Biker's Bride (Demons MC)
“New kid,” some fat guy said from behind me. “Give me your fucking pudding, son.”
I looked back at him. “Fuck off.”
Some guys laughed and he grinned. “I’ll ask again. Pudding. Now.”
I shook my head and went back to eating.
He grabbed the back of my hair and slammed my face into my tray. Hurt like a fucking bitch and sent stars swimming across my vision.
But I was up on my feet in a second. The fat guy was strong for his size, but I was stronger. I flipped my tray up and smashed it down onto his skull. He tried to tackle me, but I stepped aside, letting him sprawl out onto the ground. I got a few good kicks in before the guards came and threw me in solitary.
The Demons came for me the day I got out. I was in the yard, minding my own damn business, when he walked right up to me. Big fucker with a missing tooth.
“You fight pretty good, son,” he said to me.
“I’m not anybody’s son.”
“You ride motorcycles, kid?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Why? Wanna become friends and talk about them?”
He laughed. “You hate the world, huh? That’s okay.”
“Don’t hate the world. Just hate this fucking place.”
“True. Can’t fault that.” He leaned up against the wall next to me. “You ever heard of the Demons Motorcycle Club?”
I hadn’t, of course. Maybe whispers, but I never really knew much about it. That day, that man recruited me, made me into a pledge. When I got out, the brothers brought me to the clubhouse, made me go through the whole pledge hazing shit, and eventually turned me into a brother.
That was how it all started. That fight, that guy, that prison. Another guy, another prison, and maybe I never would have joined the Demons MC. Maybe I would have met a nice girl, got married, had kids.
Probably not, though.
After that, I’d think about Caralee sometimes. I’d think about her fondly.
But as soon as I got too fond of her memory, I’d find some club slut to suck my cock for me until I couldn’t think of anything else.
That was my life. Blood, cum, the fucking club.
I never thought I needed anything else.
Chapter Nine: Caralee
“Sit,” Larkin said. We were in an office, a pretty normal-looking office all things considered. I sat down in a chair, and he sat down behind the desk.
He eyed me quietly for a few minutes, and I shifted in my chair nervously.
“Uh,” I said finally, breaking the silence, “thank you. For helping me.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Thank Ford.”
“I did that.”
“Good.” He stared at me some more.
I’d never been so uncomfortable, so afraid in my whole life. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a shotgun leaning against the wall, and I wondered how many people it had killed.
“What do you know about the Rebel club?” Larkin asked me finally.
“Nothing,” I said. “Rod was a member, but that’s it.”
He nodded. “We confirmed that. Your friend, Rod, was a member.”
“You talked to them?”
“We have phones.” He looked down at his desk. “Cops found his body this morning. Any chance you’ll be connected?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Touch anything? Leave anything behind?”
“I touched his bike.”
“You wear gloves when you go for rides?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I had gloves on.”
“Probably fine then.” He sighed, looking at me again. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why would Ford speak up for you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, girl. I’ve seen more than you could even guess at, and I know a lie when I hear it.”
“We knew each other. When we were kids.”
“Ah,” he said. “Knew each other.”
“We were neighbors.”
“Neighbors that fucked?”
I blushed. “No. We weren’t like that.”
“Just friends then.” He grunted, nodding. “So explain why he’d claim you.”
“He said that he had no other choice.”
“He could have come to me,” Larkin said.
“I don’t know why then.”
“The Rebels are pissed,” he said. “They want your ass, think you’re involved somehow. Are you?”
“No,” I said. “Rod was my friend.”
“Didn’t think so. Now we got the Rebels and whoever killed the kid coming for you. That’s a lot of trouble.”
“What about your speech out there?” I snapped.
“You got a mouth on you,” he said slowly, and he smiled at me. I felt my blood run cold.
“Sorry,” I said.
He leaned farther back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You know what it means when a man claims you and you don’t say no?”
“Means I’m his, I guess,” I said.
“Yeah, true, but it’s more than that. For us, it’s a serious bond, a serious thing. You could say it’s like getting married.”
I went totally still. “Married?”
“That’s right,” he said. “Ford didn’t tell you that part?”
“No,” I said softly, horrified.
“For us, claiming a woman is saying you’re going to marry her. It’s like getting engaged.”
“No,” I said again, shaking my head. “No way.”