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Oak

My heavy boots hardly make a sound as I cross the cement yard leading to the clubhouse.  My steps are sure and steady, my demeanor confident and calm, even though on the inside, I feel the complete opposite.  I walk through the door and give a chin lift to a couple of the guys drinking on the tatted, bodily-fluid stained couch in the corner.

The criminals.  My targets.

“Brother,” Dusty greets.  He shakes my hand and brings me in to slap a hand on my back.   “How’re things?”

“Good, man.  You?”

“Good.  Just got back from a run and I’m about to sink myself into some pussy.”  He grins and walks away, straight over to two of the club whores talking on the sofa. 

“Hand us a beer,” I tell the Prospect behind the bar.  He’s only young, just eighteen.  Too bad he will probably end up in prison when my time here ends.  If he were on the straight and narrow, no doubt he would make a good life for himself.

I guess for some people, the lure of free-for-all pussy and a wad of dirty money is too tempting to pass up.

Bringing the beer to my lips, I turn around in time to see Dusty disappearing down the hall with two chicks tagging alongside him. 

“How’s you doin’, brother?”  Rad sits down beside me and orders himself a beer.

“Same old.” I shrug.  “You?” I take another mouthful of beer.

“Just got done finalizing details for the run next month.  Going to be a big one, brother,” Rad mentions.

I nod, but don’t reply.

It sure fucking will be...

A large palm slaps down on my shoulder and then the President’s voice fills my ears. “Oak, Rad, we’ve got to ride out, boys.  Having some trouble with a supplier and it needs sorting.”

“On it.” I stand and swig the rest of my beer, then leave the bottle on the bar for the Prospect to deal with.

Straddling my Harley, I turn the key and pull out of the yard. 

As a Special Agent, I’ve had to do some pretty fucked up undercover work, but this, infiltrating the Zephyrs, has by far been the most challenging.  Living this life, day in, day out, would drive a lesser man insane.  The end is in sight, though.  So close I can almost taste it.

Landon Flay, the President, turns off down a dirt road, so Rad and I follow close behind. 

Flay is a shifty motherfucker.  He’s deceitful, selfish, and an utter fucking moron.  He is only out for number one and watching him the last six months, I have also seen firsthand how conniving he is.  His personality allows                           him to play the boys like a fiddle.

Flay landed himself in juvie when he was seventeen for armed robbery.  Since then he has been in and out of jail with priors for assault, theft, drug dealing, and sexual offenses.  He is also a person of interest in four different missing persons’ cases spanning a ten-year period.  When my time here is done, Landon Flay will be on the inside, looking out, never to breathe free air again. 

That right there is the biggest problem inside this club.  Landon lures the boys when they’re young – seventeen, eighteen.  He promises them the world and then delivers little by little, just enough to keep them under his spell.

Meanwhile, he has been pocketing club funds for years, making himself a nice little nest egg.  What he doesn’t know is, I found his stash.  Stupid prick couldn’t even find a decent hiding place.  Most criminals would become creative when they are trying to hide hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of stolen and dirty money.

Not Landon Flay.

He didn’t bother with a basement safe surrounded by reinforced steel walls and security cameras.  He didn’t bother investing in containers and burying that shit six feet under the earth in the middle of a forest.

Nope, not Flay.

He stashes it in the ceiling cavity of a unit he rents unbeknownst to the club.  The fucker is so stupid – or maybe he’s just so content within his position of superiority, that he’s become lax – he rents the unit in his own fucking name.

Fucking dickhead.

Or, maybe that is just showing how cunning he is.

We ride up to a large, old, run-down warehouse and cut our engines.

“You gonna fill us in?” Rad asks.

“Mickey’s dicking us around.  So, we’re going to show him what happens when you fuck with the Zephyrs.”  Flay grins evilly.

Fucking great.  More blood will be spilled.

I clench my hands into fists, but follow the boys to the front of the warehouse.  Glancing around, I scan the area, carefully taking in my surroundings.

Prez slides open the heavy metal door and we step inside.  Immediately, I want to gag.  The smell of rotting flesh fills my nostrils and it takes all I have to hold my gut at bay.  I look across to Rad and see he is turning green as well.  Prez, on the other hand, looks unfazed.

“This way.”  We follow Prez across the dirt ground until he enters through another door.  He closes it behind us.  I grind my teeth to stop from making a reaction to the sight before me.

The man’s arms are raised above his head and he is hanging from the rafters.  His top half is bare and covered in gashes.  His face is a beaten to a pulp and blood drops from him onto the floor below, creating a muddy puddle.

Prez walks forward casually and stops in front of the man, while Rad and I hang back.

“Brothers, this is Mickey.”  He picks up a rusty blade from the dirty wooden ledge beside Mickey and examines it.  “Now, Mickey, are you going to give us the information we need?”

Mickey spits a wad of blood at Prez’s face.

Stupid fucking idiot.

Rad nudges me and when I look at him, he lifts his chin.  I follow Rad’s line of sight up Mickey’s arms until I reach his wrists. 
Fucking Christ.
  He’s hanging by thick hooks that have been punctured through his wrists.

“That’s gotta be painful,” I mutter to Rad.

“You’ve got to be the stupidest fuck I know, Mickey,” Prez informs him before sinking the blade into his side.

Mickey roars in pain and thrashes about before quickly stopping himself, no doubt because the hooks are causing him more agony than the stab wound.

“Fuck you, cunt,” Mickey shouts as Prez drives the blade in in exactly the same spot on the opposite side of his body.

“Fucking prick. I ain’t telling you shit, motherfucker,” Mickey roars.

This dude really is fucking stupid.

“Hand me the pliers,” Prez says. 

I step forward and hand him the dirty tool.  He takes them and then says, “Hold his head.”

Fuck!

With no other option, I walk around behind Mickey and grab his head, holding him still.

He growls, a mixture of frustration and pain. 

“Rad, get over here and make yaself useful,” Prez commands.

With Rad holding Mickey’s mouth open, and me holding his head still, Prez begins pulling his teeth out, one by one, with the pliers.

Mickey screams and coughs, choking on his own blood, but Prez doesn’t let up.  He keeps going until Mickey has passed out from the pain, hanging limp from the hooks, and all his teeth are missing from his head, littered on the dirt ground below us.

Twenty minutes later, Mickey starts moaning and groaning as he comes to.  Prez immediately walks over to him and begins slapping his face, eager for him rouse quicker.

“You going to give me that information yet?”

“You’ll have to kill me first.  You’ll never get anything from me.”

Prez gives him a calculating look before calling out, “Rad, hold his head.”

Rad does as he is told.  Prez picks up a knife, and without any preamble, he brings it to Mickey’s face and digs one of his eyes out.

Fucking shit.
  I wish I could just take Landon motherfucking Flay out right now.  Just pop a bullet through his skull.  But I know it isn’t possible, and while this goes against everything I know, I have to play my part.  I have to keep my shit together.  I have to.

I concentrate on not losing my food all over the ground. 

“Was sick of you looking at me anyways,” Prez says snidely, as he tosses the eyeball across the room.

Mickey makes a garbled sound, but he is in too much pain to form proper words.

“Might cut your cock off next,” Prez muses.  “Or, maybe, since you ain’t talking, I’ll cut your tongue out.  Matter o’ fact, I might just work my way down your body, cutting out and chopping off everything I can.  Once I’ve finished on the outside, I’ll gut you like a pig,” he threatens.  “But I’ll do it all in a way that ensures you’ll live until the moment I cut your heart out of your chest.”

Christ
.

“Jude Marley,” Mickey whispers.

“What?” Prez barks.

“Jude Marley,” he repeats, his voice slightly stronger, but still a whisper.

“Was that hard?” Prez asks sardonically.

“Fuck you.”  Mickey spits at him again, and Prez pulls out his nine millimeter.  He takes the shot, shooting Mickey in the center of his forehead.  Blood sprays from the back of his head, spurting over Rad, who begins to heave.

My gut rolls and I bend double, losing the contents of my stomach, and through it all, Prez laughs.

Sadistic son of a bitch.

Willa

Absentmindedly, I serve up the beer to the customer and move onto the next one, serving them.  All without hearing a thing, seeing a thing, or noticing a thing.  My mind is numb, my brain, blank.  The only thought I can conjure is,
what am I going to do?
  The answer is non-existent.

“You okay, Willa?” Carly asks, her brows furrowed with concern.

“Fine,” I mumble, handing a drink to the customer across from me.

“You sure?  If you want to take a break, I’ll cover you,” she offers.

“Sure.”  I fake a smile and head out to the storeroom.

It’s been two days since Miguel’s visit, and I can focus on nothing else.  I crouch in the corner of the room and take a minute to try and clear my mind.  I need to think of something,
anything. 
There
has
to be an answer.

“What’re you doin’?”

My head snaps up at the sound of the voice and I scramble for an excuse.

Oak raises his eyebrows in question at me.

“Uh, just…uh…” 
Fuck, I’ve got nothing
.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, stepping forward, the cool mask he usually wears slipping from his gorgeous face to show the concern hiding deep in his chocolate brown eyes.

“No,” I whisper. 
Not physically.

“Then why are you cowering in the corner like a trapped animal?”

“Because that’s what I am.” The words fall from my lips before I can trap them in my mouth.

“Explain,” he demands.  He moves the rest of the way over to me and takes a seat on a crate.  His long legs bend and he rests his elbows on them, his fingers peaked and supporting his chin.  He looks cool and calm, but there’s a tense energy surrounding him, like he’s hyper-aware of his environment.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I try to back-track.

“Willa,” he growls.

“Willa, I’m swamped. I need you back here,” Carly calls urgently.

I see it as my opportunity to get the hell out of there, so I jump up and race to the door.  I pause before I leave the room and look back at him.  He’s glaring at me, his shoulders bunched in fury.  “Just stay out of it, okay, Oak?  And don’t mention this to my brother.”  I give him a glare of my own to show him how serious I am, and then I make my way out to help Carly.

She wasn’t lying!  We are swamped.  For some reason – most likely because the bikers are all here tonight – the bar is filled with floozies left, right, and center.

Great.  At least it will give me something else to think about.

About half an hour later, a hand grips my hip and the area heats so hot it feels like it burning.

The delicious kind of burning.

Oak’s warm breath skates over the shell of my ear as he leans in to speak.  “We’ll finish our chat later.”

“No, we won’t.  There’s no time for talking, I’m busy.”

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re done,” he states simply.  Then his hand leaves my body and he walks away.  My body instantly craves his loss and I hate myself for it.

“Excuse me. 
Hey!
  Excuse me.”  The voice snaps me out of my trance and I raise my brows at the girl in question.

“Yes?”

“Shitty fucking service around here,” she mumbles under her breath, but still loud enough for me to hear it.

“Are you going to order, or are you going to bitch all night?”

She huffs and then orders a vodka and orange juice.  I quickly fill the order, take her money, and move onto the next customer.

By the end of the night, my feet are killing me and I’m pretty sure the blisters on my heels have popped and are now rubbing raw.  It’s so painful I’m scared to take my shoes off because I know I’m going to cry.  But if I leave them on, the pain is so bad that I’ll cry anyway.  I can’t fucking win.

I hobble out to my car with Tiny following close behind.

“Thanks.  Have a good night.”

He makes a grunting sound and nods before walking away.  I climb in my car and just as I bring my foot up to rest on my opposite knee, there’s a knock on my passenger window.  It scares the shit out of me and I scream.

“Fucking hell, Oak!” I curse.  He opens the door and folds his massive frame into the seat.  “You scared the shit out of me.”

“What’s wrong with your foot?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

He grabs my foot and pulls it across the console to cradle in his lap.  When he doesn’t answer, I try to pull away, but he grasps my ankle and holds me steady.

He unlaces my shoe and I suck in a deep breath, holding, waiting for the pain to rip my through my nerves.  He eases the shoe from my foot and I cry out in a mixture of pain and relief.  Pain, because my foot feels like it’s on fire, throbbing like it’s just been set free from its captive confines and pulsing with wild abandon.  Relief, because it’s no longer held captive and can finally breathe and have room to swell and ache without restriction. 

“Fuck,” I groan, drawing the word out as tears fill my eyes as he removes my sock and what feels like a layer of flesh with it.  I bite down on the inside of my mouth, determined not to let the escape.

“Jesus H Christ,” he mutters.  “What the fuck happened?”  He lifts my foot to examine it in the light shining dully in the distance from the bar.  Having no success, he reaches up and turns on the interior light of my car and curses when he catches sight of my mangled foot.

Fuck, it looks worse than I thought.  My entire heel is red, angry, and rubbed raw.  Clear, sticky liquid oozes from the wound that was my quarter-sized blister. 

He grabs my other foot and repeats the process. This time, I can’t hold back the tears and they trickle down my cheeks and fall onto my chest before soaking into the fabric of my work shirt.

Discarding my socks and shoes onto the floor between his feet, he gently begins massaging the arches of my feet.  My head falls back and I sniffle.

“Don’t cry, Willa,” he says softly. 

“I’m not,” I rebuke stubbornly.

He scoffs, and then drags his fingers through my toes causing a strange sensation to travel through my body.  My toes involuntarily curl and warmth rushes over me.

“Uh, don’t do that,” I say awkwardly, trying to both remove my foot and force it further into his grip.

“Do what?” he teases, as if knowing exactly what reaction he’s evoking from me.  Leaning down, he sucks my big toes into his mouth and my pussy clenches. 
Holy fuck.
  Okay, that’s kind of disgusting, but it’s more hot than anything else. 

He places my foot back in his lap and continues massaging gently in silence.  He stays away from my tender heels, instead focusing on my arches and balls.  Through it all, the only thing I can think of is that his cock is growing harder and harder against the foot resting in his lap.  I desperately want to move so I can inconspicuously rub myself against him, but I refrain.  Barely.

“I think it’s time you told me what earlier in the storeroom was about.”

“It was nothing,” I say quickly. 
Too
quickly.

“Don’t spew shit, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby,
baby,
” I throw back sarcastically, eager to clutch onto anything to distract him from his train of thought.  It doesn’t work though. 
Of course it fucking doesn’t.

He thrusts his hips upwards, his cock connecting with my leg.  “Makes me fucking hard as a rock when you call me baby.  Say it again,” he demands.

“No,” I reply stubbornly.

“Then tell me about earlier.”

“No.”

“You this stubborn when you’re being fucked?”

“I beg your pardon?” I snap.  “That’s none of your damn business.”

He grins broadly, his white teeth a stark contrast to his caramel skin.  His beauty is blinding.  He’s stunning.  Strong jaw and cheekbones, deep, soulful brown eyes framed by thick, dark, long, black lashes, and cropped short black hair.  A five o’clock shadow peppers his face and more than once I’ve thought about the way it would feel as it scraped over my thighs as he was eating me.

“I bet you are.  I bet you need a good spankin’ every now and then, just to keep you in line.”

“You’re disgusting,” I spit, trying to maintain my façade that his words aren’t affecting me.  In truth, my panties are soaked, my is pussy hot, ready for him, and my nipples are hard little pebbles silently begging to be sucked between his plump lips. 

“Bet if I ran my hand up your leg and inside your panties your pussy would be ready for my cock.  ‘Course, I’d want a taste first.  I’d fuck you with my tongue, suck on your clit, then feast on your juices until you came.  Then, I’d fuck you with my fingers before I finally slid my cock deep inside your hot pussy.”

Oh god.  His voice.  His words.  I may come from them alone.

My stomach clenches and god,
god
, do I want that.  I want it
so
bad.  I’m panting and my skin is all hot and prickly, hyper-alert and silently begging him to do everything he just described.

But, I won’t give him that satisfaction.  I’m not one of those girls who hang out at the bar or the clubhouse just waiting to be used and tossed aside.  I won’t be
that
girl, just to get a piece of him.

“You need to leave,” I say as sternly as I can, but even I can hear the hoarseness in my voice, thick with arousal.

“No.”  One word.  Firm.  Unyielding.  “You either tell me what I want to know, or I’ll keep describing what I’m going to do your body as soon as you let me in,” he threatens.

Jeepers.  I don’t think my body can take much more of his sexy talk.  I can see myself jumping the console, tugging his big, black cock from his jeans and impaling myself on it before he even has time to wonder what the hell I’m doing.

Fuck my life.

“Honestly, Oak, it’s nothing.”  I try to play it off.  Telling him would mean he would blab to my brother and they would get involved. 
That
would piss Miguel off and god knows what would happen – he killed my parents, for fuck’s sake.

He killed them.  I swallow the hurt and bury it deep in the back of mind.  The less I think about it, the less it hurts.

“Bet your nipples are rosy pink.  Set against your creamy skin…they’d look fucking glorious glistening from my mouth.”

I swallow hard.  Holy shit.

“Oak, stop.”  My command holds no weight because,
man
, do I want him to continue!

“Your pussy bare, baby?”  he croons.  “I bet it is.”

I think I just whimpered. 

“There’s no story to tell, Oak,” I deny.

“Imagine my tongue running through all that bare flesh, on display for me.  Wet from your juices and me.”  His tone is musing, but his voice is husky.  I bet if I glanced down I’d see the bulge in his pants.  But, I won’t. 

I do.  Just because I like to torture myself, I totally glance down and there is a bulge.  A big one.  It’s straining against his jeans.  My hand itches to grasp it, massage it.  My mouth waters, my tongue itching to slide it inside and tease him, sucking, licking, grazing his cock with my teeth.  I ache to bring him undone.

You’re playing a dangerous game
, my mind warns.

No, I’m not.  I’m not playing any game
, I silently rebuff.

“One day I’ll tell you how I know you’re hiding something.  But, for now, I’m going to lean back here in this seat, close my eyes, and keep on talking, while my mind plays out every scenario that comes out of my mouth.  All the while, I’m gonna enjoy breathing your sweet scent, because the more I talk, the stronger it gets.”

I instinctively try to squeeze my legs together, but he holds my ankle firm and places one of his strong, meaty hands between my knees.

“No,” he growls.  “Leave them.  One day, they’re gonna be spread nice and wide for me, showing me that glorious pussy and your clit will be swollen, begging for me to suck it into my mouth and make you come all over my face.”

“Enough,” I shout, unable to take any more of his delicious verbal torture.

“I can see your nipples from here, straining against your shirt.  You gettin’ hot, baby?  I can see the pink on your cheeks from here.”

I quickly reach up and flick the interior light off, enveloping us in darkness.  My hand comes up and I feel how hot my face is.

Pink?  More like raging red.
How mortifying!

“Okay, okay!  I’ll fucking tell you.”  I glance around, hoping to waste time.  Gee, it’s really fogged up in here!  I can’t even see outside anymore.

“Willa.”  His warning is growled.

I look back to him, resigned.  He really is handsome, even when he’s being a demanding bastard, intruding in on things he knows nothing about and has no business inserting himself in.  Still, even as annoyed as I am with him, I can still appreciate his beauty.