Damaged & Dangerous: The Sacred Hearts MC Book VI
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Authors: A. J. Downey
Tags: #Sacred Hearts MC
Damaged &
Dangerous
The Sacred Heart’s
MC Book VI
by A. J. Downey
Text Copyright ©
2015 A.J. Downey
This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
All Rights
Reserved
To Jennifer Mitsada, Bethany Stonebraker, Jennifer Wolf,
Melanie Beswick, Sherelle Ross, Deanna Bewley-Davis, Gabrielle Prendergast, and
all the folks in NaNoRotica for all your support. Seriously. Y’all are my
favorite bitches to bitch about bitches with. You’ve kept me sane, propped me
up, pushed me to keep going and have just generally cheered me on through a lot
of things going sideways over this last summer. This is for you.
Dani…
Four months ago…
I hated this. I hated what I’d become and I wished that
Jared had never brought me here. Life wasn’t a fairy tale, though. It never would
be. There wouldn’t be any Prince Charming to come to save the day. And I wasn’t
some fairy tale princess, either. I was just an idiot girl who loved an idiot
boy. And now here I was, sprawled naked and open on the pool table, the felt
rubbing my back raw as my
Ol’ Man
pounded his cock mercilessly inside of
me.
The big problem was: I didn’t want him. I had never wanted
him, had never felt anything close to desire for the giant ass, and I never
would. I had loved Jared, believed in him and our teenage dreams, but that had
all turned to shit the minute he decided to prospect for the Suicide Kings
motorcycle club.
I winced as Pig-Pen grunted above me. I
turned my head to the side. Away from having to
look at him. I’d become good at disassociating over the years, at finding a
place inside my own head where I could pretend that I wasn’t here. That I was some
other girl, in some other place. A girl who was happy and carefree, who had never
been idealistic, who had never believed that Jared would protect me and that I
was his special girl. He had been
so stupid!
And me? I had been right
along with him. I was so incredibly naïve to believe that this was just a club,
or that these men actually looked out for one another.
I. Was. So. Stupid.
I felt eyes on me, which was nothing new, and I let my gaze
focus for a moment, sliding along the wall, along the couches and low coffee
tables. There. He sat on the end of one couch with a foot propped nonchalantly
on the edge of the table in front of him, the beer in his hand resting casually
on his knee. I knew they watched, they always watched. Some even took their
dicks in hand and jerked off
while
they watched. I hated it. I always
had, I always would, and this was no exception.
Pig did it just to punish me; the
public sex. Honestly, the rough public fucks were always worse than the
beatings were. It only happened when I really pissed him off. At the same time,
the public sex didn’t always hurt the next day. That, at least, was something
to be grateful for. Right? Well, they didn’t hurt unless Pig-Pen was in a
sharing mood. Then they hurt. They hurt a lot, and for a long time.
My thoughts drifted back to this particular man and his
staring. I had to admit there was something different about him. His cool green
eyes slid over me as he watched my tits bounce, his expression distant. He
looked at me stoically, appraising, but with a detached interest. It was almost
as if he was watching one of the other guys fix a bike.
Finally, it struck me what was different. Unlike the others,
he was not amused by my plight. A deep, hidden sorrow filled his eyes for a
fraction of a second when they met mine. I swallowed hard. I didn’t cry
anymore when Pig-Pen did this to me, but there was something about the way this
unknown, new prospect looked at me. It caused my hidden shame to rush to the
surface, pricking the backs of my eyes with hot tears.
I tore my eyes away from the man and turned my head to the
empty wall on my other side. Pig-Pen grunted and thrust into me one last time
before letting out a gusty, satisfied sigh. He slapped my tits together and
pulled out, tucking himself back into his pants, and all I wanted was to
fucking shower.
“You want a piece, Prospect?”
I was horrified at the question. I mean, I knew I’d pissed
him off. But he’d never offered me up to one of the
prospects
before. I
clamped my mouth shut on my bitterness and covered my chest with my arms as I
blushed furiously.
“No thanks, man. I’m good,” the unknown man called from the
couch.
“Suit yourself. Get gone, Coon, I’m fuckin’ sick of looking
at you.” He gave my outer thigh a rough, stinging slap. I sat up immediately,
then jumped down from the pool table and snatched my dress off the floor. He
didn’t need to tell me twice.
I hated that nickname – Coon – hated it to the very bottom
of my soul. I wasn’t Dani Broussard anymore, I was Raccoon. Rac, if they were
feeling charitable, but still. The nickname was a result of just about always
sporting two black eyes from Pig-Pen, whom no one fucked with. Forget about
standing up for his bitch, his
property
. The name reduced me to a
nothing, a non-person like the rest of the strung-out meth and heroine junky
whores who hung around Pig and the Suicide Kings. I had never truly been one of
them, and never would be. No matter how bad it’d gotten over the last three
years, I never touched that shit voluntarily. I’d die first.
I bolted for the nearest bathroom, taking advantage of
Pig-Pen’s order to get fucking gone. He didn’t have to add the ‘or else’
anymore. Still, I felt the prospect’s sympathetic gaze slide down my nude back
as I clipped along the narrow hall out of the game room. The back of my neck
stung with heat. Whether I was feeling a blush of humiliation or a burn from
the friction of the pool table’s felt, I had no clue. All I knew was that I had
been dismissed, and I wanted gone. I wanted gone so badly it was a sharp ache
in the center of my chest. I slammed the door to the bathroom behind me and
leaned heavily against it, jumping when Pig-Pen’s booming voice filtered
through the red-painted wood.
“Bitch!” he bellowed, “What the fuck did I tell you about
slamming doors!?” I held my breath until my chest burned and waited for him to
start hammering on the other side. Long moments ticked by, and I slowly let the
breath out.
Just yelling this time. No banging, no pounding, no fists… I
was so relieved, the tears that had started earlier on the pool table came back
again. I sniffed and forced them down. There was no sense in crying. If Pig
saw it, he would just flip his lid. And I didn’t need that.
Red-XIII
Present day…
The wind was cold, a blade made out of pure ice that cut
across my exposed skin. That is, what little skin showed between my face mask
and the ski goggles I used in the wintertime. I was a full-time rider: no cage,
no fair-weather bullshit. I was on the back of my bike, rain or shine, and
that’s just how it was. It had its disadvantages, like moving to a climate that
actually had snow and freezing temperatures, but I adapted. Which is why I got
the assignments I did.
My main objective: to feed information to my real club. The
secondary one? Running across state lines with a couple of Suicide King
douchebags called Bandit and Flyer. This was the eighth time in the last six
months I’d gone out on a run, and the first time still fucking got me. That
first run had been just in time for me to miss a raid on the SHMC’s clubhouse –
a raid that’d gotten one of our officers killed, along with another officer’s
Ol’ Lady.
We were all, and by all, I meant Sacred Hearts
and
Suicide Kings, stepping lightly for now. The clubhouse invasion was a
clusterfuck on both sides from the word ‘go’. The Suicide Kings were a fucking
joke as far as clubs went, just as much at war on the inside as they were on
the outside. Griz wasn’t holding shit down
for
shit as Pres. And to top
it off there was Pig-Pen, his VP, who had a habit of getting some really
fucking great ideas when he was high. Pig had just enough guys terrified of his
fucking psycho ass that they’d go along with whatever he said, as long as it
kept them off his fucking radar.
Only reason Pig’s reign of terror worked was because the
club was mostly made up of new kids who didn’t know any better, or dudes who
were just that fuckin’ dumb. I about shit a brick sideways when D called and
told me what went down. As a prospect, I wasn’t entirely up on what was what.
Any club worth their salt kept it that way until a prospect proved himself. At
least the Suicide Kings had that half right. I’d moved up from hang around to
prospect inside a month, which was un-fucking-real and honestly just a stroke
of good luck.
There had been a barroom brawl and I’d had Pig-Pen’s back,
busting a bottle over some dude’s head who’d been about to waylay the SK’s VP
with a chair. Griz had seen it and told Pig-Pen to make a note of it. But Pig,
ever on his own fucking program, took that to mean he should move me up a rank.
I could tell it didn’t sit well with Griz. But at the same time what had been
done couldn’t be undone, not without losing face, so I’d graduated a couple
months ahead
of my class. Some
serious fucking half-assed bullshit if I ever saw any. Especially considering
that I knew where everything and everyone was inside the first month.
Inside those first few weeks, I was able to tell D and the
guys exactly where the Suicide Kings’ meth operation was. Griz’s home address,
too. They’d gotten the drop on Danimal and Joker at the meth lab. Joker
thought he was hot shit, slashing Blue like he did, but Blue was fucking fine.
The meth lab was another story, blown to hell and gone. If that hadn’t filled
Griz and Pig full of piss and vinegar! Especially Pig, now that his steady
supply of crank was all dried up. Poor baby.
I’d told D he should have killed those two rotten fucks, but
he’d disagreed. Maybe he was going soft in his old age. Who the fuck knew? But
after Chandra and Reaver … shit, man. I could feel it through the line, how
much he was kicking himself for not listening to me. The thing I liked and
respected most about D was that he didn’t make the same mistake twice.
I rolled to a stop with Bandit and Flyer and sighed. We were
almost back to the SKMC’s house, which was just a badass retrofitted garage
building in an industrial area. No real sleeping quarters, not that it stopped
them from crashing out, but it had the main club staples of any house. Booze,
drugs, bitches, and some game tables.
I fully intended
to call dibs on their hockey table once we had all these sons of bitches in the
ground. It was the one thing the SHMC’s house, which did have all the comforts
of home, was lacking. Not to mention my real club had way classier Ol’ Ladies
and club sluts. I wouldn’t stick my cock into any of
these
bitches even
after wrapping it twice.
Coon.
The name came unbidden to my mind and conjured up the image
of long black hair, silkier than a crow’s wing, and cornflower blue eyes that
were un-fucking-real. Those eyes were surrounded by long, dark lashes, and
pale, perfect skin that just begged to be touched. She was the only looker out
of all the club’s washed out, drugged up bitches, and she was completely
different from them all at the same time. She didn’t use. Her eyes were too
sharp, too clear, and all it took was one look to know that she was fucking smart.
So I didn’t have any fucking idea of A) why she was hanging around here, and B)
how the hell she was hooked up with Pig-Pen, the worst of all of the fucking
guys.
“Hey! Pretty-boy! Stop yer fuckin’ dreamin’, get yer shit,
and let’s go!” I looked over to Flyer. He had his nose so far up Gordy’s ass it
was a wonder he didn’t have a white film over his eyes like some god damned
cave fish. Gordy was another real winner. Loyal as all get-out to Griz, and a
mean motherfucker. He was the new SAA for the Suicide Kings since the old one,
a dude by the name of Snake who had served under Sparks and then Griz, had gone
down in the attack at the SHMC.
I got off my baby, a fully resto’ed 1963 Harley Davidson
panhead. Her skin was a glossy, sleek black, and silky smooth to boot. Her
chrome gleamed softly under the overcast, early March sky. I unfastened my
saddlebags and threw them over my arm. With boots thudding and crunching
against the half-gravel, half-packed dirt of the lot, I made for the club’s
back steps and Flyer’s glowering mug.
“What the fuck you daydreaming about, Prospect?” he
demanded as I went to slide past him.
“What do you think, after a long-ass ride like that?” I
demanded. He frowned, perplexed, and I threw the dumb fucker a bone. “Pussy!” I
exclaimed, and he barked a laugh and slapped me on the back.
“Well the pussy is
inside
, boy.” I scowled.
“Sure as fuck ain’t doing any of these busted-ass hoes,” I
griped.
“You ain’t lyin’,” Flyer snorted. “It does in a pinch, and
some
of ‘em suck cock real good.” I
felt bad for any of these bitches that were required to put Flyer in their
mouth. Not that he was a bad dude to look at, bearded with long hair to his
shoulders, trim but not cut like me, certainly not fat or old, although he had
some liberal doses of white to his short beard and greasy shoulder length hair.
No, the way I heard it: Flyer – for a dude in his early
forties – had partied a little too fucking hard, and wasn’t entirely careful
about who he partied with. He didn’t always keep his shit clean and as a result
he had, on more than one occasion, given a girl some VD or another. Nothing he’d
passed around the club had been lethal or incurable, yet. But that was the
operative word…
yet.
So far, it was just a case of the clap and
something else easily fixed by antibiotics. Not sure of the name, but yeah. I
had to shudder inwardly. There was no fucking way I was going to touch any of
these bitches with the way these nasty fuckers shared. Except Coon. I might
make an exception for her… You know, if she were checked out… and I’d still
fucking wrap it up.
Pig didn’t share her much. But when he did put her through
that particular slice of hell, he insisted that the other brothers wear a
raincoat. I knew Pig fucked around on her but when it came to any of these
other nasty whores, he wore a condom. Even if they were just sucking him off.
He may be a drugged-out, crazy, psycho motherfucker, but at least he had his
shit straight on that one thing.
I ruminated on all of this shit as we traipsed through the
club. Lo, and behold! There was the girl of the hour. Last I’d seen her had
been a week and a half ago, after I’d gotten back from the last run. One of the
first
times I’d ever laid eyes on her, she’d been laid out on the pool
table, eyes vacant and staring as Pig had ravaged her body. Plowing into her
like he was gonna come out the other side. It was disgusting and, at the same
time, fuckin’ tragic. I could tell she’d gone someplace else, someplace deep
inside her own head, and I couldn’t help but study the perfection that was her
face.
She’d felt me staring, I think, because her eyes had
suddenly focused on me. Whatever she saw on my face, in my eyes, no matter how
carefully I’d schooled myself neutral, had hurt her. Her bright eyes were
suddenly so much brighter, illuminated by the tears she just barely managed to
hold back. She’d turned away then, and I’d felt frozen and heartless down to my
very core. Never in my life had I felt more like a depraved douche, and I’d
done some pretty spectacularly shitty things in my time. Which was why I was
here, in an effort to balance my Karmic scales some. So far, I felt like I was
doing a bang-up fucking job.
“You look like a tool,” Pig said from where he sat at the
bar. Rac put another beer down in front of him, a cold one, and whisked away
his empty. She turned and continued stocking the bar.
“Good to see you too, Man,” I said with a smile. He
chuckled. I set my bags on the unfinished concrete floor, unfastened my helmet,
and ripped the grinning skull facemask off the bottom of my face. The Velcro
gave way with an angry, grating sound. I whisked the amber ski goggles off my
face and stretched my jaw, squeezing my eyes shut and opening them wide.
I stuffed the headgear into my overturned brain bucket and
set it on the bar before cutting to the fucking chase. I brought the two bricks
of speed out of my saddlebags and set them on the bar by Pig’s elbow.
“You got a brass pair to go along with that mile-long cock
of yours, Buddy,” he said, taking a toke off the joint he had grasped between
his fingers. He held it out to me and I took a hit off it. Weed had never done
much for me but mellow me out and give me the munchies, but if I wanted to keep
up appearances, this was the way to go. I really wanted no part in any of the
other shit these guys did on the regular.
I handed the joint back and exhaled. “Tell me something
I don’t know,” I said.
Pig chuckled. “Get Whitezilla here a beer,” he ordered, and
I put up my hand in Rac’s direction.
“No thanks, Darlin’. If it’s all the same, and you ain’t got
nothin’ else for me to be doin’, I’d like to take a ride out to the ol’
homestead and sleep for, like, a week.” I racked my neck from side to side and
felt a satisfying pop.
“Yeah, sure thing, Man. Good job out there.” He held out a
hand and I grasped it and let him pull me in and slap me on the back. I returned
the favor and snatched my helmet off the bar, hoisting my bags up. I made for
the door.
I was hooking the bags back up to my bike when the back door
swung wide with a bang. I looked up, Rac had run full tilt into the crash bar
and she looked down at me from the top step. She skipped lightly down the back
stairs and strode across the lot towards me.
“You dropped this.” She held out my face mask and I crooked
a smile at her.
“Thanks.” I took it from her. “Been meaning to ask you
something.”
“Oh?” Her tone was cool but her voice was thicker, like she
had some kind of a cold or something coming on. I swept my gaze over her
porcelain doll features.
“How’d you end up here?” I asked softly.
“Same way you did,” she said. I had to laugh.
“I doubt that, Sweetheart,” I said dryly. She tilted her
head to the side, considering, and started walking backwards towards the steps.
“You’re a prospect, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“So was Jared. That’s how I got here.”
I frowned but she was up the stairs and back inside in a
flash. I geared back up and drove home, which was an hour from here on a lake.
A small fishing cabin my granddad had owned and no one else in my family had
wanted. Didn’t have electricity, but it served its purpose when I needed a
fucking break from these assholes. Despite the place being a summer cabin, the
woodstove worked and there were enough permanent residences nearby that it got
cell reception.
As soon as I got a fire started and the shit sorted in my
bags, I sat down, put my feet up, and pulled out the burner I talked to D on.
He picked up on the fourth ring.
“Was wondering when you was gonna check in. I was starting
to get worried. How the hell are ya, Thirteen?”
“I’m good, D. They had me go all the way out to fucking
Colorado, but the amount of shit I brought back… that should fucking hold off
any more runs for a while. You guys about ready to start playin’ ball?”
“Girls are good in Florida. I forgot to tell you, there’s a
bit of a change in plans concerning Rev. His woman is pregnant.”
“Is that what that picture was?” I asked.
“How the hell you get that?” he demanded.
“Came through on my personal cell, someone mass-texted it. I
have so many goddamned contacts, I didn’t realize I still had anybody from the
club in it. No worries, my cover is secure. No one saw shit. I don’t leave
things like that lyin’ around.”
D grunted into the phone, “Cops‘re still sittin’ on us. They
still watching you?” he asked.
“If by ‘you,’ you mean The Suicide Kings, then yeah.
Unmarked tan cargo van when we pulled in from the run. It’s a good thing
Gordy’s a paranoid fucker and sweeps for listening devices on the regular.
Pretty sure they only got visual. They’ll get tired soon enough and fuck off
onto something bigger and better.”
“Yeah. With our history, they ain’t investigatin’ or cryin’
too hard about our plight.” Dragon sounded both tired and downright pissed off
at that. I didn’t blame him. Chandra deserved a lot better. Reave, too! Don’t
get me wrong. But as a brother, you expect this shit to happen. No women and no
children had been the SHMC motto from the beginning, even before our reformed
ways. We did some gnarly and seriously rancid shit back in the day. Guns,
drugs, gambling – you name it. But we always left the women and children out of
it.