KICK

When I get back to the house, everything feels off. Country is no longer on the front step, but there’s a shitload of blood where he was sitting, and the front door is wide fucking open. I take off my helmet, park the bike and pull the gun from my pants, creeping quietly across the drive. I climb the front stairs, glancing down at the patch of blood, and then at the bloody handprints on the door. I keep low to the ground and move inside, walking through the kitchen, but when I clear the island I almost trip over Country. He’s dead, propped up against the bench. His shotgun is gone, taken from him likely, and he has a bullet hole in his chest, just below his clavicle.

I turn around, but a hand reaches out and grabs my leg. I spin, my gun aimed and at the ready. “What the fuck, old man?” I whisper. “I almost shot your fuckin’ face off. Where’s Indie?”

“Gym … she’s in the gym. Crawled in here, haven’t … made it no further … though.”

“How many?”

“One Eye.” He takes a ragged breath in. “Cop.”

“Where’s Squeals?”

“Dead.”

Gunshots go off, and I forget all about being quiet, ’cause my fuckin’ girl is in that room. I kick open the door; fuckin’ idiots didn’t lock it. One Eye is dead, the Cop has Indie on the ground, and his gun is shoved up under her chin.

“Shoot me, and she dies,” he says, glaring up at me.

“Shoot her, and you die,” I challenge.

“I’m not going to shoot her, and I’m not leaving without her. He wants her back. He’s not finished with her. You took her from us.”

“Oh, he is finished with her. I can promise you that. The Priest is finished, period. Girl belongs to me now, and I don’t appreciate people trying to take what’s mine.”

“You can’t stop him. He’s higher than you or I could ever grasp. He’s on a holy mission, sent down from God to save us all.”

“By abducting women and destroying them? That’s his holy mission? It’s been a while since I was in Sunday School—no, wait, scratch that, I’ve never fuckin’ been to Sunday School—but I’m pretty sure your definition of worship is fucked.”

“You can kill me, but God’s plan, the Father’s plan cannot be undone.”

“Fuck God’s plan.” Indie jerks forward, wrapping a long black piece of fabric around his neck and yanking it tight. I don’t have time to think. I just aim and shoot the way I have with so many other mother fuckers. I fire off three bullets between his eyes, hoping and praying like hell his finger wasn’t actually on the trigger. He slumps forward on top of her.

My heart stops as I wait.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

His body jerks and then he’s rolled to the side as she emerges. I stalk over and fire off several more shots, emptying my whole clip into that fucker’s face. Indie covers her ears and squeezes her eyes tightly closed.

“Fucking zealots,” I mutter.

Indie stares up at me for a moment, and then the levee breaks. She covers her eyes and sobs while I stand there like a fuckin’ tool with no idea how to comfort her. I wanna pull her into my lap the way I did once before, but for the second time tonight I’m considering someone other than myself. Country risked his life to save her, and it’s only fair I repay the favour. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her out of the gym. Before we clear the door, she glances over my shoulder at the man who tortured her.

“You did good, spitfire,” I whisper. She tucks her head against my chest.

In the kitchen, Country’s pale, the wrinkled skin beneath his eyes as ashen as his beard. He looks like shit.

“Not … too shabby …” He wheezes. “For a blind … geriatric, hey kid?”

“Yeah, if you’d actually hit someone, maybe.” I smile at the old man and nod. “I owe you, brother.”

“Nah, I’m just … pissed … didn’t get to shoot … some stupid-arse motherfuckers.”

“You need to stop talkin’,” I warn him. I set Indie on her feet, and she sits heavily on the tiles.

“You okay, babe?”

“I don’t … I don’t feel anything,” she says, staring at the open door of the gym. I walk over and pull it firmly closed. “I thought I’d feel … something, but there’s nothing. I’m just numb.”

“I know,” I say, taking her in my arms. And I do know. I didn’t feel retribution, or elation, or even satiated when I killed the Angels’ president. I was numb, because it was way too late to save Lauren.

“He needs a hospital,” she says tilting her chin towards Country.

“He needs the Butcher.”

“Fuck the Butcher … get me a goddamned spoon … I’ll get it out … myself.”

“Shut up, old man.” I pull my phone from my pocket and dial the prez. He answers on the first ring, and I tell him what went down while I was off trying to hide my fuckin’ feelings with a stranger sucking my cock. I leave out that last part. No point in upsetting Indie further. He promises that the Butcher will be here soon and orders me to stay with Country.

Forty long minutes later, the Butcher’s Porsche pulls into the drive. I take Indie upstairs because she doesn’t need to meet the man who jabbed her with a needle and knocked her out cold to examine her.

Grim and Killer arrive, reinforcements sent by Prez. I’m not sure what the hell we’re supposed to be “reinforcing”? We already shot dead the motherfuckers, and something tells me that though this fucking nutty Priest wants Indie back to fulfil his stupid-as-fuck prophecy, he will wait her out.

 I wait until Country is stitched up, and I help put him in the den downstairs to sleep it off. Prez must have agreed to pay the Butcher a pretty fucking hefty sum because I’ve never seen the bastard dole out medication so freely. I snatch up two pills from the bottle of morphine and pocket them in case Indie needs something.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you,” I say, half hoping Country’s asleep already so I don’t have to do this shit. 

 He’s not. That old fucker is wide awake and gloating like a stupid son-of-a-bitch. “Seems like you had plenty … of chances. You’re just a stubborn dickhead … when it comes to tellin’ people how you feel,” he says, grinnin’ like a fuckin’ yokel at me. “Besides … you’d do it for me.”

I wondered if that were true. I didn’t think so, not up until this point, and though I was grateful, maybe not even after this point. That was just who I was. Or I thought that was who I was. But honestly? I don’t even fucking recognise myself when I look in the mirror anymore. Lauren had changed me, and Indie seems to have picked up where she fucking left off. I didn’t wanna feel shit; I didn’t want to put others before myself, before my wants, before staying alive, but I did. I was, and I am. And it scares the ever-loving shit outta me. When you patch in, you pledge to die for your prez, for your brothers. It’s all part of the code, but can I make it my code? I don’t fucking know.

When I open the door, Indie is still sitting on the bed. She’s staring straight ahead; I don’t even think her mind has registered that I just walked in.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing her hand. She doesn’t even flinch, which is really fuckin’ rare for her. “You need a shower. You’ve got blood in your hair.”

I lead her across the hall to the bathroom we’ve shared these last few days. I shuffle her into the room and lock the door behind us. Turning on the spray, I undress and then I slowly peel the ruined robe from her shoulders and edge us both in. I take the showerhead off of the wall and hose her down with it. It’s so much like the first time we did this—her mentally checked-out, and me going through the motions—and yet it’s completely different.

After a few minutes of thawing out under the warm spray, she takes over, scrubbing her face with soap, lathering up the shampoo and washing her hair. There’s a bench seat in the shower, and I sit and watch her body move as the water runs over it. She soaps up her hands and slides them all over herself. I don’t even know if she understands how fuckin’ crazy that shit is making me. I close my eyes and exhale slowly. I can’t do jack shit about the huge fucking hard-on I’m sporting, but she doesn’t seem to notice, she just continues scrubbing, so hard I think she might be taking off skin.

“It won’t come out, darlin’, and the blood is long gone.”

She stares at me with tear-filled eyes. I give her a sad smile, knowing exactly what she’s feeling: as if she’s a bad person for wanting them dead, as if she’s a monster for wanting to see his blood spilled out all over the gym floor. As if there’s something wrong with her for being the one left standing.

“It won’t come out, but it gets easier.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she whispers.

“Nope, not really. It’s just the truth of it.” I shake my head. “You’re not a monster; you’re just human.”

“What does that make you then?”

“A little of both.”

She stares at me for a beat. “No. I think it makes you human, too.”

“A regular guy wouldn’t be hard as fuck watching a woman wash blood out of her hair.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it makes me,” I say, and it’s more than just my cock that’s frustrated. “I don’t know what you want from me, Indie?”

“I don’t know either,” she admits. “I’ve told myself over and over you were a means to an end, but now I don’t know how I feel. I want you to touch me. I want your hands on me. And I’m pretty sure you want that too, or I was before—”

“I can’t be what you need, baby. I’m so fucked up there aren’t even words for the shit I see in my head. All the things I wanna do to you? They’re not normal. I don’t do vanilla; I don’t make love. I fuck. And I fuck hard. And I can’t do that with you. I don’t know how to be any other way.”

I don’t know what someone like me can offer her. I don’t know if I can offer her anything but a life of disappointment and danger. It certainly hasn’t been smooth fucking sailing so far, and shit’s only gonna get worse. If she’s in my bed, on the back of my bike and wearing my patch, she’s a target for anyone who wants to get to me.

“Can I ask you something?” She interrupts my thoughts. “What were you thinking when he put that gun to my head?”

“I was thinking I couldn’t be the reason you died. I promised to protect you; I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want your blood on my hands, too.”

“Too?”

Jesus. This bitch and her questions. I wish I could shove my cock in her mouth and get her to shut the fuck up. “I’ve been here before, and it didn’t end well for her. She died; a brutal and bloody death, the same kind you woulda had if you’d been left in that warehouse.”

She reaches out and touches my hair. I glance up at her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her gently into me. I kiss her stomach, the flesh over her hip. She’s been steadily putting on weight since we pulled her from that warehouse, and she looks fucking amazing. Plump arse, fuller tits, her arms now contain a little muscle, and even that is hot as fuck too. I pull her down onto my lap, spreading her legs apart and shoving her pelvis down against my cock, groaning when her pussy slides over my piercing and the head of my dick. And then I kiss her mouth the way I wanted to earlier tonight. I take her hard with my mouth because I can’t with my body.

When she breaks away, she’s panting for breath. “I want you inside me, biker.”

“You can’t say that shit to me, Indie,” I groan. “I’m not a man with self-control. I take whatever the fuck I want when I want it, and I want you so fucking bad I feel like I might explode, but I don’t trust myself not to hurt you.”

“I trust you.”

“Fuuuck,” I growl and then grab my dick, positioning it at the entrance of her sweet pussy. Later I’ll take my time exploring what makes her wet, what she likes, what she doesn’t. I plan on getting real fucking friendly with that gorgeous cunt, but for now, I have to bring us together. I have to bury myself deep and feel her clench around me as she rides me hard.

She reaches between us and takes hold of my cock, sliding it back and forth through her wetness. She toys with the piercing, touching it with gentle strokes, and then she’s pumping me hard and fast with her soft hands. It feels fuckin’ amazing. She guides me inside her body, gasping as she stretches to accommodate me, and I feel as if I’m gonna explode. The sweet, slow burn, the drag, and slide of flesh, her walls squeezing me tightly. It’s fucking killing me. Slowly.

“So fuckin’ tight,” I murmur in her ear. I let her control the pace, and my hands roam over her tits and down her back to cup her arse. She rocks her hips back and forward, sliding her sweet cunt up and down my shaft. Her face is soft with pleasure, but I want to own that look. I could be anyone filling this void for her, making her forget all the things those men had done in the past. I grab a fistful of hair and force her eyes on me.

“Look at me.” Her heated gaze locks onto mine. I challenge her, a little game we’ve come to love. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you. I want you to remember who owns you.”

“No one owns me.”

“I own you. You belong to me. You let another man near that pussy of yours and I’ll gut him like a fuckin’ fish while you watch. You gonna ride on the back of my bike? Be in my bed? Then I own you, spitfire. You’re mine, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

“Jeez, biker, you really know how to ruin the mood,” she whispers, but the bitch is still riding me hard, so I know she’s not as put off by that as she says she is.

“I take what’s mine, and I take care of mine. Are you mine, Indie?”

 She moans and closes her eyes, tilting her head up toward the ceiling.

“Look at me,” I command, wrapping my hand around the nape of her neck. “Are you mine?”

“Yes. I’m yours.”

I exhale and reward her by sliding a hand between us to toy with her clit. She bucks wildly on top of me, squirming away from my touch. I hold her still, digging my hand firmly into her hip.

“Stop, I can’t …” she breathes. “Not my clit.”

“I own this pussy, baby. I’m gonna make you come, and you’re gonna milk me with your gorgeous fuckin’ snatch, and then you’re gonna come again and again until I say you can stop.”

“No.”

“Shh, let go,” I whisper in her ear, and I pump my hips in time with her rocking. “Fuckin’ come for me, baby.”

 “Biker …” Her moans leave her in breathy pleas that I feel every-fucking-where. I feel her give a little, and I want more of it. I want all of her. I want every thought, every breath, every orgasm, and every fucking moan.

I shift both hands under her arse and stand, taking her with me and moving us under the water, then I slam her back against the glass and let it have her weight. I press my hands against the wall and glide in and out, taking her slow, and driving us both towards orgasm. I don’t think I’ve ever fucked like this. Not even with Lauren. I wasn’t lying when I told Indie I like to fuck and fuck hard. But right now I care more about her pleasure than my own, which is another thing that I’ve never felt before. As I sink inside her again and again, I don’t care how long it takes. I just want her to feel something other than pain.

What the fuck has this woman done to me?

That alone should make me want to punish her, to hurt her, to fuck the shit outta her tight little cunt and feel her break beneath my hands, but it doesn’t. Jesus Christ. I’m like every other fuckin’ idiot stupid enough to get attached to someone, to care about someone other than myself.

Prez was right. I’m fuckin’ pussy whipped.

“Biker?” she asks in a whisper. “Is this really happening—oh god, right there. Don’t stop doing that.”

“Yeah, babe,” I grunt. It’s no fucking picnic trying to hit that sweet spot of hers over and over without losing my shit altogether. “It’s really fuckin’ happenin’.”

“What are we doing? What happens when the water runs cold?” She bites on her lip, and I spear her with my gaze, forcing her to stay with me, though I can tell already how much she wants to let go.

I’m not dumb enough to think this is the kinda shit that lasts forever. How can it? I abducted her. I held her captive. I drugged her, hurt her. I did shit I had no right to do because she wasn’t mine. She’ll come to see that one day for what it is. She’ll come to see that anything between us was, and can only be a beautiful lie. I’m no Prince Fuckin’ Charming. I’m an arsehole. I’m cruel, and I’m a criminal with no moral compass. Or at least that’s who I was. I have no fuckin’ clue who I am right now.

 “Then we shut the water off and keep fuckin’ in the bedroom,” I say, thrusting in a little harder, a little faster until she’s throwing her head back against the glass and panting like a bitch on heat. I kiss her neck, her jaw, working her into a frenzy with my lips and tongue, and my cock that’s buried balls’ deep, and then she surrenders. Body and fucking soul, she gives me all of her as that tight pussy milks my dick with her release. And it’s fucking glorious.

Her surrender is the only religion I need.