Lilith: Lucifer's Legion Motorcycle Club

LILITH

Kelli Maine

Published by Kelli Maine

First Edition: November 10, 2014

Copyright © Kelli Maine, 2014

Cover by R.B.A. Designs

Edited by Carol Eastman

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places
and
incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living
or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S.
Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a
database
or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the
publisher.

Author’s Note

Unlike
my other novels, this is not a romance. The topic of organized crime and sex
slavery is not one to take lightly; therefore, I didn’t back away from the
darkness and explicit nature of the topic. But it is fiction. It is
imperfect
to the real world and perfect to itself as a work of my imagination. It
explores the mind of Luc, a flawed, villainous main character. As I delve
deeper into this series, I do not wish to glorify him, or make him a book
boyfriend. He’s a hardened criminal who may or may not come to terms with
his
tainted humanity and morality.

As
an author, it is my job to stay true to the story. As such, I will not be
pulling punches. This is a difficult series to write and to release into the
world. It’s a train wreck, and it draws the eyes and fascination like
horrific
situations often do.

This
series isn’t for everyone, and I won’t apologize for it.

Lilith
said, “I will not
            lie
below.”

Adam
said, “I will not lie beneath you, but only on top, for you are fit only to
be in
the bottom position, while I am to be in the superior one.”

Lilith
refused to be subservient to him and left the Garden of Eden.

The Mythology of
Lilith

ONE

The
van doors open. The gagged and bound bitch squints out at me, the compound
lights
blasting her in the eyes. She digs her heels into the floor and squirms
backward on her ass, out of my reach. Her arms and legs are inked—fucking
skeletons and Day of The Dead bullshit, looks like. I’ll get a closer look
later. Much closer.

“She’ll
work,” Butch says, “One week, Luc. You fuck this up, and we can kiss anymore
cartel business goodbye.”

“Have
I ever fucked up?” I turn my eyes away from the girl to look at him, the
President of the New Mexico chapter of Lucifer’s Legion Motorcycle
Club.

“Would
you be
standin
’ here if you have?” he says,
crossing
his arms.

He
and I both know I
ain’t
goin
’
nowhere. I might be a nomad, riding chapter to chapter, in Lucifer’s Legion,
but I bring the money in. Right now that’s more important than all of his
officers’ duties combined. If he wants the cartels over the border to farm
out
their sex trafficking business to him, he has to be able to
deliver.

“Where’d
you find her?” Butch asks Pretty Randy, his V.P. The guy can get any girl to
cream her pants just by smiling at her.

“Mission
Street. Outside the shelter.” Randy lights a cigarette and grins with it
hanging out of the side of his mouth. “
Ain’t
nobody
gonna be
lookin
’ for this bitch.”

“Good,”
Butch says, handing Randy a wad of cash. “Get her inside.”

“Leave
us,” I say, meeting the girl’s glare. She’s not wide-eyed and shaking, like
she
should be. This one’s a little cunt. She’s not afraid of me, and she needs
to
be. Scared fucking shitless. Right. Fucking. Now.

I
climb into the van and pull the doors shut behind me, closing us in
darkness.
Kneeling beside her, I grab her by the back of her hair and press my lips to
her ear. “Say goodbye to life as you know it, bitch. You’re mine now.”

Bitch
smells like gasoline. She jerks her head, trying to free her hair, pulls her
knees to her chest and kicks out. Her bare feet ram into my stomach. I laugh
as
I stand and yank her up by her hair. “You can’t hurt me, babe.” Hunched over
with my head against the ceiling, I pull her to the doors and push them
open.
“Get out.”

I
toss her out the back. She lands on her side on the asphalt, rocking her
head
against the pavement and shooting me another scalding glare. “Bitch, better
stop looking at me like that.”

Air
heaves in and out of her nose, making her small tits rise and fall. Rage
seeps
from every fucking pore in her body. I grab her arm and haul her to her
feet.
Her ankles are bound, so I lift her onto my shoulder and carry her to the
side
of the clubhouse where I can hose her ass down.

I
shove her against the wall and unwind the hose. “You work at a gas station,
bitch? You
fuckin
’ stink.” I swear she laughs
behind
the gag before I pull the trigger on the nozzle and blast her with cold
water.

I
haul her ass down the outside stairs and through the basement door. Across
the
room, four chains are embedded in the cement block wall with cuffs on the
ends.
Two for her wrists, two for her ankles. I throw her onto the cold concrete
floor and start untying the ropes that bind her. “You can run, but there’s
no
way out of here, and it’ll only make my cock harder if you do.”

She
jerks her hands free and rubs her wrists as I untangle the ropes from her
ankles. “Once I know I can trust you, you won’t be restrained—unless I want
you
to be.”

I
grab her by the neck and lift her to her feet. She’s small. Maybe five foot
two, one-ten, small tits, firm round ass. “Strip,” I say, letting her go and
taking a step back.

She
doesn’t move.

“You
can do it or I can, babe. Take your pick.”

She
drops her chin, acting resigned. I’m not buying it. There’s too much fight
in
this one. When she bolts to my left, I’m ready and tackle her to the floor.
The
air rushes out of her lungs on a grunt. I’m at least a foot taller and
eighty
pounds heavier than her. I shove my shoulder into her back and growl low in
her
ear. “I don’t want to fuck up that pretty face, so don’t try that again.”

I
stand and toe her side with my boot. “Get up and take your fucking clothes
off.”

She
stays down and nails me with hard eyes that dare me to do my worst. I lick
my
lips at the twitch between my legs. “The more you fight, the more I enjoy
this.”

I
grab the front of her sopping wet shirt with both hands and pull her to her
feet, slamming her back against the wall. “Lesson one,” I say, “you do what
I
tell you, and you do it fucking fast.” With one quick jerk of my hands, her
t-shirt tears down the center. I shove it off her shoulders, and it falls to
the floor. I do the same with her worn, tattered bra. She inhales sharply as
the cold basement air tightens her nipples, which flash with silver hoops
through them. She’s scarred and tatted, phrases and symbols inked and etched
into her skin.

Fuck
me.

I
cup my crotch, adjusting my cock as it stiffens. She reaches for the gag in
her
mouth, and I let her. “You gonna scream? I like it when bitches scream.”

She
rips it off and holds it over her chest. “Who are you?” she asks, without
one
hitch in her voice. Bitch is fearless.

“Who
am I?” I step toe-to-toe with her and brush my knuckles over her stomach,
feel
it tighten at my touch, but no flutter, no shuddering and pulling away. “I’m
every woman’s worst nightmare. A taker of lives.” I clamp down on her
nipples
between my fingers and thumbs and squeeze hard. She lets out a small whimper
at
the quick onslaught of pain. “A trainer of slaves. You can call me Lucifer.”

Her
dark eyes lock onto mine, devious thoughts swimming in them. Slowly, she
reaches between us and unfastens her shorts, shimmies them down her legs
with
her underwear.

“What’s
that
fuckin
’ look you’re
givin
’
me?” I ask. “You
darin
’ me?”

“Have
you ever burned someone alive, Lucifer?” she asks, taking my hand and
running
it up her inner thigh. It’s pocked and ridged, calling back memories I’d
rather
forget. I step back and look down at the burn scars that line both of her
inner
thighs. What the fuck happened to this bitch?

“Get
the fuck over here and let me look at you.” I take her by the back of the
neck
and push her down on the bare, stained mattress on the bed in the corner.
Pulling the string on the light bulb overhead, I kneel between her legs and
press them open to get a better look. “What the fuck is that?” I ask,
staring
down at her shaved pussy. Satan looks up at me, his eyes and horns tatted
right
above her pussy lips; her red hole is his gaping mouth. “Psycho bitch.”

She
reaches down and slides her finger inside. “What to kiss him?”

I
’m
sickly aroused and revolted at the same time. Her ink and the scars on her
torso—they’re satanic verses.  “You’re into some fucked up shit,
ain’t
you?”

“
You’re
into some fucked up shit,
ain’t
you?” she
counters,
throwing the question right back at me. Before I answer, she sits up and
grabs
my crotch. “You are now,” she whispers, her voice a growl. I swear to fuck
she
channels a demon with that voice.

“This
ain’t
gonna work. I can’t sell your crazy ass to
nobody.” I shove her legs together and pull her to her feet. “Leave it to
fuckin
’ Pretty Randy to nab a
fuckin
’
nutcase.”

I
take her back to the wall and cuff her wrists. When I bend to cuff her
ankles,
she grabs me by the hair and sinks her teeth into the back of my neck.
“Fucking
cunt!” I slam my forearm against her throat, trapping her against the wall.
She
coughs and gags. Her hands grapple at my arm. I squeeze her face between my
fingers and thumb and ram her head back into the wall a few times. “Was that
fun for you, bitch?” I say between clenched teeth. “You want to get
violent?” I
point to the four skull and crossbones patches on the front of my cut. “See
these? You want to be the fifth?”

With
every fucking muscle in my body clenched with anger, I walk away from her. I
gotta talk to Butch. We need a different bitch for the cartel. This satanic
bitch will fuck up our rep.

Upstairs
in the clubhouse, the brothers are
playin
’ pool,
shootin
’ darts,
gettin
’ blown
on
the couch by Rhonda, one of the club bitches—every
fuckin
’
one of them blitzed out of their
fuckin
’ minds.

Meat,
the prospect behind the bar who spends every minute of his day lifting
weights,
slides a glass of Jack in front of me as I sit down on a stool. “What the
fuck
happened to your neck?” he asks.

Looking
into the mirror behind the bar, I reach back and feel where the little cunt
bit
me. She broke the skin. My hand’s wet with blood. I wipe it on my jeans and
down
the double shot of Jack. “Keep ‘
em
coming,” I tell
him. “Where’s Butch?”

“Home
with his old lady. Took off about ten minutes ago.”

Fuck.
I gotta let this bitch go tonight. I run my hands through my hair and scrub
them over my face, glancing back into the mirror. The rings around my black
eyes and the way my dark hair’s hanging over my forehead makes me look like
Satan himself. Bitches on the street and in bars always look twice though. I
draw them in. Bitches can’t help themselves. Randy might be pretty with his
long, sandy hair and blue eyes, but that cocksucker’s got nothing on me. It’
s
the sense of danger—bitches get chills just being near me. They want to tame
me. Take me home and fuck the bad boy out of me.

Many
have tried. All have failed.

Randy
sidles up beside me. “How’s it going down there? She a hot piece of pussy,
or
what?”

“Hot
piece of pussy? Guess you could call having Satan’s face inked on her cunt a
hot pussy. I don’t think that’s what you meant, though.”

“The
bitch has
fuckin
’ Satan tatted on her cunt? This I
have to see.”

“She
bite you?” Meat asks.

I
nod and throw back the second glass of Jack he sits in front of me. “Can’t
sell
that psycho whore,” I say to Randy. “Get rid of her. I’ll find another one.”

“No
time,” he says. “Butch will--”

“Butch
is fucked if we let this bitch out of the basement without a slug in her
head.
Get rid of her.” I pound my palm on the bar, signaling for another
drink.

Randy
gets in my face. “You’re nobody here. I’m second to Butch. Get your
fuckin
’ ass back down there and break that bitch.”

The
other brothers are taking notice. For him to call me a nobody here is a
fuckin
’ stab in the back. I put in ten years as an
officer
in the Phoenix mother chapter before becoming a nomad, bringing in cash for
all
the Legion’s chapters.

I
stand tall and point to the dollar sign patch on the front of my cut. “You
got
one of these, brother?” I pat his chest, over the spot where the dollar sign
would be if he had one. “You think you can do my job better? Let’s see it.”
I
slam the handcuff key down on the bar.

The
guys hoot and holler, egging him on. “Pretty Randy gonna get him some of
that
wild pussy,” Lucky yells in his Irish accent.

The
V.P. can’t turn down a challenge, not from an outsider. I might be Legion,
but
I’m not New Mexico.

“No
problem,” he says, picking up the keys and grinning like a mad man. “Turn on
the monitor, you can all watch how Pretty Randy tames his bitches.”

He
lights a smoke and strides toward the door. Meat flips on the TV and turns
it to
the surveillance monitor. A minute later, Randy’s in the basement pulling
off
the duct tape I put over the camera lens. I don’t work with an
audience.

The
bitch is sitting against the wall staring at the ceiling. She doesn’t even
glance at him. “The
fuck’d
you do to her, man?” a
brother nicknamed Pinch asks, pushing through the other guys crowding around
the bar to watch the fifty inch flat screen mounted on the wall. “Drug her?”
`

I
toss back another Jack and ignore him.

Randy
strolls over to the bitch and crouches down in front of her. “What’s your
name,
doll?”

Her
eyes roll from the ceiling to his face. She doesn’t even blink.

“You
remember me?” he asks. “I’m the one who brought you here. Now, I’m going to
tell you a little story. It’s called, Do What You’re Told And You Won’t Get
Shot In The Head And Dumped On The Side Of The Road.