Wring: Road Kill MC #5 Page 3

  “No, man, she's a whore bitch. Just getting some facts straight between us. Not Road Kill MC biz. You feel?”

  Disgust and resignation flash across the stranger's features. Finally, he turns to me, and the full weight of his gaze seizes me, gripping me in a cosmic thrall. I gulp. Holy hell.

  Who is he?

  His eyes slim on me with clear disbelief. “This true? You this gang prick's whore?”

  Instead of answering, I scream as Vincent mangles my wrist. Stars burst at the sides of my vision, and I sway, beginning to crumple. I hit the sidewalk with my shoulder, and my teeth click together, hard. My wrist is still held in his grip. I can't feel my hand.

  “Okay.” The stranger steps forward without hesitation and punches Vincent in the nose.

  Not a regular, movie type of punch that's all neat and pretty. The hit snaps Vincent's head back like a door got opened in his face.

  Releasing my wrist, he folds like a human chair, out cold. His head bounces off the sidewalk, landing with a crack.

  I perform a klutzy crab crawl, trying to distance myself from my torturer. I use my hands to push myself up and scream, falling immediately. My wrist is useless.

  Strong arms lift me from the cement, and I scream louder. A hand covers my mouth.

  “Shut up.” His voice fills my ears.

  Instantly, I still.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  “Listen to me, and listen carefully. I'm in the middle of Blood territory, and I need to get the hell out of here. But you answer a question first.”

  Huh?

  He turns me, his hand still covering my mouth. Tears run out of the corners of my eyes; my wrist is a mass of numb heat.

  “You going to scream?”

  I shake my head. But I'm still scared.

  He gently lifts his hand and sets me on my feet.

  I fight nausea and the urge to faint. I will not be weak.

  Vincent groans behind us, and my bladder hiccups.

  “You his whore?”

  My mouth pops open.

  He grins, eyes flicking over my shocked expression. “Didn't think so. Don't have the look.” His gaze scrapes down my once-pristine outfit.

  Nice. Lech.

  I fold my arms, yelp at my wrist.

  He frowns. “I can get you somewhere.”

  Oh. Vincent.

  This dangerous man can get me somewhere before Vincent wakes up.

  I narrow my eyes, and he waits, looking bored.

  “Or you can stay here and take your chances with Mr. Wonderful Gang Leader.” He walks closer, towering over me, even though I’m wearing heels. “Unless I misinterpreted the message from those pretty green eyes of yours? You were needing help, right?” he asks in a soft whisper, but somehow, his words are clipped and angry.

  I nod, tears scattering before I can stop them.

  He scowls, taking my good wrist and hauling me behind him. My heels make a racket, echoing off the concrete. His muscular legs swings over his bike, then he drops my hand and flicks his jaw behind him. “Hop on.”

  I've never been on a bike before. I don't know him.

  Vincent is crawling toward the curb, after us.

  “Stay sleeping, fucker, or I'm going to knock your teeth down your throat,” the stranger says in casual warning to the crawling Vincent.

  “Don't… you… fucking—” Vincent gasps through his ruined nose.

  The stranger cups a hand behind his ear. “Don't? You? Fucking?” He slaps his thighs, a dark chuckle shooting out of his mouth like a cannon. “I'm not planning on fucking you. Sacks of shit are not on the menu.”

  “Get on,” he barks at me again, and I mimic his mounting of the bike, though I hike up my skirt to mid-thigh to slide on the back. He reaches behind him and cups his hands on my butt, and I gasp as he hitches me against him. “Hang on, blondie.”

  Blondie?

  I slip my hands around his waist, favoring the bad one, and he takes ahold of my uninjured hand. I notice how automatic he is. Smart.

  “I got you.”

  He rolls out of there. The bike shakes between my legs, and his hard body is in front of mine, heating me through his leather vest.

  I turn just my head around to look at Vincent, and his angry eyes follow us with death standing in his gaze.

  Mom and I will never be safe. This gorgeous stranger just granted us time.

  Like a stay of execution.

  Chapter 3

  Wring

  I feel the vibration in my pocket and with a blatant disregard for the law. I extract my phone from my pocket and glance at the text.

  Noose: Don't be a dickbag. Rose is making pancakes.

  Fucker. He knows I like Rose's cooking. Especially the pancakes. Damn.

  I put the cell up to my face and audio my anger into a text.

  Me: Keep your nose out of my shit.

  A full minute passes.

  Noose: I wouldn't do dick if I didn't give a rat's ass.

  I know. It's what I need, but I can't accept. Something won't let me.

  Noose means well, the stubborn fucker.

  I speak my reply, and the letters appear on my phone. I hit Send.

  Me: just give it a rest.

  Noose: for now. Swing by our place. Have grub.

  My eyes watch traffic beginning to finally get on the road on the only lazy day of the week. I tap my fingers. Thinking. Trying not to.

  Me: Ok.

  I slide the phone back into my inner pocket of my cut and take a right on 240th heading west, toward Noose’s.

  I cut through Kent Station, a relatively new depot, strip mall and condo complex they threw in the valley a couple of years ago. They did a good job, unlike a lot of older Kent enterprises, where infrastructure and planning were afterthoughts.

  I pass a funky old faded red house squeezed between two high-rise commercial buildings on my right, spotting local gang tag shit hidden in plain sight. Symbols are buried in allowed graffiti that looks like artwork. I slow.

  Hate this block. The ritzy condo place where Noose lives is only ten blocks from Blood territory. Top Shelf Condos.

  It's a tangible distance. Proof of what the Bloods are quietly doing is right here, breathing down our collective necks.

  And Road Kill MC is going to make them bleed. We don't allow gangs. All of our charters are working hard to defend territory. It's simple. Basically, if they try to move into ours, we kill them. Sends a permanent message.

  Lots of final-looking rope burns decorate gang members throats who thought they would push their agenda. The marks are like a Road Kill MC calling card now.

  There's no open casket for those fuckersʼ funerals.

  A loose smile fills my face at the thought of eradicating those shitbags.

  My expression and momentary happiness fade at the sight that catches my eye.

  Gang leader—don't know his name—sporting Blood colors has a solid hold on a woman.

  She’s blond, slim, and built to fuck. Not cheap.

  I frown. Image doesn't work. Fucking Bloods are starting to sell flesh to get fast cash. This girl doesn't look like a working girl.

  Judging by her body language, she’s not real willing, either.

  Next to the tall gang fuck, she looks like a porcelain doll. Long blond hair falls to a shapely ass. Her sexy-secretary getup shows kick-ass acres of smooth fair skin at her arms, legs, and throat. Creamy, not pasty.

  I turn away, concentrating on the road and beyond that, Noose's place. He’s got food. Fucking starved.

  My instincts fire off over what I just saw, interrupting my thoughts.

  Fuck.

  I glance over my shoulder, and green eyes like seawater meet mine. The plea in that gaze turns my stomach.

  Don't put your dumb fucking nose in gang shit. No brothers at my back.

  You don't know this bitch, Wring. Leave it.

  Tears run down her face, as clear as day, sparkling like captured diamonds of sadness.

 
; Fuck it.

  I execute a tight U-turn and come around, rolling the bike into the stall. Kill the engine and hop off.

  The closer I get, the more I want this fucker to let her go, the feeling creeps over my skin like ants on their favorite hill.

  “Fucking Road Kill mofo,” the prick says, adjusting his undersized junk.

  Hmmm.

  He's hurting the woman. I've never been a fan of men putting their hands on females. Find I become less of one all the time.

  I stare at this piece of shit, willing him to be smart with my gaze, trying to convince myself to hold back.

  “You got a problem, Road Kill maggot?” His jaw kicks up, tempting me with breaking it. My eyes line up on the bulls-eye he's presenting.

  That's about the point when I figure I can't hold back.

  I smile at him.

  The girl is the smartest one of all three of us. She takes a look at my face and steps back.

  The fucker clamps down on her wrist, and she falls to her knees, giving a pitiful cry of pain. “Oh God, please.”

  Adrenaline roars through me, singeing my guts—all of me. I embrace the familiar thrill of it. My body gets loose. Ready. Resigned to the immediate future. “Let the girl go.” I'm still giving him a chance.

  For me, that’s fucking patient.

  “No, man, she's a whore bitch. Just getting some facts straight between us. Not Road Kill MC biz. You feel?”

  I'm not feeling him. Never will. This girl looks as new as a shiny penny. She doesn't have that weary vibe. Her eyes are pure of the grime of life. I look at her again. Most of it, anyway. The type of life this fucker offers hasn't left its stain on her.

  I assess that in seconds, but I gotta be sure. “This true? You this gang prick's whore?”

  Her mouth opens to answer, and I notice how beautiful she is. Her lips have a deep cupid's bow above the upper lip.

  Distracting as fuck.

  I lick my lips, committed now.

  Then the prick twists her wrist, and she falls against the sidewalk with a yell.

  “Okay.” I nod decisively, stepping into him like a dance partner.

  With my fist.

  I strike hard, checking my swing at the last second so I don't actually kill him. An immediate Blood war, we don't need.

  Man’s got to employ a lot of finesse when his hands are considered lethal weapons. I use that now, knocking the idiot out without killing him.

  He'll be okay, I muse regretfully.

  He drops like a rock, head tapping hard on the sidewalk.

  I grin. Love. It.

  The girl tries to crawl away, and I get a flash of lacy panties and pop a boner right in the middle of the mess.

  Well… fuck me.

  I snort.

  She tries to stand, screams as she puts weight on the arm the gang fuck hurt, and drops, cracking her elbow trying to catch herself.

  I stride over there and pluck her off the sidewalk. She's a featherweight. I automatically assess her.

  Smells sweet, like ripe peach and yummy female. Maybe a buck fifteen. Five and a half feet tall.

  Boner goes full tilt.

  She screams and I clamp a hand over her mouth. “Shut up.”

  The girl stills.

  I tell her what's going on. We're knee deep in Blood territory. Where there's one Blood, more will show.

  “You his whore?” I ask again, because hurt or not, female or not, that's a different ball of wax.

  I don't give her time to answer before firing off another question. My eyes bore into hers, commanding her with my stare to tell me the truth. Did she want help?

  She nods, sending big crocodile tears flying. I fight a pang of tender for her and want to wipe those big tears off her gorgeous face.

  What the hell's wrong with me?

  My hands shake as I grab her unhurt arm and haul her behind me, telling her to get on the ride.

  Fucker's woken up, and he's crawling toward us.

  I smirk.

  You think that love tap is all I got? My slight smile becomes a grin. I got so much more. Maybe if he sticks around, I'll give him a slice of hurt ya pie.

  I bark at the girl to get on, calling her Blondie out of nowhere.

  She gets on, and her hands tentatively encircle my waist. I grab the uninjured one and put it where it rides more comfortably on my torso.

  I'd love to have that small hand on my cock.

  My smile stays.

  I reach behind me and cup her ass cheeks, hiking her against me. She feels right in my palms.

  I roar out of there.

  Don't know how I'm going to explain it all when I get to Noose's.

  Won't matter.

  That brother's got my back. Always has.

  *

  I drop the code into the lighted pad with a quick stab of fingers and shoot the girl a look. She stays locked on my bike. My eyes travel her arm, stuttering over the bruising at her delicate wrist.

  The underground garage door begins to slide up.

  I walk to the bike and get on. Her slender arms come around me again without a word, and I hit the kickstand, rolling underneath the ground.

  I park next to Noose's stall. It's empty.

  Weird. Feels like that fucked-up little event took forever. I stay seated on the ride, turn the key, and extract my cell to check the time. Straight up ten.

  Huh. Not that much time.

  Blondie says, “I—thank you—I need to get to my job.”

  I grunt. “Fuck that.” Swinging my leg over the seat, I grab her around the waist and set her on her feet. She looks up at me.

  Fearful.

  Fucking beau-tee-ful. Wow. I've never seen a pair of eyes that green, that deep. I don't know what the fuck, but she wipes all the bullshit swirling around in my tired brain for the moment.

  Her bottom lip trembles. “I need this job.”

  I shake my head. “Too dangerous. That Blood's marked you. He thinks you're his.”

  Her chin lifts defiantly, and I'm happy to see a glimpse of spirit. “I am not his. Vincent doesn't know me. He—” She snaps her mouth shut, crossing her arms, and delicious breasts sort of pop to the top of the shirt she's wearing.

  My dick gets hard.

  “Vincent, huh?” Rage descends, chasing away my half-erection. She was lying after all, she knows him. Fucking perfect. I grab her shoulders, mindful of her wounded wrist. “He what?”

  Her eyes go to fear immediately, and it sucks to see that.

  Noose’s timing couldn't be better, and he rolls into the slot next to mine. He shuts off his ride and swings around on the seat, takes a look at Blondie and says, “Who the fuck is this?” he hikes his thumb at her, his eyes moving from the top of her head to the bottom of her scuffed heels.

  “None of your business, you hood!” she yells.

  Perfect.

  Noose stands.

  Blondie cowers as his eyes narrow on her. “She some sweet butt?” he asks, inspecting her like an interesting worm.

  “Does she look like one?” I ask.

  Noose shakes his head slowly. “Nope.” A grin starts forming on his smug face.

  “I am not—gah! A sweet butt or whatever you're thinking I am.” She blushes.

  I haven't seen an honest-to-God blush in fucking forever.

  Noose starts barking laughter. When he can finally contain himself, I'm scowling. “This, I gotta hear.” His eyebrow quirks. “The sweet butt who's not—she coming for pancakes?”

  “No,” she says at the same time I say, “Yes.”

  We glare at each other. She doesn't get it.

  My strength of will.

  I didn't just step in a pile of shit for nothing. I want to know what I sacrificed the club for. And make no mistake, me taking a woman from a Blood, even one that might not be his, wasn't an amicable move.

  It’ll be seen as a move in need of retaliation.

  “My job—” she begins.

  “Fuck that,” Noose and I say to
gether.

  He grins wider, clearly loving the situation.

  We bump knuckles, and I tug her behind me. She comes quietly.

  Feels kind of like the calm before the storm to me.

  Chapter 4

  Shannon

  I'm getting out of this crazy situation the second I can. But for now, I allow the scary stranger to tow me behind him.

  I'm no girl on a leash.

  Vincent couldn't figure out how to make me cooperate in the past.

  Intimidation hasn't worked. Threats didn't work.

  His violence was effective in the moment. But he's a criminal. He would have to kill me to make me comply. I'm not moving my mom out of our house when she's at death's door. Not happening.

  I appreciate this guy saving me from Vincent. His methods were similar to Vincent's, but somehow, when they’re not used against me, I'm more charitable.

  And I really appreciate the view of his hot body. But these two are not going to push me, either. Waiting this out is the only solution for the moment.

  We cram into an elevator and begin to rise. Top Shelf condos are for the rich. I've seen this condo complex while walking to the surviving mom-and-pop store not too far from our house. They'll eventually be run out by the Walmarts and the QFCs, just like everything else.

  Covertly, I check out the other biker. He's even bigger than the guy who saved me. Not by much, though.

  He catches me looking at him, and a brittle smile flashes across stern features.

  I shrink back.

  “Noose won't hurt ya,” my savior says.

  Right. I bite back my laughter.

  The elevator doors whisper open, and the men step out. I follow hesitantly. There are only two doors on either side of a long corridor laid with rich fabric carpeting in a tiny geometric pattern in jewel tones of violet, scarlet, and emerald.

  “Neighbor,” Noose says, hiking a thumb at a door. He moves to the other door and raps on the solid wood hard, once.