Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2) (20 page)

After fifty yards it happened. Each of the ropes reached their end at the same time and, just like that, my tormentor was gone. There was a barely susceptible tug on the bike as Dewey was ripped apart, four pieces of him flying off and just his center torso remaining on the dusty road, rapidly surrounded by a muddy red puddle.

The bikes turned around and went back to regroup, each towing a grisly souvenir.

The four motorcycles parked facing each other, their front wheels inches from what was left of his torso. When the engines were switched off we could hear the dying notes of
Love Will Tear Us Apart, our
song, playing. Except the song wasn’t
ours
. It was mine now. Just mine.

K
aren

It had been a weird day. After all, it’s not every day you get to kill your psychotic ex-boyfriend, is it?

Relief. Relief was the primary emotion I felt. Getting rid of Dewey had provided a catharsis I’d never dreamed possible. I felt a hundred pounds lighter, I felt elated, I felt like I could fly.

We lay on Bottle’s bed after a big lunch at the diner. I was resting my head on his shoulder, but my right hand was in a wandering mood, roaming under his t-shirt.

“Are you okay?” he asked?

“Couldn’t be better,” I said. I didn’t imagine he could comprehend how I felt, knowing that my tormentor for years was finally gone.

“Are you sure? I mean, that was some wild fuckin’ shit that went down today.”

I smiled to myself at the memory. “I know. And whose idea was it?”

“Yours,” he said.

“Exactly. It’s how I wanted it to happen.”

Perhaps I was supposed to be upset, or shocked, or some such bullshit. Nope. No way. I was
happy
.

My roaming hand slipped down the waistband of his jeans. I grinned when I found what I was looking for and felt him immediately begin to grow in my hands.

“You want to hear something strange?” I whispered into his ear.

His breath had quickened. “Sure,” he said in a low tone, “I love me some strange.”

I squeezed him and the jeans began to grow too constraining. I used my free hand to undo first his belt, then the top button, then the fly of his jeans.

“Don’t get freaked out,” I warned him as I released him. I gripped his hard shaft and squeezed gently.

He let out a soft breath. “Trust me, I’ve seen and done some shit. You ain’t gonna freak me out.”

Not going to freak him out? I decided I’d make it my mission to freak him out some time. If not today, then soon.

I whispered in his ear again, “It made me hot.”

“What did?” he asked. I could tell from his tone that he knew what, but he wanted me to keep speaking.

“You,” I whispered in his ear as my hand moved up and down his shaft, pumping his rock-hardness. “You standing over him, boot on his face.”

“Go on,” he said his breath quick.

Go on speaking? Or go on with my hands? I let his cock go, lifted my head from his shoulder and moved down his body. My mouth was just above his cock. I looked up at him and our eyes met. I could see the look of frustrated desire in his eyes as my mouth hung so close to his quivering dick.

My breath was hot as I spoke. “The motorcycles starting. Me, holding on to you tight.” His cock quivered from the heat of my breath as my words rolled over it.

He let out a soft moan and I pushed my lips down, taking him into my mouth and running my tongue around him. Hot and salty and sweet I filled my mouth with him and then withdrew, leaving him shaking and wet.

“You tore him apart,” his cock shook with the breath of my words.

I lowered my mouth and took him back inside.

“It’s what you wanted,” he moaned.

I lifted my head again. “It sure was. Do you like giving me what I want, Bottle?”

I took him back into my mouth again. Could he be any harder? I knew if I kept this up he’d be forced to grab me by the hair. I moaned in anticipation.

“It depends what you want.”

My head rose as I released him again. “What do you think I want now, bad boy?”

He let out a frustrated grunt. “The same thing as me.”

“And what’s that?” I asked.

His response wasn’t verbal. Bottle reached down and grabbed me by the hair with his left hand while his right grabbed me around the waist. He pushed me down into the bed as my body surged with adrenaline at the suddenness of his action.

Furious hands yanked off my pants and underwear and I was exposed to him: hot and wet and waiting.

My bruised and scratched body ached, but not from pain, the endorphins flowing through my body saw to that. I ached with the desire to be held down and fucked.

And I had just the man for the job.

“Is this what you want, huh?” he asked.

The low and menacing voice had me shivering with excitement. I nodded.

I was on all fours and his left hand grabbed my hair again, pulling my neck up. His right hand slapped me on the ass and I let out a moan.

“Give it to me,” I whispered urgently.

His only response was to slap my ass again. Then I felt him between my legs, forcing himself in and I let out a scream.

It was exactly what I wanted and needed: To be held down and fucked by a big, bad, biker.

If killing Dewey had been a relief, being taken like this by Bottle did something better: it made me feel like a human again. A person in control of their life. Not controlled or managed by anyone else like Dewey had done to me, and not locked up and contained like the system had done.

I was free and I was me.
Me
.

B
ottle

Is it on? Yeah it’s on. Of course it’s on. I know how to do this now.

Well, shit. Fuck me.

That was some fucked up shit.

“Love will tear us apart”. Shit.

And her and me? Oh man. Where to start. Wow.

Man, all I know, is I don’t want to get on the wrong side of this chick. Of course, Dewey did a lot worse than just ‘get on the wrong side’ of her, but still. She don’t fuck around.

Of course he deserved it. You can’t disrespect the club like that - the second he kidnapped Red his life was forfeit. His only chance would have been to hide really fucking well, and he certainly didn’t take that route. Hell no.

But man. Four bikes and four ropes? Shit, I ain’t ever seen anything like that before. Got the job done though.

Wanta know something fucked? Of course you do, because you’re me. Ain’t nobody else going to listen to this shit. Her crazy-ass ways have really been pushing my buttons. There’s plenty of fucked up chicks around these parts, but this girl really gets to me in a way that none of the others can.

I don’t know what it is about her. Maybe it’s because she’s like me - she didn’t have a bad start in life — not until high school anyway. Most of the fuckups I meet have been that way since they were born, starting off in shitty circumstances and being molded by them since birth.

But me and her? We started off alright. It wasn’t until we were in our teens that things really went to hell for us. That’s why I think I like her. We’ve got some kind of fucked-up-bond. She doesn’t know about my past yet though. I don’t know if I’ll tell her. She’s got enough of her own trauma to work through without hearing about mine.

Shit.

Thank God Red was alright. Mostly. I don’t know how many times that car got shot by T-Bone and Gauge, but somehow Red got through it all with just a minor head wound. Some bullet flew right along the side of his head, and now he’s got a six inch long bald spot. I wonder if it’ll grow back.

Still, he and Twist have earned their patch as far as I’m concerned. When Jase gets back in a week or so I’ll be recommending their full initiation. Shit, speaking of which, I better call him and let him know what’s been going on. I tried last night but he wasn’t answering. I hope it’s all going okay on the tour.

Oh shit, I think I hear her coming back. She was in the bathroom. She’s wearing me the fuck out...

Bottle out.

K
aren

I stood on the steps of the clubhouse, one hand in Bottle’s, watching as a convoy of motorcycles approached. They came into the parking lot, one after the other.

“That’s Jase, the president, and his old lady,” said Bottle, indicating the first Harley Davidson.

“And his dog,” I said. There was a young looking dog with two paws up on the handlebars and a delighted expression on its wind-whipped face.

“Huh. That’s new,” he said. “That’s Lonnie, he’s our token-Englishman,” Bottle gestured at the next motorcycle.

“English accents are cute,” I said.

Bottle smacked me on the arm. “No they’re not.” He grinned, and then gestured behind at a lavish looking heavily modified chopper, “I have no fuckin’ clue whose monstrosity that is.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Pretty garish more like.” He gestured to the next four motorcycles. “Those guys are all prospects, like Twist and Red.”

“Will they be full members soon?” I asked.

Bottle shrugged. “We’ll see.”

The first couple of bikes had parked, and a few minutes later the man Bottle had indicated to be the president was striding toward us. He was younger than I had imagined. Older than me, of course, but younger than I’d have thought an outlaw motorcycle gang’s president would have been.

“Good to see you, brother.” Bottle and Jase exchanged hugs and clapped each other on the back.

The young looking old lady came up and kissed Bottle on the cheek.

“Hey,” she said and gave me a smile. “Nicole.”

“Hey,” I said back. “Karen. Nice dog.”

The puppy had followed the couple and was sitting between Jase and Nicole, tail wagging. It was white and looked kind of like a pitbull, and kind of like a bulldog. It was obviously some kind of mix.

“Thanks. His name’s Beefer.”

“Beefer? Cool name. Where’s it from?”

Jase and Nicole laughed, neither replied. I raised my eyebrows at Nicole.

“Sorry. Long story.”

I shrugged. I didn’t care where the name came from anyway. Not really.

“Where’s Juicy?” asked Bottle.

Jase gave a low chuckle.“She’s gone with the band.”

Nicole just shook her head in a kind of accepting resignation. Who was this
Juicy
they were talking about, I wondered. It sure was a strange name. Like a lot of names around here for that matter.

“Got a drink for me, brother?” asked Jase.

“Many.”

Jase and Bottle laughed and headed inside. I shrugged at Nicole and she grinned. We followed them in.

I had a good feeling about her.

B
ottle

Yo, yo, yo.

Guess who’s the new VP. That’s right. Me, motherfucker. Me.

Hells yeah.

It ain’t official yet, we’re gonna vote on it next week, but it’s a done fuckin’ deal. Fuck yeah. I deserve it of course though. Ha ha.

Shit. I’ve been talking to myself a lot lately haven’t I? Answer: No. I’m not talking to myself, I’m just keeping a journal. Well that’s my story and I’m sticking to it anyway. Of course if any bastard listens in on me doing this they’ll think I’ve gone full on cray cray. Fuck ‘em. Shouldn’t be listening anyway.

So, the Prez came back. It seems he had quite a wild ride with those English bastards. I didn’t get the full story out of him yet, but apparently those Limey bastards are completely fucking nuts. It seems Lonnie is fuckin’ normal compared to the guitar-tards they’ve been looking after. Still, at least they came back in one piece. Mostly. With an extra man too.

Jase reckons a couple of the prospects he took with him will be ready to be patched in after a couple more months too. That’s good. Even when Twist and Red join we’ll still only be at... what... seven full members? That shit’s weak yo. This crew still needs to grow.

––––––––

O
l’ crazy eyes is still here. She met Sweetness earlier and they seem thick as thieves already. I don’t know what the fuck is going on these days. If I’m not careful I’m going to find out I’ve got an old lady of my own. Shit, maybe I have already.

Nah, can’t be. She’s too crazy to settle down with a boring old VP like myself, isn’t she? Fuck.

Jase brought us back a guard dog too. Well, a guard puppy. But he’ll grow up to be a tough sonofabitch by the looks of him. I tried to take a ball out of his mouth earlier. Couldn’t. Fucker is strong as a horse already. It’s called Beefer. Whatever the fuck that means. I guess it’s because he’s real beefy. Whenever we try to ask though Jase and Nicole just laugh. Fuckers. Some stupid joke they’ve got I guess.

Shit, time to go. It sounds like things are getting rowdy outside.

Bottle out.

I mean, VP out.

Shit. VP Bottle out.

I’m done.

K
aren - One Year Earlier

Cheryl and I sat on the bottom bunk together, our bare feet pulled up on the scratchy bed as our arms hugged our knees. It was cold in there. It was
always
cold in there.

Cheryl was my cell mate, and the closest thing I had in the world to a friend. The trial had cost me any remaining friendships or goodwill I’d had back home. My parents were dead. I was all alone in the world.

Like me, she’d been wronged by the world, though she had actually committed the specific crime she was locked up for - manslaughter. She wasn’t a cold blooded killer, she’d simply gotten in a fight with another woman who’d ended up dead. It turns out that sometimes a pool stick across the head is all it takes.

“So, how are you gonna get him?” she asked me, an indignant look on her face.

“What do you mean? It’s too late now. I’m
here
.” I was feeling defeated, I never thought there’d be any chance of getting my own back on him. I planned to do my time, and then I didn’t know what. Maybe kill myself.

“Hon, don’t you burn with resentment? Don’t you want revenge?”

I wasn’t sure. I’d been in a daze since the night of the prom, I guess I was in shock or something. My feelings were numb and I spent most of the time living and moving through a haze, as if I was in a dream. Or a nightmare.