Double Trouble: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs Book 8) (2 page)

By the time I pull my battered 1993 Geo Metro up to the designated panty raid bar, the parking lot is full of bikes and cars are lined up along the highway and out into the neighboring field. I squelch the momentary panic I feel. The crowd will be good. It means I can blend in, despite the fact that my brother’s here tonight. My plan doesn’t involve staying and hanging out. I need to get in, find the biggest and baddest, offer my mouth (or any other holes they might enjoy) and leave with them.

I park at the end of the road, then change my mind and pull around to the back of the building. My purple rust bucket is a noticeable sort of car, and if my brother sees it, I’m screwed. I park in the unloading zone next to a dumpster. I’ll feign ignorance if anyone questions things. Besides, this is biker central tonight—no one’s going to be scheduling a shipment. I get out of my car, steel myself, and then begin to walk around to the front of the building. Loud music is thumping from inside. From the outside, it looks like a run down, run of the mill brick building. There are small, horizontal windows near the roof, and all of the signs wink neon and advertise types of beer. The roadside sign reads CHROME with a hubcap for the O. It’s not the most upscale place. Then again, I’d probably feel more out of place if it was.

Clutching my tiny handbag, I head for the door. There’s a few people loitering around the front, and I do my best to stay out of their way. They’re pretty drunk. The women are climbing all over two men in leather, patch-covered vests that seem to be enjoying the attention. I pull the door open and slip inside while one grabs the ass of a brunette with big, um, hair.

The interior of Chrome is wall to wall with people. There are more girls than men here, and for a moment, I feel a shot of pure despair. I’m tiny and average looking. My boobs are unimpressive and I’ve got no ass to speak of. How on earth am I going to get the attention of two big burly bikers when I have this as my competition? I watch as a stacked red-headed waitress swings past, her skirt short and tight. She’s gorgeous.

I’m so out of my league.

I’m also out of options. Ignoring my panic, I force myself to scan the room for Stuart. His braying laugh gives him away—he’s in the back at a table, seated with his buddy Lock and what looks like three cougars dressed for a raunchy night on the town. All right, I’ll avoid that section. I head for the bar and take a seat, the only free one in the place. I’m squished between two much taller women, and there’s spilled alcohol all over the bar, but I don’t mind. If I’m partially hidden from sight, so much the better.

I scan the room, considering each man wearing a cut. Lock is nice enough, and he knows me, but he’s out because he’s with my brother. I don’t know if he’s snitching, too, and it’s not something you can ask. I don’t need nice, though. I need big. Brutal. Scary. Someone that would make my arrogant brother stop in his tracks and think twice before fucking with them. Or me.

My gaze swings to the far end of the bar and I still. Perfection. I know who I’m aiming for.

There’s two men at the far end of the bar, quietly talking. One’s nursing a bottle of beer, the other’s got a mug of draft in front of him. They’re the only two not crawling with ladies. One’s utterly gorgeous, tall, stacked with muscles and thick, short blond hair. I immediately think
what’s wrong with him
. Shouldn’t women be flinging themselves at this god of a man? But I remember that Butchers go in pairs, and I focus on his buddy.

Bingo.

The man sitting next to Gorgeous is frightening. He’s huge, for starters. Like, linebacker huge. His face is broad and deeply tanned and speaks of mixed heritage, and his hair is jet black and brushes his shoulders. His big, beefy arms are covered in tattoos and he’s thick. Not with fat, but with pure bulk and strong muscle. He reminds me of a Samoan warrior I saw on a documentary once. He looks mean as hell, too. Thick, dark brows frame deep-set eyes and a mouth that doesn’t look as if it ever smiles. He’s the reason why Gorgeous isn’t attractive to women—it’s because they know they have to take Monster with him.

And Monster is perfect for what I need. If anyone’s going to scare the shit out of Stuart, it’d be this guy.

“Can I get you a drink, honey?” The bartender asks me, interrupting my thoughts.

“N-n-n-no,” I say, hating my stammer. Time to face the music. I slide out of my stool and go to approach my prey, on the verge of a panic attack.

I can do this. I can. It’s the only way to save myself from the same brutal, ugly death that Stuart’s heading toward.

With that thought in my head, I push forward, keeping close to the bar. There are so many people crammed in the place that I have to skirt around strangers and shove my way through the crowd. I keep my face averted in case one of my brother’s friends happens to notice me, or worse yet, someone else looking for a girl. From what I understand from overhearing my brother’s stories, a red thong basically means open season. If a Butcher claims me as his, I won’t get help because I was ‘asking for it’.

This panty raid thing can be a double-edged sword, I realize.

But I’m in this far. Might as well go all the way, especially when I see a guy that fits my needs perfectly. I finally make it to the end of the bar. Both men are talking, and haven’t noticed me standing behind them. From this vantage point, I see that both of them are wearing the brazen BEDLAM BUTCHERS patches across their backs, NEW MEXICO curving around the lower back.

Now that I’m here, I have no clue how to get their attention. Tap on the shoulder? Offer to buy a drink? I’m not confident around men—my Dad and Stuart have pretty much crushed any sort of self-esteem I might have had. A waitress starts heading in this direction and I see both of their heads turn toward her, and I panic. What if she’s coming to snatch them before I can?

I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I want to be yours.”

I say it so loudly that everyone at this end of the bar turns around, and shame makes my face bright red. But it has the desired effect. The two patches at the end of the bar turn around, and my gaze flicks to their vests to see their road names. The pretty one’s called Muscle, and the big brute is called Beast. Of course he is.

I feel my throat clamp shut again in panic.

“Of course you do, baby,” Muscle says, grinning at me. He’s all cockiness, this one, sure of his good looks.

But I’m less interested in him at the moment. I point at Beast. “Him p-p-p-p-please.”

“That so?” Muscle rubs his mouth and looks me up and down, sizing me up. Then, he glances over at his buddy, the Beast. “You sure you ain’t blind, baby?”

Beast snorts and takes a swig of his beer.

“I n-n-n-need him.” God, my stammer’s embarrassing the hell out of me. “I’m w-w-w-wearing red panties.”

“Huh. You seem kinda scared to me, baby.” Muscle picks up his longneck and takes a long pull. “And Beast is usually pussy repellent. Someone set you up for this?”

Mutely, I shake my head.

“Size queen?” he chuckles, clearly having a laugh at my expense.

I shake my head again. “I j-j-just want to be h-his.” I give Beast a beseeching look. Am I that repellent looking that I’m going to have to talk these two into having sex with me? Talking’s not my strong point, as evidenced by my stutter.

“You know how Butchers roll, baby? We always bring a buddy.”

So they’re going to take me up on my offer? I brighten, relaxing a little. “As l-long as I get him, that’s f-fine.”

“Oh gee, I get to tag along? Lucky me.” His voice is hard with irritation. I’ve said something that bothers him, and I cringe.

“T-that’s r-right.”

He snorts and takes another swig of his beer. “You ain’t my type, baby, but Beast here needs to get laid, so come on. There’s a table out back.”

All through this exchange, Beast has said nothing. He’s watching me, those thick, slashing brows pulled down as if he sees something he doesn’t quite approve of. But he finishes his beer just like Muscle does and they both get up from the bar and throw down a few bucks.

Then, Muscle grabs my arm and begins to steer me toward the door. “Let’s go.”

His hand feels like a brand on my flesh, but this is what I wanted, so I don’t complain. Lots of girls have sex, and if this is what gets me safety, I’ll take them both and not think twice about it. My mouth is dry as we push our way through the crowd to the outside. There’s a few bikers lingering at the front of the building, and they jeer both Muscle and Beast as they bring me out with them.

“Someone’s ‘bout to get his dick wet,” one calls.

“Try not to let Beast break her,” another teases.

“That’s why I’m going first,” Muscle calls back, unaffected by their teasing. “Get her nice and sloppy so Beast can shove his little beast into her.”

I’m starting to get a little panicky at this banter.
You knew you’d have to take both
, my brain tells me. But thinking it and hearing everyone joke about it are two different things. I glance behind me as Muscle leads me around the side of the building and sure enough, Beast is still with us, lurking a step or two behind.

There are three guys sitting at the table behind the bar, on the patio. It’s a rickety old wooden table with attached benches, a plastic cup serving as an ashtray as they smoke. At the sight of Muscle and Beast, they jump to their feet.

“Out of here, boys,” Muscle says, gesturing for them to take a hike. “Me and Beast wanna be alone with our little friend here.”

The men give me an appraising look as they obediently put out their cigarettes and vacate the area. Then it’s just me and the two men, and a yellow light swirling with moths that illuminates the area.

Muscle holds a hand out to Beast. “You got a condom on you, man?”

Beast pulls out his wallet, produces a foil packet, and hands it to the other.

I watch, eyes wide, as Muscle starts to unbuckle his pants. He sees me watching him and nods at the table. “Bend over that.”

I stare at him a moment longer, then nod and bend over the table, my stomach pressing against the splintery wood. I close my eyes, bracing myself, and a moment later I hear the tear of the condom packet and what sounds like a man shifting.

A hand touches my hip and I jolt, nervous. But Muscle’s only shoving up my skirt, and a cool breeze touches my bottom.

“Cute ass,” Muscle says, and then he jerks my legs apart. Before I can think to clamp my legs together, he pushes aside the thong of my panties and shoves a finger inside me.

I grip the table hard, because it
hurts
.

“She’s fucking tight as hell. Dry as fuck, too,” he says.

Beast only grunts.

“Guess my pretty face doesn’t turn her on,” Muscle says in a snide tone. “I’ll try and stretch her out for you.”

I hear him spit on his hand, and then he rubs his fingers up and down my sex. I squirm at the uncomfortable, invasive feeling.
Just suck it up, Cheyenne
, I tell myself.
Act like you’re enjoying this or they’re going to ditch you.

I’m not prepared, though, for the battering ram that slams into me. Muscle shoves himself deep into me, and for a moment, I’m blinded by pain. I can’t stop the sob that escapes my throat, even though I try to choke it back. I just wasn’t...ready for that. I don’t know that I’d ever be.

The man impaling me stills over me, though. A moment later, the horrible pressure between my legs eases and I’m left with nothing but an aching throb, and more sobs that I’m trying to choke back.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Muscle says. “My dick’s got blood on it.”

“Virgin?” Beast asks in a low voice.

A rough hand grabs a handful of my hair and cranes my head back. “Well?” Muscle snarls in my face. “Are you a goddamn virgin?”

I choke on my tears, trying to smother them. I try to give him a bright smile. I want to lie and say
saved it for you
, but all that comes out is “S-s-s-s-s-s-s—” Eventually, I give up and just nod.

He drops me like I’m diseased. “Fuck!” I hear the sound of his pants going back up, and I stop and pull the skirt of my dress back down, confused. “Fuck,” Muscle snarls again. He sees me, grabs me by the arm, and hauls me up from the table. “That was a goddamn shitty move. I’m not a fucking rapist.” His lip curls as he looks at me, and then he shoves me away. “Get out of my sight. I can’t handle this shit.”

And he storms away.

I stumble, trying to keep my balance. “N-n-n-o, wait,” I call, but Muscle’s striding away, and with him, my only chance at keeping myself safe. I start to run after him, only to be grabbed by a rock-hard arm that nails me across my waist.

Beast. He’s still here.

He leans in, his craggy face all shadows in the yellow light, and I can’t help but flinch backward. My legs throb, my pussy throbs, and this has all gone horribly wrong.

But he only holds me in place, and his hands touch my face.

I still.

He examines my cheeks, turning my face up to the light.

“Someone beating you?” he asks me, in such a low timbre I can practically feel the bass vibrating in my toes.

“N-n-no.”

“But you’re afraid,” he guesses. “That why you picked me and not Muscle? Cuz I’m big and ugly and mean-looking?”

My lip trembles despite my need to put on a brave face, and then I feel my resolve crumple and I start crying again. So much for my big plans.

To my surprise, Beast tugs me against him and then a huge hand strokes my hair. He cradles me against his chest, surprisingly tender. “I got you. You’re safe.”

My next sob is muffled against his stomach. “I’m s-s-s-sorry. I just d-d-d-didn’t know what else to d-d-d-do.”

“Well, telling Muscle you were a virgin would’ve been my first suggestion,” he says. He sounds gruff, but the words are kind. “He’s got a hot temper and a big ego, but he’s not into hurting girls.”

I nod against the warm chest, because it’s easier than protesting.

“You in some kind of trouble? Illegal shit?”

I shake my head.

He grunts. “Okay then. You gonna tell me what it is?”