A demon lives inside of me. Some call him Satan, I call him Damaged.
You see, there’s something dark inside me, so dark that I don’t fully understand it. Even after five years, I’m still trying to work out what that is.
Her hands slide down my body and I try hard not to throw her from me. Her hands touching me. It’s a game of will if I don’t throw her. She presses her tits to me and as she does so, her short brown hair tickles my chest. She looks up to me, realizing nothing is happening. It’s becoming more and more like this. The need I once had for her is slowly vanishing, becoming less and less. Her eyes penetrate mine, the blue so vivid springs me into action. I grab under her arms and haul her up to me. She laughs, it’s annoying. I sometimes wonder how we’ve lasted this long, then her mouth wraps around my cock and I know.
“Come here.” My voice husky, and wanting her. She smiles bright, her dimples peeking out. I lean in and kiss them, one each side. Her hand slides between us. Grabbing my cock, she squeezes it, making me even harder than I was before. Her lips want to be back there, she always starts with sucking my cock.
“I love you, Trace,” she whispers in my ear as she bites my earlobe and positions herself on me. Her head lifts and she drops it backward, gasping as she does. I move my hands to either side of her face, grabbing and pulling it to me. Her eyes open, she looks at me with pleasure and love. I pull her in further and kiss her mouth, she opens granting me access and starts to move.
There was a time five years ago that I didn’t believe a word she said. That the words she spoke about me didn’t seem to fit or seem to fit me. Though, I grew to believe her. She was a constant, there every time I needed her, and she was there when I was in and out of consciousness. She looked after me when no other did. So I had to believe what she was saying, and something about her seemed so familiar.
I still haven’t given her those words, those words she whispers to me every time I hold her, fuck her. They just can’t seem to come out. I tried once, I did, but it stuck in my throat like a knife slicing me open.
Her scream tears from her throat, pleasure courses through her. She lays her head on my chest, circling my heart with her small fingers. We’re in our bed, in a home I’ve been in for five years, one I’ve never remembered. I can’t seem to remember anything—nothing has come back, nothing at all. The doctor said it would take time, that familiarizing myself with certain things would help. And she has tried to do that. She shows me clothes that used to be mine, guns I used to own. But nothing’s come back, and I hope to hell someday it will.
Or is it better not knowing? Not knowing what I did to deserve the punishment that I was given. The shot to my back, it almost killing me.
“You leave soon,” Savannah complains into my chest, her fingers stop their tracing and she wraps her hands around me. I push her to the side, not forcefully, just enough that she knows to stop touching me.
“I’ll be back.”
“I know. I just hate you leaving me.” Her bottom lip pouts. I go to speak, unsure of what I should say—words are not my favorite thing. Then, because some fucked up universe is giving me a way out, a heavy knock comes on the door.
“Trace, get your ass downstairs. Now,” Kane barks through the door. I grab the closest thing I can and throw it at the door. He laughs and walks away. She’s the first to move, knowing we have to go down there or the knocking won’t stop. She knows better than me.
She slides shorts on over her naked ass, so short I could see her pussy if she bent over, especially since she doesn’t have anything on underneath. She grabs the closest shirt, pulling it on, it stops just above her belly button. She doesn’t need to cover anything, her body is one of the best I’ve seen. Curves in all the right places, tits bigger than a handful and an ass like a stripper. She turns to me watching her and throws my pants and shirt at me. I stand naked, sliding on my pants then shirt, while she does the exact same thing, watching me. My cut is next. She walks it to me in her hands and stands behind me placing it on.
“Time to party, baby,” she says shaking her ass then sliding on her heels, opening the door not waiting for me to follow. I grab my gun, pocketing it, and follow her ass out the door and into the music that blares from the bar below.
We live upstairs. Only her and me, as well as one other, live at the clubhouse. The Pres, I spot him as soon as I enter. He’s over in the corner. The other brothers surround him holding drinks in their hands talking and perving on the naked women. Women surround the men, like vultures. Some are even on the bar, completely naked, shaking their ass to the music that’s so loud I want to turn it down for some quiet.
Kane walks up to me with a bottle of water in hand, knowing full well I don’t like to drink. I’ve tried it a few times after the memory loss and didn’t like it. I didn’t like the idea of my control being taken away at my own hands. I nod to him and he stands next to me with a beer smiling, watching everyone, much like I am. I spot Savannah talking to the Pres. She smiles brightly and leans over and kisses his cheek then she turns, feeling eyes on her and winks at me.
“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?” Kane taps me on the back, watching Savannah. I nod my head, observing how the boys watch her. She may not be fully clothed though she’s dressed in more than the other women here.
“Two days till we leave,” Kane says. I nod my head thinking about it. I don’t know the target of the next hit, I just know it’s what I have to do.
When I woke up, I found out I was a member of a motorcycle club. They welcomed me into their homes, looked after me when no other would. Apart from Savannah, who happened to be the Pres’s daughter.
I questioned it for ages. Why would I be a part of something like this? Then they placed a gun in my hand and I knew they were right. The gun was mine, it was the only thing that felt comfortable. The only thing I knew with certainty that was entirely mine. I knew exactly how to use it—I wasn’t only good with it, I was the best with it.
I make decisions with the club, yes. I’m also the person who destroys people—I am death. Some even call me that, other clubs call me that. So my skills with a gun came in handy, and I now do work for the club to help bring in more money than they could ever imagine. Taking on clients so big that the paychecks match them.
Kane chats in my ear, he doesn’t think I see or even notice the looks he gives Savannah. I can see it clear as day when he watches her, that he wants her and he wants her bad. Though he won’t do anything about it, knowing that she’s mine.
I sometimes want to tell him he can have her, but then I don’t want to share her. She makes me feel good, even if it’s only for a few minutes, sometimes mere seconds. It’s there, and the only other thing I’ve found that can do that for me is my gun.
“You taking her with you?” Kane asks, nodding his head to Savannah. I watch her, she’s beautiful, there’s no point denying that at all. Her back is to us, her tattoos which weave up her back are on full display.
“She wants to go,” I tell him, she always does. She intends to come with me on my jobs. At first, I didn’t want her to, but the high is there afterward and she spreads her legs willingly and excitedly for me to get that high. She craves it as much as I do. I always tell her no, but she usually bribes her way in.
“She always wants to go.” Kane chuckles, knowing full well how we are. Sometimes I think it’s just a front and that it’s all for display.
“You must be getting tired of the same pussy, though, man.” He doesn’t shut up, he’s always fucking talking. I don’t like to converse. I shake my head and turn back to the bar.
I have to make an appearance, it’s part of the brotherhood. I just don’t like to participate in all things and often wonder if I’ve always felt this, felt this way. No one tells me much, just what they think I need to know. Not what I should know.
I manage to go back to my room without anyone stopping or following me. I throw all my clothes off and lay on the bed, hoping sleep will consume me. And hoping the dreams show me a face, instead of words and touches.
“Have you ever wanted something so bad?” a voice as sweet as velvet whispers to me. That voice, it fills me.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to step closer, to see this person, to try and put a face to that voice. She sighs, and it’s not your average sigh, it’s deep. I can feel it, the meaning of that sigh.
“I need you. I need you to wake. I need you to find me.”
I go to speak, to assure her that I will, but it all goes black.