The Hunted (15 page)

D
uring my shift
, I fucking float and glide across the bar floor like a freaking Olympic gold medalist. It’s been days since the best tasting wine graced my lips and our love was justified, but it sits on the tip of my brain flooding all of my senses. I still sleep alone at night while Van goes out and does what he does.

“Hear you’re going with Van tonight.” Stew stares me down from his side of the bar.

I only nod.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. You won’t be able to stomach it, kid. Just leave good enough alone.”

I haven’t let the subject drop with Van. I want to know where he goes at night and silence that damn near invisible twinge of needing to justify he’s not the killer. The two giant men who showed up in the alley are the men Van works for. They’re in a motorcycle club that rules our part of the city. Van Hollis isn’t a Sons of Iron Satan, but I guess as close to the club as you can get without patching in. When he explains it all to me, it’s like a new language.

Z is the president and has always had Van’s back, but it only took me a handful of stories to understand why. Van killed in prison for him. A man who crossed the club. Good, bad, or ugly Van never holds back on the truth. Sometimes that fact is comforting and other times I wish he’d develop a filter, but it’s all or nothing with this man.

He fights for the club, earning them money and he gets a small chunk of it. He fights to fight and to let go of his anger. It’s not for the money. Running drugs, stolen car parts, and anything else the club needs is where his money comes from. Sitting at Stew’s at the bar is just medicine for his soul.

“Bay can go if she wants.” Van’s deep voice rattles me from my thoughts. “I have Prez’ permission and there will be eyes on her.”

“You think she’s going to be okay if you go down?” Stew asks. “Think she’ll like seeing you get your ass beat until your rage fuels up enough that you knock the other fucker out? That’s what I’m talking about. I know you’ll always protect her.”

“Her choice. She’s seen the bruises, cuts, and swelling. She’s a smart girl.”

Plucking the tray from the bar, I spin around and go about my work, trying to block out the discussion that just happened. It’s not like my man fights every single night. It happens like twice a month. I want to know every single inch of Van and what he does. I want the ugly with the tantalizing good. I’m not a fucking idiot and know he’s the complete opposite of rainbows and roses, but he takes care of me, and I want to seep myself into him.

“Who ordered drinks?” I purr, almost not recognizing my own voice. The table of men sit up to attention as I bend over with the tray splayed out in front of them. Fuck, I might as well be on the damn pole since my tits are practically dry humping each of their faces, and my ass cheeks keep playing peek-a-boo with whoever will listen.

“We did.” The drunkest of the men answers and I know he only has about another drink under his belt before Van tosses him out. I begin rattling off the drink names like an airhead, even though I know who ordered what. More sex appeal mo’ money.

“When do we get our complimentary lap dance?” One of the men inquires.

They’re just an overeager group of young men. I’ve seen and waited on them a dozen times. It’s like working with toddlers. You just have to use ease and outsmart them with shiny things.

“Lap dance, oh men, I’m thinking your ladies at home should be the girls doing that.”

“Bullshit,” the drunk one declares. “I came here tonight to get my cock tickled by your warm cunt.”

The table erupts into a fit of laughter, and I cringe. I’ve heard and seen crude, but he just went above and beyond. I’m dying to explicitly explain to him what will happen to his little prince if he even tries to touch but know I can’t.

“I’ll be back around in a bit.” I muster up the fakest smile imaginable. “You boys behave.”

I even manage to tap one of the sober ones on the nose. He must be the DD. Turning to walk away, I feel a hand clasp around my wrist. I turn back expecting to find the drunkest of them clinging onto to me, but it’s the man at the edge of the booth. Before I have a chance to speak, he rips back on my arm, pulling me to the floor. My empty tray flies through the air as my kneecaps collide onto the hardwood floor. It takes me a second to realize what’s happening since the shrilling pain is screaming in my brain.

“Suck this, bitch.”

A heavy hand comes to the back of my head, forcing my face down into the crotch of his jeans. He only manages to force my face down one time into his erection before all hell breaks loose.

My hair is ripped in one forceful tug one last time before I’m pulled from the man. I scatter back to the safety of a wall, letting my back relax on it and slump in a lifeless form on that fucking sticky floor.

Bones crush and the girls on the stage send out ear piercing screams. The music even stops playing, and that’s when I finally look up. Van has the man in rivers of blood lying on the ground. The cocky asshole has no more words for me. He’s beating on the drunk one, putting him in his place and within a matter of seconds, the table of overly zealous men have been thrown from the bar.

“Cut the cameras,” I hear Stew holler from behind the bar and in the next moment, I’m in Van’s arms. His long strides and the night’s cool air let me know we are going home.

He lays me on the bed, and I wince in pain. It’s like when you were a child and wrecked your bicycle on the sidewalk, ripping flesh from your knees.

“I’m going back and killing that motherfucker,” Van mutters out.

It’s not until he turns for the door of my room that it all registers. He was going to go kill the man who was clearly a dick.

“Van.”

The one word stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t look back to me but stalls with his broad back.

“I need you right now.”

His fists clench and then unclench at his side. I can see it all playing out in his brain even though I’m only left staring at his back.

“Please come hold me.” I loathe how desperate my words sound, but I need him at my side now and not bringing justice to me.

He doesn’t turn around instantly, and I know he’s working it all out in his mind. He’s seeing red right now and needs to feel the punishing justice. Stew’s words ring around in my head about him getting hit so many damn times before he unleashes when fighting.

I sit up in the bed and remove my top and then shimmy from my booty shorts until I’m only left in panties.

“Just look at me and if you still feel the need to go back then go, but just look at me.”

It doesn’t happen right away but more methodically instead. His fists relax at his side, and he pivots slowly until he’s facing me. Goose bumps race up and down my spine when he makes eye contact with me.

“You don’t leave the people you love and more importantly you never leave the one who loves you more than life.”

My own words shock me, but as they echo around the tiny room bouncing off my prickled skin, I realize each one is the damn truth.

“But no one hurts the one I love!” he barks.

He’s become someone else I don’t even recognize. It’s like he’s morphed into the Hulk ready to slaughter small villages for me. And when I think it’s impossible not to fall any harder for the man, I do. Patting the side of the bed and pulling back the sheet, I make eye contact with him.

“Please, Van. I need you.”

Then I watch the most erotic striptease of my life and even though he’s just shedding his outer skin of clothes it’s so much more to me. He chooses me over the perpetual darkness always looming over him.

“Thank you.” I run my hand up his naked abdomen as he pulls me into him.

“I’d kill that fucker.” He tucks his head under my chin cocooning his body with mine.

“I know, baby.” He needs to be soothed right now, and that’s all I do as I rub circles on his back and rake his hair, dragging my fingers through it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Baby, you saved me. It’s fine.”

“Growing up, it was always Argo who was the golden child. My scars started at a young age.”

“Hey, I’m not leaving you. You’re fine, Van.”

It’s like he’s blocked out all my words and just begins talking to me. I know they’re words he’s never spoken to anyone else. They’re real and raw and make me despise his twin brother even more.

“Argo would start shit that no one else would even see. He was that sneaky then I’d come in and try to fix the situation but only end up in the principal’s office.”

I pull him in closer and tighter, cradling him with everything I have.

“It was always me in trouble or getting caught for something when I was only defending my brother. I was loyal to that fucker and he played me like a pawn.”

“I know.” Brushing my fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead I quench back all of my emotions. “I know, baby.”

“It got real bad, Junior, to the point of me defending that fucker even when I knew it was all wrong. Argo’s a genius and knew I’d never turn my back on him.” He pauses but never sheds a tear. “He set me up real good.”

“Your prison time?” I ask, hoping to take away some of the agony of him retelling the story.

An evil laugh vibrates off my chest. “Oh no. That was nothing. Our eighth grade summer was the first time the fucker set me up.”

Undiluted hatred streams from him and I want nothing but to scream uncle–giving up and not knowing the whole story of Van Hollis, but then I’m left holding him to my body cradling him and have no choice but to hear it. I give him his time never urging him on to speak or making his words complacent with it’s an “okay, baby.” I listen and lose hope in all fucking humanity, not only seeing but straight out living his dark side.

“It started with petty theft and dead neighborhood pets showing up. Argo was a fucking mad scientist making it look like it was me, but I never realized when it was actually happening.” He pauses, and my nails dig into his back, begging him to let it all go. “So, I’m the bad kid. Sure got that picture by now. I tried to do everything right in life but somehow got painted into being the asshole hellion. Long story short.” I feel him clam up underneath my touch.

“Van, no long story short. I want all of it. I need all of you now.”

“We went to a party the summer of our eighth grade year. The vibe was off the hook and we were about to be freshmen and the cool-fucking dudes in the school. I lost Argo at the party and when I went to look for him he was being held down by several upper classmates, and I saw red. Argo had done me wrong in the past, but he was my fucking brother. Hell, my identical twin.”

“You’re still cuter.” I run my hand up the length of his spine trying to lighten the mood. But nothing will.

He begins speaking again, not acknowledging my comment. “I stormed in and once the star quarterback locked the door behind me the whole environment shifted. Argo announced to the whole room, ‘told you he’d show up for me.’ The men pinning him down stepped away. My hands were laced behind my neck, and my jeans were pulled down in one swoop, and then the whole room watched and laughed as each senior stuck it to me.”

I freeze as each of his next words are so raw I can’t even begin to digest them.

“Argo’s evil laugh filled the air as each senior stuck their dick in my ass. It’s the same laugh I hear roll off me, and I fucking hate it. I made it three months into my freshman year before I became my father’s worst nightmare. Turned to the streets and made a life while Argo Hollis graduated valedictorian and fucking all-state quarterback.”

There are no words to explain how I feel or even comfort the man with what he just shared with me. I’m blown away and can’t comprehend the actions of his family, and here I was pissed at my hippy loving pot-smoking mother while growing up, which seems like a laughable joke right now.

“And that’s why I fade into the dark, Bay. Argo took my first love, but the fucker will never touch you. I never wanted to fall in love or even remotely feel that feeling again, but you made me. Forced my fucking hand and now nothing will touch it or you.”

Again I’m seized by the emotion of it all and am unable to speak. He’d kill for me.

“You’re going to my fight tonight. I want you there and you’ll never work at Stew’s again.”

This comment gets a reaction from me. I spring out of bed and stare down at him with question and being very pissed off.

“I already told Stew you quit.”

“Van.”

“You’ll never step foot in that fucking strip joint again.”

“That’s not your fucking decision.”

“Oh yes, it is.” He rolls up on top of me a new man from just minutes ago. His fingers playfully slide my panties across and then he enters me. “You are mine.”

He grunts out each word as he fucks me.

“I’ll kill someone if you go back. Another fucker studies your tits or stares at your ass their blood is on my hands. I don’t want you there.”

I fight to keep all my moans of pleasure at bay, but it’s fucking impossible with his ice-cold blue stare and his body covering mine. “Not your decision, Van. I’ve fought for all of this.”

He thrusts harder into me, keeping my common sense from kicking in and driving his point home.

“I’m going to art school. I need money.”

“You’re mine.” The sharpness of his claim sends me over the edge, and I claw at his back, fighting to find a place to stabilize myself. “I’ll take care of you, Junior.”

T
here are
no sticky floors but roars of engines and the flood of pot. The scene before me is so different. I regret coming and want to sprint back to my home and await my dark man strolling in at dawn with his lit cigarette hanging off his lips.

It was all a mistake. I should’ve trusted him and just stayed home.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The sting of his slap to my ass still lingers as I stand nearby the scrawny ass biker who is a prospect. When I think of the word prospect, gold miner comes to mind, but he’s not that.

“Brenda will be here in a second,” he keeps reassuring me.

Van insisted my curls were to be pulled back and slicked down in a ponytail for tonight, which pissed me off. I know he likes them loose and wild. He also told me to wear a turtleneck. I ventured out in a tank top and capris with my Converse on.

He kept tucking my tits into my tank top the whole drive over here in his Challenger. I’ve had serious daydreams about him ravaging me in that sexy as fuck car but tucking my tits in were never a part of that.

He kissed me hard, claiming my lips and leaving my nipples hard before giving his orders to the prospect and after what he told him my nipples shriveled up. Eyeballs would be cut out if a hand was laid on me.

So, I sit here fidgeting with the hem of my tank top while inhaling the sweet scent of pot. That aspect makes it feel like home, but the burly bikers and naked chicks not so much. A blonde woman is on her knees bobbing on the cock of a biker who’s smoking pot and chumming it up with his buddies. About every other word his large palm comes down on the back of her head, pushing her face further down.

I cringe at the whole scene. I’m with the baddest of the bad and he’d never make me do that. Van protects me with all of him. My fingertips are itchy to go pull her off him and smack some sense into her, but it’s not my place and maybe she’s happy there bobbing on his cock. Not my place to judge. I repeat that simple mantra over and over in my mind.

God knows I would want my best friend judging me. Speaking of her, I pull out my phone and send her and Gannon another bullshit excuse. I’ve been blunt with Gannon, but he seems to miss the clear picture. Ivy has reassured me he’s moved on to other pussy, but it seems he needs to conquest mine. Little does he know that it’s already been staked and claimed.

“Hey, I’m Brenda.”

I look up from my phone to come eye to eye with a stunning Vanna White. She’s opposite of everything that I am. Creamy skin not freckled, blonde long hair that’s straight as a board, and no curves at all.

“Hi,” I barely manage to squeak out.

“I’ll take you to our seats.”

I follow her but can’t help the feeling creeping up in me that I’m being herded like a cow to slaughter. Everyone parts for her, even the biggest and creepiest of men. The whores dash away from her. It’s like she’s the princess of the land and not one person dares to fuck with her. I wonder if her man kills for her too.

We take our seats near a fire pit, but my gaze wanders to the makeshift boxing ring in front of us and really deep down I regret coming here. I’d much rather be the person who kisses and caresses his bruises to health than to watch them form.

“I hear this is your first fight.”

I only nod in her direction as she sips from a glass containing a dark drink. She must follow my eye contact.

“Would you like one?”

I nervously nod yes to her.

“Van is a great guy,” she offers.

I nod again, fighting to recoup my bearings to form a word.

“He’s always been like a brother to Z. They met on the streets at a young age. Z followed in his dad’s footsteps while Van has always been the outlaw.”

I laugh lightheartedly at the word outlaw. “Yes, he’s something else.”

“He loves you.” Brenda’s deep chocolate eyes stare into mine. “Never brought a girl around or fought for anything besides vengeance.”

“I love him.”

“Good.” She hands me a drink that the prospect just handed her and when I eye it she only nods. “It’s fine, sweetie. This is my castle, and I’m the fucking queen. You’re good with me.”

I take a sip of the stout drink letting the whiskey burn all the way down.

“I love him too, very much and will never leave his side. He’ll have to leave me first.” My own words shock the shit out of me.

“Good girl.” She pats the top of my leg. “The first match is about to begin. Van’s is the last and it’s like watching a fucking god fight when he steps in the ring.

My stomach curls and dips with each of her words. He’s my god, and I don’t want to see any more harm come his way, but then again, I want to see him shine. My drink vanishes in seconds, and I know it’s from the nerves. Brenda snaps her pedicured nails, and we’re both supplied with another. The whiskey is cruel and hits me fast, relaxing all my nerves.

I ease back in the ringside chair and watch fight after fight. Blood flies and bones crack but it’s all meaningless because I don’t know these men and they stepped into the ring on their own free will. Brenda and I are flanked with some big ass bikers who bark at anyone who dares glance our way. I feel safe and relaxed.

Then he walks out and my whole body lights up with fierce desire and hunger. He’s wearing a light pair of blue jeans I’ve never seen and a pair of Cons spattered in blood. His olive skin glows under the moonlight. He’s the most built and in shape of all the men we’ve seen so far. My trance is broken when the crowd goes wild over Van.

My fists clench at my sides, my hips flexing back in the chair when he makes eye contact with me, only sending me a quick nod and then staring down his opponent. I don’t miss the talk swirling around me. These two are undefeated, and the other man is from a different club.

“See those tattooed tick marks on his back? That’s for each of his kills in the ring,” a voice behind us says.

Brenda clutches the top of my leg. “Honey, he will be fine. Z would’ve never lined this up if he knew Van would lose. He loves Van but even more than that he loves his money.”

Z and whom I assume to be the president from the other club, go over the rules with the men, which aren’t anything. Anything goes in the ring until death or one of the presidents throws in a towel. They both step off the mat leaving Van to face the other man.

I take a second to study his opponent. He’s taller than Van with long brown hair and scars masking his face. His eyes are as black as the night sky. To hell with the dark alleyway, this man would scare the fuck out of me in the daylight. His muscles aren’t as defined as Van’s but he definitely outweighs him.

A pistol fires off, and the two men go at it. With each blow that lands on Van, I cringe. He lets the other man hit him in the ribs, face, and gut. He takes each blow, not even trying to avoid them.

“What is he doing?” I scream to Brenda over the roar of the crowd.

She leans into me. “It’s how Van fights. He thrives off of being punished and then he’ll blow.”

Motherfucker, I close my eyes to avoid the hair-raising disgusting scene in front of me. Van doesn’t deserve any of this. He’s punishing himself for what fucking Argo put him through. He’s learned to thrive on pain and abuse, and I refuse to watch it.

Bringing my knees up to my chest, I bury my face and wish like hell I could drown out the deafening bone cracking blows Van receives one right after another. Stew was right this was a mistake. I should’ve listened to him. Anyone who loves Van would never want to watch this.

The crowd fires up with hoots and hollers lighting up the night. I peek up through my knees expecting to see a lifeless Van on the ground. He’s finally fighting back, throttling the man with his fists and knees. Van’s punches ring out, sending a violent shock to his opponent. His teeth are gritted and complete concentration covers his face as he sends one last punch to the man’s jaw. He falls to the ground in one lifeless slump.

Van looks over to me and signals someone from behind me.

“Ma’am, we need you to come with us.”

Brenda stands up. “Ladies never watch this part.”

My head spins in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The rest of the fight is too brutal to watch.” Brenda holds out a hand to me.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I tuck my knees even closer to my chest.

The man behind me speaks up. “Van said she’d be a pain in the ass.”

The crowd erupts into a deafening roar. We missed something during our argument. When I look back to the ring, the president from the other club threw the towel. The fight is over. The crowd ensues to the mat, standing in line for their money and bullshitting.

Brenda and I are left with the prospect. “What was going to happen?”

“They fight until death or the towel. Some presidents don’t give a shit about their men. That one did.”

“Have you seen Van kill someone out there?” My voice shakes.

“Like I said, ladies never watch that part.” She lays a hand on my shoulder. “Van’s a good guy and loyal to a fault. This is his outlet for his anger and rage.”

I fall back in the chair digesting the whole fight and fall ill. I agree with Brenda that it’s his way of working shit out but talk about a fucked up method of counseling. The night air grows cold, pricking at my skin. Brenda’s left my side, leaving me with the prospect.

My insides ache to go to Van. Even a glimpse at him would soothe the dull pain beating inside me. I want to be his outlet for his rage, not this torture he puts himself through. I bury my head again trying to drown out all of my emotions and wait for him.

Moments float by, the noise streaming from the crowd dulls to a low roar, and then I feel him without even looking up.

“Junior, you okay?”

When I raise my head, I come face to face with Van Hollis. He’s bent down with one of his hands wrapped around my calf with his shirt still missing, but his ballcap on backwards. He offers me a weak smile.

“Now you know, baby.” He reaches up a bit and kisses my forehead.

Tears begin to stream down my face. “I’m never coming again.”

“That’s fine. You know this isn’t an every night gig.”

I nod to him.

“Other nights are boring compared to this, like watching paint dry on the wall.

I remain cocooned with my knees up as a shield. “Don’t ever let anyone hurt you like that again, Van. Just beat the shit out of them right in the beginning. You don’t deserve that.”

I barely hold back the sobs. The tears, on the other hand, flow at full force down my cheeks. He remains silent.

“You’re mine and nobody does that to you.” I relax my legs, letting each one fall on either side of him and then lock my ankles behind him. My arms laced around his neck. “I love you.”

Van drops his head to my chest. “I love you too, baby.”

“Take out your goddamn aggression on me.” I run my hand up the back of his neck. “I’ll kick your ass.”

His chuckle vibrates on my chest. “I so don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t. You deserve better than me, but you’re stuck with this goofy artist who has a pot smoking hippy mom.”

“At least she showed me her boobs.” He finally looks up to me with a smile on his face.

“I think the world has seen those free loving tits.”

“Let’s go home.”

“Let’s.” I kiss the tip of his nose, knowing if our lips connect we’d rip each other’s clothes off right here and now.

He pulls me from the chair, tucks in my cleavage, and puts his hand in mine. This is what love is.