Black (3 page)

He’s on the second beer when I walk back out. Something’s bothering him, this much I know. I also know he won’t say a word until he’s good and ready. He does the same with that bottle, smashing it in the sink when he’s done. His dark hair, almost as dark as mine, is pulled roughly through his hands. I grab my keys, and he doesn’t say a word when he follows me out the door, slamming it behind him. There’s no need to lock it. No one would be stupid enough to break in here anyway.

Our bikes purr loudly as we ride side by side for the ten minutes it takes to arrive at the clubhouse. The sky’s dark, and it reminds me of a night I want to forget.

I close my eyes. Squeeze them tight for a second, making the thoughts disappear. Pulling up, loud noises occupy the yard. The clubhouse is situated behind what looks like a beautiful, well-kept home. But at the back, the back is dangerous and anything but. It’s on acreage—acres and acres of bad, bad property where horrific things occur.

Members all wear their cuts. The bar is situated in the open back shed and has strippers on the tables. They’re all naked and looking high as kites. Jake keeps walking, going straight to the Pres, and I follow. Other chapters are here tonight. Outsiders like me that don’t wear a cut are not supposed to be here. Club members only. But the Pres, well, I do things for the Pres that keeps his hands untarnished. Keeps the club looking clean.

The law is strict around here. If you’re a biker, you get locked up. You associate with a biker, you get locked up. It’s easier for them to be as clean as possible, but still do the dirty on the side. Not all members know who I am, and I’m fine with that. Only this chapter, the ones that rule my town, know who I am and what I’m capable of.

“Boy,” Pres calls out—also known as Gray—calling Jake to him. Pres is in his late forties. He has a naked and fake silicone bitch on each leg. He looks to me and nods, then back to a prospect. Jake walks over, leans down, and the Pres whispers in his ear. I don’t care and just sit on a seat that’s free, a beer placed straight into my hand. The prospect smiles awkwardly and moves away quickly. It would have stung him to be in my vicinity too long. They all know of me, what I am capable of.

I can feel eyes looking at me, evaluating me. I lean back and look around, not moving from my spot. The eyes that are on me are another President’s—his cut proudly patched with the President badge. He assesses me, dropping his head to the side and smiles. I don’t return the favor.

“You new?” he asks, looking around. He’s making a point that no strangers are allowed in the clubroom. I don’t answer and it seems to irk him more.

“You deaf boy?” he yells, standing up, his men come to a standstill. I can feel the movements stop even though I can’t see them all. Gray looks past Jake’s shoulder and watches what’s happening. He shakes his red head and stands. He’s built, and a firecracker. He’d be calm and cool one minute, then the next he’d have a knife at your throat.

“Grover, don’t start,” he says and then looks around. “You boys getting some pussy or what?” he shouts, reaching for one of the silicone Barbies on his chair, pulling her up and squeezing her tit hard. Grover looks at me, his eyes trying to work me out. I want to ask him if he has and to let me know, but he just smiles and gets up and walks away.

Jake comes back over once I’m on my third beer and ready to go. The pussy here is not what I’m after. They’re all high, sucking on any dick that moves. He smacks the back of my head, then points to a brunette sitting out in the bushes. I can just make out her hair from where I’m sitting. She’s half-clothed, more so than any of the other girls that are here.

“Try to hit that,” he says, nodding his head toward the girl. I stand, hoping she isn’t a club whore who’s been passed around. I want something different tonight, a challenge.

My boots are loud with each step I take as they hit the pavement. I’m waiting for her head to turn around and tell me to fuck off. She does neither. I walk until I’m directly in front of her. She looks up at me. She’s beautiful—not stop your breath beautiful, but still beautiful. She squints at me while looking me over. I do the same. She has on shorts so short I swear I can see her pussy popping out.

“You a biker?” she asks. Her lip lifts in disgust, so I shake my head.

“You want me?” she asks, standing up. I look her up and down. She has a nice rack, her tits are plump, and her curves are round. I nod my head, and she looks back to the party. Unsure of what to do.

“Okay,” she says, and that’s all the permission I need. I grab her arm. She yelps at my tight grip, but I don’t loosen it. Her steps are quick and fast, trying to keep up with me as I walk into the garage where they have makeshift rooms. Heading to the one I use when I’m here, I push her in and slam the door behind me. I trap her in, sick thoughts start running through my brain. I shake my head to clear them and look up to watch her undressing. She’s fast. I’m right—she has nothing underneath those pants.

When she’s fully naked, she takes a few steps toward me. I undo my belt, dropping it to the floor when all I want to do is tie her up so she can’t move. I grab my cock, pulling it free from my pants. She looks down and flushes, a smile taking over her face. Removing the condom from my pocket, I slide it on easily like I’ve done hundreds of times before. She closes the distance, reaching for my shirt. I grab her wrist with my free hand, spinning her around, keeping her wrist in my hand and pinning it to her back. I push her forward. Her ass right in front of me. She wiggles, making me harder.

“Please,” she begs. I position, tease, and then slam. The relief of being so deep, and feeling the squeeze, is like ecstasy. I slam into her again and she takes it. Her hands are still tied behind her back.

“More,” she asks. I use my free hand to grab her hip, then continue my destruction, her pussy milking my cock. It feels good, so fucking good.

When I come, I push her forward. She lands on her face but doesn’t say a word. I remove the condom and throw it to the floor. Tuck myself back in and grab my belt. Before I put it back on, I think about tying her up with it and trapping her in place. But then I hear a scream, the scream of a woman.

I’m happy.

Then I’m sad.

I’m flying.

Then I’m falling.

I’m screaming.

Then I’m crying.

Then I see him—an angel, but he looks like the devil. He leans down in front of my face, and I brush his face with my fingers.

Have to touch.

Have to feel.

He flinches as if I burn him. Maybe I have?

He stands.

He looks.

He paces.

Then he screams.

What a beautiful devil he is.

That scream was like black calling black, loneliness calling loneliness. I didn’t understand it, but I needed to find the source of it. Opening two doors, I’m punched in the gut hard by what I see. There she is, the girl I thought I loved ten years ago. She’s on the floor with a band wrapped around her arm. A syringe left in and blood pooling at her feet. She was sitting up, her back against the wall.

Looking up, and looking at me, like she recognizes exactly who I am. Her skin’s covered in marks, her body’s skin and bones, her ribs poking through her skin tight dress which is wrapped around her body. Her eyes are dull. Her once bright, vibrant blonde hair is now lifeless. I look around. Other girls are passed out or are high on drugs. I start pacing, wondering what to do. Should I just leave her where she is? I don’t know this woman, I don’t know who she is now. Then she looks up at me like she knows who I am, and a roar rips from my throat.

I can’t leave her, but I don’t take in strays either. Her eyes are glued to mine like she’s trying to gauge my reaction. But I know the real reason—she’s soaring fucking high. Whatever she’s inserted in her arm is playing with her head.

I stand there, not moving. Standing quite still, unsure of what to do, or how to go about it.

I thought I had loved once, but now I’m unsure. So the feelings I have for her are unusual. She makes me feel things, makes my heart pitter patter when I thought there wasn’t a heart there that could do that. She’s unusual and unique. Strange, but beautiful.

She moans, pulling me from the thoughts I have of her. She doesn’t recognize me, that I know for sure. She would have said something, anything if she did. But no words are spoken. I know she can speak, know she can scream. Because she turns to the girl next to her, who’s currently placing a needle in her arm, and she screams at her to give it back. The girl next to her doesn’t hear, or chooses not to listen, as she empties the syringe into her arm. Rose launches forward, her hands slapping on the floor, picking up any drugs she can get a hold of. I shake my head, having no idea what to do.

“You here to fuck us?” Her voice is dry, unlike what I’ve heard before. There’s a scratchy noise to it. She looks up at me, her body now lying on the dirty floor, covering herself in her own blood. Then she smiles and passes out. I’m not sure how much blood she’s lost, but her eyes hide the fact that her soul is dead.

I turn and walk out, the brunette I’d fucked only minutes earlier leaning against the wall outside the door. She puffs a breath out, pulling smoke from her mouth, and smirks.

“You a junkie?” she asks, looking over my shoulder back to the girls in the room. Rose has passed out on the floor, blood surrounding her, a band wrapped around her arm. I shake my head, not bothering answering her.

“Them girls would do anything for a hit…” more smoke curls from her mouth, “…and they do,” she says, stomping on the butt, putting it out and walking off with a sway in her hips.

She’s a hit it and quit it kind of girl. I like that and I want another taste.

I turn back one last time. Her eyes are open, and she’s looking at me. They blink once, then twice.

Fuck it!

I pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder. She’s light, as light as a child. She doesn’t make a noise when I carry her out. Jake spots me straight away and walks over. He looks to me, then to her.

“I need your car,” I tell him.

“That bitch is bleeding. She’s not getting in my car.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe I’ve just asked that question.

“I’ll pay for it to be cleaned. Now give me your keys.” I shove my hand out, and he reluctantly pulls them from his pocket.

“Who’s the bitch?” he asks, nodding his head to Rose. I snatch the keys and walk to his dual-cab pickup truck. Unlocking the back door, I throw her in. I’m not nice about it, she doesn’t need nice.

No noise came from the backseat, not even a whimper. When I finally make it home, I have to check to make sure she is still alive. Her breathing is hard and staggered. I pick her up, hating the smell that emanated from of her, and walk to the house.

I have a bedroom downstairs, if you can
call it that. It don’t have much—a single steel bed, a toilet, shower, and nothing else. The walls are plain and boring.

I drop her again, my white shirt now a darkening red from her blood. She rolls over when I place her down. I walk out, grabbing cuffs and rope. Her head is now hanging off the bed and she vomits on the floor. She doesn’t have much to bring up, so she’s more dry-retching. I push her back forcefully. Holding her in place, I grab the first wrist and snap the cuff to the bed, and repeat it with the second. I rope her legs to the end of the bed, then position a pillow under her head in case she vomits again.