Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) Read online

  He makes the hundred-dollar bill disappear in his pocket then jerks his chin in the direction of the doors behind him, lifting the brass hook that cordons off the area.

  “See no evil, hear no evil,” Noose mutters as he walks by.

  “Kitty?” I ask the bouncer quietly.

  “Three,” the guy answers in a clipped voice.

  Noose is already a storm of movement down the hall.

  He grabs my arm before I can follow Noose. “No three-way shit. Thorn won't go for that,” the bouncer tosses after me once I shake off his hand.

  I feel my expression turn to thunder. “There won't be any three-way for Kitty—ever.”

  The bouncer's eyes tighten, his brows coming together.

  I ignore him, seeing Noose's hand on door number three, his eyes on mine.

  I nod, anticipating the view.

  Hating the outcome.

  We walk in, and it's way worse than anything I could have imagined.

  *

  I'd know the curve of her spine anywhere.

  But Sara's so thin now, it's a shadow of her former beauty. The girl I knew had curves that fit against my body perfectly.

  This version of Sara is bobbing her dark head on some other guy's dick.

  I freeze for a critical moment, my eyes riveted on a chubby stump of glowing candle held in one of his hands, high above them—his face slack with lust. Red wax drips down onto the small of Sara's back, horribly close to the exposed crack of her ass where tatters of an outfit are flayed open like a glittering cloth wound.

  Fuck me.

  She whimpers around this fucker's cock, and I spring from my position. I hear her choking on his load, and a part of me comes unhinged.

  I grab her around the waist, the scrap of torn dress scratchy between us, and lift her. She's light as a feather in my arms.

  “Snare,” she chokes, and I close my eyes at her voice and what it does to my insides, shredding the tough exterior I've worked so hard to maintain.

  Noose moves in, his fists low and ready at his sides.

  For the first time in five years, I feel right. Simply because Sara is in my arms. That void I was trying to fuck out of every woman I met, the emotional disconnect I maintain to survive, slides away like molten lava.

  The effort not to cry in relief is ugly. Not killing that fuck she was working over is even worse. “What the fuck, Sara?” I say, and she slumps forward.

  A big fucker chooses that moment to blast through the door we just came through and lands on Noose.

  The men grapple as Sara goes limp against me. Fuck. I swing her into my arms, holding her tight to my chest.

  She moves her face away from me and spits onto the floor. My eyes hold the mess of it, the proof of her just sucking off this prick.

  My stomach tightens, and I haul us backward as the dickhead climbs over the back of the huge chair he'd been sitting on. It starts to lean backward, and he falls, ass over teakettle, behind it.

  Noose gives an uppercut to the big dude's solar plexus, and he folds in two. Roaring like a bull, the man charges Noose.

  Noose dances away.

  That's when I get a load of the cut the big guy wears.

  Chaos.

  I gently set Sara down behind me and get a flash of tits. I gulp back the insta-lust that slams my dick and turn, feeling ashamed, angry—fucking hyped—and go after the fucker on Noose.

  The big guy that met us at the door, Thorn—I think his name was—wades into the room. “What the blue fuck is going on?” he roars.

  Noose gives the Chaos fucker a love tap on the neck, and Thorn steps in, attempting to pin Noose.

  Good luck with that.

  Noose throws him against the wall with a judo move I didn't know he had.

  Thorn hits the wall with his palms, smoothly pushing off with the momentum created by the throw.

  He catches his breath, his chest heaving, glaring at no one and everyone. “I said, and I quote, ʻI do not want MC crap.ʼ” He puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head as though he got his bell rung. “And here I stand, with a client, an unknown bodyguard, and you two.” He sweeps his hand at me and Noose. Shit.

  A nice bruise is beginning to bloom like an ugly flower on Noose's cheekbone.

  “Here to get my property,” I say into the room. The words are like a sentence of small bombs detonating into the sudden silence.

  Thorn raises his eyebrow. “You're fucking kidding, right? I mean, I know a little about MC culture, and why would your old lady be fucking stripping. Stripping at my club?” His fingers spread on his chest.

  Good question. Except answering that isn't easy. She's not really my old lady. She's my stepsister. And—yeah. I love her and want to stick my dick in her and protect her and—geezus—she had that guy's cum in her mouth.

  My head feels hot. Like it's going to blow off my neck. “Sara's mine.”

  Noose groans with a shake of his head then wipes his mouth, flicking blood off his fingers.

  “Who?” Thorn asks. His eyes move behind me to where I laid Sara down to keep her out of harm's way. “You mean Kitty?”

  I hate the stage name. But I've got one of my own. However, since mine doesn't also mean pussy... “Yeah.” I fold my arms.

  “Snare.”

  I cut a glance at Noose that's sharp enough to slice. Can't he see I'm fucking talking?

  The Chaos Rider gives an uneasy look between the half-naked client behind the chair, swiftly putting on his pants, and the two of us.

  Fuck. Unease slides down my spine. “What?”

  “Sara's gone.”

  I whirl, and sure enough, there's just some glitter where she'd been. In the middle of this fucking mess, she's slipped out, and I hadn't noticed.

  “Fuck!” I bellow into the room. Could this get any worse?

  Actually, I find out, it can.

  When the fucker Sara'd been blowing stands up, he smooths back his hair. He meets me dead in the eyeballs and says, “I'm Mover.”

  Noose and I exchange looks. My stomach drops into some kind of a pit I didn't even know existed, my balls trying to climb up my ass.

  He smiles. “I believe you belong to Viper?”

  Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

  Thorn throws up his hands. “Out. Everyone out.” His eyes find me and Noose. “Don't ever come back.” His gaze shifts to big guy, panting badly after the breadbasket strike he just got, courtesy of Noose. “You get the fuck out.” Finally, his gaze comes to rest on Mover. “And I had no idea of your affiliation with MC. Mr. McKenna doesn't do motorcycle club bullshit. So you're not welcome anymore either.”

  Mover comes around the fallen chair, walking past Thorn as though he doesn't exist. “I owe your dancer money. And I pay my debts. Especially when she relieved me of so much.”

  He smirks.

  I jump forward, grabbing for his neck.

  Noose is there, spinning me away. He folds me against him as he whispers fiercely in my ear. “Ya haven't touched him yet. Ya do—it's war. Know this. He will pay.”

  My body is one hot line of rage. I can't speak. I don't turn around and look at the president of the Chaos Riders. The one who just unloaded his cum into Sara's willing mouth. I can't.

  He'll die if I do.

  He and his boy leave as I relearn how to breathe. “Let go.”

  Noose releases me, wary. Dollar bills lay spread out all over the floor. I can't help the tally.

  Around a thousand bucks. For Sara to blow him and let him hurt her with hot wax. This isn't the Sara of five years ago.

  The one who hid behind me while my father abused us.

  *

  “That is the most fucked-up coincidence of my life.” Noose shakes his head, swinging his booted leg over the top of the seat of his Harley Road King. We all thought he was crazy for getting that. The ride doesn't have near the sleek look as a Fat Boy or some of the rest, but Noose has tricked the ride out.

  And now he has Rose. He likes his old lady rid
ing in comfort on the back of the hog. I guess I can see the logic.

  Now I wish I had a bike that's better for the bitches. But I don't. My Fat Boy doesn't accommodate chicks. Being as how I want to just fuck them, that's worked out so far.

  Now there's Sara.

  I just sit there on my bike, not moving. Fucking unreal. I took this girl's virginity. Now she's taking her clothes off for strangers and giving blow jobs like some hooker in the back room? I don't need this shit.

  Do I want it? From where I sit, it kinda looks like Sara's taking care of Sara just fine.

  I clench my hands into fists. I thought she was mine.

  Now I'm thinking she's her own.

  “Now what?” Noose asks quietly.

  Trainer looks around nervously. Probably wishing he hadn't come, but thankful as fuck he didn't make it back to the VIP room once he gets a play-by-play of what went down. That it didn't go well. Couldn't have gone worse.

  A vein throbs in my temple with the promise of a raging headache. “It's fucked up that somehow Chaos is involved. I mean, what the fuck is Mover doing paying one K for a blow job? He doesn't have enough sweet butts to fucking suck his rocks off?”

  Noose shrugs, being his reasonable self. “Wants exotic. Got local tail galore but maybe the man wants something different.”

  I clench my fists. Why Sara?

  “I don't know if I can forgive her. Seeing her sucking off Chaos? The prez?” I make a derisive noise in the back of my throat. “Fuck.” I lace my fingers and pop them on top of my head. “Fuck!”

  “News flash, pal. You just now give a shit about Sara? Why didn't you look for her in the last fucking five years? She will be the one looking at you like a deserter.”

  “Me?” I plug my thumb on my chest. “Nope. I was saving Sara. I had set up a fucking spot for us. She took off—she left me.”

  “She wrote you a note. What'd it say?”

  I grunt. “Some bullshit about how she wanted me to be free, have my own life.”

  Noose nods. “Looks like this was the best she could do, pal.”

  I shoot him a sour look. Truth blisters. Maybe he's right. But why is the best she could do fucking other guys? Getting naked and flashing her shit at other men? Why was leaving me an excuse to turn into a whore?

  “You need answers, or do you just wanna leave her be?”

  I drop my hands by my sides. Talk about conflicted. “I don't know.”

  “If you're all wishy-washy and shit, she was never the one, man. And her being related and all.” Noose shrugs.

  “Kinda pervy,” Trainer pipes in, sounding vaguely like Storm.

  I flip him off. “I had about enough of that at church.” I glare at Trainer. “Thanks, asshole.”

  Trainer's smile fades. “Just saying maybe let her do what she wants.”

  I grind my teeth, my jaw tight. “My fucking sadist fuck of a dad is after her. I can't just let her go.”

  Noose's head kicks back, but he's not blowing smoke rings for once. “I don't know, seems like work. Seems like Road Kill already put our boot in a steaming pile of Chaos shit. And we're not here to back a hero complex.”

  I scrub my head. “Yeah. This is going to fuck things between Viper and Mover even more. Fucking balls. And this is not about me being a fucking hero, Noose.”

  Noose says nothing. His hands loosely clasped, he waits.

  “I'm going to see Sara, talk to her. Get some shit straight.”

  Noose keeps eyeballing me. “You're not going to hurt her, are you, Snare?” His voice is soft. The tone sounds like before he uses knots.

  Makes me feel sick to my stomach he'd ask that. “Fuck no, I'm not going to hurt her. I'm the only thing that stood between her and my dad for three fucking years.”

  Noose folds his arm, hikes a shoulder. “Gotta say the words, man. Even though Sara sucked off the prez of Chaos Riders?” His eyebrow rises in question.

  I flinch. My answer is painful but full of truth. I meet his bland stare with one I know is rage-filled. “Even though.”

  Noose raises his knuckles, and I give them a light tap.

  We pull out of the parking lot and, courtesy of Noose's intel, head in the direction of the apartment complex where Sara lives.

  We break apart inside the underground parking. Noose had asked how long I'd be.

  Long as it takes, I'd replied.

  10

  Sara

  I'm hours early. Lola volunteered to watch Jaylin because she knew I'd be later. VIP late.

  I could have never anticipated Snare would show up.

  And my life would implode.

  I close my eyes for a minute, trying to control my breathing, my helpless spiral back into loving Snare. Wanting what I determined I didn't deserve. Behind my eyelids, my mind plays back the movie of him coming in and tearing me off the Dick.

  He was so beautiful I can't erase him. The muscular body, lifting me out of my own filth.

  My own despair.

  His strong arms holding me tight—his familiar smell. It hadn't mattered where I lived. If Snare was there, I was home.

  Finally I stop wallowing as I shiver in the hallway of my apartment complex and unlock my door. It feels wonderful to be home and out of The Crawl. I'm greeted with the smells of home: Jaylin's Play-Doh, last night's enchiladas. I close the door behind me and lean against the solid wood, closing my eyes again.

  After a moment of pure, blissful relief, I walk to the kitchen sink, open the cabinet, and strip to my G-string. I toss my torn dress right in the trash can. The Crawl can take it out of my pay.

  If there's even a job to come back to.

  The glitter covering the dress scatters at my feet, and the shimmering ebony fabric seems to mock me from the depths of the can. I slam the cupboard door shut and walk to my bedroom. I move straight to the tiny, three-quarter en suite bathroom and crank on the hot water.

  I stare at my reflection. My mouth.

  The first gag takes me by surprise.

  The second brings me to my knees in front of the toilet. I slap up the lid and heave whatever's in my stomach straight up.

  The toilet bowl sloshes with bile and cum. I wretch more as steam builds inside the bathroom from the running shower. I grab the corner of the vanity and heave myself to standing, running the hot water tap. I brush my teeth.

  Twice.

  I drop my toothbrush.

  I gargle Listerine. Three times.

  I still feel so filthy. After stepping inside the shower, I open my mouth, and the heated spray fills me, seeping out the edges of my lips and running down my body. I turn around, the water pounding my bare back.

  My body aches. The wounds of my mind reopen.

  Snare's face. His horror at how he found me. His handsomeness I can never forget. Don't want to forget. Have to.

  Why is Snare even here? How did he ever find me?

  Fear slices through me as I steady myself against the tile shower wall. Does he know about Jaylin?

  I don't have answers to any of my questions.

  But Jaylin has to come first. I—I'll have to leave The Crawl and get out of Seattle. Snare knows where I work; Riker knows where I live.

  The two men can't meet again. Snare can't feel responsible. I can't speak lies in front of a judge.

  I turn off the faucet, listening to the drip, drip, drip as it echoes inside the shower stall.

  My body is clean, but my soul is tainted.

  The tears don't come. My body is a husk, drained dry by the events of the last couple of hours. I glance at my cell on the vanity and see it's almost eleven. I need to have my shit together before I get Jaylin at two a.m.

  Wrapping my hair in a towel and clutching one around my body, I pad out into the living room. I'll have some water, get a snack, get my yoga pants on...

  Snare's sitting on one of two overstuffed chairs in my tiny living room. All that black leather encased by floral chintz upholstery.

  I'm so startled I squeak and almos
t drop my towel.

  “Hello, Sara.”

  I open my mouth. Shut it. My fingers cinch the towel tighter between my breasts. “Snare.” My voice is a threaded whisper.

  Our stares hold so much mutual pain. I feel mine leaking out of my gaze—the pores of my body.

  Snare just looks angry. His fingers bite the armrests of the chair, strangling the floral fabric.

  My eyes move over his body in a hungry wave of desire. I didn't get a really good chance to look at him before. I only fled.

  I can't deal with this again.

  The shame of using Snare. Holding him back. Him taking the beatings meant for me. It doesn't matter that we're grown now. That we don't have to be in that house anymore. There'd always be Riker. And Snare would always put himself between me and harm. That's just the way he's hardwired.

  “Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” His words slam into me. One after the other, like punches. Stealing my breaths. My heartbeats. Leaving me stunned.

  “What?” I finally ask.

  Snare stands.

  He's taller than I remember. More filled out. He walks around my furniture and towers over me.

  I feel horribly vulnerable with only a towel separating my naked body from his eyes. Not because I'm afraid Snare will hurt me, but because I'm afraid of how much I still want him. I grip the towel tighter.

  This is Snare, my protector. “Looking at you like what?” I ask in a small voice.

  “You look at me like I'm dog shit.” His eyes are deep wells of bright sapphire rage, pinning me to where I stand.

  I couldn't move if I wanted to.

  What? I shake my head, my wet hair chilling my shoulders as the towel on my head drops to the floor. “I don't think that of you, Snare—I never could.” I reach out to touch him. I know I shouldn't, that I don't have the right. But I do, and he turns away, jerking away from my seeking hand. I let it fall to my side.

  “Bullshit.” He paces away, then he comes back to me, his fists clenching and unclenching. “You fucking took off, Sara. Just when we could have made something together.”