The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC) (6 page)

I hear a
distant throaty rumble outside, then a couple minutes later there’s a knocking
coming from the front door. Cade turns off the TV and disappears down the hall.
A minute later two of the mangiest looking, leather clad men I have ever had
the displeasure of seeing, come walking into the living room. Guess this is
what happens when you’re the guest in an outlaw biker’s home; unwanted
degenerates drop by for beer.

Cade turns the
TV back on and this time it’s the NBA playoffs that they’re watching. A few
minutes later one of the men gestures in my direction and the three of them
begin talking furtively. I hate it when people talk about me like I’m not even
in the room when I am in plain sight. I swear it makes me want to punch
someone; someone like Cade. He’s lucky I’m still wrapped in the warm opiate
blanket or I might actually have the gumption to get up and make good on my
mental promise.

I close my eyes
for a few minutes, but when the sound of breaking glass penetrates the pink fog
of medication I become alarmed. My eyes fly open just in time to see a leather
clad biker lunge at Cade with a wicked looking knife. Cade moves to the right
as his left hand slips on the outside of his attackers arm, slapping it away. As
the blade whistles by Cade’s neck he grabs the wrist with his left hand, then
strikes the man’s arm just behind the elbow, tearing the ligaments and tendons
that keep the humorous and the ulnar and radial bones together. He does all
this in the space of a fraction of a second and while spinning around to face
the man.

After Cade
destroys the man’s arm he strikes him in the soft cartilage of the throat with
the blade of his right hand. The man collapses on the rug holding his throat
with his good hand while he gasps for breath. And me…I just stare at Cade,
mouth hanging open. How is it that a man…a human being, could move that fast
and with such deadly precision? I mean come the fuck on…the only time I have
ever seen anything move like that was on Animal Planet when I saw a lion take
down a gazelle. Cade is like that lion and he just literally ripped the throat
out of a gazelle; one clad head to toe in black leather.

Holy freaking
shit, what will happen to me if he gets pissed off one day? Is he gonna fucking
chase me down like a gazelle and bite me in the throat? I close my eyes and rub
my throat unconsciously and wonder what it feels like to be a gazelle in the
clutches of a six hundred pound hungry lion; not good I imagine.

I open my eyes
just in time to see another biker two steps from Cade who is still looking down
at the man he killed. Suddenly a knife appears in the other biker’s hand and I
scream.

“Cade look
out!”

Cade stiffens
and starts to turn around but it’s too late. His assailant draws the knife
across the front of Cade’s throat from right to left. I blink uncontrollably as
the first bright red spray of blood bathes my face and chest. I hear a thud and
force myself to open my eyes. Cade is lying on the carpet in a widening pool of
his own blood. Oh no…not Cade! The man who just murdered him turns and looks
over at me. Oh shit, this cannot be good.

“Morgan,” He
says. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

What the fuck?
Why wouldn’t I be looking at him like that?

“Morgan,” he
says again. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you
fucking think is wrong?” I finally manage to say.

“Morgan…Morgan…Morgan?”
He keeps saying my name for some weird reason. “Morgan…”

I wake up with
a start. Cade is sitting on the recliner watching me and drinking a Corona.
There are two other bikers who have pulled up folding chairs and are drinking
beer and watching the basketball game that is still on TV. No one is killing
anyone. There’s no blood on the floor and there is certainly no blood on my
face or chest. What a fucking dream!

“You okay
Morgan?” Cade asks, getting up and coming over to me.

“Just a weird
dream.” I reply. “You go back to your game.”

“Alright,” he
replies. “I’d offer you a beer but alcohol and narcotics don’t mix.”

“Really? I heard
they mix together nicely.”

“Well as long
as you’re in my house they won’t be doing any mixing no matter how fine they
are.”

“Watch your
game already!” I reply, and then shut my eyes so he knows this conversation is
over.

I try to sleep
but cannot. I have to admit I am curious about my murderous benefactor. How can
he be wearing a patch like the filthy few when it’s common knowledge that means
they have killed for their club? Then there’s the one percent patch. It’s like
he and his cronies are flaunting the fact that they’re
not
law abiding
citizens. I don’t get it. All I know is that the second I am able I am out of
here! Sure it’s nice and all that he took me in, but there has to be ulterior
motives here. He is a man after all.

At some point I
do fall asleep because it’s nearing dark when I wake up again. I check my backup
phone and the fact that there are no missed calls is testament to how well my
two assistants are doing filling in for me. Had this happened three or four
years ago it would be a colossal mess. Kudos to Stacy and Jason!

I look over to
the kitchen and out walks Mr. Grubby looking…no so grubby. He’s wearing a pair
of boxer shorts and not a thing else! Draped around his shoulders is a damp
towel. His long dark hair is wet and clings to his face and shoulders. He turns
away from me to look at something and I see the tattoo on his back for the
first time. It’s the same design that’s on the back of his jacket. The main
design is of a steely skeleton riding a chopper. Flames are shooting out the
bikes tail pipes and the contrast of the bright red flames against his bronzed
skin is abso- fucking- lutely mouthwatering! Above the rider and bike is the
word Iron and below in the same circular pattern is the word Disciples. I have
learned that the three part patch that his group sports also signifies that
they are the one percent outlaw bikers. The man has balls; great fucking big
ones! He not only flaunts it on his jacket and vest, but on his body in the
form of a permanent tattoo! Who the hell does he think he is anyway?

He disappears
into the kitchen only to return carrying two glasses of clear liquid. As he
walks toward me I can’t help but drink him in. He’s gotta be six foot, maybe
six two or three. He has powerful broad shoulders, baby smooth chest and
muscular chest, and oh those abs! Holy crap I could grate cheese on them then
eat it off afterwards!

My eyes drift
downwards to his crotch. From the nerve of this guy you’d expect his current
choice of underwear completely incapable of storing his family jewels. It’s
also painfully obvious that he is far above average in that all important size
matters category. The man is hung like a horse; a freaking iron horse! He hands
me a glass. I take a sniff before a drink. It’s water. He sets his own glass on
what’s left of his coffee table and sits down on the edge of the couch next to
my encased leg. What is he up to?

“If you’re here
to make a peace offering,” I begin. “You should have brought something a little
stronger than water.”

“It’s not my
wish to take advantage.”

“Like you
could. I’d kick…okay maybe not, but what are you up to anyway?”

“I think we got
off to a bad start.”

“Sorry but I’m
not in the habit of associating with murderers. It leaves a bad taste in my
mouth.”

“Honey you wish
I’d leave a taste of me in your mouth.”

“You have got
to be kidding me. I’m an upstanding citizen. I have an MBA from Stanford with a
special focus on macro and microeconomics, I am the youngest vice president in
the 108 year history of Capital America,
and
I earn more in a month than
you’ll ever earn in your lifetime! I don’t consort with fucking criminals!”

“Have you
always been so full of yourself? You’ve got more self-righteous wrath than God
himself! How do you even live with yourself? I bet you don’t have a single
friend in the whole world.”

“You have no
right to judge me!”

Then it
happens. I move to smack him across the face when he catches my arm and pulls
me to his bare chest. It doesn’t even matter that it hurts like hell on my leg
when he forces me to sit up. In fact it hurts so much a layer of sweat breaks
out across my brow. His body is damp and cool against the thin material of my
blouse. His masculine scent is otherworldly and altogether captivating. I don’t
want to want him but my nipples tell a different story. Still, a girl’s gotta
have her standards. I put my hands on his shoulders with the intention of
pushing him away from me. The moment I see my hands on his muscles I realize
the futility. Compared to me, the man is huge! My hands look so tiny against
his broad shoulders; it also happens to be a turn on and suddenly I think I
want this giant of a man to take me like a lion does his mate.

I want to feel
his raw power and aggression. I look up into his dark eyes and he glares back
at me with such a fierce intensity that it’s almost scary; and that’s part of
the attraction I’m sure. There is danger in this man and I am certain I am not
totally safe in his presence. He is a man that is used to getting his way; I
can see it in his eyes and the expression on his handsome face. One of his
hands slips around me and he hooks his fingers in the strap of my bra. Abruptly
with surprising intensity he yanks hard at the thin material. At the same
moment his face hardens, his teeth clench together and his dark eyes narrow.

A cold fear
grips my heart as my skin burns from the fiery red lines as the material is
ripped across my flesh like a rope burn only far more painful. His mouth
covering mine silences the cry of pain that is ripped from my throat! Oddly
enough when he begins to kiss me the pain I’m feeling actually heightens my
sensitivity. My lips are tingling and everywhere his skin touches mine it sends
chills of pleasure straight to my brain causing my synapses to fire non-stop. The
way my head is tingling I would swear I’ve been drugged; but I haven’t. My leg
has long since been forgotten. I’m pretty sure I’m going to regret this in the
morning when the Vicodin he sparingly gives me fails to even take the edge off
my aching limb.

This time when
he moves to have his way with me I open my legs, grab his ass and pull with all
my sex-crazed strength. I hook my good leg around his waist and pull as well,
but this time he stops me. I pull again with my hands and leg but he doesn’t
budge. What the hell game is he playing at?

I break off the
kiss and look at him as I continue to use my good leg to bring his hips
together with mine but I’m no match for his strength.

“Fuck me you
bastard!” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“I don’t do as
I’m told,” he replies. “I do the telling.

I move to slap
him and he doesn’t stop me. I hit him so hard with the palm of my hand that it
stings enough to bring tears to the corners of my eyes.

“Fuck me!”

This time he
allows me to bring our hips together, just enough to touch but not enough to
grind; it’s freaking maddening. I look away from his body for a second and my
gaze falls on his jacket and the patch that says
Filthy Few
.

“Come one
criminal,” I begin. He tenses up and I see a spark in his eyes. “Is this how
one of the Filthy Few takes a woman? Do you wanna make tender sweet love or are
you gonna fuck my brains out like the outlaw you pretend to be? And when he
doesn’t immediately respond I try a new tact. “Or are you just some oversized
fraud?”

The word fraud
strikes him like a bolt of lightning energizing him so that he reacts like a
lion that just got stung by a bee; a very large one. All at once he’s
thrusting, pounding…fucking furiously and maddeningly crazed like a man on a
mission to fuck me to oblivion; and I love it!

I don’t realize
I’ve fallen to sleep until my throbbing leg wakes me up. We’re still on the
couch, but his leg has fallen across my broken one and the pain is building
rapidly. I squirm in an effort to dislodge him but he is just too heavy.

“Cade! Wake the
fuck up. You’re re-breaking my damn leg.”

“Whaaaa…”

He stirs a
little but doesn’t quite wake up. So I offer up my knee to his balls in one
quick movement.

“Ouch! What the
hell?”

He’s awake now.

“You’re killing
my leg. Get off before you break it again.”

“Oh…sorry
geeze… but did you really have to take a crack at my balls?”

“I’m in pain.
You didn’t wake up. What was I supposed to do?”

“Anyone ever
wake you up by just kissing you?” He asks.

“Never.”

“You should try
it sometime, it’s nice and a hell of a lot better than a knee to the nads.”

“I’ll consider
my options.” I reply.

I am not going
to make things easy for him. Men are always trying to take advantage so I have
to be on my toes so to speak. If he wants me he’ll have to take me! I glance at
my watch. Shit! Stacy is going to be knocking on the door in twenty minutes.