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  We kiss passionately and borderline aggressively. Spencer’s always been my outlet, my rough companion when I needed one, and I’m his. That’s our deal, how we fit together.

  Clothing is peeled off in near record time. His shirt, cut, and jacket are tossed to the dingy carpeted floor beside us, but when he begins to push mine up my body, I freeze.

  “Wait,” I breathe, breaking our kiss so I can speak. He looks down at me with confusion. “Keep it on.” His confusion deepens. “Just for now, okay?”

  His brows are pulled together, and I can tell he wants to ask why when he’s seen me naked many times in the past, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits up on his knees between my legs and eyes my jeans.

  “But the pants are coming off, right?” he asks teasingly.

  “They better.” I smile.

  He groans, and his perfect lips twist into another smile. “Good answer, Baby Girl.” He coos approvingly.

  Spencer wastes no time undoing my belt and the buttons of my jeans and unzips me. I’m giggling as we both awkwardly shift from side to side to peel them off, but they’re gone soon enough, even after he struggled with my shoes.

  I watch him twist and reach behind. I hear the drawer of the nightstand slide open and the sound of a cardboard box. It doesn’t surprise me they keep condoms in the Hoe-tel.

  But while he’s fishing for the thin slip of latex protection, I’m not above ogling. Spencer’s buff, toned, and defined. He always has been. He has that good ol’ boy charm mixed with a bad boy attitude, and he’s just vain enough to make sure he’s the whole package. With his jeans sagging low on his hips and his boxers the same, I’m more than capable of admiring his sculpted abs, and even the muscles that cut sharply above his hip bones.

  When he twists back around, a square condom wrapper is clamped between his teeth. He wags his eyebrows at me sarcastically, rips open the package, and shoves his pants down. His rock-hard cock bounces free, and I feel my core ache in anticipation. Not only is he built like an Adonis with a naughty streak a mile wide, but Spencer’s a well-endowed man: thick and long.

  How’d I get so lucky?

  I meet his stare and bite gently on my bottom lip, not bothering to hide my smile or the fact that I want him as much as he seemingly wants me. He chuckles, but the sound is deep in his chest, which makes it almost sinister. My pulse quickens. Sliding the condom on with a practiced hand, Spencer closes the distance between us again. The heat of his chest burns me through my shirt while my thighs are on fire as they wrap around his bare hips.

  I feel him guide himself to my entrance, but he hesitates. His darkened eyes meet mine, and a vindictive smile forms.

  “Say it,” he says as he slides his dick along my folds, pressing it against my clit just to watch me squirm. We both know I’m already excited, already wet and ready because I always am when he’s around, just like he’s always half-hard, but the tease is what he loves.

  “Say what?” I ask innocently. I know what he wants, and he knows it.

  His smile remains, but he growls at me and I feel it radiate through my body. He releases his dick and reaches for my throat. His massive hand wraps around my neck. He squeezes just enough I can feel him, just enough to let me know he has the control, and it forces heat to pool between my thighs.

  “Say it.” His voice is drenched with desire, and I love it.

  I lunge forward just enough to bite his bottom lip. He growls again, and I finally answer him. “Fuck me,” I tell him. “Fuck me deep.” I bite his lip again, “And fuck me hard.” I rake my fingernails down his bare back and delight in the sharp hiss he makes.

  “That’s my girl,” he says approvingly.

  Spencer grabs my arms and pins them to the couch above my head with a single massive hand. He guides himself to my entrance again and slams into me sharply. I cry out as he fills me, stretching my channel to fit him.

  I feel him pause, which I’m internally grateful for because it gives me a chance to catch my breath, but he doesn’t remain still for long. Soon, Spencer begins his assault, and my world is spinning. His grip on my wrists loosens, and I pull my hands free, immediately digging my fingernails into his back again.

  Spencer pins my hip beneath him and grabs the couch’s arm with his free hand for extra leverage. His assault is damn near violent, and I love every second of it. His primal grunts and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh fill my ears.

  “Oh God,” I pant. My brain is fuzzy, and my body is vibrating. Spencer’s energy—his overall intense nature—threatens to devour me and I am so willing to let it. “Fuck, yes.”

  He’s so deep I’m amazed he can fit at all. The springs of the couch squeak their protest with each thrust, the wooden couch arm creaks and groans as he continues to use it to his advantage, and the tension in my body builds.

  “You’re so goddamn tight,” he growls in my ear. “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy.” He bites my shoulder viciously, and my clit tingles in response. “I’ve missed the way you sound.”

  I respond by slicing my nails down his back again, and he practically howls in pain. Spencer pushes himself up and glares down at me.

  “Fucking bitch.”

  I smile, but it vanishes when he throws his bodyweight down on me, thrusting his cock as deeply into me as he can. My eyes roll back, and I feel myself losing control. It won’t be long, and he seems to sense it.

  My hips buck when I feel his thumb on my clit, pressing firm circles against it while he continues to pound into me.

  “Oh God,” I breathe. “Don’t stop, Spence. Fuck me.”

  I vaguely hear him laugh at my eagerness to come, but I don’t care. The tension that he’s been building in my body is so close to reaching its peak.

  Spencer props himself above me like a fucking magician. I honestly don’t know how he manages to keep thrusting and keep teasing my sensitive mound while he threads his fingers through my hair. All I know is the sharp ache that radiates through my body when he pulls my locks is all it takes for me to fall over the edge and tumble into my orgasm.

  His name leaves my lips on a scream and my body shakes. Every muscle tenses, relaxes, and explodes at the same time. My fingernails again slice into his skin, breaking it open in long gashes, but I don’t think he notices. A moment later, Spencer roars as he comes, spilling himself inside me.

  His thrusts slow substantially as we both gradually come back to reality. Eventually, he stops. We’re both shaking, quivering, and completely sated.

  “Fuck,” he sighs as he pulls himself out of me. Spencer meets my eye, and kisses me tenderly. “Missed you, Mikey.”

  “Missed you, Spence,” I reply with a smirk.

  He kisses me again and sits up. With a few more groans, he stands and heads for the bathroom to dispose of the condom. I see perhaps twelve or so bright red lines slicing down his back and across his ribs. It makes me smile.

  Chapter Three

  I don’t know what time it is when I finally wake up, but my head throbs from the whiskey and my body hurts from a combination of a shitty mattress and the intense fuck session from the night before.

  With a groan, I roll on to my back. My eyes fall to the ugly, stained tiled ceiling above me. I never understood how ceilings could become stained, and then I realized I didn’t really want to know, so long as the brown stain stays up there.

  My eyes drift to the room around me, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. The bathroom door’s closed, but that’s the extent of it, and when I hear the toilet flush, I know why. Spencer emerges a moment later with a smile on his lips as he tightens his belt. He’d stayed the night with me, and I was glad for it.

  “Mornin’, beautiful,” he says as he sits on my side of the bed near my hip. He reaches for his boots and begins to tug them on.

  “Morning.” I sigh a yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine,” he replies as he ties one of his boots. “What’re you doing today?”

  I shrug a single shoulder
and push myself up so I can better speak. “Getting shit together at the house, I guess.”

  I notice him eye me briefly, but he doesn’t say anything. Like every other time he gives me that look, I swear he sees through me, sees everything I want to keep hidden. But he doesn’t press, and I can’t tell if it’s because he hasn’t figured out the problem yet, or because he’s afraid I’ll turn tail and run again. Instead, he finishes tying his boots and stretches to the end table to grab his shirt.

  “Okay,” he nods. “You stayin’ in town for a while?”

  Agitation rises inside of me that he thinks I’d come home then just disappear, but I have randomly vanished before, so I don’t say anything about it. While he’s waiting for me to reply, he leans over me, planting his hand on the other side of my body so he can prop himself over me.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I plan on it, at least.”

  “Good.” He smirks. The hand that was keeping him up leaves its place by my hip and slips under the sheet covering me. He doesn’t hesitate to slip his fingers between my thighs. I gasp softly because I’m still tender, but I don’t push him away. Instead, I spread my legs just a bit wider, and his smile grows. Spencer easily glides his digits along my folds and happily rubs my clit a few times before a soft groan echoes in his throat. “Plenty of time to play, then.”

  I roll my eyes and playfully clench my legs together. He laughs lightly to himself and retracts his hand. Still meeting my gaze, he licks my essence from his fingers and winks.

  “Fucking perv,” I tease.

  He leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. It’s relatively chaste, all things considered, but it leaves me no less excited.

  “I’m a deviant, baby,” he jokes as he stands. Spencer grabs his cut and threads it on. “See you later, Baby Girl.”

  I nod and watch him leave. The back of his cut smiles at me as he leaves and closes the door behind him. Even if people weren’t already wary of the Devils, their logo was enough. A massive Grim Reaper barely peeks out from beneath his hood while his skeletal hand clutches a duel-ended scythe and a pair of boney horns juts out from his head. A banner patch above states their name, one beneath says which territory they inhabit.

  All of the cuts had those three things, and patches on the front, too. Spencer’s were simple. On the left side above a pocket sat two thin patches. One read Original, the one beneath it Charter, letting any who read it know that he was a part of the first crew. Even though he’s second generation, anyone inducted into the Devil’s Sons of Hope, California, are forever considered the originals, and their patches will always reflect that. It lets the rest of the charters across the country know they’re royalty amongst the name.

  Finally, the patch on his right said V. President and the one beneath it Reaper. That particular patch came about when the wearer did some not-so-nice things on behalf of the club, usually ending in the death of someone else.

  I yawn again, stretch, and groan once more when every muscle in my body screams its anger for what I’ve done. Nearly twelve hours on the road followed by drinking, rough sex, and sleep on a paper-thin mattress. Yeah, my body fucking hated me.

  Whether I want to get up or not, I do. I find my pants, panties, sock and shoes, and get dressed. I roll my neck from side to side as I leave the backroom and head into the main bar. Hoes and their Johns litter almost every surface they can. The club members were gone leaving behind the hangers-on—those who wanted to be a Devil, but weren’t—and the Biker Bitches that “tended to their needs”. I roll my eyes, shake my head disapprovingly, and make my way outside into the blinding sun.

  This is the world I grew up in. My dad was a Devil. He was one of the original thirteen (lucky number) who created the club way back in the seventies alongside Alan, Chas’s dad, Jackson, and ten others. Because of that, I grew up watching all of this shit and ended amazingly well-adjusted despite the fact.

  There were a few of us Club Kids who still hung around. There’s me, Spencer, Chas, and a few others. Chas and Spence joined up as soon as they could. The pair was all-too-happy to don the leather once they were sixteen. It didn’t surprise anyone that they wanted to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. I wasn’t afforded the same luxury, however. No girls allowed. Still, the three of us are considered “Biker Royalty”.

  Me, Chas, and Spencer have always been inseparable, though. We’ve been together since diapers, and since my home life was such shit—even by club standards—I lived with both of them at one point or another. They are my boys, my brothers, and of everyone I left behind, those two hurt me the most to leave.

  To someone on the outside, it might sound wrong that at one point or another I’ve slept with both of them, but I truthfully couldn’t care less what anyone on the outside thinks. It made sense to us—it fit—and it continued to fit until Chas got with his ex-wife. I may be a lot of things, but homewrecker isn’t among them, so I obviously left Chas to be happy while Spence and I continued on.

  Growing up in this world, you claw and scrape and search for any stability you can possibly get, and that’s what they are for me. Spence is the vicious, angry, protective guard dog that is so loyal and loving to the ones he cares about and will draw blood on those who threaten that without a second thought. Chas is kinder, at least to me, and gentler. He’s endearing and sweet and loving, but no less vicious. They’ve protected me, consoled me, and saved me from myself. I can’t put into words how much I love them both, so anyone who thinks me having sex with both of them in the past is whore-ish can go fuck themselves.

  And I know that’s part of why I came back. I know I came home so they could do it again, so they could save me from myself, but that’s not the only reason. There isn’t a man in this world that’s worth even half of one of them. I never should’ve left.

  Chapter Four

  I spend the next few weeks working my way back into the familiar life I left behind. A few of the guys from the club have even given me some hand-me-down furniture. Most of it looks like it’s been through the wringer, but I don’t care. It’s all new to me and more than I had before, so I’m glad to have the kitchen table with a rickety leg and the couch with cigarette burns on the ugly upholstery. I’m just grateful to have something.

  But as I’m immersed once again in the biker world, I’m actually struggling to find where I belong. My “rank” amongst those who wear the cut used to be obvious. I had clout, stature. I was the daughter of one of the original thirteen, but I left for years and now I don’t know where I stand.

  As I lean against the bar, barely paying attention to the world around me, my eyes suddenly find laser focus on the blonde across the way. Spencer is standing at the pool table playing a game with his dad, but they aren’t alone. The Biker Skanks are hanging around them like a cloud. They’re smiling, giggling, flashing their cleavage, and doing their best to get the attentions of the top-ranking Devils. Alan is barely amused, more annoyed when they stand so close he can’t take his shot, but Spencer is eating up the attention like he always does.

  A trickle of jealousy moves down my spine, and my shoulders tense when Spencer lets the skank press her back to his chest. Now, I know Spencer and I aren’t together. We’ve never been an actual couple and always on the casual side, but I don’t like it. I don’t like seeing some woman rubbing her ass against him, and I don’t like the smile on his face as she does. I hate it, and it takes far more energy to keep myself from racing across the bar and taking hold of her hair than I like to admit. Images of grabbing her hair, throwing her to the ground, and smashing her face flash before my eyes, and I know I have to leave. After being gone for so long, I feel like I don’t have the right to go over there and “mark my territory”. Besides, like I said, Spencer and I aren’t actually dating, so…

  Downing the drink I had, I decide to simply leave the situation. I’d rather be home than watching some chick try to fuck Spencer on the pool table in front of everyone.

  ****

  As I step out
of the shower and wrap a thin, cheap towel around myself, my eyes drift to the barely-fogged mirror. When they do, my gaze falls to the scars I now bear. My life in Hope was chaotic and crazy, so far removed from what television and movies portray that statistically I should have been dead years ago, but I felt safe. I shouldn’t have, for all intents and purposes, but I did. It was the world out there that hurt me, that scares me and nearly cost me my life.

  A single, circular scar stands out against my skin, burning bright pink because of the hot water I was just in. It’s nestled just beneath my collar bone and above my right breast. I shift just enough to look at my back. I let the towel drop to my waist and reveal the rest of my newly acquired adornments. I was gone for four years, and they took all that time to get, but now that I have them, they’ll never leave.

  To repair the damage done by the first wound, the surgeons had to cut me open. A long, thin scar wraps around my back, starting beneath my shoulder blade and wrapping around my side until it ends beneath my arm. I follow it with my eyes, turning to face the mirror again as I do. Another bright pink, permanent mark touches the front of my left shoulder. It’s thin and about four inches long, matching the one on my upper thigh. As I stare at the remnants of my past, I feel them burn. I feel the ache of them like they’re brand new and there are even more.

  My eyes burn and I know I’m about to cry, so I wrap myself up again and exit the bathroom to change.

  When I’m dressed I head into my back yard. There’s a huge picnic table that’s been here for years nestled beneath a tree, and that’s where I sit with a beer. I can’t seem to fall asleep just yet, so wasting some time might be my best option. About a half an hour later, my phone rings, and I answer it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where you at, Baby Girl?”

  I clench my jaw on reflex. I can see Spencer and the Skank in my brain again the moment I hear his voice, and the jealousy returns almost immediately.