CHAPTER TWO

“My first mistake was I fucked a virgin and liked it. My second mistake was I wanted more…” - Rider Marinos.

Three Years Ago.

 

 

 

      Ambrosio Marinos better known as Rider was looking at a fucking pure-born beauty heaven sent angel among Hell's nastier demons. Not that he didn't love each one of his brothers, they had a bond that went deeper than blood, but still, they were not your typical good guys.

      No one would ever describe any one of the Renegade Souls as good.                

      So then, he wondered, what was Goldilocks doing in among the big bad's of Armado Springs?

      He'd seen her the moment she'd stepped into the clubhouse with her girl, hard to miss when she reeked of upper class and silverware. All she was missing was the champagne flute in her hand and the butler at her side.

      His dick wanted her instantly.

      Her face had reached out to Rider, almost as if she'd brought fucking sunlight into his place. Straight up harpooned the flaming ball and dragged it behind her. It highlighted on her platinum colored hair and dazzled right down to the fucking ridiculous dress she wore. She looked all of twelve clutching her hands together nervously waiting for her prom date. Someone should have told the princess she’d taken a wrong turn on Main and geeky pimple faced Nigel wasn’t gonna show anytime soon with her corsage.

      Right in that unhurried minute while he watched her shift from foot to foot, her wild eyes searching through the bodies, before he knew her name or what-the-fuck she was doing showing her fresh-faced innocence to his men, Rider claimed her as his own.

      His dick demanded he raises his hand in the air and claim; mine.

      The Souls President got the read of her friend right away. Groupie wannabe, tits out to there, lips glossed within an inch of their life, her skirt riding up her ass, looking for her next fuck, her hungry eyes dancing around each face until she'd taken off with Tiny into one of the back rooms, leaving Blondie all alone. Oh, fuck. He could practically hear his boys licking their wolf chops scenting a lone sheep in their den.

      Fresh meat meant only one thing for his brothers who were kicking back for the first time that month with a blowout party; She was gonna get her angelic wings bitten off if she wasn't careful.

      And from the worst monster that was within his ranks.

      His VP had caught the scent of a new game first, licking his lips and adjusting his jeans before approaching the girl. It had taken three seconds for fear to reach her eyes.

      A personal record.

      Hawk could sense fear a block away, bloodhound, it was what made his dick hard, or so he claimed. Some called Hawk a sociopath and would be on the money with that description.

      Just what twisted sick shit his VP did beneath his sheets was his business, all Rider knew was his friend had a fierce loyalty, would cut a motherfucker soon as look at him to protect his club, and had done many times, he was cold on the inside as well as the out and liked his sex served the way he liked his drinks; straight-up, on the rocks and dark as fuck.

     According to Hawk he’d never met a choked woman he didn’t like.

      If his VP had wanted to sink his nastiness into the girl, then Rider didn't feel an ounce of guilt ramming the stop sign up for Hawk before his mind games took shape.

      He was already drunk and swaying anyway.  His brows twitched, his expression silently asking Rider if he was sure…he answered his friend in the same way; Not. For. Fucking. You.

      Hawk could get his dick dipped wet anywhere he wanted, for some crazy reason the women flocked to his aloof attitude with breasts out and legs open.

      The golden shy girl was not to played with by a freak-in-the-sheets and a demon-in-the-streets.

      As it went, Rider eyed Hawk part the crowd with just his menacing presence and his staggered gait, bouncing from side to side like he heard the death march in his head and it was so his jam, people got out of his way fast until he stopped to select one of the panting girls with a crook of his finger, his head back, sniffing the air as though he could scent the sex oozing out of her, a nasty hunter in the dark.

      Maybe he could, monsters had a sense of sex and fear.

      Hawk growled for her not to touch him and to follow.

      In 3..2..1 she would be bent over something and show time.

      Rider pitied the poor girl who eventually fell for Hawk, she’d need an iron will and a lot of fucking chains.

      A lot of sex happened in his club.

      As unrepentant in their sinning, as the Souls were for their outlaw lives.

      The only rule Rider put in place was that if the women were not agreeable to your advances you stayed the fuck away.

      He was trying to drag the Souls out of the gutter without adding rape to their rap sheet. Any of his boys mistreated a woman they were fucking gone, no ifs buts or and's.

      The fuck was wrong with a guy who didn't remember he came outta a woman and yet he wanted to plow his fist into her face or force his dick into her?

      Fuck as many groupies as you wanted, but if they said no, then you take fucking no as her answer.

      He had zero tolerance for anything else.

      She wanted it, Prez. Fuck off, Piece of filth. She really meant yes, Prez. Bang. Gone.

      Unlike most of the MC's in the area and neighboring cities Rider's boys got this rule, they enforced it, even morally questionable Lawless got a yes before he dove between any woman's thighs and that bastard flew his own freak flag.

      The common room was a wide-open plan space after several walls were taken out in the renovation last year, leaving three brick walls and a row of six windows four-foot-high and three-foot-wide each that looked out onto the mountains.  Sectional couches and overstuffed functional chairs, coffee tables, hardback chairs, an 82-inch tv up on the far wall and a sound system loaded with enough speaker power to deafen those in the state of Texas. Rugs were scattered on the floor in no particular formation, they were threadbare and scuffed from too much wear and tear from hundreds of boots walking over them daily,

      And then there was the wrap around bar Rider had commissioned to be made specially from a carpenter friend he knew. The chrome top gleamed having had a new polish only earlier from one of the hangaround's.

      The common room was lived in, usually a mess if one of the hangaround's or prospects hadn’t been through with a vacuum, but it felt like a home away home to Rider and his boys.

      Off the common room was several corridors that led to storerooms, crash rooms to flop in, around twenty private rooms most of his brothers kept for fucking if the need struck,  then a fork in the hallway down to the wide industrial kitchen, that had several long tables pushed together and custom made benches to fit everyone around when it was grub time, even further back out of sight was the clubs Church, the most sacred private room they held meetings, only those patched in got to step over the threshold.

      It came as no surprise to anyone when a year ago, Ambrosio Marinos, the then Vice President, had cleared out the deadwood of the Renegade Souls. Most of the old timers who had held onto outdated morals, who thought nothing of watching a girl being treated like shit, or turning a blind eye to new shitheads bringing drugs into their territory, if they got their cut they didn't care about the Souls long set out rules.

      In total, Rider had cut forty-five cancerous members out of the club, and some of the others had chosen wisely and opted out to other chapters, it was days later he was voted in unanimously as the new President, the gavel passed from uncle to nephew, a new generation of Souls began that day.

      He'd been Renegade Souls material from birth and became Rider when he was sixteen earning the name. Souls were in his blood and now he controlled the gavel he was giving it his damnedest to run the club his way.

      He might be an outlaw but Rider had a certain set of rules to obey, new ideas to made lucrative for one and all, and he dared anyone to go against him.

      No surprise at all. Rider had literally bled for the Souls. It was a no brainer who took the Prez patch to govern them into a new direction once the dust had settled. With so much backstabbing it was a wonder he’d survived that brutal year of war from within.

      He'd been thrown to the wolves and came back leading the pack.

      The sweet piece walking hesitantly towards him was going to test all his rules.

      His gaze raked her up and down, his mouth watered, fuck, she was cute balancing on her heels, he wanted to know just how sweet she tasted.

      With his palate accustomed to the groupies hanging around doing what he wanted at any time of the day, those girls who thought opening their legs was the sure way of becoming an old lady, he suddenly wanted a different flavor in his mouth.

      Pity they didn't stay in school long enough to get the lesson no biker was taking on an old lady that had done a caterpillar for all the brothers, his firm and fast rule being if a club girl had worn the come of any one of his brothers she was for fun only, he sure as shit wasn't giving her an Owned by Rider cut.

     Double standards, absolutely.

      He was progressive in many ways, but on that, he was practically fucking prehistoric.

     Whoever she was, she was all class. And he intended to dirty the girl up before the night was done.

      She approached him with her chin back, tentative steps as if walking towards a lion with snapping teeth.

      Rider grinned inwardly silently willing her forward.

      If anything, the girl's college preppy little yellow dress that swayed around her legs should have turned him off, to put her back in the nice clean sea out the reach of his dirty hands.

      Something about her curved frame stirred Rider's gut into tight knots.

      Far as he could see she was ink free.

      He kept his eyes going up slowly, such graceful arms, like a dancer, he thought, with a small smile playing around his mouth at all the dirty ideas he was having about her long limbs wrapped around him while he pumped himself off inside her, she gave him thought of a grown-up foal, all arms and legs and new to her balance.

      Her sweetheart's face was what drew him next, that pert nose turned up a little at the end and her lush full lips, a slight blush to her cheeks and when she drew nearer he saw how long her lashes were.

      Rider was used to women who piled on the fake. Nails, tits, tan, hair, even eyelashes. This girl was a contradiction to his norm, a bolt of sun through the clouds in his dark world.             

      From the elegant way she walked, sinuous art one leg in front of the other he could assume she was a dancer at some point in her life, probably ballet.

      Fuck. Even her waves of blonde hair draped over a shoulder was pulling his gaze like a magnet. Stunningly innocent and he wanted to put his filthy hands all over her.

     Crystal blue eyes rose and met his steadfast stare tentatively, so pale in color he could have sworn he was looking at uncut glass, and when she blinked her lashes brushed her cheeks.

      Fucking hell. What was a girl like her doing in his place? Was a good girl wanting a dance on the wild side to piss off old daddy? he'd seen it all before. They never lasted long when the veneer of what they thought bikers were, wore off.

      His mouth whetted.

      His thumb with the black band around it rose and rubbed at his lip. Rider was already twenty deep into his fantasies. He'd give the coltish good girl a nice taste of bikers if that's what she wanted. He'd become bored of fucking groupies with their porn star moans.

      If he wanted to hear a woman hollering like she was being murdered he'd fucking murder one.

      If he was smart he'd tell the girl to turn around and go back to her life of caviar and horse dressage before the biker eye-fucking her swallowed her down whole.

     Rider’s dad always said his son was never all that bright. Right now, he unfortunately agreed.

      His thumb brushed his lip again, feeling the soft bristles of his beard, watching her wide nervous eyes.

     Hungry to get his mouth all over her. Gonna dirty you so bad.

      The train to his particular Hell was paved with bad intentions, and Rider was a ticket holder.

      He wasn’t thinking anything good while he looked at her.

      Nothing good at all.

      In fact, he was pure dirt.

      She was so fucking sweet asking about his club, the nerves grabbing her voice. So fucking sweet Rider had two new cavities and her innocence beyond obvious every biker that landed eyes on her could see how fresh she was.

      Lamb to the fucking slaughter in this kinda environment. Send her on her way.

      Nope.

      Rider was many things to a lot of people, but no one would mistake he was just a man wanting to get really fucking laid right then and with the sweetest piece he'd seen in a long time.

      One look and he was hard and ready.

      Not much conversation was exchanged, he didn't need fancy words and cheesy chat-up lines, not in his clubhouse. If a chick was there it was for one reason only and hint; it wasn't to roast marshmallows on the big-ass bonfire out back.

      He worked his thumb against her inner wrist, sending electric charges up his own arm, she felt like silk.

      His mouth watered, nothing to do with the beer he was swallowing, he wanted to discover if she was as soft all over.

      He dumped the empty bottle with a prospect who had his ass propped on the wall, bent over toking on some of the newest batch of pot they'd received a shipment of this morning.

      From the glassy gaze in Pretty Boy’s eyes, it was some good shit, but Rider would know more when he tested it out later with his boys.

      He never touched hard drugs, he'd drop-kick any of his men who brought it into the city let alone their compound, and he never did pot on the regular either.

      A president who got too far into his own shit was a fool in waiting and in truth didn't deserve the gavel.

      Rider had worked too damn hard to let a little high get in his way of making his mark in this godforsaken world.

      He'd needed sex tonight like he needed a lungful of fresh air, thought he'd have to settle for one of the groupies who all looked at him like he had the keys to the chocolate factory in his pants. One motion of a finger and any one of those girls would have stopped, dropped and mouth opened for him.

      So used to sex when he wanted Rider was so damn bored of their eager when it barely roused his dick.

      Bored of not having to work for his pussy.

      The tease, the chase, the heated stir of air between him and a woman.

      There was a time in his younger prospecting days he would have dipped into any available pussy and kept on going until the house was dry.

      But now, fuck if he didn't prefer his own hand.

      There was a thrill in the pursuit, the want of a woman who wanted him back just as dirtily.

      Easy fucks were a dime a dozen around the biker culture, and while he didn't judge any of his brothers for getting it where they could, he was fucking bored of it.

      So much so the last time he had sex he'd almost pulled a Meg Ryan and faked the hell out of the fuck.

     Between the over-exaggerated porn star moans ---he couldn't even remember her name now---- and fake tits bouncing in his face, Rider had stroked his fingers down between her thighs, got her off fast and pulled out, dumping the unused condom into the trash can and sent her on her way telling her she was 'the best'.

       The best fucking boring fuck.

      Tonight, his body was hard as steel and wanting this sweet nervous thing.

      He didn't hear a word his prospect Pretty Boy said, he clutched her fingers tighter leading her down the private corridor to his room.

      As President, he had the biggest crash room, perks he supposed.

      The two-story house he bought three years ago stood unused most of the year, preferring to flop here, no reason to trek all the way into town when his business was here.

      Rider liked hands on with his club, the last president was a lazy dipshit letting too much slide, no one could ever or would ever accuse Rider of being the same.

      He knew all the crap going down in his MC.

      And tonight, he intended to be reaaaal hands on just as soon as he got Zara through the door.

      He heard her fast inhale and smiled, his wallet chain clanking as he advanced in after her. 

     "Not what you were expecting?"

       He closed the door, choosing to keep it unlocked, the blend of music outside dulling as he did.

      She'd walked a few feet and stopped in the middle of his room.

      It was sparse by anyone's standards, but it was clean and tidy. It had a narrow bed; enough space for two who wanted to be hip-to-hip, an oak dresser his uncle’s old lady donated stuffed with undershirts, underwear, and black socks, most of his clothes were in a shoebox size closet. A fat leather chair sat in the corner next to a small table with a lamp on top. And on the far wall was a flat screen tv, underneath that was a DVD player. Nothing fancy, but it was his room.

     "I’ve never been inside a place like this. I didn't know what to expect"

      Liar. She was nervous, he was gonna change that. Bikers came with reputations, Sons of Anarchy that dramatization of a show made sure of that. Sure, if she poked her head into some of the rooms here she'd hit on her expectations; Pigsty’s. He was no Martha Stewart but he liked his shit tidy.

     "C'mere, Icy. I ain't gonna bite. You want to leave? you can. I'll even get you a cab," He’d told her plainly he wanted to fuck her. He didn't want any misunderstandings, it’d be a fuck and that was it. “But I hope you don’t.”

      He didn’t do prom queens, she was going to be his first, but his thirst for her innocence rang strong.

     "No. I..I don’t want to leave."

      Thank fuck. It would suck for him and his dick right now when he was so ready to come and come inside her. No crossed signals here. She wanted him.

     "C'mere, Icy" He repeated. His voice was liquid lust, his head dipped watching the way she moved.

      Surely a dancer. Goddamn, even with clothes her body was stunning.

      The smallest breasts barely poking through her dress, perfect for Rider's hands.

      When he spanned her waist his fingers almost met in the middle, but her hips flared out stroking down he gripped and pulled her into his crotch, rubbing on her, a dog wanting to hump.

     “Gonna fuck you now.” he repeated and then caught the most perfect words in the English language he’d ever heard from a woman before.

      “Yes, please...”

      She’d said please. Fuck him.

      Rider was not going to last if she continued to be this pure.

      His dick was already past the point of no return.

      A climax would happen with or without wet heat wrapped around his dick. He just craved it buried deep inside her.

      No waiting he crushed his mouth down on hers, caught her gasp, taking it into his own lungs, she tasted of peppermint and absolute goodness.

      He groaned, licking his tongue all over hers, grunted deeper still when she joined in, her lips opened, slanted for him to deepen their kiss.

      It was like Rider was fourteen again dry humping a chick who would let him near her long enough, his lower half grinding against her, couldn’t help himself.

      He couldn’t remember a time he’d been this turned on.  Maybe not even when he was a rampant teenager wanting to fuck any girl that blinked.

     "You're so clean inside and out arentcha, Icy?” lips inches apart, he watched her eyes turn glassy, her neck arched up for more. One swipe of his tongue tip he wet her lips ready for him and asked in a smooth voice. “How dirty do you want me to make you?"

      The voice that came out of her was timid, shy as fuck, maybe even embarrassed she was holding onto the hips of a man that was about to fuck her stupid with the hard cock digging into her belly, but Rider was in no way confused that she meant it.

      Her eyes clung to his, a blush reaching all over her face, her teeth whittled her lower lip until it turned a deep pink. "Very."

      Oh, fuck him.  You got it, baby. He was done.

      Reaching between them, moving back a fraction so he could fit his hand down her body, never stopping until he had her crudely cupped in his large palm, she made a kitten noise in her throat, eyes clinging to his.

      He smiled and ground his hand. “Gonna make you dirty now, darlin’.”

      And Rider did. For long fucking hours.

He pushed himself into innocence and cleaned her up afterward when they were both too sated to do anything else.

      Cock sore and balls dry, he’d walked Zara out with dawn cresting over the mountains, shared one last kiss, his tongue delving deep for that sweetness he’d stolen from her.

      It wasn’t every night Rider was handed someone’s virginity or to introduce them to the kinda dirty sex he got off on.

      He’d been gentler than he usually was, mindful of her unused muscles, but the girl had taken her fucking and wanted more after more. So damn eager.

      He’d never felt so exhausted and sated before. When their lips parted, she was looking at him like he hung the moon.

      He’d look back on that one day and know it was the exact moment he fucked up everything.

      Hindsight was a bitch and Rider would come to hate it.

      But in that moment, with his bigger body angled towards Zara’s as dawn began a new day, the air was crisp and mist rolled in from the south, soon to clear to let the blazing sun take over the day as it usually did in the height of July, Rider looked down at her and felt a sharp thump in his chest.

     Rather than ask himself whatthefuck was that, he kissed her again, harder this time.

      “It was a great fuckin’ night, Icy.” She blushed. He had to kiss her one more time.

      Why did he want to call her back as he watched her climb into a cab and drive away from him? Let her go, I’ve no time for a steady girl. He watched the cab until it was out of sight before he steeled his jaw and turned to go back inside his club.

 

 

******

 

      "Hey, Prez. Your daisy piece from last night is back, just climbed those long legs out of a cab at the gates, should I let her through?" Rider had heard the knuckle knock on the door jamb later that night while he was buried under paperwork sorting out shit from months of neglect.

      His treasurer Texas stood his six-foot and change self in the doorway, shoulders almost wide enough to touch both sides. The well-spoken tone of his voice should never be mistaken for anything other than the outlaw he was.

      Texas would kill with manners and his 9mm.

      Breath stalled in Rider's chest, blue eyes turning midnight. Fuck. Fuck.

      He'd known on some level this would happen, that she'd, like most chicks, get that romance burr in her butt and try to make more of last night that the hookup it was.

      He'd seen the starry look in Zara's eyes. Fuck Fuck.

      He should have made it clear.

      And for a second while he debated what answer to give Texas he felt a kick of something in his chest. Want.

      He could easily go another round with her, she was a complete surprising knockout in bed and just thinking of how he'd taken her V-card, fucks sake, it had kept him hard all goddamn day.

      His dick wanted her again. Right. Just my dick.

      But the shit on his plate right now, he didn't have time for fucking romance with a girl and her biker crush.

      Goddamn it. He sighed and sat back in his chair making it creak and groan under his weight.

     "Prez? What do you want me to tell her?"

      He clocked Texas' gaze with his own and made a very bad decision.

      Chicks never got the message unless it was delivered brutally honest.

      Rider couldn't get entangled with anything more than a fast fuck, and he figured Zara for anything but.

      A sweet girl needed a sweet life away from all his dirt.

     Rider's life was nothing but fucking chaos as he tried to straighten out his club and fight the insurgents pushing back from all directions with former members loyal to the last president.

      Then there were the war rumblings with Hades’ Raging Rebels MC. That cocksucker trying to sell his dope in Rider's territory was not gonna fly.

     "Is Kiki still out there?"

      Texas flashed a grin. "Oh, yeah indeed, she won’t be leaving yet until she's seen the boss, Snake has her occupied."

      Fat chance. Fucking groupies getting on Rider's last nerve. But now Kiki, the oldest of their groupies to have lasted in the club from the last president to him, was about to come in very useful.

      "Send her over would ya, and then let the girl in, tell her where to find me."

      His money man, the whizz with the figures like he was running the Bank of Canada, sent him a speculative look before giving him a roger that and turned taking off across the courtyard. Rider heard his boy whistle giving the signal to unlock the main gate.

       A minute later a sultry chick sauntered in, one hip roll after the other, with her black boob-tube too tight, tits spilling out over the top, her denim mini skirt so small it wasn't even attempting to hide her bare pussy, all hips swinging and red lips glowing with her wide grin.

     "You wanted to see me, Rider? I missed you, babe. Like really missed you."

      Yeah yeah, what the fuck ever. He clicked his fingers and watched her hurry across the portacabin.

     "Hey, babe. Come get on your knees." He instructed. Voice rough with his eyes on the door waiting for that first glimpse of the blonde angel he'd fucked into Hell last night.

      Fuck. Don't think of fucking Zara. He didn't want his dick to wake up in distance of Kiki licking her lips as she folded down to her knees already assuming what she was in for.

     "I want you to open my pants, Kiki, but do fuckin' not touch my dick, you got me?"

       It spoke volumes that she didn’t question him. They'd had a one-night thing months ago, she was alright, however, Rider hadn't been stirred to repeat it, but it hadn't stopped Kiki hoping for more, even as she passed herself around his boys one fuck at a time, sometimes two and three.

       His ruse had the desired effect the second a shy smiling Zara entered the office and came to a crashing halt mid-step, her smiling eyes closing embarrassed, startled instantly as she saw what Rider wanted her to see; him about to get a blowjob from a dark-haired woman eagerly on her knees inching his zipper down and mewling about how much she wanted his cock in her throat and his come all over her face.

      Kiki could perform on the Tonight Show and not get fazed, so she didn’t even acknowledge her interruption, her greedy hands were busy.

     Rider's hand had curled around Kiki's nape, holding her in a hard grip, it looked possessive to an outsider, all the while he stared at Zara crushed by what she was seeing.

      Easy enough to see, the girl wore her emotions in her pale eyes, in every line of her face as she took it all in.

      He felt like the biggest fucking jerk walking.

      His gut twisted, almost forgetting the woman rubbing her face on the front of his jeans, he yanked her hair, holding her in place inches from his dick.

     "I.." no other words came from Zara. She was already backing up. He had one fatal blow left to deliver and it stuck in his throat.

     "Kinda busy, babe. But you can wait in the main room for me if you were wanting another go."

      His monstrous deed got worse, smirking at her.

      He deserved a fucking Oscar, Gwennie-baby tears included.  Crushing a nice girl's spirit was not something Rider was proud of, nothing would take away the sight of Zara apologizing profusely, her face beet red, and backing out like she had a fire lit under her.

      The moment she was gone he stepped out of the reach of that hungry fucking mouth, growling at Kiki. "Didn't I tell you not to touch my fuckin' dick? get the fuck up and get the fuck out."

      He was furious at the wrong person.

      It wasn't Zara's doing, or Kiki's, the blame for his shitty attitude was all on him.

      When Rider was finally alone, he crashed onto the leather-backed chair, hands raking through his long hair, calling himself all the cocksucking shitheads. Why the hell had he just done that?  Oh, yeah, because you're a giant fucking douche afraid of catching feelings from a virgin who rocked your goddamn world last night.

      Whatever club business he pasted into his logic as an excuse, that was the glaring truth. He'd made a crude scene for her to walk into so he didn't have to deal with liking a fucking girl. For all his ingenious and cutthroat business mind, he was as his dad always said; Stupid.

     Fucking stupid. But it was done now.