Ridin' Dirty: An Outlaw Author Anthology (OAMC Book 1) (6 page)

“When you defy me, Maddie,” I say, kissing a trail up the side of her neck to her ear. “I’ll just take what I want.”

She whimpers—pushing her ass against me. Begging me for more. I push inside her tight walls once again—sinking deep before stopping. She’s filled with my cock. Her body trembles in excitement and a little bit of nervousness as she waits for my next move. I stay inside her as I lower her face to the mattress. Leaning over her back, I press my lips against her ear.

“Do you promise to stay just like this while I fuck you?”

She nods, her hips rocking back against me on every word.

“Good girl,” I whisper, then I straighten, pull out and slam hard inside her. She screams as I fuck her rough—savagely claiming her body. Taking my pleasure and giving her an equal amount in return.

My fingers dig into the soft flesh of her ass, gripping handfuls and spreading her open so I can see everything. She’s pink, wet, hot and her sweet scent is everywhere. The humiliation of exposing her like this along with the dirty talk and stiff cock that’s pumping in and out of her, has her coming hard around me. The moment her pussy pulses with her orgasm, I’m coming too—slamming into her one last time before stilling.

She’s limp and lifeless when I pull out of her. Her eyes are closed and either I’ve fucked her to death, or she’s sleeping. I’m gonna go with the latter. I cover her up and head to the bathroom—grabbing my sweats on the way. I toss the condom in the trash then make my way back to the bed. When I pull her in my arms, I only have one thought.

I fucked up.

I gave into my weakness. I’ve put everything on the line—for this girl. A part of me wants to undo what I did, but now that I’ve had her, I know that I can’t. And as I stroke my hand possessively over her body, I know that I won’t.

I won’t stop.

I squeeze her ass and feel her up, drinking her up with my eyes.

And as I do, I know with every breath I take, with every ounce of my bones, even knowing there’ll be hell to pay for deceiving my own club, my own brother, I’m not staying away from this girl.

I’m her Devil.

And I’m going to make us burn.

George
Bell, aka Twisted, is a man with a past. Even when he’s not searching for it, trouble always seems to find him. A chance meeting gives him a glimpse of beauty so sweet, he can’t believe his good luck. Penny Dane is the red-haired beauty caught up in his web of lies. He’s like no one she’s ever met before. The problem is, he knows it.

“Three ball, corner pocket.” His muttered words were accompanied with a thrusting gesture of the pool stick, indicating the particular corner out of four at which he was aiming. Simple shot from where he stood, a straight lineup with the pocket. He just needed to pop a little lower right-hand English on the cue to pull it back to where he wanted so he could position for the next shot.
Spin to win, folks.
He straightened and took a step back, which rapidly turned into two additional half-steps before he righted himself, killing the stumble’s momentum.
Well, it should be a simple shot
, he thought, tongue in the corner of his mouth as he tried to recover gracefully.

Undrunk would equal simple. Drunk as he was right now? Not a fucking chance in hell he would be hitting that hole. His gaze crossed the two identically-dressed girls sitting on stools along the wall, tight tanks pulled low, shorts sagging around their hips, crimson lips.
Or any holes
. He squinted, the two women resolving into a single female form, wreathed in cigarette smoke.
Or any hole, singular
, he thought.
Not that I’m lookin’ for skank, but pussy is pussy
.

Wrapping his hand around the edge of the corner closest to him, he bent and angled himself into position, bringing the stick down and resting it on his hand in the notch formed by his jutting thumb.
Hold on
. Stroking back once…twice…then forward with a soft crack. The tip hit the white ball, careening it into the red ball, and he watched as both moved exactly how he saw in his mind. Before the solid had finished falling into the netting, he called the next shot, striking the cue with the stick again just as it drifted to a stop. Shifting a half-step to his left, he called the next shot. And the next.

Surprisingly, he won, and that game turned into another. And another, which he also won, the wooziness slowly fading.

“A man drunk as you are, how in the hell does he still win at pool?” Bills thrown on the tabletop were a contemptuous insult, but he didn’t care tonight. Right now those bills were a tank of fuel, good meal, and hot shower. A haven purchased by a little overlooking was still a haven. It wasn’t that money was a problem, just that his self-righteous little brother didn’t want dirty money. He didn’t know him well, but suspected that to Fred, earned would be acceptable, and it’d feel good to offer something to ease an unspoken burden.
I’ll just have to convince him that hustlin’ pool is work
.

Leaning crookedly, he put his stick on the table for the next player.
Pretend to be a little slow, promise ‘em a chance at recovery
, he heard in his head and felt the grin falter on his face. That was a blast from the past he didn’t need.
Papaw, go back to sleep
, he thought, shoving down memories of bullet-riddled bodies falling around him, holes appearing in leather vests like movieland stunt props, but these had blood and bone, breathing souls behind them. Everything that mattered stripped away in a moment. Some lost to family crypts, some to a rift nearly as final. This trip the first accepted overture in over a decade of attempts, giving him renewed hope of restored connections.

“No freakin’ idea, man.” His mouth moved without his request, but at least it had the right idea. “Same time, same place tomorrow? You can win it back?” He wouldn’t still be in town tomorrow. Not a chance in hell he would still have the money, so there wouldn’t ever be a rematch. Fred’s load was supposed to deliver in the morning, so they’d be out of here by six o’clock at the latest. As he scraped the cash together, pushing the thick fistful deep into his pants pocket, he glanced around and noticed the woman was gone, having escaped the stench of the smoke-filled atmosphere.
Prolly already walkin’ the lot
.

Hand to his head, partly to hold the pounding thing together, partly to obscure his face, he made his way to the door. The giants standing there gradually resolved down into a single figure and he was glad. Hard enough to bullshit this one, no need to ask for trouble by bullshitting two of ‘em. “Fred,” said the man in the blue shirt, white patch with black letters spelling out ‘Paulie’ over the pocket. “No.” Which he knew was giant-speak for ‘I can’t let you on the road like this. If troopers pull you over, it’s my ass in trouble.’

Startled at the name the bouncer handed him, he wondered,
Was Fred who I said?
Responding smoothly, he shook his head, saying, “Paulie, my man. I’m not drivin’. Partner is behind the wheel next shift. I’m just sleepin’.” Giving up with a grunt and a lifted chin, Paulie reached out and opened the door for him, seeming to know the effort would have been beyond him at this point. “Thanks,” he muttered, getting a second chin lift.

And as easily as that, he walked out of the bar masquerading as a truck stop and into the lot, the occupants never knowing who they had hosted tonight. He shrugged, missing the leather vest that normally rode his shoulders like the voice of reason. That loss eased by the knowledge that tonight he could do anything without worry about dire predictions on the part of his officers. Twisted shook off the feeling, trying to beat back vertigo that threatened to upend his stomach.
Might shoulda left the vodka off the menu.
He grinned.
Might shoulda left the tequila off the menu, too, stuck to whiskey
. He shrugged, done was done, and tonight, as far as he was concerned was done.

Standing in the glare of the sodium lights, his gaze swept the parking lot. Row upon row of gleaming paint and chrome. Amber and white lights gave the area a shimmering glow, red lights flashing at intervals, blue and green and purple under lights creating pockets of illumination amidst the hulking shapes surrounding him. Exhaust hung like a cloud over the oasis, the smell of diesel fuel thick upon the air, flavoring every breath.
Now to remember where my ride is parked. Oh, Freddy boy, ready or not, here I come
.

He made his careful, weaving way through the lines of massive vehicles, looking for the company logo on his brother’s truck, studying the windows to see greater than expected numbers of silent sentinels. Dark forms in their tall seats, living coals hanging from fingers propped on wheels sized to give leverage and advantage to a human, regardless of height. Searing brands carried from resting position to just below the glint of eyes in the darkness, countenance lit from underneath when the cigarette flared brightly for a moment, the inrushing air sucking back chemicals and flavor and nicotine given life with a troubled permission to rush towards extinction, the cigarette burning down to nothing in minutes. Reduced to ashes.

Finally
, he thought, seeing familiar territory ahead in the form of Fred’s truck. Cold and still, the engine wasn’t idling, but the creak of suspension spoke to restless sleep inside the cabin attached to the chassis.
At least, I won’t be waking him up.
Lifting a fist, he pounded lightly against the bottom of the driver’s door, glancing behind him to ensure there weren’t any pool-losing followers bent on retrieving their mistake by force. Creaking and shifting, then the sound of the window lowering. Surprised the door hadn’t opened, he turned to look up at the same time a soft, feminine, so-
not
-Fred voice sounded.

“Interesting, but no thanks.” Short hair, ends going a hundred different directions. It was impossible to tell the shade in this lighting, but that unruly mop surrounded a tiny triangle of a face, petite and pleasing. She lifted a hand to rake the mane away from her forehead, scratching for a moment at a barbell piercing her eyebrow, then allowed the fall of her bangs to cover the exposed skin. Not much, in terms of body modification, but something curious to catalog. The only thing he really knew at this point was she wasn’t his brother. “Try the next truck over. He had something to smoke earlier, might be receptive.” The window began to raise back into position.

Unexpectedly, because he was normally as tightlipped as a cop in lockup, his mouth blurted exactly what he was thinking, all his filters apparently having reached their capacity tonight. “You’re not Fred.”
This round of ignorance brought to you by alcohol
.

She snorted, shaking her head and tilting it the slightest amount as the window stopped in place, halfway up and halfway down, committed to neither. He stared at her and decided to go with it. She evidently thought him a prostitute, might as well play the part. “Hell, for you? Half-price.”

The window powered down to the fully open position and she leaned an elbow on the metal frame. Amused, she asked, voice two octaves higher than previous, “Say what?”

She’s curious.
The remains of his drunken fog receding in light of this puzzle to solve.
Curious equals interested
. Interesting. “Half-price. I didn’t realize you were a chick.” Downplay everything. “My favorite kinda chick.”

Chin to her palm, head tipping the other direction, she waited for a beat and then, that thread of humor still present, “What does that mean?”
Nice fuckin’ voice. Nice package of pretty sittin’ here in front of me.

“My favorite kinda chick? A hot chick.” He’d known whores in his life, knew one of them since he’d been birthed, since that was his mother’s chosen profession. So he knew the patter they preferred and made a split-second decision to find an edge there to walk. Lowering his voice, he pitched it sexy-sweet for his spiel, letting the truth roll off his tongue knowing it would be more believable than anything else. “Hot chick like you, I’m surprised you’re not already laid up with a man. But you ain’t, and here I am. Give me a chance, I’ll rock your world, baby. Rock you all night long. Make you feel so good.”

Lips he hadn’t realized were so generous stretched in a beautiful smile, giving her face additional dimension. His cock twitched, the first sign of life from that rat bastard all evening. Low and smooth, in a level tone, she asked, “What’s the cost of this hypothetical connection?”

Ho-lee shit, she’s goin’ for it
. Chin up, he pushed his bottom lip up and out, creating that pouting, bearded smile the girls seemed to like so much. Confident for the first time since before he broke the last rack of balls, he held her gaze as best he could in these indifferent shadows on the edge of the lot. “Man’s gotta make a livin’, but you’re so pretty…” he trailed off and made a show of looking at what he could see of her “…you name your price and you got it, baby.”

The rolling rumble of a hundred truck engines surrounded them, quietly vibrating the air, coiled power exploited for the drivers’ comfort, keeping the cabs cool or warm according to preference. Her truck was silent, the window already slightly open before he knocked on the door. She took things as they came, without forcing things into a mold. He wondered suddenly if she could take him the same way and felt a shiver of fear trickle down his back, not sure how far he should take this farce.

He cast that thought aside as he felt his chest settle, heavy with disappointment at her continued silence, and was a half-breath from turning away when she spoke. “Payment after services rendered.” There was no way a whore would go for that arrangement, rightly assuming they’d be stiffed. The way it worked was payment up front, like what you get or not, the goods were the goods. No way would a whore climb up in a truck without seeing the green. “Got a condom?” she asked, giving so much away with her two short sentences.