Chapter One
~Gentry~
The hotel is a dive. This is typical for us. When I got out of the Navy, life was chaos. I had spent years being told where to live, what to do, when to eat, and sometimes even when to shit, shave, and shower. After a mission went bad, there was this piece of me that didn’t fit anymore. I couldn’t do my job – not safely for a team anyway. Missions had gone bad before, this wasn’t the first. This one left me as the lone survivor and that just shook me to the core. I was lost. I was broken. I was damaged. The only calm I could find was hitting the open road on my Harley.
Eventually, I met up with Collector, X, Judge, and Rowdy. Together we became our own band of brothers. The Devil seemed to be calling us together. In a short time, the Devil’s Due Motorcycle Club was born. We were getting some ink in Alabama from Old Dog Earl when Trapper landed his bloody body on Old Dog’s doorstep. We haven’t been able to shake him off since. Not that we would want to, even though, sometimes he is an absolute prick to handle.
Six nomads.
Six nobodies with no place to call home.
One road we take together.
One life we live dedicated to righting the wrongs of the pasts we each left behind.
My past is one they can’t help me solve. Nope, the Devil will not get his due with me. The United States Government let me down and cost the lives of my entire SEAL team. When assigned to a team you don’t often change. You bond with these men. Of course there are the ones like Callahan, Shawn Callahan, who go on their first mission, get injured, and get out. The life of a frogman wasn’t for him, after all. I get it, but for me … it was everything.
If that isn’t bad enough, every politician involved sleeps comfortably at night without a second thought to the ramifications of their bad judgment. It weighs on your soul and the reality is, less than one percent of the American population even remotely understand what you feel, what you saw, and the demons that haunt you every moment of every fucking day. I can’t go a single day without thinking of the bad decisions that cost the lives of seven of my brothers-in-arms.
I don’t sleep well at night.
Not any night. It’s why every morning by zero-four-hundred I am out running, chasing my demons away.
Training comes in handy that way. From BUD/S to missions, my body became a fine tuned machine – a weapon. I can function on four hours of sleep or less a night. Anything over that and I feel like a zombie.
Get through tonight, ride out tomorrow. There is one thing I find myself looking forward to in recent months – Tempest fucking Adams. She is dynamite in disguise – I’m the fire to light her up and watch her explode.
If I’m a lucky fucker, I’ll be balls deep inside Tempest Adams before dinner, then I plan to eat that pussy for my dessert. And it will be the best fucking dessert I have tasted in my wasted, fucked up life.
Damn, she gets me twisted.
I look at the cheap sheets pitching a tent from my hard cock just thinking about her. Turning to my side, I ignore the ache in my balls. Release will come within an hour of seeing her. Until then, I can hold out so that sliding in deep will be finding Heaven in the midst of Hell, a mix of soft heat.
I’ll consider it my mission.
Closing my eyes, my mind drifts back to that first taste.
She is fucking beautiful. Her long brown hair lays against her creamy skin as I lay over her. Tempest lifts her chin as she arches her back under me, creating more contact.
“Deacon,” she moans as I slide my fingers through her pussy lips, feeling her throb for more contact.
“You are beautiful,” I whisper as I pull my fingers from her body and sit back to rest on my knees. Lifting my fingers to my lips, I slide them in my mouth. Her essence hits my tongue and the taste explodes.
She’s a little tangy, a little salty, and a little sweet.
Removing my fingers with a loud smack of my lips, I land my hands on each of her legs. Gripping behind her knees, I lift them up to bending, and spread her wide in front of me. Like a starved, depraved animal, I dive in.
Lapping.
Licking.
Sucking.
I plunder her pussy with my mouth.
The more she rocks into my face, fucking me, the harder my cock gets. I feel my pre-come leak from the tip as she clamps her pussy muscles around my tongue and releases her juices on my face.
Hell fucking yes.
Waking to the noise of Trapper screaming, I jolt to an upright position. Licking my lips, I can almost taste Tempest again. Looking to the full-size bed beside me, I see a sight we have all seen before.
Trapper is face down in the bed, twisting, thrashing, and crying out as if he’s in pain.
Instincts always push me to want to wake him, but I know better. Last time he went through this and I woke him, the fucker came up with a knife from under his pillow and pressed it to my neck ready to slice.
No.
Lesson learned.
This will pass and he will go back to snoring.
It takes a few moments before Trapper settles. Eventually, without waking up, he rolls from his face down position to his back where the snoring begins. Like every other night, it takes exactly twelve minutes from the time he stops screaming to when he starts to jack off.
From there, only after his release when he finds himself covered in jizz, he will wake up, shower, and then pace the room.
Like usual, it happens. While he showers, I have a dreamless light sleep. At zero-three-fifty I wake to find him going back and forth like he’s trying to wear a hole into the cheap ass carpet. Blowing out a breath, I sit up and slide out of the bed.
“You ever gonna sleep in clothes?” Trapper asks like he does every time we share a room together.
“Skivvies are restricting. My cock likes to breathe. Move aside fucker, I gotta hit the head and take a leak.” I joke with him as I pass to the bathroom, which habit from my active duty time has me always calling it the head.
“Deacon, you ever get head while in the head?” Trapper asks me from the other side of the bathroom door.
He finds some smartass remark to tie to my military service every chance he can. It’s Trapper. Mitchell “Trapper” Gates is a man who chases death, relishes the day he will no longer be here. Some people would say he’s an adrenaline junkie.
I know better.
With my contacts, I sought out Trapper’s past when his bloody body landed on the doorstep in front of us. We may be a bunch of badass motherfuckers, but when it comes down to it, the six of us are good men – including Trapper.
I know Trapper’s past. I know all about Avery, Avery’s family life, and more. I don’t share. If Trapper wanted everyone to know his shit, he would share it. He doesn’t, well then, I’ll take it to the grave.
The thing about Trapper is we can run and not say a word. He gets lost in his own headspace as I do mine. It works.
It’s still dark outside when we hit the gravel. Starting out north bound, we fall in stride. I am tall as a tree, and Trapper, well, he’s not. At almost seven-feet-tall I am a beast. My body build is lean muscle, mass, and my demeanor is fearless. While my running partner is around five-feet-eight-inches, he is cut, built, and ready to die which makes him dangerous in a whole different way.
An hour passes while Trapper keeps up. My thighs burn from the pace – I relish the feeling. Anything that gets my blood pumping reminds me I am alive.
Everyone else is dead, but I came out of the last mission breathing. I may be dead inside, but my body is still pressing on. Sweat now rolls down my face in beads, and my lungs sting with every intake of air.
Yes.
This is the shit I need.
My dick gets hard.
Press on, frogman, I tell myself. Push harder, run faster. I roar my frustration in life while lifting my hands up and giving the middle finger to the sky, the demons and the angels alike.
Fuck them all.
“Uh oh, the Navy SEAL is about to break!” Trapper says as he moves away from me.
“I’ll never fuckin’ break!” I yell more to karma, God, or whoever the hell can hear me.
Trapper laughs. “You need a slap on the ass, or an atta boy?”
“One day, Trapper, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
He then rushes over, smacks my ass before taking off on a full blown sprint all while yelling out to me, “Promises, promises, sailor boy!”
I find myself laughing out loud as I press on to catch up to the twisted fuck in front of me.
This is the Devil’s Due MC, the six of us just fit together.