Thrash (5 page)

This shit—me getting
called to the clubhouse like a damn child—is exactly why I never
wanted to hook up with Duke. He’s stuck in this sick cycle where he
gets really fucking intense with any chick he’s into, and the more
they protest, the more into the chase he gets. Nothing wrong with
it, except he gets bored and then leaves a trail of chicks behind
who all thought they had a chance to make him honest or something.
And now, because I was too fucking drunk to stop myself, and way
too fond of him, I’m one of those girls. I’ll just have to try to
ride it out until he tires of me, I guess, and hope my heart
doesn’t hurt too much when he leaves.

Chapter 3

Pulling up to the closed
gates of the clubhouse, I brake while I wait for Rink, one of the
prospects, to open them up and let me in. It takes a minute, but it
feels like the entire world’s passed me by by the time I have
enough space to squeeze my sedan through and into the secured
Forsaken clubhouse. With the gate shut, I can’t even leave if they
don’t want me to. This was a bad, bad idea. But I push myself to
deal with it. I’m here now, and there’s no backing out.

Parking across the lot from the bikes
that sit near the main entrance, I slide up next to Chel’s coupe
and climb out. It’s still chilly as hell out here, and I’m not
wearing a whole lot of clothing. Walking into the Forsaken
clubhouse dressed like I’m ready to party is all any of the guys
need to take advantage of my presence. And I’m really not up to
party right now. It’s mid-afternoon and already I’m worn the hell
out.

I cross the lot and open
the heavy front door to find myself greeted by the sight of half
the club sitting around on various pieces of furniture, drinking
bottles of beer. Short windows line the uppermost part of the wall
that curves into the exposed beam ceiling of the main room,
streaming the only light into the room. Duke sits at a small round
table in the center of the room. He turns just slightly and lifts
his beer to his lips. Without looking away, he gulps down the
remaining contents of the bottle then slaps it down on the table
top. Across from him is Ryan, the club’s road captain. No clue how
he earned that position since, last I checked, the boy couldn’t
find his dick out of his own ass half the time. But I could be
biased.

“Look who decided to grace
us with her presence,” Duke says with a smile on his face. It
doesn’t reach his eyes, and sarcasm coats every word.

“Quit being an asshole,” I snap,
temporarily forgetting who all’s in the room. Low chuckles sound
from around me, egging me on. I place a hand on my hip and jut my
chin out. The boys live for this kind of drama in a way the chicks
never have. And they have the nerve to say we’re the nosy
ones.

“You wanted me here, I’m
here.”

“It’s about fucking time you do as
you’re told,” he says, standing from his seat. My muscles tense
immediately as my temper snaps.

“You’re kidding, right?
You disappear for almost two months and now you’re giving me
shit when I did nothing wrong?”

“I’ve been here, Nicole,”
he says in a deep rumble as he takes several large steps toward me.
He stops a few feet in front of me. “I was gone for barely a week,
that’s it.” Such bullshit. Just because I haven’t stepped foot on
Forsaken property doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on with
the club. Chel’s kept me updated. Despite the few overnight runs
he’s made to Nevada, Duke’s been here, and I’ve been sitting at
home like a moron waiting for his ass. No more.

“And when you got back,
where the hell have you been since? You sure as hell haven’t been
looking for me. How dare you come to my job and start throwing your
dick around like I owe you something after you ignored me for
almost two months!” My voice raises with every word, to the point
that I’m screaming. I can feel myself unraveling at the seams.
Every breath comes out more ragged than the last, and the heat from
his body, so close and muscular, isn’t helping any. His nearness is
sending my hysteria in a whole new direction.

We’re putting on a real
show, entertaining most of our audience members, who respond with
smiles
and laughs. If I were anybody else,
or even if I was screaming at anybody else, they wouldn’t be
laughing. Lost Girls are the bottom of the totem pole around here
and are
not
to be
smarting off to the club. I almost wish they’d punish me for
this—maybe even ban me—but they won’t. If they were going to do
that, they wouldn’t be finding so much amusement in my freak-out.
I’m not that lucky. I’m just glad they’re getting a kick out of
this, because I’m sure not. The guys disappear all of the time, and
it’s never pissed me off before. I was always just a Lost Girl, and
they were the club, and that was cool. We had fun, but Duke claimed
me. I played my part, and he hasn’t played his.

“You don’t know shit about
shit, woman. You ain’t been around,” he says, closing the distance
between us. I hold firm, refusing to cave under the intimidation of
his size. Craning my neck, I stare up at him and try not to be
distracted by his distinct smell. It’s not his leather or his soap.
It’s in his skin and bones and everything that makes Duke who he
is. Leaning down, he says coldly, “You got something else to
say?”

“Yeah,
actually I do,” I say in a huff. “We got rules for a reason. You
had your finger in my pussy, and you claimed me. You know the rules
because your club makes the rules, so how
dare
you get on
my ass for not being around the club when I was staying away like
I’m supposed to!”

“Anything else?” he snaps,
his eyes all kinds of wild. I fight the urge to reach up and slap
him. Slapping Duke might not get me banned, but it will get me in
the kind of trouble I don’t want.

“Oh yeah—who the hell is
Princess, huh?” The words fly out of my mouth before I have a
chance to think it over and stop them. But it’s too late. Now that
I’ve said it, I realize how big of a mistake it was. The entire
room goes silent, and Duke’s jaw ticks as his eyes turn very hard,
narrowing in the corners.

“My room. Now!” he snaps,
taking me by surprise. Despite the sinking feeling in my stomach, I
refuse to move. I’m so sick of this shit and playing by his
rules—rules he can’t even be bothered to remember exist. I know the
rules—I grew up knowing the rules—once you’re claimed you’re not
supposed to be partying at the clubhouse unless you came with your
man. That way the club avoids any unnecessary drama for the
brothers—like Chief—who hook up with Lost Girls on the
regular.

“No,” I say. Obviously,
this
‘Princess’
chick means something to him if it touches a nerve like this.
Why else would the entire room get so quiet? It’s not like it
matters. He’ll get bored of her eventually. “Go bother that bitch
and leave me the hell alone!”

I turn to leave, but I’m
not fast or strong enough to get very far. There’s a scuffle behind
me, and some cursing, but I can’t see what’s going on. Duke wraps
his muscular arm around my waist and pulls me up against him
roughly. Leaning in, he whispers in my ear, “We’re going to get
over this privately, or we’re going to do it out here while I make
you come. Your choice.”

There’s nothing I can say
or do to change his mind or stop this from happening, so instead of
fighting it, I just give in. And I feel like the biggest loser for
being so angry one minute only to give in like a coward the next.
Turning us around, Duke leads us through the crowd of men and the
occasional woman and down the hall. On our way out, I see that
everybody’s gone back to their previous conversations with the
exception of two people: Ryan and Jim. So much alike, courtesy of
their genes, the father and son look equally pissed off, and
neither moves a muscle. Much too late, I’m starting to get the hint
that something I’m unaware of is going on with the club.

It’s a familiar walk down
the hall and into Duke’s room. The gray paint on the walls doesn’t
look any different now than it did that night, a few months ago,
that he led me here for a very different purpose. The lock sounds
the same as the door closes behind me. The same stale smell of beer
and leather fills my nose, only this time it doesn’t excite me.
This time it makes me feel strangely nauseated. The fact that I’m
even in this situation is just stupid as fuck—no other way to
describe it. I face the outside wall of the room with Duke at my
back, refusing to turn around.

I close my eyes for just a
moment and picture my dad in his leather cut, his long, dark
reddish brown hair hanging over his shoulders. He crosses his arms
over his chest and tilts his head just slightly to the side. He
says, “Buckle up, Girl.” He was always my rock—the one person who
made everything else better and a little less fucked up. He was
strong willed and damn mean to those who crossed him. Saying I miss
him wouldn’t do it justice.

The memory makes me want
to scream at the top of my lungs and start hitting things at
random. He’s been gone a long time, and there’s little chance he’ll
be back anytime soon with the way he’s going. All I have now are my
memories.

“Turn around,” Duke says,
his deep voice steady and calm now. I open my eyes and blink away
all thoughts of my dad. It’s just wrong to stand here and think
about him while I’m in this room. As far as I know, he doesn’t know
what I’ve become, and I don’t want him to know, either.

Taking a deep breath, I
turn around and narrow my eyes at Duke. I may be complying, but I’m
not about to be pleasant while doing it.

“What?” I say, drawing the word out.
Letting out a huff, he raises his hand.

Remembering the way he looked when I
brought up his precious little Princess, I flinch back at the
movement. Steeling my jaw, I squint my eyes in anticipation of an
impact that never comes. Strong hands cup my jaw and pull me
forward. Holding my head to his chest, Duke strokes my hair and
whispers, “You think I’d hit you?”

I say nothing. I have
nothing good to say. It doesn’t matter how violent these men can
be. They don’t like to be reminded of their cruelty. Instead, I opt
for placing a light kiss on his cut, just above his SECRETARY
patch. It’s the closest I can come to an apology. He pulls my head
back slowly, his eyes searching mine for an answer. Keeping my face
as carefully blank as possible, I don’t break eye contact no matter
how much his attention makes me squirm.

“Who hit you?” he asks,
surprising me. My lips part, and my brows draw together.

“Nobody,” I say. My lie comes far too
quickly to be believable, but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t
something I’m willing to talk about with anyone, much less
Duke.

“One day you’re going to
trust me,” he says. “But in the mean time, we need to get a few
things straight.” Setting his feet wider apart, he leans in,
whispering, “Do not ever speak to me like that in front of my
brothers again. This can only work one way, and that’s you figuring
out your place. You got that?”

“My place? I have to
figure out
my
place? Oh, hell no,” I snap and push back off his chest. I
don’t want to be that near to him anymore. I don’t want to be
bullied. I just wanted that moment to last a little longer. It was
calm and quiet and gentle, and I just don’t have enough of that in
my life.

He grabs at my arms and
pushes me up against the wall. I brace for a hard hit, but it
doesn’t come. I know he won’t hurt me, but damn it, the panic
seizes at my chest anyway. He’s so in control in everything he
does, it seems. I’m about to say a hundred different things about
being cornered here when I realize it’s all useless. I could scream
at him until I lose my voice. I could try to push him away in every
physical and emotional way possible, but none of it matters. He’s
targeted me, and he won’t go away until he wants to. And he won’t
give me any notice when he’s done with me. It’ll just be over, and
my life will go back to being like it was before all of this began.
Only, by that time I’ll be used to having a man promise me stupid
shit he never intends to keep. And that’s the dangerous thing about
having something worth losing—once it’s gone—and that always
hurts.

“You over your shit, or do
I need to fuck the attitude right out of you?” he says with a cocky
smirk.

“Fuck you,” I snap and try to push him
off me. His smile falls as he expertly twists my wrists with my
arms up over my head and holds them in place with his right
hand.

“Keep it up,” he says. “You won’t like
where this goes.”

“No, I probably won’t,” I
hiss and glare up at him. He drags his free fingers along the top
of my jeans before flicking the button open. His tongue peeks out
and licks his lips. My attention diverts from his eyes to his
mouth. Wanting him despite everything just pisses me off to a point
of irrationality. Two months. Two fucking months, and this is the
shit he’s pulling? I’m not giving into him that easily. “Maybe
Princess will let you fuck her royal pussy.”

His grip on my wrists
becomes painfully tight, and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say
anything. His ability to keep himself in check when he’s being
taunted is aggravating, and words spill from my mouth before I can
stop them. Everything I want to say boils over and flies out. “Go
find your whore, because I’m done.”