Hawk's Property: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 1) (14 page)

Hawk looked over in the direction Jerry was pointing, and for a split-second, he thought Cara was standing there. His heart raced and blood rushed to his temples as he stared at her. She was near the pool table, and her long, chestnut-colored hair shone under the colored lights. She wore a short skirt and a revealing top, her big tits falling out. One of the members, Billy, had his hand up her skirt, rubbing her pussy, and the way the slut squirmed and rotated her hips, Hawk knew Billy had his fingers inside her. As Billy’s hand moved faster, she parted her lips, clenching and moaning while staring straight at Hawk.
Damn, that’s fuckin’ hot
.

Facing the bar again, Hawk slammed his shot glass on the counter and Jerry filled it up. He loved the way whiskey warmed his core, which was the problem with Cara—she was his shot of whiskey.
Ah, fuck.

As he staggered toward the staircase, the chestnut-haired bitch came up to him, putting her arms around him and kissing him deeply. She tasted like beer with lime. Looking at her through his unfocused eyes, Hawk kissed her back, playing with her tongue and squeezing her big tits. Melding herself into him, she rubbed his bulging cock. He closed his bloodshot eyes; in his mind, he was kissing Cara, stroking her tits, rubbing her wet mound.

“Cara, baby, I can’t wait to fuck you. I’ve been waitin’ too long for you,” he slurred.

“My name’s Jessica, sweetie.”

“What?” Hawk’s eyes opened, realizing this woman wasn’t his babe. “You’re not Cara.”

“I can be whoever you want me to be.” She pressed her lips to his again.

Hawk pried her off him. “Wrong girl. My mistake.”

He zigzagged toward the stairway and ascended to his room. Not bothering to take off his clothes, Hawk threw off his boots and flopped on his bed, and with images of wet pussies, big tits, and Cara’s beautiful green eyes dancing through his head, he fell asleep.

*     *     *

When Cara came
into the office the next morning, a petite, thirty-something woman sat in one of the leather chairs in the reception area. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and pale blue eyes, and Cara racked her brain, trying to remember if she had set an appointment she had forgotten to put in her calendar. Glancing at the woman, she went over to Asher’s desk.

“Did I screw up?” she asked, tilting her chin at the seated woman.

“No, when I came in at 8:30 she was waiting in the hall. She insists on seeing you.”

“You mean she’s been here for two hours? What does she want?”

“She won’t say, just that she wants to meet with you. I think she’s Russian, or something—she’s got a heavy accent.”

“Give me five minutes to settle then send her in.”

The woman stood in the door frame. Looking up, Cara waved her into her office while saying, “Come on in and have a seat.”

The lady sat in the chair as her hands played with her purse straps. Looking down, she licked her lips then cleared her throat.

“Would you like some water?” Cara asked.

The woman nodded and Cara buzzed Asher, asking him to bring in a bottle of water. After the woman took a drink, Cara said, “What can I do for you?”

“You been given me by people,” the woman said.

“Someone recommended me to you?” Cara clarified.

A sad smile passed over her lips. “Yes, sorry, my English no good.”

“It’s fine. What’s the trouble? Have you had some problems with the police?”

The woman’s eyes bulged. “Police? No. My sister have problem.”

“Okay, first, what’s your name?”

“My name Tetyana Kravchenko. You call me Teti.”

“So, Teti, what’s the problem with your sister?”

“I no hear from her. She call me more than two months gone, and I no hear from her again. She tell me she have big problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“I no know. She say she come here to work with modeling, but she say no good. She has scared to talk, so we talk too fast. She say bad men with motorcycle have her. I no understand all, but I know she has trouble.”

“Motorcycles? Was she here in Pinewood Springs?”

“I no know, but she come here from our village in Slovakia to do model. Our parents pay lot of money to send her. When she get here, she say not good. She say trouble and bad men.”

After speaking with the woman for almost an hour, Cara gathered that Teti’s sister had been lured to the United States with the promise of a modeling contract, only to find herself the victim of sex trafficking. She was brought either to Pinewood Springs or one of the nearby towns, and it appeared a biker club was somehow involved. Eric’s warning that the Insurgents were involved in trafficking women haunted her, but she refused to believe Hawk would be a part of a club that would do anything so despicable.

“Teti, I’m a lawyer. I’m not an investigator. I can give you the names of some good private investigators who can help you find out what happened to your sister.”

“I want you help me.”

“I can’t. I’m not the police.”

Placing her hands over her face, her shoulders rising and falling with each sob, Teti’s tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks. Cara’s heart went out to her, understanding her pain—Cara would be rabid, if any harm ever came to her loved ones. The worst part was Teti not hearing from her sister again. Cara had seen the fear and despair so often in the anguished eyes of family members, whose loved ones just disappeared.

Cara said, “I’ll make some phone calls and see what I can do.”

“Thank you, thank you. I know you good when I see you kind eyes,” Teti said, her voice hitching.

Dropping her voice, Cara said, “I’ll make a phone call to the sheriff’s department. They found an unidentified woman a couple of months ago in this county. I’m not saying it’s your sister, but you need to be sure.”

Terror filled Teti’s eyes. Her purse straps were all knotted and twisted around her wrists, and she shook her head. “Can you come with me? Please,” she whispered.

Cara moved her head in agreement; she would accompany Teti on the gruesome task of possibly identifying the seventh victim of a sadistic madman. She hoped for Teti’s sake that Jane Doe #7 would not be her sister.

Late that afternoon, as the sun blazed over the jagged mountain tops, Teti squeezed Cara’s hand as the deputy sheriff brought in the photographs of Jane Doe #7. Teti held them in her sweaty palms as she flipped through the ten photos. A low, guttural whimper emitted from her, starting deep in her throat. She threw the photographs down on the table and tears rolled down her cheeks as a shrill scream burst from her mouth. Teti pulled her hair, her body trembled like a leaf in the wind. Teti’s wails were the only sound in the small room. Cara put her arms around her, knowing nothing would be enough to lessen the horror of it all. Silently, the deputy sheriff gathered the photographs, making notations on them. Jane Doe #7 had become Nadyia Kravchenko, eighteen years old.

S
ince Friday, brothers
from the Insurgents chapters in Wyoming and Nebraska had been arriving, and the clubhouse party was in full-swing. All of the upstairs rooms and the guest houses out back were full, and about seventy Harleys lined the lot behind the compound, the sun’s rays glinting off the chrome on the customized bikes.

The clubhouse came to life on Friday and Saturday nights, and getting fucked, drunk, and stoned were favorite pastimes for most of the members. Even though the Insurgents didn’t allow any hardcore drug use, whenever a big gathering like this occurred, crystal and crank flowed freely. The home members turned a blind eye to it, but home club members were not allowed to do anything but weed.

There were always women at the big parties. Women loved bikers and their bikes, and the Insurgents had their own groupies just like rock stars.

The Insurgents never had a shortage of women. Chicks were drawn to the bikers’ badass attitudes and rebel lifestyle. Horny women who wanted sex any way it came found the MC an exciting outlet for their fantasies, and bored, restless women who wanted to take a walk on the wild side were drawn to the macho men like magnets. There were those who got a rush from being with a feared outlaw biker, and others who loved the freedom from responsibility. There were also the women who confused sex with affection when the strong arms of an Insurgents member held them.

Every weekend, a throng of girls lined up in front of the club’s gate, an excited glow emanating from them. They waited in too-high heels and barely there outfits for a couple of hours just to spend one night of wild abandon with the Insurgents.

“Fuck, haven’t seen this many brothers in a long time. It’s good to be together,” Banger said to Ruben.

“Yeah, I haven’t been to a crazy party in a while. I’m glad Doris was cool with this tonight. You know these old ladies—sometimes they’re okay with all this, and other times, they’re screamin’ and madder than hell if you go.” He laughed.

“I know what you mean, man. When my Grace was here, she’d monitor my club parties. She was my woman, my property, but shit, she had me wrapped around her little finger. She was the best. I miss her.”

Ruben nodded. “She was a good woman. Doris can be a pain in the ass, but I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Tomorrow night will get wilder. I see a fresh pussy I’d like to try. You comin’?” Banger asked.

“Nope, I’m just lookin’ for now. Go have fun.”

Banger walked over to a voluptuous woman who was busting out of her strapless spandex dress. Banger liked a woman with some flesh on her; he wasn’t into the bag-of-bones bitches who came to the club. His Grace had been a big, beautiful woman. He put his arm around the hoodrat and whispered in her ear, making her throw her head back in laughter while her hand stroked his growing cock.

*     *     *

When Hawk entered
the great room, it was nearly midnight, and the smell of alcohol, tobacco, and weed hit him in the face. The room was smoky and dimly-lit, and all around him, brothers and bitches were fucking and sucking. The smell of sex enveloped him. He chatted with several brothers from Wyoming and Nebraska, guys he hadn’t seen in a long time. The camaraderie was good, comfortable and familiar. This was his life, his family. It was where he belonged: a shot of Jack, Moonshine Bandits’ “For the Outlawz” rockin’ through the speakers, his brothers all around him. This was the life he loved.

There were a lot of hot, new women that night. A big party like that always brought out a shitload of women. It never ceased to amaze Hawk how easy it was to get one, and how these bitches threw themselves at him. He could have any woman he wanted without a problem, except for Cara, and it pissed him off because he knew she wanted him. He saw it in her flushed face when he was near her and felt it when she quivered under his touch, but it was the dark ache that burned in her eyes which convinced him that she desired him.

Yet she resisted. Hawk sensed that she struggled with some do-what-is-expected bullshit, but her body, and the way it responded to him, told him that she needed him just as fucking much as he needed her.
Fuck, I bet she’s a wildcat in bed.

As he looked around the room, emptiness grabbed hold of Hawk, and he wished Cara were with him. No, he wished Cara were hanging with him at his house; he wanted to take her out to dinner or a movie and spend time with her.
Fuck, what am I thinking?
I fuck, but I don’t date. This woman makes me want to break all my rules.

Hawk threw back his shot, waved to Jerry behind the bar, and left the clubhouse. He revved up his Harley, speeding away into the darkness.

*     *     *