Hung (Selected Sinners MC #4) (11 page)

BISCUIT

I stood in the shop, bent over a bench, grinding the tabs off of an exhaust bracket. As I watched the wheel on the grinder grind the metal into a shower of sparks, I heard Axton’s voice over the sound of the grinder.

“God fucking damn it Biscuit, I told you to take care of that fucking cop,” he shouted.

I released the safety pedal of the grinder and stood silently as it came to a stop.

“Huh?” I said, knowing full well what he had said.

“The girl you’re fucking’s god damned father. I fucking told you,” he screamed.

The veins in his neck were standing out as he screamed. He was madder than I had ever seen him.

“Fuck, Slice, I forgot. I’ll get to it,” I said as I placed the exhaust shield on the bench.

“Well, go do it. He’s out at the fence in riot gear,” he bellowed.

My eyes widened and my heart began to pound out of my chest, “Huh?”

“You heard me. He’s parked in the street, leaning against the gate. He’s in a fucking truck, looks like he’s off duty, but he’s got on a vest and his fuckin SWAT gear,” he said as he gazed down at the floor and shook his head.

“Maybe it’s not him,” I shrugged.

He glanced up and shook his head, “You dumb fuck, bringing that shit to our shop. It’s him, he asked for you
by name
. Dalton Biskette. Sound familiar?”

“God damn,” I sighed as I attempted to peer past Axton and into the parking lot.

“You’ve got ten fucking minutes,” he sighed, “Get him gone or I’m going to shoot you both.”

“Got it, Boss,” I nodded.

“I’m not fucking joking,” he grunted.

“I’m headed out there now,” I said as I began to walk to the lot.

The last thing I wanted was Axton upset with me. The next to the last thing I wanted was to be shot. And the thing next to that, and highest on my list of shit to hate to deal with in real life, was to be talking to the cop father of a twenty-two year old college girl I was fucking.

As I walked into the lot, I glanced up at him. Kat should have warned me. He looked like Otis in SWAT gear. If I was going to whip him at any point in time, I’d either need a big stick or a gun. I figured my best bet was to be as mean as I could and stand my ground. I wasn’t about to let him try and intimidate me, cop or not.

Fucking fuck.

“Dalton Biskette?” he said in a typical cop voice.

“Depends on who’s fuckin’ askin’” I responded in my best
fuck you
voice.

“Officer Chadsworth, Wichita PD,” he barked.

“Don’t mean fuck to me, cop,” I barked back as I reached the fence.

He placed his hands on his hips and stared.

I reached for the same cock I’d fucked his daughter with the night before, scratched it, and stared back.

I hated cops.

And, rightfully so, cops hated me.

BISCUIT

I had never backed down from a fight in my life, and I’d been in more than I could ever count. I’d been in biker brawls, stand-offs with rival clubs, and involved in nothing short of what cops would describe as
gang wars
. Through all of this, for my thirty-two years on earth, not one man had ever intimidated me.

And I didn’t see that changing any time in the near future.

The oversized cop pressed his hands onto the sides of his hips and stared, “I’ll make this simple, Biskette. You’re going to stop seeing my daughter.”

“Don’t know what or who you’re talking about. I don’t
see
anybody, cop. I got a list of about thirty or so girls I
fuck
, and if you’ll give me her name, I’ll pull my little black book out of my cut see if she’s on the list,” I said as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

He pursed his lips, widened his eyes slightly, and lowered his hands. As his right hand hovered over the grip of his pistol, he inhaled a long, deep breath.

“Smart-ass, huh? Well, that’s fine. Katrina Chadsworth is her name, ring a bell?” he asked.

“Nope,” I responded.

He shook his head and exhaled an audible sigh, “Listen, I’m not going to stand here and dick around with you. You don’t like cops, and I don’t like pieces of dirty ass shit who fuck my daughter. You can’t win this fight. I’m not going to go into details of how I run an investigation, but I will say this. You’re alleged to having a six inch long tongue and being hung like a mule. It’s
you
, and I know it’s
you
. Now, what I’m telling you is this…”

He paused and raised one eyebrow before he continued, “It stops today.”

I uncrossed my arms, lowered my hands to my sides, and rolled my shoulders rearward as I flexed my chest and biceps, “If having a big cock is a crime, you better arrest me now, cop.”

“I’ll put it terms you can understand, Biskette. Keep fucking with her, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes. It’s that simple. This conversation is over,” he said as he turned away.

“You threatening me, cop?” I hollered as he walked toward his truck.

He opened the door to the truck, paused, and peered over his shoulder, “That’s not a threat, Biskette. It’s a view into what your future holds. Try me, and your buddy Bishop in there’ll be burying your ass.”

How the fuck do you know all of our names?

Creepy ass cop.

He nodded his head once, climbed into the truck, and drove away. I stood for a long minute, gazing beyond the fence and into the street. I wasn’t about to let any man tell me what I could or couldn’t do, but something about getting shot between the running lights by one of Wichita’s finest had me second guessing whether or not fucking Kat was what I needed to be doing with my spare time.

Axton’s hand on my shoulder startled me slightly, and caused me to understand I was truly out of my comfort zone with Kat’s father stopping by to see me.

“So, I’m assuming you got it resolved?” Axton asked.

I nodded my head and sighed, “Guess so.”

I turned to face Axton and crossed my arms in front of my chest, “Listen to
this
shit. That motherfucker said if I contacted her again he was gonna shoot me.”

“Jesus Christ, Biscuit. Well, what’d you say?”

I gazed down at the ground for a moment and thought. As I glanced upward, I responded, “I said a lot of shit, but after
that
I didn’t really say anything.”

“Motherfucker rendered you speechless, huh?” he chuckled.

“Somethin’,” I shrugged, “And it ain’t funny.”

“So, what are you going to do about the girl?” Axton asked as he turned toward the shop.

As I started following him across the lot, I considered his question. I really didn’t know what I was going to do. I had no desire to get into a pissing match with a cop, and I damned sure didn’t want to get shot by some overeager protective father.

But I’d be damned to hell if I was going to let him tell me what to do. Whatever I decided was going to be
my
decision based on what I thought was in
my
best interest.

“Well?” Axton asked over his shoulder as he stepped through the garage door and into the shop.

I swept a few of the loose rocks away across the parking lot with my boot and glanced his direction, “I’m thinkin’.”

As I continued to gaze down at boots and kick random rocks across the lot, I continued, “I think I’m gonna finish this bracket, see if it fits, and then ride over to her house and fuck her. You know, to see if I like it as much as I remember likin’ it. If her pussy’s as good as I remember it bein’, I’ll keep fucking her. If it ain’t, I’ll stop. But I ain’t stoppin’ because some fuckin’ cop told me to.”

Axton coughed a laugh and shook his head, “No pussy’s worth dying over.”

“You ain’t fucked this gal, so you don’t know. Her twat’s worth quite a bit,” I laughed, “Lemme ask you this, Slice. Same situation, what’d you do?”

I reached down, picked up the exhaust shield, and waited for his response.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and inhaled a deep breath. As he exhaled, he grinned, “Well, I’d have probably already left, and about now I’d be fucking her. There isn’t a man alive that’s going to tell
me
what to fucking do.”

“You’re right,” I said as I tossed the exhaust shield onto the bench, “I’m going to head that way now. This bracket can wait.”

“Devil looks after his own…” Axton said under his breath.

“Sinner forever, forever a Sinner…” I breathed as I walked toward my bike.

And, as much as I knew I was a sinner to the bone, I didn’t believe what I was doing with Kat was sinning, criminal, or warranted getting shot by her father. If her father decided to shoot me, maybe he’d do it while I was nuts deep in his daughter’s pussy.

And I could die a happy man.

KAT

It seemed whenever life was going good, either my father or Kyle stopped the flow of things, never allowing me to enjoy much more than a day or two of happiness without interruption. Having both of them intervening in my life at the same time, however, wasn’t something I thought would ever happen again.

But somehow, it had.

“I have no idea how you got out of jail, but I
really
don’t want you here,” I said as I raised my hands in front of my chest.

“I’ve been locked up for a fucking month, and I need some pussy. Put your fucking hands down, get your ass over here, and suck my fucking cock,” he said as he pushed his way past me and sat down on the couch.

“Seriously, Kyle. I’m seeing someone. It’s over. Just leave,” I begged.

He unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick, “This thing isn’t going to suck itself you dumb bitch, get the fuck over here.”

I walked briskly toward the couch, stopped in front of him, and crossed my arms. I glanced toward the front door, which was still open. I glanced at Kyle. He disgusted me. After inhaling a breath of courage and exhaling harshly enough for him to hear me, I said what I had to say.

“Put that little joke of a dick of yours back in your fucking pants and get the fuck out of here!” I fumed as I pointed toward the door.

I hoped the month in jail, the pending charges for abuse and battery, and his desire to stay out of jail would cause him to listen to me, grant my wishes, and leave.

“You stupid bitch, I told you to suck my fucking dick,” he said as he stood.

He stunk of a combination of sweat and laundry soap. Wearing jeans, lace up camouflage boots, and a wife beater, he looked every bit of the Marine he used to be.

The blur of his arm in front of my face startled me. He grabbed my hair in his hand, pulled my head rearward, and slapped my face harder than he ever had in the past. The impact of his hand caused my ears to ring, and within a few seconds I tasted blood in my mouth. As much as I tried not to cry, I felt tears begin to roll down my cheeks.

“Now see what you made me do, you dumb cunt? Hell, I came over to give you some lovin’, and you made me smack your dumb ass. Get on your fucking knees,” he said as he shoved against my head with both hands, pushing me to the floor.

On the floor crying, feeling there was no way out of the situation I was in, I wanted him to just die. I hated him, the thought of him, and even the smell of him. As he held my head with his hands, he pressed his dick into my face and bellowed his demands into the room.

“Put. My. Dick. In. Your. Cunt. Mouth. It don’t get any simpler than that, Katrina,” he sighed.

As he smashed his half-soft dick into my face, I considered biting it, and wondered if I could make it to the open door before he caught me. I glanced to the side and tried to remember where I left my phone, hoping I could make a mad dash across the floor and get to it before he grabbed me. As he began to bark out more commands, I attempted to stand.

He shoved against my head and slapped my face again.

“You stupid bitch. You can’t suck my dick if you’re not on your knees,” he sighed sarcastically.

“Kyle, stop. You’re hurting me. Just get the fuck out,” I cried.

The sound of him screaming in response was muffled by the sound of my door slamming and another person’s screaming. As I glanced up and toward the door, my heart began to pound rapidly.

“Get your hands off the girl,” I heard Biscuit shout.

Thank God.

Within two steps, he was grabbing Kyle by the shoulders and spinning him around.

“Get in the kitchen, Kat,” I heard him demand.

Somehow, I ended up in the kitchen. The small apartment was open, and I stood mere feet from where Kyle and Biscuit were, watching everything. As Biscuit held Kyle’s shoulders in his hands, he spoke in a very demanding tone and everything began to happen extremely fast.

“What’s the fuck’s going on, Kat?” Biscuit shouted over his shoulder.

“Who the
fuck
do you think you are?” Kyle growled, “I’m a U.S. Marine, and I’ll kick the absolute shit out of you.”

Beat his fucking ass, Biscuit.

“Shut the fuck up,” Biscuit growled in return.

“He’s trying to rape me,” I cried.

“You crazy bitch,” Kyle sighed.

“Listen, I was just…” Kyle continued.

For being as mean as he was to
me
, Kyle seemed like a big pussy when it came to fighting a man. He wasn’t attempting to do anything to free himself from Biscuit’s grasp, and, from where I stood, it seemed he was going to try and negotiate his way out of things.

With his back facing me, Biscuit shouted, “Kat?”

“He was trying to rape me. He slapped me hard, twice,” I sobbed.

He looked like he released Kyle as he quickly turned around and studied me. Standing in the kitchen crying with a swollen bloody lip and what I suspected were two very prominent hand prints on my face, my crying increased to an almost full sob. As Biscuit’s eyes met mine, they widened and he immediately spun around to face Kyle again.

And all hell broke loose.

It looked like a scene out of one of the Jason Statham movies - if Jason Statham was six foot tall and had a beard. As Biscuit spun around, his right knee lifted in the air, and he swung it into Kyle’s stomach or crotch, I couldn’t tell for sure. As Kyle bent over from the impact, Biscuit clenched his hands together in a huge fist and swung it upward into Kyle’s face.

Kyle stumbled rearward and landed on the couch.

And, within a half-second, Biscuit was on top of him, beating him savagely on his face with his hands.

“You motherfucker. I ought to fucking kill you,” he screamed as he beat him.

Kyle was either unconscious or dead. He didn’t even lift a hand to defend himself. For as tough as he portrayed himself as being, he sure didn’t look the part now. I had no idea of what I
should
have felt, standing there watching Biscuit beat Kyle, but I felt relieved, honored, and protected. Not one single shred of my being felt sorrow or compassion for what he was doing to Kyle.

“Beat his ass, Biscuit,” I shouted.

After a few seconds, Biscuit stopped punching him, bent down, and appeared to be kissing him.

And Kyle screamed a cry like he was being tortured.

Biscuit turned his head to the side, spit something on the floor, and picked Kyle up from the couch. As he drug him toward the door by the hair and his half-removed jeans, he spoke to me in a remarkably calm tone.

“Open the door, would ya?” he asked flatly.

I ran past them, grabbed the door, and pulled it open. As I turned around and made eye contact with Biscuit, he shook his head and grumbled out a growl that sounded like a rabid pit bull.

And he dropped Kyle to the floor.

“You son of a worthless cock sucking bitch,” he said as he began kicking Kyle’s face with his boots.

I stepped out onto the hallway between my apartment and the adjoining apartment, and glanced around nervously. After several swift kicks to the face, Biscuit picked up Kyle and slapped him a few times.

“Can you fuckin’ hear me, you little bitch?” he shouted as he slapped him.

Kyle groaned.

“I need you to answer me, motherfucker. You hear me?” Biscuit growled.

His face, arms and shirt covered in blood, Kyle moaned.

“Either answer me, or I’m going to toss you on the floor and boot your ass again,” Biscuit said as he slapped him again, “Can you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Yeah,” Kyle moaned.

Biscuit held Kyle rather limp body in his hands, and pressed his face within inches of Kyle’s.

“Good. Now listen up. I’m tellin’ you once. You ever come in contact with her again, for
any
reason - and believe me, I don’t give a fuck what it is - I’m gonna find you. And don’t worry you little punk assed bitch, I won’t kill you, but I’ll make you one solemn promise; you’ll wish you were fucking dead when I get done with your ass. I’ll have of the fellas I run with butt fuck you until you can’t hold your shit in, and then I’ll come and cut your fuckin’ hands off – both of ‘em. You fuckin’ understand me?” he growled.

Jesus.

I swallowed heavily at the thought of what Biscuit said. Something told me he was far from joking.

“Yeah,” Kyle moaned.

“Tell me what’s going to happen if you ever come in contact with her. Tell me what I said,” Biscuit hissed.

“Cut my…cut off my…my hands,” Kyle muttered.

“And?” Biscuit asked as he shook Kyle violently.

“Butt…Uhhm, butt fuck me,” he whined in response.

“That’s right,” Biscuit growled.

Biscuit shoved Kyle through the door, past me, and onto his back. I turned toward where Kyle landed and gazed down at him, pleased the ordeal was over, but worried about Kyle’s bloody body being on the landing of my third floor apartment. I glanced toward Biscuit as he walked past me, grabbed Kyle’s boots, and promptly drug him toward the steps. Somewhat confused at what was next, Biscuit didn’t keep me wondering for long. After a swift tug on Kyle’s legs, he drug him feet first down the steps, Kyle’s head thumping against each step as he did so.

The sound of it was almost grotesque.

But I despised Kyle and his ability to call rape by another name. Men seemed to think if they ever fucked a woman or had a relationship with her, that it provided an open invitation for them to continue to fuck her. When our relationship ended, so did every feeling or desire I ever had for Kyle. And no meant no, whether I was his former girlfriend or not.

The thumping sound continued until Biscuit reached the first floor landing - and each thud of Kyle’s head against a concrete step was like music to my ears.