Knot (Road Kill MC #2) Read online

  I nod slowly. “Yeah. I was following orders; he disagreed.” I shrug.

  It turned out I'd been right after all. But neither of us felt right afterward. Hell, I'm probably still not okay with it.

  Sometimes people just have to deal.

  “Things were done—things that we saw the potential for but hoped—hell, we hoped the shit that happened wouldn't. Every time Lariat looks at me, he's reminded. I don't know. Bad blood.” I shrug again.

  “You ever talk to anyone about that war shit?”

  I look at him. “Fuck no. Besides, I'm talking to you.”

  Snare shrugs. “Not good to have something between brothers. Just saying you should get that shit worked out before it comes to something.”

  I turn into a bare stretch of road only about a half mile from the place where Chaos holes up.

  I shut off the engine and turn to Snare. “Lariat fucked up on discernment, but he saved my life. That's all the knowing anyone needs here. It happened over there, and the only ones who need to concern themselves over that are him and me.”

  “Jesus, okay—settle.”

  “Uh-huh.” I jerk the handle on the door of the Nova and slide out, letting my eyes adjust to the near-blackness of the area. Without light pollution, shit is not softly black like it is close to the city, but so cloaked I can hardly see my hand in front of my face.

  “Fuck, I'm blind as a bat,” Snare comments in disgust.

  “Yeah.”

  Snare laughs, and I turn to him, slipping a banded pack around my waist. “Your favorite word.”

  “Yup.” I grin.

  “That's the same word.”

  I nod.

  Snare's smile stays.

  I walk around to the trunk and pop it. I glance in, already knowing what I need.

  Could be I just take breath instead of a life. But when the rope goes around a neck, it seems sort of unsatisfactory to not finish things off.

  I snap a short length then take out a raw, abrasive length. It'll hurt more, but the raw rope doesn't have the precision of my skinny nylon favorite.

  Snare's eyes run over the ropes, tripping on the knots at the end. “Viper said no killing.”

  “Don't have to.” That's the beauty of getting up close and personal. Finesse.

  Snare gives me look of such clear disbelief, I laugh. “Don't worry. I know what to do here.”

  “I know. Believe me, I get your potential. But I don't want war.”

  I turn to him with a speculative look.

  Snare clarifies, “Got your back, brother.”

  I wish everyone did. I touch on Lariat briefly. Then toss our problem out the mental window. No time for motherfucking introspection. Rose is with Diablo.

  Shit's gonna go down. The past isn't now.

  She is.

  *

  Brothers spread out around the tree line. The building's easy to spot. A solar vapor light blasts its glare around the perimeter like a strobe light. A couple of Chaos prospects stand at either corner.

  Smoke trails from the hand of one; the other is picking his fingernails with a knife. The way he handles the blade lets me know he's never used one when it counts.

  I point at my eyes then split my fingers, indicating direction. Viper and some of the others nod, moving to opposite ends.

  Wring, another brother from our time in the military, takes point.

  The training never leaves a soldier.

  If I'm in my head, my body takes over. I haven't spoken a word of Arabic in over three years now, but if I heard it, I would be instantly on point. Engaged.

  Like now.

  Snare's wrong. This is like war. They've taken my property, and I'm getting her back. Come hell or high water.

  Or knots.

  Rose is coming back with me.

  *

  The prospect's body slumps, and I untwist the rope. His body does a jerking swirl before thumping to the ground.

  Snare's face takes a sharp turn in my direction. “Wow,” he whispers, clearly impressed. He grabs the guy's ankles and hauls him deep into the underbrush that's overtaken the cinderblock building.

  I gaze upward, scoping the building's architecture.

  Not in admiration, but for entry.

  Glass block windows line the entire top third, and my next exhale is in frustration. Not a lot of penetration options.

  I'm itchy as fuck, mental about Rose possibly being inside and me not getting to her.

  I put my hand against the gritty cement wall, considering my choices.

  Viper moves quietly to my side. “Wring got the other kid.” He looks at the spot where the prospect was. Dragging heel marks create dusty railroad tracks into the bushes. “He gonna live?”

  I nod. “Yup.”

  Viper grins. “Great.” He claps me on the back. “But if he regains consciousness quickly, he'll sing like a bird.”

  Snare jogs up to my position. “Listen—Noose—” His voice sounds tense.

  Don't like it. “You see Rose?” I bark like a dog on a short chain.

  His nod is slow, hesitant. Not like Snare at all.

  I walk almost into his chest. “What the fuck is it?”

  “Don't give away our position no matter what you see. Promise me.”

  I nod. Though I don't promise dick.

  He leads me around the building. A long rectangular bay window fogged by filth gives a smoky vision of Rose.

  Drake stands between her spread legs, driving his fingers inside her pussy like he's mining for gold, while another dude holds her wrists and a third plays with her tits.

  A fourth guy strides around the table, cock in hand. He's zeroing in on her mouth, if I'm any judge. Adrenaline whips its numbing fire through my system like a match to gas. “Mother fucker,” I seethe.

  Rose's scream pierces the air with its misery.

  Arousal.

  That mixed sound is enough to make me pause.

  Then I'm charging in, forgetting about our position, my training, or anything but what looks like the rape of this girl I want more than taking my next breath.

  My rope hits my leg. The knot will leave a bruise tomorrow.

  If I live.

  7

  Rose

  “Just come, Rose.” Drake's eyes flow over my body, and I stifle a second scream.

  His finger pounds my clit, thumbnail raking over the sensitive slick nub.

  I'm so pissed, I can't think.

  I don't want him touching me. Ever. But it's all about the element of surprise.

  Drake is violent.

  He killed my sister. Now he's exacting his revenge in the most vile way possible. His coercion to get Charlie back is an art form.

  He's causing my body to want what he's forcing on me, even though my mind loathes it.

  “No—I won't come, you sick bastard,” I grate between my teeth. But even as I say it, the pumping of fingers inside me and his rhythmic insistence with the other causes my pussy to clench around his finger.

  “Ah!” I yell helplessly, trying to close my legs, whipping my head back and forth.

  “Stubborn bitch.” He softens his touch to a whisper, rasping his fingernail over my clit, and I moan, biting my lip in sheer misery, tortured by need.

  “There she blows,” a man to my right says.

  My anger chases away the forced arousal to something bearable. My head lifts off the table, and a cock hits the side of my face.

  I split the air with my scream of frustration—my body's sickening, unpermitted response.

  The men crowd closer. Slim spaces remain where their bodies block out reality.

  Between the bodies, a streak flashes by—beyond where they cluster around me, jerking off.

  Noose.

  Tears sting my eyes. Drake's fingers suddenly feel like what they are: digits of rape.

  Hope swells inside me for what feels like the first time in forever.

  My eyes widen in surprise as a tightly knotted rope snakes from the end of
Noose's powerful forearm like an extension of his body.

  The large, bulbous end smashes into the man's nose as his cock dangles above my lips.

  Blood spray splatters me like warm rain. Dark dots spread over the shimmering material of the dress.

  “What the fuck?” Drake roars, turning.

  Too late.

  *

  Rose's scream is spinning razors. They rip through my mind, slicing every cohesive thought to nothing but primal reaction.

  I can do that.

  Taking my favorite knotted rope—though long, it’s versatile as fuck—I sprint on the balls of my feet. My approach is soundless.

  The Chaos Riders are so focused on Rose, cocks in hand, they don't sense my presence.

  Just like I meant for them not to.

  Rose looks up; startled blue eyes meet mine for a moment. I assess her condition like a soldier, as I've been trained to do.

  Her face is free of wounds, though one cheek is startlingly pink. Head lacerations. Skin flushed. My eyes catch a sliver of glistening pussy, and everything goes blank.

  My intellect is wiped clean. My plan.

  Me.

  I move in like a well-timed machine, judging everyone's attentions, distance, and reaction time.

  I hit the guy with his cock next to Rose's face first.

  Using the knot like a medieval flail, I jerk it out with a flick of my wrist. The end smashes into the guy's nose, spitting it open like ripe fruit. I swing toward whoever's closest, bringing it down like a club on his head. Exacting. Hard.

  He falls. If the knot gets someone just right in the head, he won’t see stars. Only night.

  Diablo screams. “What the fuck?”

  He turns, and I see the juice of Rose's sweet pussy on two of his fingers. I go visceral in an instant.

  I push into him, riding him down right beside Rose. The angle's bad, but I lean the rope into his throat, see-sawing it for bite. The rope catches, digging deep.

  The grin on my face feels manic. Easy.

  Someone pigpiles on me. I twist my shoulders hard, offloading the fucker like a gnat.

  I keep grinding down into that soft spot of flesh under Diablo’s Adam's apple.

  My pulse pounds. My mind breathes the command to the rope that is part of my body: Give.

  Flesh pounds around me, fists landing with finality.

  “Noose!” Someone shouts from far away.

  It's the rope. The throat. His fucking life under that line of killing twine.

  Strong hands yank me off.

  I go ballistic, swinging wildly.

  “No, man! Fuck!” I hear Snare. “A little help!”

  I growl, hitting whatever comes near me.

  Then a smell assails my nose. I suck like a man without oxygen. My vision clears, and a small body hits my torso, latching on like a monkey.

  I know that body.

  My arms fall, letting the rope dangle softly at my side.

  I look down at Rose. “Stop,” she whispers.

  I nod, my hand palming the back of her skull.

  “Stop,” she says again with a thread of voice.

  That small voice moves through me like a wire of electricity, pulling shit low in my gut. I wrap my arm around her and survey the damage.

  Bunch of fuckers, their cocks wagging out of jeans like tongues are tossed all over the floor in various states of consciousness.

  Viper's on his ass, blowing air in and out like a steam engine.

  I smirk. Old fucker's got brass balls.

  Snare throws his arms wide. “Got about three minutes before the calvary comes.”

  I look at Diablo. His body is very still. A second smiley face lies beneath his mouth like a red slash on his neck. That'll leave a mark.

  Good. Fucker deserves to die slowly. The want to finish him rides low and tight inside. Desperate.

  “Noose,” Rose says.

  I look down at her. Black tracks of mascara run down her face, and her lipstick is smeared. She smells great.

  Looks better.

  I like her alive so much, it feels physical, my relief and happiness. Like a drug, but better. Real.

  “I want to get out of here. Please,” she begs.

  Rose shouldn't have to beg for shit.

  “Yeah.” I scoop her right off the ground. Her head rolls into the space between my torso and my arm.

  “Snare, stop picking belly lint and grab Viper.”

  He pulls a face of pure irritation and slaps a hand into Viper's open palm. He hauls up our Road Kill Prez.

  I make a mental note of the brothers. They're a little worse for the wear, but they all look happy.

  Today, we saved an innocent.

  Tomorrow, there will be payment due.

  But for now, I have Rose, and she's safe against me.

  *

  I smooth her soft hair away from her face. “What's wrong with her, Doc?”

  He gives her a critical roving eye, but Rose just stares back vacantly. “I'd say shock is a good guess.” His eyes find mine again. “You said she had a glucose crash?”

  I'm not sure what that is, but I'd say that sounds right. “Probably.”

  “No probably, Noose. If this girl was on a drip just hours ago and went through this cocksucking ordeal, there's no probably. She's likely shocky as shit.”

  “Is that your medical opinion?” I cross my arms, still remembering the bite of his needle from only a few hours before.

  His lips twitch. “No, you dumb fuck, she's looking chalky white and isn't responding normally. It's a great fucking guess.”

  I rake my hair back with fingers tender and abraded. My scalp doesn’t appreciate the motion over the wound. I didn't take time to glove up before handling the rope. Would've saved myself some fucking pain.

  Fuck it.

  My gaze moves to Rose—and the outfit she's wearing. One hundred and ten percent sweet-butt attire there.

  Why the fuck would she be all shaved, showered, and made up like a slut?

  And what was Diablo's plan? I can see that fucker thinking gang rape would bring Rose in line, that he could manipulate her into giving him visitation of the kid.

  Only to discredit her later.

  I hadn't thought of a tactful way to bring that potential up. No fucking good at tactful.

  Good at riding. Killing. Fucking. Not good at emotions.

  I was going to have to tap something besides twats in the near future. Tap into a little-used reservoir of tender.

  Lots of fucking Ts there. None of them easy, except the tap part.

  “Let's see if we can lay her down and warm her up, Noose.”

  I nod.

  “She been catatonic since this went down with Diablo?” he asks to confirm.

  Except for a few words, Rose had been as silent as the grave. “Yeah. Been like a fucking corpse.” I hate being worried.

  What the fuck do I have to worry about, unless I care?

  Caring. Now that's what I need to worry about.

  8

  Rose

  Consciousness is a weird thing. It should be as simple as being awake while not sleeping.

  Not true.

  I hear Noose's limited exchange with “Doc.” I don't know if he's a real doctor or not, but the hands that touch me know my body. They’re gentle, healing hands, not harmful.

  It's the first part of their conversation I'm more interested in.

  “Was she raped, Doc? Did I—get there in time?”

  “Wasn't raped. She was penetrated with something, but no torn flesh, no signs of forced entry.”

  No. No forced entry, like a house broken into.

  Drake just made sure I got wet before he really started the mind rape. Make no mistake, that was what his charade was all about. Drake wanted to let me know that no matter what, he's in control, that he can hurt me in ways I never knew.

  Hands push me down gently. I can't be on my back. Panic wells like a swallowed bubble inside me. My fist strikes a j
aw. Pain blows through my arm, radiating to my elbow.

  “Fuck me!”

  “I can sedate her?” Doc asks.

  “No fucking way. She's been sedate long enough.”

  I open my eyes. Noose's near-translucent gaze pegs me where I sit, elbows dug into the soft bed beneath me.

  A small red lump mars the perfection of a jawline almost too angular, too defined.

  A face I can never get tired of.

  I do a lot of crying around this man, and I burst into tears for the second time in twenty-four hours.

  “Hey, baby.” He sits beside me, drawing me into his arms. Noose pats me awkwardly, and all I feel is this big hard body all around me like a cocoon of strength. Flesh-covered steel. Safe.

  I snuggle against him, wrecking his black T-shirt, snotting it to pieces.

  Noose holds me like he'll never let me go.

  “Give us a sec, Doc.”

  “Sure thing.” The man's eyes roam over me, and I duck my head, ashamed.

  “Don't you worry about what I think,” he says unexpectedly. “I know what those bastards did. None of this is your fault.”

  I nod. But in my heart, I can't agree. I'll never agree. Some kind of compromise of Rose Christo has begun. I don't know who I am.

  I'm crying because I grieve for her—that girl I was.

  Doc leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

  “Rose?” Noose is thumbing away my tears. His practicality has me laughing as he lifts his T-shirt and wipes my nose with it. What the hell? It's ruined now anyway.

  I know I look like shit, and my face heats. What he thinks of me is still important. I realize I'm in a precarious position of hero worship.

  “Don't cry. It's over. Diablo is shut down. We gotcha.”

  I hold my hands on either side of his strong face. He doesn't look away, but I so sense that the small intimacy my touch offers bothers him.

  His Adam's apple bobs.

  “I know. And I'm so thankful, Noose—I am.”

  The frown between his eyes doesn't ruin his looks—it enhances them. I gulp my attraction down like a bitter pill.

  I was almost gang-raped. It didn't matter that I was forcefully aroused. I close my eyes at the memory of Drake's fingers inside me and my pussy clenching around them only hours after Noose's tongue had brought me screaming.