Knot (Road Kill MC #2) (4 page)

Rose

“Just come, Rose.” Drake's eyes flow over my body, and I stifle a second scream.

His finger pounds my clit, thumbnail raking over the sensitive slick nub.

I'm so pissed, I can't think.

I don't want him touching me.
Ever.
But it's all about the element of surprise.

Drake is violent.

He killed my sister. Now he's exacting his revenge in the most vile way possible. His coercion to get Charlie back is an art form.

He's causing my body to want what he's forcing on me, even though my mind loathes it.

“No—I won't come, you sick bastard,” I grate between my teeth. But even as I say it, the pumping of fingers inside me and his rhythmic insistence with the other causes my pussy to clench around his finger.

“Ah!” I yell helplessly, trying to close my legs, whipping my head back and forth.

“Stubborn bitch.” He softens his touch to a whisper, rasping his fingernail over my clit, and I moan, biting my lip in sheer misery, tortured by need.

“There she blows,” a man to my right says.

My anger chases away the forced arousal to something bearable. My head lifts off the table, and a cock hits the side of my face.

I split the air with my scream of frustration—my body's sickening, unpermitted response.

The men crowd closer. Slim spaces remain where their bodies block out reality.

Between the bodies, a streak flashes by—beyond where they cluster around me, jerking off.

Noose.

Tears sting my eyes. Drake's fingers suddenly feel like what they are: digits of rape.

Hope swells inside me for what feels like the first time in forever.

My eyes widen in surprise as a tightly knotted rope snakes from the end of Noose's powerful forearm like an extension of his body.

The large, bulbous end smashes into the man's nose as his cock dangles above my lips.

Blood spray splatters me like warm rain. Dark dots spread over the shimmering material of the dress.

“What the
fuck
?” Drake roars, turning.

Too late.

*

Rose's scream is spinning razors. They rip through my mind, slicing every cohesive thought to nothing but primal reaction.

I can do that.

Taking my favorite knotted rope—though long, it’s versatile as fuck—I sprint on the balls of my feet. My approach is soundless.

The Chaos Riders are so focused on Rose, cocks in hand, they don't sense my presence.

Just like I meant for them not to.

Rose looks up; startled blue eyes meet mine for a moment. I assess her condition like a soldier, as I've been trained to do.

Her face is free of wounds, though one cheek is startlingly pink. Head lacerations. Skin flushed. My eyes catch a sliver of glistening pussy, and everything goes blank.

My intellect is wiped clean. My plan.

Me.

I move in like a well-timed machine, judging everyone's attentions, distance, and reaction time.

I hit the guy with his cock next to Rose's face first.

Using the knot like a medieval flail, I jerk it out with a flick of my wrist. The end smashes into the guy's nose, spitting it open like ripe fruit. I swing toward whoever's closest, bringing it down like a club on his head. Exacting. Hard.

He falls. If the knot gets someone just right in the head, he won’t see stars. Only night.

Diablo screams. “What the fuck?”

He turns, and I see the juice of Rose's sweet pussy on two of his fingers. I go visceral in an instant.

I push into him, riding him down right beside Rose. The angle's bad, but I lean the rope into his throat, see-sawing it for bite. The rope catches, digging deep.

The grin on my face feels manic. Easy.

Someone pigpiles on me. I twist my shoulders hard, offloading the fucker like a gnat.

I keep grinding down into that soft spot of flesh under Diablo’s Adam's apple.

My pulse pounds. My mind breathes the command to the rope that is part of my body:
Give.

Flesh pounds around me, fists landing with finality.

“Noose!” Someone shouts from far away.

It's the rope. The throat. His fucking life under that line of killing twine.

Strong hands yank me off.

I go ballistic, swinging wildly.

“No, man! Fuck!” I hear Snare. “A little help!”

I growl, hitting whatever comes near me.

Then a smell assails my nose. I suck like a man without oxygen. My vision clears, and a small body hits my torso, latching on like a monkey.

I know that body.

My arms fall, letting the rope dangle softly at my side.

I look down at Rose. “Stop,” she whispers.

I nod, my hand palming the back of her skull.

“Stop,” she says again with a thread of voice.

That small voice moves through me like a wire of electricity, pulling shit low in my gut. I wrap my arm around her and survey the damage.

Bunch of fuckers, their cocks wagging out of jeans like tongues are tossed all over the floor in various states of consciousness.

Viper's on his ass, blowing air in and out like a steam engine.

I smirk. Old fucker's got brass balls.

Snare throws his arms wide. “Got about three minutes before the calvary comes.”

I look at Diablo. His body is very still. A second smiley face lies beneath his mouth like a red slash on his neck. That'll leave a mark.

Good. Fucker deserves to die slowly. The want to finish him rides low and tight inside. Desperate.

“Noose,” Rose says.

I look down at her. Black tracks of mascara run down her face, and her lipstick is smeared. She smells great.

Looks better.

I like her alive so much, it feels physical, my relief and happiness. Like a drug, but better. Real.

“I want to get out of here. Please,” she begs.

Rose shouldn't have to beg for shit.

“Yeah.” I scoop her right off the ground. Her head rolls into the space between my torso and my arm.

“Snare, stop picking belly lint and grab Viper.”

He pulls a face of pure irritation and slaps a hand into Viper's open palm. He hauls up our Road Kill Prez.

I make a mental note of the brothers. They're a little worse for the wear, but they all look happy.

Today, we saved an innocent.

Tomorrow, there will be payment due.

But for now, I have Rose, and she's safe against me.

*

I smooth her soft hair away from her face. “What's wrong with her, Doc?”

He gives her a critical roving eye, but Rose just stares back vacantly. “I'd say shock is a good guess.” His eyes find mine again. “You said she had a glucose crash?”

I'm not sure what that is, but I'd say that sounds right. “Probably.”

“No probably, Noose. If this girl was on a drip just hours ago and went through this cocksucking ordeal, there's no probably. She's likely shocky as shit.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” I cross my arms, still remembering the bite of his needle from only a few hours before.

His lips twitch. “No, you dumb fuck, she's looking chalky white and isn't responding normally. It's a great fucking guess.”

I rake my hair back with fingers tender and abraded. My scalp doesn’t appreciate the motion over the wound. I didn't take time to glove up before handling the rope. Would've saved myself some fucking pain.

Fuck it.

My gaze moves to Rose—and the outfit she's wearing. One hundred and ten percent sweet-butt attire there.

Why the fuck would she be all shaved, showered, and made up like a slut?

And what was Diablo's plan?
I can see that fucker thinking gang rape would bring Rose in line, that he could manipulate her into giving him visitation of the kid.

Only to discredit her later.

I hadn't thought of a tactful way to bring that potential up. No fucking good at tactful.

Good at riding. Killing. Fucking.
Not
good at emotions.

I was going to have to tap something besides twats in the near future. Tap into a little-used reservoir of tender.

Lots of fucking
T
s there. None of them easy, except the tap part.

“Let's see if we can lay her down and warm her up, Noose.”

I nod.

“She been catatonic since this went down with Diablo?” he asks to confirm.

Except for a few words, Rose had been as silent as the grave. “Yeah. Been like a fucking corpse.” I hate being worried.

What the fuck do I have to worry about, unless I care?

Caring. Now
that's
what I need to worry about.

Rose

Consciousness is a weird thing. It should be as simple as being awake while not sleeping.

Not true.

I hear Noose's limited exchange with “Doc.” I don't know if he's a real doctor or not, but the hands that touch me know my body. They’re gentle, healing hands, not harmful.

It's the first part of their conversation I'm more interested in.

“Was she raped, Doc? Did I—get there in time?”

“Wasn't raped. She was penetrated with something, but no torn flesh, no signs of forced entry.”

No. No forced entry, like a house broken into.

Drake just made sure I got wet before he really started the mind rape. Make no mistake, that
was
what his charade was all about. Drake wanted to let me know that no matter what, he's in control, that he can hurt me in ways I never knew.

Hands push me down gently.
I can't be on my back.
Panic wells like a swallowed bubble inside me. My fist strikes a jaw. Pain blows through my arm, radiating to my elbow.

“Fuck me!”

“I can sedate her?” Doc asks.

“No fucking way. She's been sedate long enough.”

I open my eyes. Noose's near-translucent gaze pegs me where I sit, elbows dug into the soft bed beneath me.

A small red lump mars the perfection of a jawline almost too angular, too defined.

A face I can never get tired of.

I do a lot of crying around this man, and I burst into tears for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“Hey, baby.” He sits beside me, drawing me into his arms. Noose pats me awkwardly, and all I feel is this big hard body all around me like a cocoon of strength. Flesh-covered steel. Safe.

I snuggle against him, wrecking his black T-shirt, snotting it to pieces.

Noose holds me like he'll never let me go.

“Give us a sec, Doc.”

“Sure thing.” The man's eyes roam over me, and I duck my head, ashamed.

“Don't you worry about what I think,” he says unexpectedly. “I know what those bastards did. None of this is your fault.”

I nod. But in my heart, I can't agree. I'll never agree. Some kind of compromise of Rose Christo has begun. I don't know who I am.

I'm crying because I grieve for her—that girl I was.

Doc leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

“Rose?” Noose is thumbing away my tears. His practicality has me laughing as he lifts his T-shirt and wipes my nose with it. What the hell? It's ruined now anyway.

I know I look like shit, and my face heats. What he thinks of me is still important. I realize I'm in a precarious position of hero worship.

“Don't cry. It's over. Diablo is shut down. We gotcha.”

I hold my hands on either side of his strong face. He doesn't look away, but I
so
sense that the small intimacy my touch offers bothers him.

His Adam's apple bobs.

“I know. And I'm so thankful, Noose—I am.”

The frown between his eyes doesn't ruin his looks—it enhances them. I gulp my attraction down like a bitter pill.

I was almost gang-raped. It didn't matter that I was forcefully aroused. I close my eyes at the memory of Drake's fingers inside me and my pussy clenching around them only hours after Noose's tongue had brought me screaming.

“Why does this sound like another Dear John blow-off?” His tone is mild, but his eyes are hard with anger. “Because I gotta say, Rose—I threw down for you. Me and the brothers, we broke into a rival MC's holding. We took a woman they were having their way with. An unclaimed woman. We had no rights. No place to stand. Just our wits. My need”—his eyes float away from mine, his voice going low—“to see you safe. That was all.” His gaze returns to mine like molten mercury.

I feel condemned by him. Like I owe Noose my freedom from the rapists.

I do owe him my gratitude. But I can't—I won't be bullied into some kind of sexual exploration based on my relief.

If there's one thing Anna's death taught me, it’s that things are not what they seem. Noose seems like he rescued me because he cares. But maybe that's just a smokescreen for being with a novelty. It's no big secret that Noose isn't with girls like me.

He's with girls who look like what I look like now. A slut. Easy.

Noose is waiting for words. I give them to him. “I-I am always going to be grateful. You saved me from a fate worse than death.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. There are some things that can make you wish you were dead. I'm feeling like that thing with you and Drake…” He shakes his head.

I notice he doesn't call it a rape.

His eyes come back to mine, wounding me with their intensity. “That would've been one of them.”

I hang my head. “Probably.”

“No probably, baby. Definitely.”

I blow out a frustrated exhale. “Anyway…” I thread my fingers together between us, “I need some space. I need time to get my head around what happened. I need to see Charlie—my parents. I need to figure out what to do at the hearing.”

I pant just thinking about Tuesday. About seeing Drake again.

“Hey—hey.” His hands palm my face, and I sink my cheek into the caress. “Diablo isn't gonna hurt you anymore. We'll figure this thing out together.”

No we won't.
“I'm sorry, Noose. But I can't be a part of a motorcycle gang.”

His hand falls from my face, and their absence is a small death. My breath hitches as he stands.

“I'd go to the ground for you, Rose Christo.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But I can't have that from a man. You saved me.” I blink back scalding tears. “I get that. And we have wicked chemistry.”

His eyebrows hike. “At least you admit you want to fuck me.”

A laugh shoots out of me like a bullet. The problem is, it sounds a little hysterical. “Yeah,” I say, self-consciously crossing my arms in front of my body, “I guess that's one way to put it.”

Noose studies me. I feel like a bug. “But you wouldn't put it like that, would ya, Rose?” He flings his powerful arms wide, muscles slicing the air like knives. “You'd call it
chemistry
or some fancy shit like that?”

My silence is acquiescence.

He moves to me, almost too fast for me to track. I'm in his arms, and he's jerked me up to my knees. One hand cups my sex, and the other grinds the back of my head into his face.

Our lips crash together. Mashing. Tongues twining.

“Mine,” he growls, and with the barest tension, squeezes the part of me Drake just molested.

But it's nothing but pure desire that uncoils through my body at Noose's touch.

Hot. Dangerous.

Noose lifts his lips, and I suck in a breath before the next assault. “You're mine, Rose. You were mine before I met you. You're mine now. You just don't know it.”

I search his eyes. There's not a part of him that doesn't mean every word.

But I didn't survive the last four years because someone owns me or because an outlaw or a gang member can protect me.

I survived because of love and devotion. I overcame for something bigger than me. Charlie.

I don't know if a man like Noose has that element as part of his makeup.

Noose slides a finger over the material of the dress, driving it between my wet folds, and my head tips back.

His lips plant themselves on my throat, licking and kissing until his hand moves to my upper back and his face is between my breasts, diving into the cleavage. He buries his face between them.

“Fuck, you're hot,” his finger moves back and forth. The material of my dress between his finger and my wet flesh creates friction.

“Ah!” I gurgle intelligibly, my fingers diving into the slicked-back hair on his head. I pull. Hard.

He moans underneath my touch, hair coming loose from the tight band, and I hang on.

My hips start working against his finger. I grind down as he moves up and licks between my breasts.

“Noose,” I say, so close to coming that my vision curls at the corners where the colors gray out.

“Come, Rose.”

His erotic command brings me screaming into his mouth as he covers my lips with his own, and my pussy spasms, clenching on nothing, pulsing for Noose's cock.

Tears run down my face. I have never wanted something more for myself than I want this man.

He is everything that is wrong.

Noose feels so right, my need like its own agony.

As the last pulse drives out of me, I fall back against the bed, legs spread.

Noose's eyes peg my sex, his expression hungry.

His huge erection causes his jeans to look painted on. “I know those fuckers about raped you.” His eyes bore holes through me. “I'm sorry, Rose. I know—I get it. You're not ready.”

Noose takes a ragged breath. “But if you don't close your legs this minute, I'm going to climb on top of you and plant my prick so deep, it'll never come out.”

My heart slaps against my rib cage.

His pulse beats at the hollow of his broad throat. “Tell me to leave, Rose. I'll go. I'll give you space.”

I want him to fuck me into the ground.
“Leave, Noose.”

He takes a final look at my pussy, adjusts his cock with an awkward shove, and walks out the door.

I lie there and cry, thinking about what-ifs.