Wicked Ride (29 page)

After, I went back in and fucked
the girl he was whipping, because she was all worked up despite his
lousy job. Fucked her right in the same room her blood was first
drawn with The Silo crowd watching. I did it dispassionately,
although I did get her off too. I put her on her hands and knees,
ignored the people pressing their faces in on the glass because I
really don’t care
for public sex but it won’t stop me if the mood strikes, and I
banged out an effective orgasm.

As per usual, the minute I felt
my balls pull up with the need for release, I pulled out of her,
whipped the condom off, and shot all over her back. I gave her a
sharp slap on the ass at the same time, dragged my thumb through the
wetness on her back, and shoved it up her ass. She went off like a
firecracker again, and my job was done. Left her on the floor panting
as I tucked my dick back in and walked out.

So yeah…
exhausted and more so than normal. It’s been getting harder and
harder to maintain my role as the head of The Silo, and I’m not
sure if it’s because I’ve been doing it on my own for
almost six months now since Woolf left or if I’m just losing
the taste for all the kink. There was a time in my life that this
shit was the only thing that kept me sane and grounded, but I’m
finding I’m actually developing a bit of an intolerance for it.
It’s why I spend so much time holed up in my office at The
Wicked Horse, depending on some of my most trusted Fantasy Makers to
make sure things run smoothly.

Sadly, those people I can depend
on are dropping like flies. First Woolf exited the business when he
got involved with Callie Hayes. I don’t
begrudge my best friend happiness at all, and I’m still happy
for him to this day, although I do miss him as we see each other very
infrequently now. Then Cain fell for Sloane, Rand for Cat, and just
recently, Logan gave it all up for Auralie. While these guys will
always love to mix in kink in their fucking, they’re also the
type that once they commit to a woman, they’re giving up the
days of debauchery. It’s not unheard of for monogamous couples
to frequent The Silo, but while those couples do indeed have an
amazing amount of trust to lead this lifestyle, I’ve always
known there’s something missing from their relationship that
leads them here.

Woolf, Cain, Rand, and Logan?

They have everything they could
possibly want waiting in bed for them at home, so yeah…
their days in The Silo are over, and it’s really just me left.

Sighing, I head into the kitchen
and pull a beer from the fridge. I twist the cap off, lobbing it into
the garbage can before taking my first pull. It goes down nicely, and
before I can even take a second sip, I’m
craving another beer already. It appears I’m well on my way to
getting shit faced tonight.

Again.

It’s
become a habit because I’m finding it harder and harder to fall
asleep.

Heading into the living room, I
sit down on my leather recliner and put my beer down on the table
beside it. I take off my boots—cowboy tonight although on any
other day, it could be biker boots—and then I kick the recliner
back. I pick up my beer from the table, along with the necklace that
lays there.

It’s
silver and tarnished with age with a simple lobster clasp that was
broken years ago and never repaired. On the blackened chain rests a
silver men’s wedding ring, which doesn’t come off as I
ended up tying the ends of the thin chain into a knot. I hold the
ring up, which is also changing color with the passage of time, and I
let memories take me over.

I don’t
want them to take me over, but they do anyway.

They do every fucking time I look
at this necklace and ring, and I look at it frequently.

Flat on my back, tied up.
Wrists to headboard, but my legs are loose and lying flat on the
dirty, stained mattress. I let myself be tied willingly, but I’m
not here willingly. I’m there through no choice of my own.

She rides my cock slowly,
hands to my chest, using it for leverage to slide up and down my
shaft. The needle marks on her arm are like bright beacons, and I
focus on them so I don’t
have to look at that fucking necklace and ring swaying back and forth
as she fucks me.

“
Feels good, doesn’t
it, baby?” she murmurs in a raspy voice thick with lust, but
not drugs. She’s always sober when she wants to fuck because
she doesn’t want the sensation of what she does to me dulled.
She’ll shoot up as soon as we’re done.

I grunt in unwanted
acknowledgment because as much as I hate this fucking bitch, my cock
will give her what she wants.

I concentrate on the feelings…
wet slide of flesh, my balls tingling with the need for release—not
because I want it or crave it, but only because I want this done and
this skank to get off me.

“
Give it to me,”
she moans, moving on me faster. “Come inside me, Bridger, love.
Give me that spunk.”

I grit my teeth. Her words are
foul, grating on my ears, even as they do their job and force my
orgasm closer. I want it, and I hate it. I’ll
hate myself even worse once I give it up.

“
Mmmmm,” she
taunts me. “Maybe one day, I’ll even let you knock me up.
We’d make a beautiful baby together, wouldn’t we?”

She recognizes her mistake
right away as my eyes go blank and every bit of hated lust that I’m
feeling starts to slide away. My dick even starts to deflate, so she
backpedals quickly. By that, I mean she reaches out and viciously
twists my nipples. They’re already reddened from the belt she
used on me before she climbed aboard. The pain fires through me and
gives her the intended results, my cock going rock solid again inside
her well-used pussy.

She bounces harder and faster,
and then she taunts me further by grabbing the ring swaying from the
necklace in one hand and bringing it to her lips. Pushing it into her
mouth, she sucks on it as she looks down at me in triumph before she
spits it back out and pants, “You’re
so fucking good, baby. I’ll never get tired of this cock, you
know.”

I’m
on the edge and she knows it, so she propels me along by reaching a
hand back and giving a vicious squeeze to my balls. They shrink and
harden as the pain drives through me. With utter silence, I unload
inside of her. I do it silently because it’s the one way I can
show this bitch that my body might react to her—and only
because it’s been brainwashed to do so—but that’s
the only acknowledgment she gets.

She watches me with interest
as the orgasm ripples through me, and she comes to a complete rest
with my spent cock inside of her. She climbs off, not having achieved
her own orgasm, but I’m
not sure she’s even capable of it. I’ve never seen it,
and she doesn’t fuck me to get off. She fucks me because she’s
a sick bitch who likes the power and control.

With a calm that shows just
how whacked she is in the head, she undoes the ropes around my wrists
and releases my bondage. She looks down at me with that smug look of
superiority tinged with madness before bending over and placing a
light kiss on the tip of my nose. It’s
an endearing kiss. I suspect in her own fucked-up world, she’s
doing this to show she loves me.

The thought causes my flesh to
crawl and fury to wash through me.

She gives me a condescending
pat on my chest and starts to scoot off the bed. Before I can even
reason with myself what I’m
doing, my hand flies out and catches her around the back of her neck.
Her eyes flare wide for a brief moment, sizzling with both anger and
lust that I’d dare make such a move.

My other hand strikes,
grabbing the necklace and jerking it from her body, the weak clasp
easily shredding.

“
Bridger,” she
shrieks, making a grab for the necklace.

I roll swiftly, using my grasp
on her neck to flip her over me and down onto the mattress, where I
throw a leg over her wasted body and straddle her.

“
Get off me,” she
yells, and the fear in her eyes motivates me.

Motivates me to take my life
back.

My hands wrap around her neck,
the silver necklace wound through my fingers and the ring coming to
rest at the hollow in her throat. I squeeze, and, for a brief moment,
her eyes flash with lust.

This motivates me greatly.

I squeeze harder, moving my
thumbs to rest over her windpipe, and I press them down.

The lust turns to fear
instantaneously, and fuck my soul to hell…
that motivates me further.

Tightening my hands, I start
to choke the ever-loving shit out of her. I watch in fascination as
she gasps, her hands now scratching and clawing at my hands, her legs
frantically kicking underneath me. She tries to buck me off, but the
lack of oxygen and the fact she’s
weak of body makes her attempts futile. Her face turns a beautiful
shade of red… not nearly as red as the belt marks on my chest,
but enough to satisfy me.

It then turns purple, and her
eyes start to bulge as they leak copious amounts of tears. I watch as
blood vessels bloom and burst in her right eye, and that fascinates
me too.

Leaning down, I hover my mouth
right over hers, which is opening and closing like a gasping fish,
and I whisper to her, “I’m.
Done. With. You.”

Her eyes are blank, mostly
because she’s
oxygen deprived. I’m not sure she even understands me. I make
my point by releasing my hands from around her neck, taking only a
moment to enjoy the red marks there that I know will turn purple as
well, and roll off the bed. Bending down to the floor, I pick my
clothes up and walk out of the bedroom.

Getting dressed in the
hallway, I shove the necklace and ring in my jeans pocket. I grab my
wallet off the kitchen counter that is stained with dried food and
make my way through the living room, where drunk and drugged-out
people lay scattered all around, a few of them fucking on the filthy
carpet.

I open the door and walk right
out of my stepmom’s
house.

I’m
just fifteen years old, and I’m never coming back.

A loud banging on my front door
jolts me out of the memory, and for a moment, I’m
confused as to what the sound is. But it comes again, louder this
time.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.

Kicking my legs down, I put the
recliner back in an upright position and place my beer and the
necklace on the table. I stalk across my living room as pounding that
is more insistent reverberates through the house.

Without bothering to look to see
who is outside, I throw
the door open and glare at the intruder, only to have my jaw drop
wide open.

Kyle Sommerville stands there,
holding something cradled in his arms.

A woman.

An unconscious woman by the looks
of it.

“What the fuck?” I
say in astonishment, but then Kyle is barreling past me and causing
me to step backward so he can make an entrance. I shut the door,
turning to watch him walk over to my couch and lay the woman down
with incredible care.

“Jesus fucking Christ,
Kyle,” I growl at him, my eyes cutting down to the package he
just deposited.

He spins on me, his face grim. “I
need your help.”

I stomp over to the couch and
look down at the woman. Her eyes closed, face pale with dark lashes
fanning bruised skin underneath. Her brown hair is dirty and matted
with what looks like blood, and there’s
dirt streaked all over her face. Her clothes are filthy as well.

“Who the fuck is that?”
I ask as I point down to the woman.

“Listen to me,” Kyle
says urgently as he steps into me. “I am sorry for fucking
involving you, but I had no choice. She is in serious fucking danger,
and I need you to hide her for a bit.”

“Are you out of your
goddamn mind—?”

“Bridger,” he shouts.
“I’m not fucking around on this. She has one foot in the
grave if you don’t take her in.”

“You cannot leave her
here,” I shout back at him, because I have no clue what this
crazy son of a bitch biker has gotten himself into and I want no part
of it. “Take her to the police or something.”

“I am the goddamn police,”
Kyle snarls at me in frustration, and I take two unsteady steps
backward.

“What?” I ask in
bewilderment.

Kyle takes a deep breath, scrubs
his hands through his long, blond hair, and says, “I’m
ATF, and I’ve been deep undercover with Mayhem’s Mission
for over three years now. Investigating illegal firearms, drugs, and
a sex-slave ring they’re running through all the clubs
throughout the Midwest over to the West Coast.”

I can’t
even comprehend what he’s telling me. This is Kyle Sommerville,
badass biker who is yeah… a friend… but not a good one.
I know him marginally, and never once did I ever get a whiff that
he’s law enforcement. I can’t even begin to process
because I’ve seen this fucker do shit that’s highly
illegal. I’ve watched him clean what I’m sure are stolen
guns and snort coke. Watched him fuck club pussy in the nastiest of
ways, and I watched him cut a guy up at a party once because he just
seemed to feel like it.

“I don’t believe
you,” I say uncertainly.

“Why?” he mutters.
“Because I’m really, really good at my undercover job?
When you immerse yourself in this shit, Bridger, you go all in. You
have to do the nasty with the people you get in bed with or else they
won’t fucking buy the cover.”

That makes sense.

Sort of.

But shit…
I thought that stuff only happened in the movies.

My eyes cut back down to the
woman, and I must believe some of what he says because I ask, “Is
she part of the sex-slave trade?”

He shakes his head. “No,
she’s part of something bigger, and I need you to keep her
hidden.”