies out of
your mouth,” he says. Slowly he drags the zipper of my jeans down,
keeping his eyes on mine. “Princess ain’t who you think she is, but
let me check you about a few things since you’re a slow
learner.”
I don’t even know what the
fuck he’s going on about. My lungs struggle to pull in enough
oxygen to keep up with the angry way my chest heaves. For a moment
my vision blurs as my eyes cross, and I try to push off the wall,
but he’s not having it. He slams his hips into mine, making his
attraction apparent, shoving me back, and this time I smack my head
against the exposed brick with a loud thunk. My jaw locks, and the
dull throbbing from the back of my skull sends me into a maniacal
fit.
“You’re such a
cock-sucking bitch!” I scream. My face heats and my ears are
practically burning from the blood rushing to my head. I don’t even
give a shit what he does anymore. I just want him to know that I’m
not okay with this. “Don’t fucking manhandle me!”
From his left hip, he
produces a long, black serrated edge knife that looks like
something straight out of a war game. I’m so jacked up by his macho
shit that I can’t even bring myself to be afraid until he brings
the knife down to my open jeans. Refusing to let panic take over, I
force my breathing to stay controlled. I don’t want to fall apart
despite the circumstances. With a stiff upper lip, I take my eyes
away from the knife and look him square in the eye.
“Do what you gotta do,” I
say. “I get it. I’m just the club whore. I get no say. Cut me, beat
me up—go for it,” I hiss in his face. My eyes well with unshed
tears. Whether they’re from anger or fear, I don’t know. “But this
is the last time you touch me.”
The fabric presses against
my pussy, and a second later it’s gone. He clips the knife back in
its holder and skims his hand down my side and to my hip. “You are
one stupid bitch,” he says. Gripping my hip with enough force to
leave a bruise, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead atop my
head. His warm breath washes down over my face. Every minute or so,
he gives both my hip and my wrists a squeeze. When he loosens his
grip he finally lifts his head and opens his eyes. His free hand
travels from my hip down the line of my jeans, tracing the star
tattoos on my lower belly. With his index, middle, and ring finger,
he slides into my jeans, curves up, and slams himself into me.
Shock from the movement causes me to tighten around him and freeze
up.
“I’m not going to hurt
you,” he says with a gravelly voice. “But remember who I am. I am
Forsaken. I’ve killed men for less—tortured them because I can.” My
lungs stop for a moment and, when they resume, all I can force out
are breathy pants. I don’t want to enjoy this—any of this—but I
do.
“Pushing me is not wise,
Nicole. If I have to scare you to shut you up, I will. But I won’t
ever hurt you,” he says, his voice falling to a whisper. “Don’t
complicate shit, chill out, and understand this—I want you as my
woman. That means you represent me and I’m responsible for you. I
let you pull that shit again, and my brothers will start
questioning whether or not I can handle the shit I gotta do for
this club if I can’t even handle my woman. Do you understand
that?”
“Two months,” I say very
slowly so he can understand, because obviously he’s really fucking
slow.
“Do you understand what
I’m telling you?” he says, pulling his fingers out and shoving them
back in again. He hits a sweet spot, and my mouth hangs open, my
eyes drift to the back of my head, and I clamp down on him
tight.
“Two months,” I repeat
trying to sound like a hard ass, but it comes out as a whimper. “Do
you understand
that
?”
“You my woman?” he asks as
his thumb finds my clit. I let out a loud moan and let my head fall
back against the brick. I don’t respond. He doesn’t deserve a
response. He’s a childish prick who always has to have the last
word. Now that he’s put the knife away, I can breathe a little
easier, knowing that he isn’t going to hurt me. My dad can’t ride,
so he can’t vote, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t family. Carving up
a member’s kid is bad news, and I don’t think Duke would bring that
on himself. But then, I also didn’t think he’d push me into a wall
and pull a knife on me, either.
“You pulled a knife on me,” I hiss,
but it’s cut off by the pressure that’s building in my muscles,
screaming its way through my bones and heating my
bloodstream.
“I won’t hurt you, I told
you that,” he grits out as he continues his ministrations. “I won’t
ever hurt you.” Leaning down, my smashes his lips to mine. I don’t
even attempt to fight it. Greedily, I suck his bottom lip in
between mine and give it a quick bite. His eyes blaze when he pulls
back, and then he’s on me again. Our tongues slide against one
another in a fight of dominance. When we pull apart, neither of us
can breathe.
“Let me go,” I say. He shakes his head
and curls his fingers inside my pussy. Everything blurs and
disappears for half a second before I can stop myself from
splintering in a million little pieces.
“You’ll run,” he says hoarsely. I
shake my head and buck my hips into his hand.
“No, I just want your cock,” I say. I
clamp down on his hand and let my body slip toward the floor. After
a beat, he lets go of my wrists and wraps his arm around my waist
as we sink to the floor together. He doesn’t remove his fingers as
he slowly guides me to my back. My wrists ache where he’d held me
in place, but I can barely feel it. Lying down beside me, he
continues to pump in and out of my pussy. I’m so slick and needy
that I worry I’ll lose control before I get him inside
me.
His eyes travel up to the table above
my head, and his fingers still. It’s but a few seconds before I
start to lose the high he’s been building in my gut. Impatiently, I
yank my jeans down and kick them off then get to work on his belt.
His eyes are still focused elsewhere, but I’m not having it. He can
be in control everywhere else, but right now, he’s mine and this is
my show.
Grabbing his face, I pull
him down to my lips and drag my tongue against them. Instantly, his
legs are shimmying out of his jeans, with a little help from me as
I reach up with my feet and drag them to his ankles. A mass of
frenzied flesh, and I’m clamping my legs together to keep the sweet
pounding from dissipating. He pulls back to say something, but I
pull him in again and wrap my legs around his waist. With one hand,
he shoves his boxers down and guides himself hard and fast into my
core. My back arches, and goose flesh breaks out all over my body.
He hooks his hands over my shoulders from behind and drives into me
again and again until I drift off into a sea of nothingness where
my body pounds and aches and then fractures—not once, and not even
twice, but three times—until he’s curled into me and his lips are
at my neck. With a satisfied grunt, he kisses my neck and sucks at
the flesh, marking me for everybody to see who I belong
to.
“Now,” he says. “I don’t ever want to
hear those fucking words come out of your mouth again. Don’t forget
whose woman you are. Next time there will be
consequences.”
And just like that, my
blissful mood is shattered. Wiggling out from underneath him and
scrambling across the room, I slide into my jeans and my flats.
Turning to look at Duke, I find him standing; his broad shoulders
block the light from streaming in from the window and cast a shadow
over my frame. Consequences, that’s what it always comes back to.
This is all way too fucked up. I shake my head slowly and fold my
arms over my chest.
“No, I meant what I said. That was the
last time you touch me,” I say and walk out, slamming the door
behind me. In the hallway, I pause for a brief moment to see if he
follows.
He doesn’t.
Chapter 4
I leave the clubhouse
tucked into Chief’s side. He’s giving me a whole caveman speech
about respect and the club and relationships. As much as I like
Chief, I want to scream at him to shut up. He’s one of the biggest
fucking hypocrites I’ve ever met. But doing
that
definitely has consequences. I
say absolutely nothing that would allude to cooperation on my part
and make up some bullshit excuse about having to pick Jeremy up at
summer school. I don’t think he buys it, but he doesn’t argue with
me, and he lets me leave quickly.
Pulling up to the small yellow ranch
house, I cut the engine of the Corolla and take a moment to collect
my thoughts. I never got an answer about who Princess is and what
the hell is going on with her and Duke, nor do I think I’m going to
get a straight answer from him. He said she isn’t who I think she
is, but I don’t know who I think she is other than one of his good
little whores. Pulling my cell out of my purse, I look up Chel’s
number and send her a text saying, WHO IS PRINCESS?
It’s a little on the petty
side, but oh well. If Duke is going to pull this crap with me, I
want to know who the hell else he’s spending time with. My phone
rings in in my hand. I check the caller I.D. to see Chel’s picture
on the screen. Swiping the screen to unlock it, I bring the phone
to my ear. “Hey,” I say.
“
Are you and Duke a
thing?” Chel asks in a whisper. Immediately, I’m on the
defensive.
“
That’s a hell to the no,”
I say and lean my head back against the head rest. “Who’s
Princess?” Maybe if I keep asking, she’ll actually tell me
something. Chel and I are pretty tight. I’ve watched her kid so
many times she should probably put me on payroll, and last year
when she had nowhere to go, I let her stay in our extra bedroom. I
could probably use that for leverage if she’s reluctant to give up
the goods.
“
Why do you want to know?”
she asks.
“
So
you
do
know something,” I say. “Just spit it the fuck out, will
you?”
“
I’m not supposed to know
this shit,” she says warily.
“
Chel, I got shit to do
today.”
“
Fine,” she says. She
draws in a deep breath and then slowly blows it out. It sounds like
she’s smoking. I thought she quit?
“
She’s Ruby’s niece or kid
or something. Ryan says the girl doesn’t have a clue who her mom
is.”
“
That’s fucked up,” I say,
unable to find anything else to respond with.
“
You think?”
“
So that’s why Duke calls
her Princess? Because she’s Ruby’s kid? How fucking old is she?” I
have a million questions flying around in my brain as I try to
process it all.
“
I don’t know,” Chel
whisper-shouts. “Ryan says she’s legal. Do you know the last name
Mancuso?”
“
Should I?” I ask. A quiet
chuckle sounds on the other end.
“
Look it up. You’ll see. I
gotta go. Chief’s coming.” The line goes dead, and I toss my phone
back into my purse and climb out of the car. On my way into the
house, the phone rings. It’s the clubhouse. I slide the bar to
answer the call, but when I hear Duke’s voice, I hang up. He tries
to call twice more from both the clubhouse and his cell, but I
ignore those calls. Fuck him and fuck his bullshit.
Walking into the house, I
find the front door unlocked and the faint sounds of feminine
giggles and masculine laughter coming from down the hall. I don’t
even have to go look to know Jeremy’s door is closed. Pausing in
the entry, I consider my options. I could storm down the hall and
stop whatever’s going on, but it’s not really my job. I mean, I
guess it is in a way. He’s almost eighteen, though, and he doesn’t
really listen to a thing I say anyway. It wouldn’t do any
good.
Frustration builds, and I
decide to just give up on the idea of being a parental figure for
the evening. Walking into the kitchen, which is coincidentally the
room farthest away from Jeremy’s room, I set my purse down and take
a look around. Years back, before my mother left and then Dad got
locked up, this used to be my favorite room in the house. It’s not
all that big, but the large window over the sink lets in a lot of
natural light. The countertop forms an L-shape and curves around
the outside corner of the house with the sink, range, and
refrigerator forming a triangle. It wasn’t like this when Dad
bought the house. I was barely five then, but I can remember
clearly when my mother said that the placement was all
wrong.
Back in those days, I
idolized the men who came by on Harleys. They were always around,
and they were funny and nice. Every once in a while they’d babysit
me and Jeremy, and sometimes we would hang out with their families.
I remember Barbara, Chief’s wife, the most. She was always there.
That was long before I realized what those cuts really mean and
what happens when things go sideways and not everybody comes out
whole.
My mother, Sheryl, had
just hooked up with the man who became my dad a few years prior and
had Jeremy. We left Oakland for this place. Our first few months in
town were spent in the trailer park right off of Highway 20, but
then Dad bought the house because the little lady insisted if they
were going to be a proper family, they needed a proper home, and a
trailer park couldn’t possibly be a proper home—that stupid bitch
wouldn’t know a proper home if it hit her on her ass.