Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) (2 page)

Sara

His body beats inside of mine. Relentless. Deep.

Lovingly.

Our mutual orgasms grip us in frozen pleasure. If it's to be only once, I have to be in this moment for real.

I close my eyes, wrapping my arms and legs around Snare, willing this heartbeat of perfection to never leave.

He seems to sense my need and draws me inside his much larger body, protecting me with his presence, his body. All of it.

I feel safe with Snare, loved.

Snare tried to deny me, and I've tried just as hard to resist him. He's family. Not by blood, but by marriage.

Family in every sense of the word. Loyal, protective, unconditional love. The only time I've ever had a sense of family is with Snare.

There are all kinds of men in this world. And I should choose anyone but him. But sometimes choices are made without our consent. Decisions of the heart, where the mind is otherwise engaged.

Like my stepbrother.
How can I not want him?

My protector—now my lover.

This is how we spend my eighteenth birthday. Not with candles on a cake but hidden in a closet that is just ours.

It's always been ours.

We found this spot when I first moved into his house at fifteen. And it's been ours ever since that first time.

The first time Snare's dad split my face open. Snare knew where to take me when the alcohol Riker had consumed, erased his restraint. 

The first time Riker tried to rape me, Snare paid with his face.

CPS took Riker for a while then. But Snare lied. He had too many  mouths to feed, and Snare was eighteen. Too young to help, too young to protect me.

But he did protect me.

Snare hurts me with his love, driving his dick deep, owning that part of me that no one else can. I would never have given myself to anyone but Snare. I love him that much.

That's why I have to leave him.

The scars on his body are proof of his love for me. Whenever Riker wanted to beat me, Snare distracted him so I could survive.

Snare wears the scars of his protection.

The scars of my guilt litter my mind, my memory—my heart.

I can't allow Snare to protect me anymore. It's the ultimate injustice. But I
can
let him have this piece of me that is precious. To be given only once. To be taken once.

My virginity, my love. They are his forever. The only gift I have to give him. The only symbol of worth. They've been Snare's since the first time I caught sight of a young man with black hair like a crow's wing. Blue eyes like the sea kissed by autumn skies. Tall and muscular, he took my breath away.

His father wasted no time beating the breath out of me.

Why did my mom marry Riker? Why does any woman commit to a violent man? She thinks he won't be that way with her.

He is.

Snare says Riker always had his eye on me, though. Between drinking binges.

I remember being fourteen and Riker would show up at our dive of a rental. Mom worked two jobs just to pay the rent. My birth father is some guy that got her pregnant and took off.

I'm determined not to do the same thing. Be the same woman.

After this stolen moment. After I give what I can to Snare. My virginity and love aren’t enough to redeem me. All that Snare has sacrificed—I could never pay him for.

I'll pay in blood and innocence.

Once I'm gone, he won't have to protect me. I'll squeal on Riker, and he'll be taken forever. Mom will be free, and Snare can have his life back. He won't have to take care of a stepsister that he never wanted to have. I don't want to be an obligation.

I want to be a choice.

I'll never forget his hands on my body. His tongue on my sex. The pleasures he gave me to erase my hurts.

My hand cups his face, and an uneasy grief slides out of my eyes, dampening my hair.

“Don't cry, baby. We'll make it. You can leave now. We can finally be together.” His large hand palms my face, rubbing the tears away. Smearing my sadness.

“I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?” His smile is crooked. It pulls at the scar above his lip where it ends in a tight knot of flesh.

I nod. “Yes, it hurts.”

Snare looks stricken, and he tries to withdraw.

I squeeze my vagina to hold him prisoner inside me.

A dark chuckle breaks the seal of his lips. “Hey”—he kisses the tip of my nose—“I thought—”

I kiss him like I want to eat his mouth. Nipping and biting his lips, running the tip of my tongue over the little ball of scar tissue at the tip of one lip.

Snare grows again inside of me.

“Baby, you're tight as fuck. I—don't want to make you more sore.”

I nod, my tears running freely. “I know, but I want the pain. I want all of what you have. I never want to forget you.”

His face closes down, a frown seating itself between his brows. “This isn't the last time we're going to have sex.” His hands move to each side of my face, my tears cascading and overflowing his fingers like a breakwater of flesh.

“Just give me all of you, Snare.”

Pain slides behind his eyes as they search mine in the murk of the closet. “You
have
all of me. I love you, Sara.”

“I love you too, more than you'll ever know.”

He begins to move within me, making slow, gentle love to me again.  Beautifully. Reverently.

All the things that make Snare hard and brutal slow to a crawl. The man that can take pain for another keeps that part of him at the edges of our lovemaking with a steel will.

But I feel his savageness at the periphery of the tenderness he reserves only for me.

Riker has left us both damaged.

I want to give Snare this chance to heal without having to worry about anyone but himself.

Snare doesn't need anyone but himself. He's smart. He graduated high school with honors, despite his upbringing.

Or because of it.

Snare got a full-ride scholarship to the University of Washington. And it's not just because he's part Native American. He got a full ride because he's just that great.

My Snare.

But no longer.

*

I throw everything into my backpack, without a thought to organization.

Panties, socks, yoga pants—my one piece of jewelry I clench in my fist. A heart necklace from Snare. I slip it on, clasping it without looking. Everything else gets tossed into the backpack.

I choke out a sob, covering it with my palm.
You're so dumb,
Sara.
So dumb.

I swipe the slim plastic tube from the top of my battered chest of drawers. Drop it twice.

The twin pink lines damn me from the ground. They damn me to the hell of my carelessness.

I told Snare that I was on birth control, because it was true, during our stolen moment within the warm, womblike depths of our hidden closet. But there's that window of time when the injection is weakening, when another is needed to set my body to thinking I’m not fertile.

What a lie.

My hands tremble as I slide the zipper of my backpack home.

Riker is due to return from his little vacation at prison. Snare's younger brother and sister, Denny and Micah, have been farmed out to state homes. This time, Snare couldn't stop the wheels of CPS turning. Actually, he's trying to get Riker a more permanent spot out of their lives forever. Snare will give testimony before a judge soon, so the twins are safe.

But I won't be there. Snare has my written testimony. I lied to him, saying I wanted to keep my thoughts straight. We had the paper notarized. I did that much.

My mother awaits my abusive stepfather's return like a junkie getting ready for her next fix.

I throw my backpack over a shoulder. I take deep zen breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. Gooseflesh seizes me, spreading over my skin in anticipation of my next move.

Snare is set to pick me up in an hour and take me to his apartment. I'll be long gone before he arrives. Snare's free now.
Isn't that what you do for someone you love? You let them go.

He's free of the stepsister he had to protect. The obligation.

Tears sear like fire behind my eyelids as I shut the door on a bedroom that was a prison since the day I moved in.

I pass the closet where I gave up my virginity to Snare. Then I pass the hidden cubby that leads to an even smaller closet known only to us.

I don't look. I can't bear the reminder. My heart is bleeding with a seeping wound of grief. My insides are too raw over leaving Snare to acknowledge the part of our lives that was only ours.

I keep moving. Walking into the living room, I catch sight of my mom.

She sits on the couch, her hands folded as though in prayer. Her eyes rise to meet mine.

I'm having your grandchild!
my mind screams.

“Where ya heading?” she asks in a dull voice, her knotted hands limp in her lap. I try not to notice my resemblance to her. The dark, chestnut hair, the deep, midnight-blue eyes. But her looks are like a faded photograph, folded at the edges, used—washed out.

I swallow a lump in my throat, blinking slowly. “Out.” I touch the edge of the doorknob of the front entrance.

“Your father's coming home today.” She scowls at me, no doubt angry over my not wanting to be here for Riker's homecoming. I repress a shiver of revulsion.

I've attended those little homecomings before. It's a drunken brawl, ending in him beating the shit out of my mom and coming after me. I can hide, but he finds me. Many times he found Snare instead.

But not all.

I squeeze my eyes shut, closing out the image of my mom's vacant stare, her almost fervent anticipation of the return of our abuser.

Not anymore.

“He's not my father,” I say, walking out the door.

I don't look back.

“Sara Isabelle!” my mother shouts from behind me.

I keep walking. Public transit is just around the corner. I'll take the train out of Kent and go to downtown Seattle where the strip joints are.

I won't show for a few more months. I'll make it.

Somehow.

Snare

Present day

Hard to keep focus.

The blonde's head bobs up and down on my cock, really working it. Mouth like a siphon—cunt like a clamp. I should be riding high about now, getting ready for the rocket ship to shoot. But my fucking hard-on is circling into noodle territory.

Fuck.

Sara.
It's a brunette head I see moving like liquid fire on my dick, not some sweet butt that thinks there's a chance to be my property.

Even though I've been wanting to sample this particular sweet butt for a year. Crystal was always too busy trying to get in Noose's leathers to give a fuck about mine. Not very fucking flattering.

Tonight's finally my turn. My chance to spread her wide and dig deep. Mine her twat for all the hidden treasure there is.

If my fucking heart would be in it.

Crystal pops off the top of my rod with a smack of her lips. She sits back on her heels and pouts. Swinging her palm in the direction of my half-erect cock, she says, “I've done what I can, but you're not here, Snare.”

I nod. The rest of my dick agrees, falling over like a flesh tree on my inner thigh. “Thanks for noticing.” So fucking helpful.

Her dark eyebrows hike. “Duh.” She draws the word out. “Can't help but notice.” She snorts, crossing her arms underneath nice but fake as fuck tits.

I sigh, giving my short hair a rough pass with my hand. “Sorry—thought I'd be into it.” Not happening. I pick up my limp dick and let it flop back down.
Damn.

Crystal licks her lips and sucks her lower lip between her teeth. “I was really wanting to get fucked tonight. I hear you have a huge cock.”

Again, flattering.
I smirk. “Yeah, well, my cock's not on a leash. It won't sit, stay, roll over. But it's playing dead pretty fucking good right now, so not tonight, sweet cheeks.”

Crystal sits on her ass, then swings her legs around and slams her feet into sky-high platform heels. “That was an ego bust.” She stands up, naked except for the heels.

I enjoy the view, like every other red-blooded male around. Huge tits, small waist, enough ass for a handful, slit totally smooth of hair, tight twat.

I glance at my dick. Uncooperatively flaccid.

Gee-zus
.

“Sorry, babe. Can't get ʼer up.”

Crystal huffs, walking to gather her shit lying all over the floor.

I watch.

She bends over, giving me a great view of her holes lined up for the taking.

My dick doesn't even twitch.

Fucking Sara.
My cock comes to life. Perverted life. I get a memory of taking my stepsister's cherry and—boom—hard-on central.

Crystal turns around, gets a load of my junk, and a sly smile spreads on her face. “I knew it,” she says, walking toward me.

There's something about the view of a chick walking in heels that puts a sort of sway to the hip. It's the hottest thing coming or going.

I slit my eyes, fuzzing Crystal out. Her fake blond hair, the bright green eyes, the spread of golden freckles over the bridge of her nose. I make it opaque and open my mind to a different memory.

A memory of Sara.

Sara's dark hair, her eyes so deep a blue they're almost black. Her smile—the scent of her skin.

Like food of the flesh.

Crystal starts working my cock. Long, sure strokes. Wetting her palm from fingertip to wrist, she takes the meat of me in her hand and drives it down to the root, followed by practiced lips.

Back and forth she goes.

But it's Sara's hand and mouth, her touch my dick gets rock hard for.

I need this.
I need to release. My cock aches painfully as though I haven't fucked a hundred chicks between that stolen moment in the closet with Sara and now.

None of it matters. None of them matter. Only Sara.

Crystal spreads herself over me, and I part my legs to stabilize my body on the couch.

Her hot cunt encloses my cock, and a painful exhale shoots out of me. Part relief, part pleasure.

Crystal begins to move up and down, squeezing on the way up and slamming her hole on my dick.

I pant, dipping my head to my chest.
I won't touch her.
Can't defile the memory of Sara.

Crystal speeds.

“Oh my God, you're a bitch-splitter, Snare,” she says in stunned wonder. “I'm gonna come on your huge cock... now!” She tosses her head back, and I catch her so she doesn't fall backward and break my dick off.

Her pussy pulses around my aching cock, and I blow. Painful jets of repressed come shoot out of the tip of me like machine-gun fire, and I groan, and it sounds kinda like a sob.

My cock throbs, my balls curling up against the base of my dick. Been too fucking long. Needed to get off. With a woman instead of a memory. 

Any woman will do.

Since the one woman I want is somewhere I can't find her.

Maybe Sara doesn't deserve to be found?

*

Feel better after I grab a shower. Thank fuck Crystal had rolled on a condom at the last second.

She's not a bad bitch, just cunning. That I don't need. I slap her ass on the way out the door of the room I use at Road Kill MC.

She blows me a kiss.

It's with a supreme sense of relief I close the door, though it doesn't last long before there's a knock. “Fuck off,” I say automatically.

“It's Noose.”

I smile. “Fuck off.”

I hear a chuckle. “I saw the sweet butt leave. Unless you're your own best friend, I can come in.”

My smile turns to a face-splitting grin. “Come in.”

Noose opens the door. He fills the space and moves through.

“You take up the oxygen in the room, dude.”

Noose nods.

He's a man of very few words. A great fucker to have at my back. A little strange with the knots, but everybody's got shit.

I have a load of shit.

“Made any progress?” I ask.

He nods.

I fold my arms. “I assume you're bugging me after I just got off because you have something new.”

Noose spreads his arms. “It's been five years, Snare. Why you looking for this girl? You gave me a name and age. But fuck, man. We're talking western Washington. Chick wants to get gone, she can.”

I step into his airspace, and he stills.

“She's not just any chick.”

Noose frowns.

“The more ya know.” Noose shrugs, tapping his temple once.

Fucker.

I tear my fingers through my hair. Not to neaten it but to give myself something to do.

“She's my stepsister,” I admit in a low voice.

Noose's golden-brown eyebrows slowly lift, his hands falling to his sides. “What in the
actual
fuck?”

“It's not how it seems.” I glare at him.

“Right,” he says, clearly unconvinced.

Noose isn't a confessing kind of guy, and so he expects nothing in return. But I've effectively hamstrung him with as few details as I could give him. Pretty much Sara's first and last name was what he got, and some basic stats.

“Sara Thomas,” Noose says dryly. “Five foot three, one hundred fifteen pounds, dark brown hair, dark blue eyes.” Noose shrugs again. “Give me something. Besides the obviously fucked-up perv program you're operating.”

My eyes hood. “Listen, you pain in my ass, I might not tie knots like a fucking wet dream, but I can still kick your ass.”

Noose smirks, giving a slight chin lift. “You can try.”

I razor my eyes on him like knives. “What if I just want to find her—make sure she's okay?”

Noose shakes his head with slow deliberation. “Nobody goes to this much trouble unless it's about pussy.” He shrugs.

I wish I could work through mental shit as simply as Noose. I just can't. Noose has been forced to scale back to the basics. At least, that's what he told me. That's what I know.

“Just barf it out, Snare. I can take it.” His smile grows. “Perv.”

Prick.
“You see this?” I point to the scar that bisects my face.

“What—the knife wound?” Noose asks, his voice as smooth as silk.

“Yeah.” My own is a raw bark.

“She's my stepsister. But she was a victim. My dad was always beating the fuck out of everyone, me—my half brother and sister. Then Sara moves in and is the new punching bag in the house. And I couldn't—” I turn away from Noose.

Tears burn the back of my eyes.
Fucking weak
. But thinking about what Sara endured, what
I
endured so she'd have less, always makes me feel like a piece of me is coming loose, getting ready to float away where I'll never find it again.

“Hey. Fuck man—I didn't know.”

“I'm not confessing shit. Sara didn't have anyone. When Riker came after her, I stepped in.”

Silence beats between us like drums.

“That's what I did,” Noose says.

I whirl, looking at his solemn face. Zero bullshit, as always. “What did you say?”

He lifts a muscular shoulder, and the leather of his cut creaks with the motion. “When I was in foster homes. Some of the fucking men beat and rape the girls, pimp them out. I have size.” He shrugs. “Not much else. Became like a game. They try to fuck up the girls, Noose becomes the target. When I got old enough, I fucked
them
up.” His voice goes low with recounting his past, like a hoarse whisper of remembered dread.

I know exactly what the fuck he's talking about.

Noose's face breaks out in a sudden grin. “I didn't fuck any of the girls, though.”

God.
“I only—had sex—with Sara, once.”

Noose's mouth drops open. “So let me get this straight. Your real dad beats everyone in the house?”

I give a terse nod.

“You become the target so the other kids don't get it as bad.”

My silence is the answer.

He nods, clearly getting the routine—he's played the game himself. “So when this new girl comes, your dad marries her mother.”

“Just to get to Sara.”

Noose appears unsurprised, his jaw sliding back and forth. Hard. Thoughtful. “He's a planner, the sick fuck.”

“Yeah,” I say, sounding pretty sick myself.

“And he gave you this scar?” His gaze travels my face.

“He tried to rape her, Noose. She was seventeen.”

Noose looks down at his thick black combat boots. “Fuck.” When his chin rises, he looks me square in the eye. “So tell me this isn't tail. Because if you did this girl once, and she's legally your sister? Tell me it's more important than family reunion time.”

I nod. “She left, man. We have sex, I'm set to pick her up the next day. Got a great dorm apartment thing on the U Dubb campus and poof, I got back home, my fucked-up dad is there already laying into Sara's mom, but she's gone.”

“So she what—lied to you?” He shakes his head.

I scrub my face, weary already. “No. Yeah—I don't know. She left a note.”

“I hate that Dear John shit,” Noose mutters.

I frown.
What?

He reads my expression and passes a palm back and forth. “Fuck it. I just mean when a chick is scared to say what the fuck they want and don't give a man a chance to respond. It's fucked up. Not a goddamned mind reader.”

Yeah.
“What about Rose?”

Noose whistles, smiling and shaking his head. “I think I about got her done with Dear John.”

“I hope so. You guys are married now. Got a kid.”

Noose's face softens, but damn, I’m glad I know him to see the subtle expression change. Noose is hard as nails. “What'd the note say?”

“Said she didn't want me to have to protect her anymore. Said I wasn't her keeper.”

“Is that true?” Noose asks.

I nod. Yeah, I was her fucking keeper.

Noose studies me and folds his arms. Blows out a harsh exhale. “You're not gonna like what I got.”

My bowels hiccup. I jerk my chin in his direction, clenching my jaw. “Tell me.”

Noose tosses his palms up, facing out. “This is not a girl that wants to be found, Snare. Just let it go. Fuck the sweet butts. Choose one of the other three point five billion girls in this world. I thought Rose was complicated pussy?
Pffft
.” Noose jerks the hairband at his nape, tightening it. “This girl makes Rose look simple.”

My palms go damp, my heart about to thump out of my body. I move into Noose, our chests almost touching. He's got a couple of inches on my six-foot-two frame, but we're both tall. Both hard.

Different nightmares. Same dream.