Chapter 11

Storm walked through the main room of the clubhouse. Music from the sound system beneath the TV bombarded his ears. No one looked his way. His gaze searched the faces and the two people he wanted to find were nowhere in sight.

“Damn it to hell! Where’s Speed and Easy?” He pointed toward a prospect handing a beer to a Brother.

“In the basement.” The prospect’s voice trembled as he dropped the beer and then nodded toward the door that led downstairs. With a curse, the Brother looked at his spilled beer and leaned across the bar to whack the prospect in the back of the head.

The musty scent of the rarely used basement nearly smothered him as he walked down the creaky steps. The last time he’d been down there, he’d been high on coke—that was when he learned his lesson about being in control—and not long afterward he’d gone to prison.

The only sound he heard was his own footsteps. Shit, he hoped they hadn’t killed Angel. The last thing they needed was a full-out war with the Thirty-Second. He walked into the center of the open space.

“Fuck, boy. You scared the shit out of us. We thought the Sand’s finest had snuck down here.” Easy released a nervous laugh as he walked from behind stacked boxes.

Angel hung from chains, his face against a wall. The man’s back was covered with bloody stripes.

In Easy’s hand was a coaxial cable with nickel-plated connectors still attached. Only no one would be able to tell the original color as they were coated a deep red. Blood. Angel’s blood.

Storm locked his knees to keep from bending over and throwing up. His back itched with remembered punishments from when he was a kid.

“Put the cable down, Easy.” If the old man kept pushing, Storm would be forced to take him down. He squeezed his fists tight, forcing them to remain at his side.

Speed stepped from the shadows with his top two men. “Do as he says. We haven’t gotten anything out of this bastard in the last half hour, I doubt he’d tell us anything.”

“What the hell are you beating him with the cable for? The last I heard you wanted retribution for damaging the bikes.” If that had been it, they would’ve brought Angel back upstairs for Razz’s crew to beat him to a bloody pulp.

“We want the name of the driver. We can’t have anyone out there claiming they messed with the Brothers of Mayhem and didn’t receive an ass kicking for it.” Speed’s expressionless face told more than he thought. Storm had learned as Speed’s indifference increased, his lies became bigger.

“You’re not going to get the name of Toro’s supplier,” Storm said.

Speed had been aching to know the person’s name for the last three years, ever since they screwed up and the majority of the Sand County chapters went to prison, including Storm.

“They’ve been getting some prime guns, and we could use that contact. It’s been long enough to get back into the game. The government believes they destroyed the Brothers of Mayhem, but I want to show them they’re full of shit. Kick us down and we’ll get up twice as strong.” Speed slapped his own chest for emphasis. “Several of our old overseas buyers are asking if we have weapons. Sure would be a faster way to make big bucks. None of that penny-ante shit we get for motorcycle parts. Not that we can’t deal with that too.”

Fuck. Speed wanted to send them back to prison and this time for military-grade weapons. Hell. Homeland Security would get involved and that would place them into the traitor to the country deep end of the pool.

If he protested at this point, Speed would get a hard-on to prove who had the bigger balls, and Storm needed the other Brothers to vote his way when it came time. Speed would have to hold church to vote on dealing with weapons along with stolen motorcycle parts.

He needed to protect his Brothers. Prison had taught him that he was nothing without his club. And the Brothers of Mayhem needed him to look after them.

The run to Maggie Valley would be the perfect time to talk with his chapter. Then if he convinced enough of them, they could in turn talk with the other chapters. Razz would help. The man had several under-the-table projects going on and preferred to keep a low profile. If they moved into guns, that would be blown to hell for sure. Besides, anything Speed wanted, Razz would gladly oppose.

Ignoring Easy’s complaining, Storm and Speed’s men helped unchain Angel from the wall. They stretched him out on his stomach across an old cot left downstairs for drunks to crash on.

Storm wished they could just let Toro’s men come and pick up his cousin, but once they got a glimpse of the man’s face and back, anything Storm said would be for nothing. He needed a little bit of time to figure out how to handle this. When they returned from the run, he would have it worked out in his mind.

“Venom, pick a prospect to stay with you to guard Angel. Keep him down here. Get your old lady to come and doctor his back.” Venom’s wife was a nurse and knew how to keep her mouth shut. “Be sure nothing else happens to him. We need him healthy.”

“Okay, boss.”

Storm could tell the Brother hated missing out on the run, but he’d do as he was told. Besides, his old lady was expecting, and her last pregnancy hadn’t gone too smoothly. Venom needed to be there in case she went into labor.

Speed and his men trudged up the stairs as Storm remained to check on the chains holding down Angel to the bed. Fixed to the wall and threaded around the legs of the cot, the chains were loose enough not to cut into his wrists or ankles.

“I never imagined that I raised a fucking pussy.”

Straightening to his full height and turning around to face his old man, Storm glared down. It was a good feeling to be almost a head taller than the asshole who got his rocks off beating on a kid. He grabbed the front of the old man’s shirt and lifted him to his toes. Easy swung an uppercut into his stomach.

“Umph!” He wanted to hurl. The old man had a mean right. His hand opened, letting Easy go and pushing him away. “You lowdown bastard,” he said hoarsely.

“You’re a piece of shit I should’ve strangled when you were born,” Easy spewed in obvious delight. “They said you bawled liked a baby when they fucked you good at Holman. They had to stuff your underwear in your mouth to shut you the fuck up.”

Another fist gutted him. More than physical pain stung. What kind of father would take pleasure from his son’s trauma?

Easy held him up and whispered in his ear, “I told them to fuck you at every opportunity. That you’d like it. That you were nothing but a pussy waiting for a real man’s dick.”

Blackness engulfed him as he began swinging. He felt pleasure in how his fist landed on cartilage. Hopefully, he’d busted the old man’s nose.

Not until hands seized his arms and pulled him off the limp body beneath him, did he realize he’d gone off the deep end. He’d been on his knees hitting the old man’s face over and over again.

He began to shake all over.

Since leaving prison, he’d thought he had a rein on his temper. The brawls he’d participated in were nothing but a release valve. He’d been in control. Then the old man stepped back into his life and pushed the right button.

Storm’s first few months in Holman had been hell. They had either beaten or fucked him each night, and at times they did both. When he reached his limit, he’d stabbed their leader. The authorities hit him with a couple more stretches of incarceration. What was to be eight months turned into three years. When the old man had said to his face that he’d ordered the beatings and rapes, Storm had lost it. Until that moment, he’d believed being young and unprotected caused him to be targeted. Because he hadn’t been a full-fledged Mayhem Brother, he’d had no one inside to defend him.

The man who had provided part of his DNA was a sicker fuck than Storm had ever thought to be in this lifetime.

Pain burst across one cheek and then the other.

“Storm! Snap out of it!” Speed raised his hand to slap him again.

Pulling out of his near catatonic state, he blinked until his eyes cleared. “What?” Storm asked as he clasped the front of Speed’s shirt.

“Get your shit together. Go upstairs and fuck that fine piece of pussy waiting for you. That will make you feel better. We’ll leave around lunchtime tomorrow.”

“Did you hear what that ass-wipe said?” Pain and despair filled each word. “What he did to me?” A coppery taste filled his mouth, and he spit out blood from his lacerated lip.

“We all have crosses to bear. Don’t worry. No one else heard. Go and prove you’re still a man with some prime pussy. Go!” Speed pushed Storm toward the stairs.

He stumbled away, barely noticing Speed helping Easy off the floor.

Reaching the stairway to the bedrooms, he stopped and leaned against the wall. Light-headed, he groaned and pressed his palms to his temples. What kind of bastard would set up his own son to be raped? Nausea roiled with his dark memories. His arms ached as he remembered the cruel way they’d held him down. He looked at his wrists. No bruises. The external damage was gone a long time ago.

Inside, the devastation remained, eating away at his soul, his humanity. Everyone expected him to be the same person who entered Holman. A young boy excited to be part of the club. The Brothers of Mayhem had been the closest thing to a family that he’d ever known.

Tinny voices from a TV show drifted down to Storm.

Mary Jane waited in his room.

Mary Jane, the woman he couldn’t get enough of. Every time he sank into her, he’d lost a little piece of himself. He wanted to lose all of himself in her. Then maybe he would heal from the inside out.

All of that sounded crazy, but that was how being with her felt. He leaned his forehead to the wall.

Her presence alone soothed the misery suffocating him each day. He hadn’t even known that he needed her to forget the nightmare he’d lived. Having his cock in her helped him forget, helped him feel like a man again. The horror faded and each time he felt less and less like he would throw up.

The door slammed against the wall, and Mary Jane jumped. Flustered, she looked around, and her surroundings brought her back to the present. After washing up, she’d drifted off in his recliner.

Her gaze stopped on Storm, shocked by his wild appearance. Hair mussed and chest heaving, he held on to the doorway as if for support. His pale face and swollen lip alerted her that something dreadful had transpired.

Pushing off the recliner, she stepped toward him, tugging his Brothers of Mayhem T-shirt over her hips. The back of her fingers touched bare legs. Crap! She should’ve put her jeans back on.

She asked, “Are you okay?”

Her hand reached out. Would he let her comfort him this time?

He dipped his head and moved out of reach, watching her every movement like a rabid dog waiting for an attack. One large hand rubbed his stomach. His bloody knuckles caught her attention. Who had he fought with?

Keeping still, she spoke softly. “Storm, what happened?” Her hand fell to her side.

Funny how she worried more about upsetting him than any danger he presented to her.

No sooner had she had that thought than he stalked over and pushed her backward until her calves hit the bed railing. She squeaked in surprise. Not that he was hurting her. The sorrow in his eyes welled up an answering sadness in her chest. He needed something from her, and she was willing to give it to him. He gave her another shove, and she landed on the mattress. She remained staring up at him, not struggling, her hands limp above her head, showing her cooperation. The T-shirt rested above her hips, exposing her underwear. His fingers hooked beneath the elastic of her panties and jerked them off.

The heated look in his eyes warned her not to challenge his actions. Whatever happened, it had caused him to seek her out. She wanted to help. Even if it was mindless sex that he needed. How could she reject him? Her body was ready. That was one thing she realized in the short time they’d been together. He could just walk into a room and she would get wet and hot.

Unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock, he nodded toward her. “Spread your legs wide. Wider.” As soon as she complied, he sank in with one long slide deep inside. “Fuck.” His chest rose and fell. “Why does it feel so extra good with you?” he asked. She felt he really didn’t expect an answer.

She groaned, loving how he filled her. His cock slid in and out, filling her with a delicious friction. Her fingers itched to touch him.

His eyes closed with a blissful expression, and he arched his neck, leaning his head back. For a few seconds he held her hips, not moving, except for the pulse in his jugular vein. Then his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He looked at her with such a deep yearning. Then he took a deep breath and began to thrust, pounding into her.

What was that look? She needed to know, but for the moment, his forceful thrusting erased all thoughts from her brain.

He pulled out to the tip and slammed back in. Her body shook and his cock glistened with moisture when he did it again. This was Storm, the man who fascinated her beyond any common sense.

His eyes squeezed closed, and he returned to a faster stroke. In and out in a smooth rhythm. She wondered if he even knew she was there. She wanted more, wanted his bare chest rubbing hers, to suck his cock again and run her hands over his body.

As he thrust into her, she raised up her hips, hoping to hurry along what she wanted. Her body clamored for completion. She needed to touch him to make it happen.

“Be still,” he demanded, his voice husky with need as he slapped her thigh. She gasped as her hunger for what Storm could provide skyrocketed.

He continued to pound into her. She began to feel like a blow-up doll. He could fondle her but not the reverse. She struggled in his grasp. Her fingers itched to travel across his flesh. His hands tightened. Why wouldn’t he let her move? Did he think she wanted to escape his hold?

“I want to touch you,” she said. No sooner than the words were out, he pulled out and stepped away from the bed. “Don’t go.” She reached out.

Upset by his retreat, she watched, wide-eyed with concern. Fury reddened his face. Whatever fight he’d gotten into earlier had rattled him, and he was determined to find his center with her.

“Stay,” he said in a guttural tone, and he walked into the bathroom.

Her eyes narrowed. Stay? Like a dog? She bit the side of her mouth. Fine. He’d better come back and rock her world. Goodness sakes! She had to admit his rough handling excited her.

Without a sound, he’d returned. He stood next to the bed. Naked. Completely naked.

Oh. My. God. Her gaze slowly caressed every gorgeous manly muscle and more.

So far, every time they’d had sex, he’d had all of his clothes on. Whatever caused him to change his mind, she was glad.

Tattoos covered his torso and upper arms. From his broad chest to narrow hips, he was every woman’s dream. Power quivered in each muscle. His muscular legs—damn—down to his long, sexy feet emphasized his maleness as every inch of his hard, glistening cock finished the mind-blowing picture. She wanted so badly to lick, suck, touch, and bite him.

“Is this what you want?” His calm voice sounded strange. From his beaten look to the savagery with which he had first taken her, she had expected his tension to ease up, but not to the extent that he acted almost in a daze. Something had happened downstairs that shook him up.

“Storm, what happened?”

“Turn over. On your stomach,” he said, his voice hoarse and deep.

So he refused to answer her question. Whatever had happened left him in an odd mood. Her guess was he’d had another run-in with his dad. Was rough sex his way of trying to work out his emotions? Whatever had been said must have hurt Storm deeply for him to act in such a way with her. By stripping and returning to the bedroom, he was allowing her to see his vulnerability. In return, she trusted him to not hurt her. Besides, seeing all of him and knowing they would be touching skin to skin was a heady feeling. She’d never been so turned on in her life.

“Now, Mary Jane.”

His deep commanding voice scorched every single cell in her body. Her nipples hardened, and her pussy clenched in anticipation. Her heartbeat picked up speed. A mixture of trepidation and expectation found her doing as he said without argument. When he tapped her thigh, she followed his unspoken direction to part her legs.

He leaned over the bed and caressed one trembling cheek. She smiled over her shoulder at him, but his concentration remained on a broad palm skimming down one leg and then the other. Her flesh turned to molten heat wherever he touched, such strong hands being so tender. She loved the strength and dominance he’d shown at first, but this new tenderness was a perfect contrast. When his hand came to the apex of her legs, he sunk a finger, two, and then three into her moist pussy. Her moan stretched out as he thrust a few times.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.”

He rubbed her stiff clit and slid his fingers into her again, working her to a fever pitch. She felt his other hand stroke her tattoo, tracing the lines and sliding over every inch. With all her willpower, she kept herself from arching her back. She didn’t want to take the chance that her movement would make him stop. He touched her like he couldn’t get enough, like she was his favorite pet and he enjoyed her softness. Waves overtook her and her body tightened on his fingers.

Then he eased away with a lingering caress. What was he planning to do next?

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

No way could she budge. Her body felt like a limp rag. A satisfied and happily sore one.

The bed compressed next to her hip and a second later his big body covered hers. He rested his front against her back, buttocks, and legs. His ovenlike heat soaked into her as he began to rub his skin along hers. His hard cock shifted between her cheeks. He didn’t make a move to enter anywhere. Instead his large hands slid beneath her and cupped her breasts. Then he stilled. Since his knees were bent and pressed into the mattress and his elbows supported most of his upper body weight, she didn’t feel flattened. A feeling of comfort infused every inch. Was that what he was doing? Taking comfort from her, from her unresisting body?

He didn’t move for several seconds. She sighed in bliss. The skin-to-skin contact engulfed her with a scatter of emotions, most unidentifiable.

His breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “You’re part of me. I will never let anyone ever harm you. Being with you makes me feel whole. Only you.”

Unable to stop it, she moaned and arched her back, letting him know she loved and appreciated his words. He nipped at her earlobe, and a wave of desire enveloped her. Her gears stayed on ready around him.

“Storm, let me make love with you,” she whispered.

His body shuddered and then without a word, he moved off her and walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

When seconds went by and he hadn’t return, her heart broke. Not for herself but for him. That was when she knew what he truly struggled with. He didn’t believe he deserved to be loved, to be touched with kindness or care.

She cried until exhaustion pulled her into sleep.

Storm pressed his forehead to the cool glass windowpane. The moonless sky had a little pink showing in the east. Behind him he heard the sheets rustle as Mary Jane rolled over. Her whimper cut into him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds.

He’d made her cry.

“Let me make love with you.”

Those sweet words had nearly crushed his heart. Why would someone as good as Mary Jane ever want to make love to him? To fuck, yes. But love could never be part of it. He wasn’t sure he understood the emotion. He knew as long she was under his protection he would take care of her and never let any harm come to her, but she didn’t deserve to be loved by a monster like him.

Shoving hair out of his face, he strode back to the bed and stretched out beside her, staying on top of the covers. The tingling in his chest wouldn’t stop. He massaged the area. He’d let her see him naked. He’d pressed his bare body to hers. Damn! He hadn’t even thought of doing that without getting sick in years. All of it had to do with her. He never wanted to let her go. He felt like a normal human being around her. His fists tightened. She deserved better than someone like him.

Turning onto his side, he watched her sleep. His fingers reached out and caressed a strand of her hair on the pillow.

With her, everything had been different. She was different. He felt different because of her. For short moments with her, he felt human, probably for the first time in his life.

Moisture formed in the corners of his eyes.

He wanted her to stay with him forever.

If she did, his world would hurt her. As long as he was with the Brothers of Mayhem MC, she would be a target. Even knowing that and wishing for it to be different, he never would willingly leave the MC.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Fuck all of that. She belonged to him.