The Riot (Hell's Disciples MC Book 5) (5 page)

“Hands on the fuckin’ bed, baby.” I give in, knowing damn well it’s so much easier and satisfying that way.

Hooking his fingers at my waist, he peels my jeans and panties down my legs. My shirt goes next. Thrusting his hips into my ass, the roughness of his jeans on my bare skin sends goosebumps up my back. “Feels right, don’t it,” he asks, dragging his hands up my thighs. “Feels fuckin’ right to
me
.”

Rock has the best lines.

“You can’t sweet talk me.” I’m such a liar.

“Every goddamn word out of my mouth is nothin’ but truth when it comes to you, Ellison.”

It’s hard not to believe him when he makes me feel the way he does. If Rock is brilliant at one thing, it’s giving my body exactly what it needs. He knows me from head to toe, inside out, and he’s mastered every inch.

I feel him move lower, dragging his body along mine. Dropping to his knees behind me, he groans, and in one swift move, he shoves me down onto my stomach and flips me over to my back. Grabbing an ankle in each hand, he spreads my thighs open and licks a path up my thigh to my center.

I need a quick fuck. The longer Rock has me here in his hands, the harder it is to tell him no. He works me into a compliant mess, and there’s no telling what I’ll agree to once he works me over good.

“Just fuck me.”

“No.”

“Rocky—”

“Let me fuckin’ play, baby.”

He doesn’t give me the chance to argue. One thick finger slides deep inside of me, followed by a second. His thumb rubs soft circles on my clit, and anything I had to say is forgotten.

He twists those two fingers, finding that spot only he seems to know about. My eyes roll to the back of my head and my thighs shake.

“Fuck,” I hiss. Biting my lip, I desperately try to keep my cries of pleasure as quiet as possible. I only feed his ego with every moan and curse.

“Thought you didn’t want to be here.” I never said I didn’t want to be here, only that it was a bad idea. I want to fight it, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to do it.

He buries his face between my thighs. His lips and teeth play against my clit, causing my toes to curl and my fingers to bunch the sheets between my fists. He devours me like he can’t get enough.

I start to thrash, my orgasm ready to take me over, when he suddenly stops. He looks at me with gut wrenching green eyes, burning a trail up my body, as he pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth.

“You son of a bitch! I was just about to come.”

I watch the corner of his mouth lift with a deeply satisfied smirk. Rock’s got me right where he wants me, and no matter how good that felt, I know what I’m about to get is going to be so much better.

“Tastes like heaven, baby.”

Wasting no time, he removes his jeans, along with his shirt, and pulls a condom from his pocket. He rolls it down slowly, letting me watch the spectacular sight as he pumps his fist up and down his long, hard length. That shit is so fucking hot.

He spreads my legs wider and begins crawling in between. In one hard thrust, he he fills me. My back arches and I swear I see stars.

I forget everything. 

I’m right where I should be, wrapped around my Rock.

***

I’d rather do the walk of shame for six miles shoeless, squeeze through a window half my body size, roll out of bed army style in the middle of the night, or scale a fence and outrun angry dogs.

I don’t spend the night, ever
.
I don’t do hand holding or spooning. We aren’t going to cuddle, and I sure as shit won’t be here in the morning to cook him breakfast. I hate to ditch him by running out, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t do it.

It’s not that I don’t want to stay, wake up and feed him, because I do. I just know that I shouldn’t.

It fucking sucks, I’m not going to lie. He’s the only man I would ever want to stay with. Nothing sounds sweeter than to curl up under his blankets, wrap myself around his body, but it’s something I’ve never been able to do.

Watching my mom burn through beds like gasoline on a fire, kind of put things in a weird perspective for me. Men are users most of the time. Not all of them, but a large majority. I’d rather avoid them all then to take my chances. I use you. You’ll never use me.

I know Rocky loves me, but it’s not that kind of love. He’s not that kind of guy, and even if he were, I’m not sure I’m willing to risk what we do have, which is comfortable and stable.

Rock knows the drill. We’ve done this before. On the outside, I’m easy breezy, but inside, I feel guilty. Rock seems cool with what we have because he’s a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy. No one likes to be used, but as humans, we’re flawed. I know I’m Rock’s biggest flaw, just as he’s mine. I use him and he lets me.

“You going?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Yeah. I’ve gotta be in to work early.” Which is true, but it’s just an excuse. A lame one, but it works.

Grabbing my my shit, I’m heading for the door before Rock can even get out of bed. I have to. Staying feels too intimate to me. That’s not what we are. We fuck, we get what we need from each other, and that’s what we do. I don’t have to feel awkward for staying, and he doesn’t have to hurt my feelings by wanting me gone.

Stopping at the door, I look back to Rock when I know I shouldn’t. He sits on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees, as he stares down at the floor. Biting the inside of my cheek, I stifle the words clawing at my throat. Whatever I have to say will only make it worse.

On the outside, Rock cares about nothing. He’s tough and reckless. But on the inside, he cares. He probably cares too much. Me, on the other hand, I’m too chicken shit to do anything about the feelings I tend to walk all over. The moment my walls come down, they’ll crumble down to the foundation.

“Night, Rocky.”

Looking up, he smiles sweetly. The contrast from his biker life to that smile is night and day, but somehow, he always finds that smile just for me. It’s beautiful, and it’s mine.

Only mine.

“Night, El.”

Tears & Tits

Rock

I’m dog fuckin’ tired. Didn’t sleep much after El bailed on me, which is what she always does. I should be used to that shit by now, but for some damn reason, it still annoys the hell out of me. And what do I do? I let her go, every fucking time. I never stop her. I never ask her to stay. I give her what she feels she needs, is how I think of it.

I let her walk all over me.

Fell asleep sometime after four this morning, only to be woken up by my cell a few hours later. It was Dan, and when Dan calls, you show the fuck up.

Pulling into the lot, I swing around back and park.

Walking through the lot, I catch Buck inside the shop out back with T. Tink’s in town, and I don’t have a single fucking clue where Poncho is. That fucker sleeps all damn day, so there’s a real possibility he’s still knocked the fuck out. Lucky bastard. Ben’s inside with Rico and a few stray nomads who are visiting.

Up the stairs to room one, I walk in and find Dan standing by the table. Mossy is next to him in his chair, and both have started drinking already. That’s always a positive sign at nine in the morning.

“Got Lou’s cut.” It’s the first thing out of Dan’s mouth. Mossy nods grimly at the old round table in the middle of the room.

A hallow pit forms in my gut. “That it?” I ask, jerking my chin at the brown paper bag sitting in the middle of the table.

I don’t want to be here doing this shit, but it’s part of the job. There are no happy-endings here at the Y. But, we do what we gotta do to survive, and hope like a hell we have a little fun somewhere in between.

Grabbing the bag, I can’t seem to wrap my head around the only thing left of my brother, and it’s in that sack. A life reduced to a goddamn paper bag.

“Fuck.”

Losing a brother is never easy. When your time comes, you wanna go out in a blaze of glory. You wanna go in a hail of gunfire, on your bike, or stroke out while pounding into some fine piece of ass. What you don’t wanna be is picked off by some power-hungry degenerates.

“Yeah,” Dan replies, sitting down heavily in his chair. “That’s it.” When shit goes down, Dan’s the voice of reason, but today he looks defeated and ready to let us do what we’ve all been itching to do for a whole goddamn year. We want blood to be spilled.

“It’s in there. Sammy’s gettin’ a frame.” When you give your life for the club, we honor that.

“Good.”

“It’s confirmation, brother. They’re throwin’ their hats in the ring now.”

“Yeah.” The motherfucking floodgates have opened. They wanted war, now they’re gonna get it.

Reaching into the bag, I feel the cool, soft worn leather of a vest. A vest that feels identical to the one I put on every morning. I stare death in the face on a daily basis, but that doesn’t mean it makes it any easier to stomach. I may be reckless and stupid, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to be put six feet under. Puts life in perspective when you lose a brother. 

“This shit shouldn’t have happened,” Dan declares, and he’s so fucking right. We should’ve killed those asshole years ago when they were in their infancy. Definitely should’ve dealt with them a year ago. They’ve grown ballsy, and they’re causing problems. We can’t have any problems. It’s bad for business and our goddamn health.

My blood boils thinking of that waste of space, Mike. That fucker and his little club will die slowly, painfully, and brutally.

I have a hard time putting things in perspective. I’m having a fuck of a time not going all Rambo and shit on those cocksuckers. We have a wrong to right.

Dan doesn’t do things my way, and that’s where I believe we fucked up. My mentality was to act and deal with the consequences later. Dan hung back a whole goddamn year, building intel, gathering info, and checking facts. He let things boil until they bubbled over.

In my mind, Lou deserved a deadly retaliation on our part for his life, but Dan wasn’t seeing it that way. He’s always looked at the big picture. He sees more loss, more carnage, but I see us on top.

Looking at the bag in my hand, Dan sighs. Shaking his head, he lowers it in defeat. He’s done.

It’s time.

Looking up at me, his eyes darken. “Kill ‘em, brother, and I mean every last one of ‘em.” Fuck, that’s all I need to hear, so I nod. Buck might be Sargent at Arms, and Mossy VP, but when it’s time to collect, that shit’s all me.

Call me the motherfuckin’ Grim Reaper.

“Yeah.”

“Make ‘em bleed.”

My fucking pleasure.

***

Beer, God’s gift to the weary. Grabbing a bottle, I hit the club’s main room, my mind drifting between bouts of drama. I can’t focus long enough to form anything close to a coherent plan, so I’ll just drink instead. I want revenge, probably more than anyone, but I’m fucking tired.

Sitting my ass unceremoniously on the old leather couch, I recline, taking a load off. Kicking my feet up, I breathe deep. It’s been a hell of a week. Shit, it’s been a hell of a year.

Sucking back my beer, I take my time to savor it, but that only lasts a whole five minutes.

“Don’t get comfortable, ya lazy fuck.” Poncho bellows out as he walks into the room, a cautious look in his eyes.

“Why?” I ask, already half out of my seat. I’ve already got a nagging need to punch him in his ugly face, because I know whatever’s about to come out of his mouth will ruin my already shit day.

“Ellison…” Already on my feet and halfway to the door, I hear him finish with, “got roughed up at work. Last I heard, she was crying into her cup.” Of course she is.

On my bike and out of the gravel lot, I hit the highway and head into town, ready to knock some motherfucking heads.

***

Skipping the front door, I opt for the back. The less people I see, the less I’m likely to kill someone between the door and El. I’m sure whatever extreme protectiveness I have over Ellison is so far beyond ridiculous, it’s borderline insane, but she’s mine, and no one makes her fucking cry.

Walking down the back hall and out onto the main floor, I tell myself a few times to be cool and keep my shit under control, but who am I fucking kidding? When I find her sitting in the corner by the bar with a cup in her hand and tears in her eyes, there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about the urge to kill someone.

“Cryin’ into your Sprite ‘n vodka, baby?” I ask, sucking back my rage. If I lose my shit on her, she’ll start crying more, and I cannot deal with that shit right now. Tears make me sick.

“Go away, Rocky,” she sniffs, not bothering to look at me. Not gonna happen. I almost laugh at her.

Up in her personal space, I grab her chin, forcing her to look up at me. Mascara’s running down her face, and her red lipstick is smeared. She looks a fuckin’ mess, but she’s
my
mess.

There’s a red ring around her throat, about the size of a hand, and a bruise forming on her cheek. That calm and cool I’ve been trying to show disappears real fuckin’ fast. Mad wouldn’t come close to what I’m feeling, and violent would be putting it mildly.

I might not be able to kill The Raiders and Ryders tonight, but I can sure as hell fuck up the worthless piece of shit that touched my girl.

“Get up,” I tell her, grabbing onto her elbow. This ain’t how we do shit around here.

“Jesus, Rock.” She doesn’t move from her stool when she jerks her arm away from me. The cup stays protectively clutched in her hand as she frowns up at me. I’m clearly ruining her little pity party.

“Get up
now
,” I demand, my voice getting louder, fighting to be heard over the obnoxious beat of the music.
I don’t have time for her shit either. She can cry on the back of my bike later, after I handle business.

She’s staring at me, trying to figure out what I’m gonna do. There’s an alcohol glaze in those gray eyes and a sway to her movements, but she’s not too fucked up to figure out I mean business.

“Let it go,” she says quietly, waving me off. Let it go? She must be fucking high if she thinks I’m just gonna let it go.

“That’s never gonna happen.” Ellison knows this. “That man put his hands on you, so you get to put yours on him. Only fair.” In my world, every action has a reaction, and that reaction is usually painful and violent.

“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” Ellison argues, but it’s in vain. I’m already here.

“The fuck it don’t. It’s wrong until
I’m
right.” And I’m always right.

Pulling her up and onto her glitter heeled feet, I crouch down to her level, eye to eye, making sure she’s gettin’ me. Running a thumb under her eyes, I wipe off some of her make-up and tell her, “We’ll handle this shit, ‘n we’ll do it my way.”

“Rock. This shit happens. The assholes here don’t respect us. That’s what happens when you shake your ass and tits for money.” That’s a cute excuse, but that shit doesn’t fly with me.

“I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if you were butt ass naked with your pussy in his face. That doesn’t give him the right to touch you, or get mean when you tell him no. No always means no, and even more so when it’s comin’ from your pretty little mouth, so get the fuck up.”

Ellison hesitates, her eyes darting between the door out back and me. She knows if she runs I’ll chase her cute little ass down. She’s not making it twenty feet in those stupid fucking heels. “You hear me? Let’s go.” If she doesn’t handle this, it’ll eat at her. Ellison deals with enough shit. “Don’t let it rule you, El.”

“Rock—”

“Don’t, babe.” Not now. Not when I’m an inch from snapping.

“Okay,” she agrees. Thank fuck.

“Come on. You’ve got this.” She nods and she squares her shoulders.

That’s my girl.

“You like it when he touched you?”

“No,” she spits out hatefully. Yeah, I didn’t think so. That’s why she has to deal with it.

At sixteen, one of her mom’s dudes touched her and continued pushing his luck with her until she broke down and told me, but that shit still ate at her. It ate at her until I let her handle him herself. Once she was done,
I dealt
with him, and now he’s buried in Buck’s backyard. She’s been good since. El’s gotta do this shit for her. It’s the only way.

“You gonna take shit from that asshole?” I ask. Taking a hard pull from her cup, she shakes her head and polishing off her drink.

“Fuck no,” she growls, tossing her cup down on the floor. Yeah, that’s right.

Watching her get worked up works me up. I’m a sick fuck. I’ve never wanted to fuck her more than I do right now. Vengeance looks goddamn good on her. It always has.

Taking her hand, I pull her towards the door. She wraps her fingers securely around mine. If she needs more encouragement, I’ll give it to her. She needs a hand, I’ll be happy as a pig in shit to lend it.

“Here, you’ll need this.” I hand her the moneymaker I snatched from behind the bar.

“A bat?”

“You want the nine mil instead?” I joke…well, half joke, because I’m down for whatever the fuck she wants. Bats, bullets, bombs, whatever gets the job done.

***

Outside in the gravel lot behind the bar, Buck and Tyler have our friend pinned against a dumpster. He’s wearing a T-shirt with the Raiders insignia scrawled across the front. Fuck, this is gonna make this so much sweeter. The motherfucker must be a hang around, or it could be good timing. If you’re brave enough to rep a club, you better be ready to bleed for them too.

T jerks his chin up at me, telling me he’s seen the dude’s T-shirt, while Lennon leans against the bumper of an old ass Chevy, watching her man, Buck.

See? That’s where the Disciples in Washington and us down here differ. We don’t shield our women. They’re right here in the thick of it with us. You want in this life, then you better be down for the good, the bad, and the ugly, because that ugly can be fucking gruesome.

“You sure about this?” the guy asks, his face a shade of pale.

“The fuck you mean? This shit too much for you?” There’s something off with this bitch, like a few missing brain cells.

“I mean we’re in a parkin’ lot. Anyone could walk by.”

“Let ‘em. I handle business wherever I gotta handle it.” I don’t give a fuck where that may be. I do what I gotta do. “Free entertainment.”

I’ve never been the guy to take the high road. Things aren’t forgotten or swept under the rug. I hold grudges; life long, soul crushing grudges. You get no second chances or sorry’s with me.

“Go ahead.” Nudging Ellison towards the guy, she takes a step, but shoots me a disgruntled glare over her shoulder when she teeters in the gravel. She hates being told what to do, even if she agrees, but I’m not forcing her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Ellison
wants
it. She
needs
it. She’s just as vengeful as me. Hers is just hidden under smeared lipstick and glittered heels.

“You’re sick,” she mumbles. I’ve got my issues, but this isn’t about me tonight, it’s about her.

“And you’re fuckin’ hot holdin’ that bat.”

“Crazy bastard,” she mutters back. Shaking it off, I watch her shoulders rise with a deep breath, the bat in her hand steady and level.