Authors: Lexie Davis
Evernight Publishing ®
Copyright© 2015 Lexie Davis
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Katelyn Uplinger
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Charming Bastards MC, 2
Copyright © 2015
When the Charming Bastards Motorcycle Club had a party, they went all out. Booze, women, and wild sex was at the top of Joker’s list for the night and he didn’t feel like stopping with one of each category. He propped a cigarette between his lips and lit it, watching two club bunnies kissing. If he waited a little while they might actually start fucking each other. The sight had him hard and he needed some attention now.
“Why do you always go for the new girls when you can have a skilled lover that knows your tastes?” Lauren reached out and palmed his cock through his black denim jeans. He took a drag from his cigarette as she pressed her lips to his neck. She squeezed and rubbed, working his cock while her large breasts pressed against him.
They had some fun times together. If he wanted a good fuck, Lauren was always down with it, but that’s all he wanted from her. He knew if he let it go on for too long, she’d want more. She already did.
“Everyone needs to learn to suck cock at some point, sweetheart.” He brushed his finger along her mouth.
“They probably gag when they deep throat you.” She kissed his chin. “Ooh, I can’t breathe.” She glanced over at them kissing. “Plus, it seems like they have other interests tonight.”
Joker lifted his cig to his lips. “Rock my world then.”
She grinned at him and undid his jeans. Around him some of the other club members were getting busy while others were simply chatting women up, playing pool, drinking, or other nonsense. He didn’t care if they watched Lauren go down on him. He wasn’t shy. He actually liked the audience.
She pushed his jeans down his hips and knelt. His cock stuck out in front of him, eagerly waiting for her mouth to surround it. Lauren’s lips parted and the tight wetness engulfed him. Joker took a drag from his cigarette as he watched her sink down all the way. God, the woman knew how to deep throat. Each motion had his toes damn near curling in his boots. Maybe she was right. Maybe the new girls weren’t as good as her when it came to giving head, but Lauren expected more from him. She expected the feelings and relationships that came with less-than-casual sex.
All the stuff he wanted no part of.
His dick was shiny from her spit and she had dug her fingers into his ass while she bobbed along his cock. Soft sucking sounds came from her while he watched her work, enjoying his cigarette.
Yeah, this was the fucking life.
“Uh, Joker?” Tank and a few others rushed in the clubhouse in a panic. “We need you outside. There’s some retaliation going on.”
Joker stamped his cigarette out in the ashtray on the pool table and he pushed Lauren away to zip up his pants. He turned and followed them outside to see a naked woman lying on the ground in the parking lot.
“What the fuck is this?” Joker asked.
“Read her, uh, body.” Tank scratched his head.
Joker walked over to the woman. She had long red hair that puddled beneath her head. She lay on her side with most of her body shielded from his view. He frowned and Tank urged him on. Joker knelt beside her and wrapped his hand around her arm, moving her so that she lay on her back. He stared at her breasts. Pretty fucking great breasts, if he did say so himself. But the ink that marked her skin slightly below caught his attention.
This is what your drugs do to innocent people.
Joker frowned even more. He looked at her arm and saw needle marks and bruising. He blew out a breath. Some damn junkie wanted to play hardball with the club.
“Someone get a blanket.” Joker didn’t know what he wanted to do with her, but leaving her in the parking lot didn’t seem like a good idea. He didn’t understand the lack of clothing. She had decent teeth so she hadn’t been hooked very long. If he had to guess, she was just some girl that got mixed up with the wrong crowd.
Mac brought him a blanket and Joker wrapped her in it. He bent to lift her from the pavement, finding her surprisingly light. Depending on when her last injection happened, she could be showing signs of withdrawal at anytime. Hell, he didn’t even want to think about that.
Joker carried her to the back where the apartment rooms were. The members with a title had a room for themselves if the wanted to stay or party all fucking night. His was marked with a green door that had the joker playing card painted on the front.
“Do we have any idea who she is?” Joker asked Tank as he carried her inside his room. With the mystery woman taking up his bed, his plans for the night had to be canceled. “Did anyone see her being dropped off? Talk to her?”
“A black car with a masked man pushed her out in to the parking lot.” Tank stood in the doorway watching him. “The guys said that they thought it was a domestic dispute since the guy just threw her out, but they got closer and saw she was naked. They read the message and came to get me.”
“Any beefs we don’t know about?”
Tank shook his head. “I’ll talk to Torque when he gets back to the club, but I have no fucking clue who could have done this. This isn’t normal enemy style.”
No fucking shit. Joker grabbed the trash can in his room and carried it back to the bed. She was still breathing but completely strung out. He glanced over at Tank.
“You just had to give this to me, huh?”
Tank shrugged. “You’re the nice one of the bunch.”
Joker snorted and Tank left. He licked his lips and stared at the woman. He seriously doubted she had much to do with the war someone was trying to start. More than likely, she was picked as an easy target and pawned. It didn’t stop him from wanting to know what she knew about the situation. From the bruising on her arm and the several little dots from the needles, she’d been injected enough to probably be an addict. He grabbed a chair in his room and pulled it next to the bed.
The sad story for her was about to get ugly. He didn’t have any drugs to ease her withdrawal and it was going to be one hell of a bumpy ride.
Scarlett Dawson had never wanted to die so much in her life. From the incessant itching all over her body to the extreme pain of simply moving, she thought death would be an easier road. She opened her eyes and saw a man sitting next to her. She glanced around without any idea of where she was. Her head felt like a balloon that was about to pop as she sat up in the bed.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
She closed her eyes and held her head. “Everything hurts.”
She scratched at her arms, hating the feeling of a million tiny mosquitos biting at her skin. She took a deep breath. She’d almost do anything to make it stop. Anything.
“Please help me,” she begged. “Please make it stop.”
“I wish I could, but I can’t.” He stood and left the room.
Scarlett rolled to her back. She was hot and cold. Her arms and legs hurt. Her stomach cramped. If she moved it intensified to the hundredth degree. The itching was enough to drive her crazy and it wouldn’t stop. There was nothing she could do to get it to stop.
“Stop scratching your arms.” The man came back with a wet washrag. “You’re going to make them bleed.”
He dabbed at her forehead and the gentle gesture seemed to ease some of the discomfort.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“That’s not important.” He rubbed the soft rag along her neck, cooling the itching as it went. “Do you know who you are?”
She thought really hard and nothing came to her mind. He smoothed the rag along her chest. He was so gentle. So caring. The simple gesture lulled her to sleep.
“It’s okay. I’ll ask you again tomorrow.”
The next time she woke she vomited. The man handed her the trash can and she hugged it. Big hands swept her hair back from the mess and she retched until there was nothing left in her stomach.
Her body felt worse. There couldn’t have been a cruller fate than this. She finally set the trashcan aside and glanced over at him. He had kind eyes. He reached for a roll of paper towels and handed her one. She dabbed at her lips and tossed it in the trash.
“Are you really here?” she asked.
Scarlett swallowed, her mouth parched. “Why?”
“I need answers from you.”
She blinked a few times. “Answers?”
“Yes.” He handed her a bottle of water. “Drink it. It will help some.”
She tried to twist the cap and cringed. He grabbed it and did it for her, handing it back. She sipped at the cool liquid as it burned its way down her throat. She didn’t know what kind of foul disease she had, but she wanted to never have it again.
When she woke again, she felt better. Almost normal minus the headache and body aches. The man still sat beside the bed with the same look on his face.
“Are you a doctor?” She glanced around. It didn’t look like she was in a hospital. “Am I dying?”
“No and no.” He handed her another bottle of water, urging her to drink more.
“What is this place?”
“A motorcycle club.” As he said the words, Scarlett’s eyes widened. The man stared at her. “You know something about that?”
Scarlett scooted so that her back was against the wall as she sat on the bed. “Maybe. Are you going to hurt me?”
“Not if you tell me the truth.”
She closed her eyes. “Ollie had a big report to do on the drug problem in the city. He said that the motorcycle gangs, mainly the Charming Bastards, were responsible for trafficking the drugs into town. He said we needed to stand up and fight against it.”
She glanced down at her arm, frowning. Little bruises marked the crease of her elbow.
“Ollie?” the man said, breaking her focus.
“Oliver Marrow. Mayor Bill Marrow’s son.” She touched her arm and moaned in pain. “I have bruises on me. Why do I have bruises on me?”
The man watched her.
“Did you do this to me?” A flood of anxiety filled her. “Oh, God. He was right. You drugged me.” She glanced down at her naked body. “And made me your sex slave.”
She tried to move from the bed but her body was still weak. Tears gathered in her eyes and threatened to roll down her cheeks. She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be seen with the Charming Bastards at all.
The man reached out and pressed his hand between her breasts. “Breathe. Deep breaths.”
She inhaled a shaky breath and let it out. Then another. He kept his eyes on hers, still gentle and kind. He couldn’t possibly hurt her. Not the way that Ollie had said. After all, he’d done nothing but take care of her. He gave her a bottle of water. Held her hair when she vomited. That wasn’t the profile of a man that wanted to force her to be his slave.
But what did she really know about profiles? As a psychology major, she’d only studied them. She’d didn’t have any real experience with criminal minds or psychotic personalities.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“Scarlett. Scarlett Dawson.”
He nodded. “Okay. Scarlett Dawson.” He removed his hand when she had calmed down. He pointed to her body and she glanced down. “Care to tell me what that message is about?”
She frowned, staring at it. Each word didn’t seem to make any sense. The message was for the motorcycle club. It wasn’t them that had drugged her, but Ollie. She blinked a few times before glancing up at him. Her head hurt too much to think about it.
“He used me as a pawn? I was supposed to help him with the research for our class project and he used me as a pawn.”
If she didn’t feel like she was dying so much, she would have been mad about it. Scarlett pulled the blanket around her and stared to the side. She’d never done drugs a day in her life. She’d never seen the stuff, much less done anything else with it. She came from a respectable family. What would her father think of this? She shook her head. His daughter was a junkie. Her life was in complete shambles. How could she ever look him in the eye again?