Forbidden Beauty (Coffin Cheaters Motorcycle Club) (9 page)

Knox didn't tilt back this time, but watched me as I
struggled to touch myself and please him at the same time. I pushed faster and
harder into his dick, so the whole of him was in my throat. I danced my tongue
along his shaft as I sucked him down. With one hand, I pressed against his
thighs; with the other, I continued to ride my own fingers. The pleasure began
to peak when I watched my lover's eyes roll with passion, when I felt his cock
pulse even larger into my throat. I went faster. I went faster. I sucked him
and sucked him, he pressed my head deeper into the thatch of his crotch, and
finally, with his back arched, he exploded inside me. And I swallowed him,
grateful. I continued to drink him down until there was nothing left.

His eyes fluttered against the pillows. His forehead was
damp. Softly, so as not to disturb him, I pulled up my own jeans. Then I lifted
his pants from the ground, and stood above him for a moment. He looked
beautiful, dozing there. And I was proud, too, that I'd been able to give him
this gift—just as he'd sucked me to such pleasure the other night. At that
precise second, Scotty chose to let out a rattling snore from the back bedroom.
A mockingbird trilled.

Knox's eyes fluttered open, and he looked as sleepy and
happy as a sated school boy. He smirked at me. I smirked at him.

“Alright, so you're not such a softie,” I murmured. He
didn't say anything—merely bit his lip in response. The texture of the room had
changed, somehow. I didn't know exactly what had just happened, but something
had shifted between us; our courtship (or whatever it was...) no longer
contained the sheen of fairy tale. I realized then that I wasn't just trying to
date a man. I was
riding
a warrior.

“You should probably get going,” Knox said at last. “Sun's
almost up.”

“Yeah...yeah, I guess so.” I waited for him to say something
else, but nothing was forthcoming.

“When will I see you again?” I blurted, turning. I couldn't
help it.

“Seems to be we should both put our effort toward finding
this new MC, don'tcha think? Before a showdown starts between the Styx and the
Cheaters?”

“Do you really think that could happen?” Somehow, in all our
sweet, winding conversation, this prospect had never fully materialized. What
would it be like if the whole Knights of Styx rode in? For one thing, our
little meetings would need to become even more clandestine. Knox and I? Though
I kept forgetting it when we were together, the facts of the case were staring
me down: we were officially behind enemy lines. The way things stood, we
couldn't be seen together and live to tell the tale.

“My boys are headed to their secret camp outside Kendall as
we speak. They won't let a rider fall alone.” The biker contemplated the bottom
of his glass, all the warmth apparently drained from his gaze. Was it my
imagination, or did he sound sorry? Yet again, I was insecure about how much he
wanted me. How much he was willing to risk. There was this dance to the bloom
of our relationship—half the time I felt I had him, half the time I felt I was
being played. But I couldn't stop.
“So everything...everything's a lot more serious, now,” I muttered. I shifted
in my boots. “It's kind of unfair, really. You and I were just getting to know
one another, and now we're on opposite sides of a war we didn't start.”

“Oh, baby,” the boy said. “Didn't you hear?
All's
fair in love and war.” Then, like the sonofabitch was sealing a deal, Knox
winked.

Once I got outside, I let loose a breath I hadn't even
realized I'd been holding. I made a quick mental to-do list: first up, write my
sister, then continue with my Den Mother duties,
then
find some way to
keep the council from hearing about the raid on Scotty's bar and drawing their
own terrible conclusions...and all this while avoiding whatever fresh hell was
terrorizing Miami. Not to mention trying to keep my feelings for a certain
tall, dark, handsome stranger out of the mix. My imagination flashed: I was
tied up, a limb for every corner, flush against a four poster bed. My ankles
and wrists hurt where I was bound. Knox, sweating in a leather vest and pants,
was straddling my waist. His words still rattled in my head:
I will fuck you
like you've never been fucked...

I thought of his face, looming above me. He just had the
most perfect face—human, intelligent, raw, tough. The adorable curve to his
nose...

But hey, I was tough, too. For all I wanted to be dominated
in bed, I knew from that moment on that I would protect Knox with every fiber
of my considerable power. No MC would take another man away from me. As God was
my fucking witness.

Feeling strong, I clambered aboard my Street Bob. I started
the engine, and enjoyed the familiar thrill of those motor sounds vibrating
through my bones. I pressed myself down against the seat, hard—and realized I
was still wet and primed from my near-orgasm, moments before. What else had
that man promised me?
I will be so hard, every part of you will curve to my
dick...
Tossing my long hair so it tickled my back, I began to push myself
against the thrumming engine. I ground myself against that seat I was so used
to, imagining all the while that I was gripping that muscular man between my
legs. I bucked and bucked until I felt the space between my thighs grow even damper
than before. I rode my Street Bob in place, my imagination teeming with the
bound scenario—the thrusts of fiction. His cock had been so fucking thick, so
perfect...the feel of his rough fingers around my throat, or cupping my breast,
or squeezing my ass. Oh, I wanted him to leave marks all over me. I pressed
myself harder and harder into the leather of the seat until I came—suddenly,
and hard. And for a moment, in the throes of my ecstasy, I hoped that he could
hear my thrilled sounds from inside that little cabin. I wanted to be driving
him as crazy as he'd managed to drive me.

Moments after I'd finished, I kicked away from the ground.
My whole body was pulsing as I let the wind streak through my helmet-less hair.
And I thought,
Fuck you,
to the whole of the damaged, sordid world. The
whole of the world—every member of the Coffin Cheaters, the Knights of Styx—they
could go fuck themselves. I didn't want to fight; I just wanted to spend as
many evenings as possible talking shit on a couch with a man who made my knees
weak. I wanted everyone to burn, except for him and me and maybe my twin
sister.

All's fair in love and war.

Chapter Ten

* * *

As dawn rose slowly over the swamplands, I knew I had my
work cut out for me. I needed to distract the council, first and foremost. It
was imperative that they believe there was some new MC tooling around the city,
some new MC behind Ra Ra Rodney's death and the raid on Scotty's bar. For the
first time, an utterly simple idea presented itself: I could just tell the
truth. I'd leave out the part about wanting to fuck my greatest enemy, but I
could easily tell the council that I'd heard of strange riders in the city,
wearing some new crest and clown masks. I was Den fucking Mother, after all.
They'd have to at least
pretend
to believe me.

I'd appeal to Tall Man first, as he was the smartest. I
would say I'd befriended a Knight, that he'd—in fact—saved my life on the
highway. Tall Man was ruthless, but he was logical: it didn't make sense for a
Knight to save a Cheater, only to plot for the whole club's ruin at a later
date. All at once, everything seemed so simple. We'd get the Cheaters and the
Knights to join forces against this new and faceless enemy. We'd form a super
MC, helmed by myself and the handsome, chiseled leader of my opponent's pack.
Everything was coming up roses! I could still save the day! I hollered a
victory cry into the morning air.

But there was a strange scene on view when I reached the
clubhouse. Typically, riders didn't rustle till 11am or so—often having gotten
crazy the night before—but as I approached the compound, I realized that
everyone was already up and out. I heard the hum of a dozen bike engines, all
giddy for the open road. As I downshifted up the moat, I caught sight of Viper
and Dog smoking rollies near the main house, their heads bent low with
conspiracy.

“What's everyone doing up so early?” I called to my friend,
hopping off my Bob. Yet again, Dog's eyes were flinty. But for the first time,
I noticed in them a trace of something strange and new. Was it...
suspicion?

“I've got a better question,” my old friend lobbed. “Where
have
you
been?”

“Out. What's it to you, jackass?” Only instead of caving
below the tease, like he usually did, Dog turned his back to me, rolling his
eyes with disgust.

“I'm serious, Viper. What's everyone doing?”

“Shouldn't you be clucking in the house, with the other
hens?” the sallow-faced kid smirked. “I know that Flapper was asking after you.
Sounded like he had a cold bed last night.”

I was floored. What did they think they were doing, talking
to me like this? I had years in the Cheaters on them. I had earned the respect
of every man in this fucking MC, and these two little shitheels...

“I hope you both realize you're talking to your
Den
Mother
. You think I won't take your shit-talk up with Dixon and Tall Man,
you have another think coming.”
Vipe rolled his eyes again, and began to skulk away. But before he'd gone too
far, he whirled on his boots. “You're such an idiot, Gisele,” he spat.
“Everybody knows that 'den mother' is just a fancy word for sweet ass. Every
single one of us is just waiting for you to pony up, like all those other
bitches. Ain't no place in an MC for a girl that's not between the sheets.”
With a toss of his rattail, he indicated the kitchen, where I imagined Esse and
Nunu and Rayna were already exchanging lurid tales from their recent evening.

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. No one had ever
spoken to me that way before, not once in my whole life. And I'd never, ever
felt so low, so betrayed by my kinsman—my
brothers
. It wasn't as if I'd
come crawling to the Coffin Cheaters, like some typical townie with Daddy
issues, ready and willing to offer myself up to some benevolent old rider for a
little bit of money and affection.

I turned to Dog for support, but he wouldn't meet my gaze.
Maybe the shit-kicker was thinking about how he'd been the first one to have
me, the first one to pop my cherry of the bunch. For how vacant I felt, all the
humidity might have been sucked up out of the city. It was cold, here in hell.

“We think we've found out where the Knights of Styx are
camping,” Dog said then, slowly, as if I were pulling the secret out of him
against his will. “And Flap wants us to attack ASAP. They've got the whole
operation cooking about two hundred miles inland. Rumor has it they're headed
into the city to pick another turf war—just like the one that killed your
father.”

“Wait. No. No. You've got it all wrong, Dog—I have new
information! I told the council not to plan an attack last night. Because we
don't know for sure that it
was
the Knights of Styx who killed Rodney.
In fact, I know who it was—they're a new club.”

My old friend looked at me like I was soft in the head. “It
couldn't have been anyone else, Gizzy. Use your brain. Why are you being so
resistant to a fight? Don't you remember that these sons of bitches killed your
Pop?”
Not all of those sons of bitches,
I wanted to say. But I bit my tongue.
Dog seemed about to turn away from me, too, but I reached for the scruff of his
jacket.

“Wait one second, Dog. Please. Where's Dixon?”

“Oh. See, that's the other thing.”

“What?!”

Bowing his head, the rider met my gaze for the first time.
“This is another reason people won't be taking too kindly to you today, Gizzy.
Last night? After the council meeting? Somebody shot Dixon in the throat. We
found his body in the swamp, late. Tried to tell you before, but you were
'out.'”

Jesus Christ. Shot in the
neck
? What kind of sicko—and
Dixon? Amiable, blowhard, drinking Dixon? We'd never exactly been friends, but
I hated to hear that the guy was out. I thought of how we'd run into one
another at Casablanca. How I'd ignored him, when all he'd wanted to do was say
hello.

“And they think it's another Knight? Well, they're wrong!
You've got to help me, D. Help me tell everyone. They're fucking wrong about
this one, and I know it for a fact! There's a new MC, and they wear masks –”
That's when Dog wheeled on me. He brought a grubby, powerful hand up to my
throat and dug his fingers into the soft flesh of
my
neck. Startled and
horrified, I immediately began sputtering for air. His grip only tightened
around me.

“I think the lady doth protest too much,” Dog said, his eyes
hard. Flecks of his spittle landed on my face, but I didn't flinch—it was as if
my whole body had gone limp. I was suddenly so, so afraid of my old friend.

“Viper is right, you know, Gizzy. I think you'd be a lot
safer and happier, a lot less trouble, if only you'd realize that your rightful
place in this club is on your knees.” Fury surged behind my eyes. For the first
time in my life, I wished I had a gun. Right then, I could have reached for a
weapon at my hip. I could have shot that literal son of a bitch in cold fucking
blood.

But instead, when Dog released me to the moist earth, I felt
a sob well up in my chest. Try as I did, I couldn't contain the sounds that
followed.

My old friend wandered away from me in disgust, just as
Viper had. The engines swelled all around. Though it was barely morning, the
ground was already coated with a layer of crumpled beer cans. It could have
been a tailgating party, only ever biker that passed me had such fury in his
face. These men were out for revenge.

Collecting myself, I scanned the area for Tall Man: my last
hope incarnate for a reasonable case. I practiced the words on my tongue:
The
Knights of Styx didn't kill Dixon or Rodney. You've got it wrong this time.
And
they would just have to listen to me. They
had
to.

“What are you doing down here in the dust, little girl?”
wheezed an unwelcome voice. I righted myself fully and saw Flapper, in full
leather regalia and a creepy grin. He looked like he'd been up all night.

“I need to tell you something, Flap. Please listen—it's
important.”
“We've been looking for you.”
“You're about to make a terrible mistake, sending the club at the Knights of
Styx. I know for a
fact
that those riders didn't kill Rodney or Dixon.”

“Now see? That would be a lot easier to believe if you
hadn't been so damn
secretive
lately. Where did you scamper off to last
night? Before all the shit went down?”

“There's a new club running around Miami. I have friends
have seen 'em. They wear clown masks...”

“Clown masks?! Like one of those
juggalos
?” Flapper
laughed so hard at this that a few other riders in the vicinity turned our way.
I felt like I was in a gladiator's ring. My tormentors were barking all around
me.

“Boys! Have any of you all seen a new MC in Miami? Likes to
play dress-up?”

The men growled 'no.' Some of them laughed—that old
heh-heh-heh of my childhood, but crueler, somehow.

“I'm not making things up,” I said slowly. “Really, boys.
I'm not.” It was time to play the full hand. “I...I've been hanging around with
a Knight of Styx. Carter Knox—the fella you mentioned at the council meeting.
He's a scout, and he's told me for a fact that his club has nothing to do with
the murders. In fact, I was with him last night, when Dixon was killed. And
he's just here on a survey mission! Says the Styx are circling Florida because
they want to make a
truce
with us.”
The grounds were silent for a moment. I tried not to make eye contact. The
hatred in the riders' eyes was startling, and it cut me to the quick. Could I
lose their loyalty so easily?

“You were 'with him last night,' huh? So you've been fucking
the enemy,” Flapper pronounced. He was suddenly standing close to me. “We've
got two good men dead on the grounds, and you've been running around wagging
your puss at the men who shot 'em dead.”

“I don't believe they did it! Didn't you hear me, fellas?
There's a new MC! They're ruthless. They target civilians, and they don't care
about bloodshed. I've seen what they can do.”

“...and your Pops is likely
rolling in his fucking grave
.”

I swallowed hard, intent to keep hot tears from bubbling.
Don't let them see you cry, Gisele.

“One man killed my Pops, Flapper. One man, years ago. And I
learned from that night that I never want to see war again. I'm sure my Pops
wouldn't either.”

Over the men's heads, I could see that Esse, Nunu and the
rest of the girls had gathered by the portico. They were looking at me like I
was a crazy stranger, their painted mouths agape.

“Is it fucking you like, Gisele?” Flapper barked at me now.
“Cause we can arrange to have you taken care of right here, in the clubhouse.
Don't need to head outside for whatever it is you're looking for.” The other
men laughed at this teasing, but I saw in the leader's eyes that he was deadly
serious. I believed, in that moment, every single rumor I'd ever heard about
Flap.

“It's not about that, Flapper. I just don't want to see any
more men dead. I don't want to see you make any more mistakes --” and in
another moment, everything had gone dark. It was that fast. The pain came a
moment after the fact—it started in my left temple, then began pulsing in waves
across my face.

When I opened my eyes, I was prone in the mud. The side of
my head felt sticky, wet. Towering above me was Flapper, brandishing the blunt
end of a handgun. No one had rushed forward to help me—none of the women on the
porch, not Dog, not Tall Man.

“You know, Gisele. In an MC? If you're not loyal to your
brothers, you're not worth shit.” Spit flew from his mouth with these last
words, landing on the side of my face. My head was aching.

“Men!” The rider crowed, returning the gun to the back of
his jeans. Even where I wobbled in the dirt, I could see that his weapon was a
Magnum. “Let's go string up some Knights of Styx!” The boys cheered. The
engines revved. I lay on the ground until I heard the last bike hop the moat.
And then, only then, did I permit myself to break down fully. For here I was,
in this land I'd always considered my home, being made to wail and cower in the
dust.

I couldn't just sit there and feel sorry for myself, though,
that was for damn sure—it was time for action. I teetered back towards my room,
the thoughts arriving fast and furious. My first feelings were for Dixon. How
soon after our meeting had his life ended? What had he been doing, wandering
around the moat in the midnight hour? It was more than conspicuous, that two of
our club leaders had been shot dead within 48 hours. Either this mysterious new
club of Knox's theory was as stealthy as they were malignant, or that gun in
Flapper's hand had been for more than just show. Probably, I figured now, both
were true.

Flapper.
They said he'd shot a man once—but could he
really have murdered Dixon, and Rodney? Of course, he stood a lot to gain,
outing the Cheaters' leadership. Now, nothing stood between that derelict and
the Club President job except for Tall Man. And possibly,
possibly
...me.

And once again, I needed to warn Carter and Scotty about the
imminent danger—but leaving the grounds at a time like this would be akin to
sealing my fate. Instead, I locked the door of my room and turned to the
mirror. The wound on my head wasn't so bad, I figured—he'd barely broken the
skin. I didn't need a stitch. Breathing deeply, I watched my eyes for a moment
in the mirror. No nausea, no spinning stars—I had a headache, but apparently
not a concussion. I pressed a strip of antibiotic gauze to my temple, and then,
I began to pace. Though I was scarcely religious, I sent up a little prayer:
please,
God. Please keep Carter safe. Please don't let them hurt Carter. They can hurt
me all they want, but just don't let the hurt Carter.

We'd laughed the night before. We'd laughed, and I'd pleased
him...we could have been an old couple, or best friends, or any two normal
people falling in love, in a normal place and time. But everything seemed
impossible, now. And wasn't that my fault? Hadn't I chosen this life? I wasn't
like Tati, who'd abandoned the club the very first chance she'd got. I'd always
been loyal to the Coffin Cheaters, because I loved the road. I loved the
adventure. But now, what had that loyalty bought me? Now that they knew my
secret, I was sure to be cast out of the MC—or, worse—retained forever as some
kind of sex slave. I paced the creaky floorboards, my mind weighing options:
theoretically, I could go find Carter, and we could defect together. Race off
into the sunset. Flick the dust of this crummy town off our boots, go anywhere.
Be crazy and stupid and in love, and let our fucking clubs tear one another
limb from limb.