Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) (36 page)

Hammer shouted. He rushed the ring from behind me and grabbed a hold of Beanie. Beanie kept on squeezing. Hammer whacked Beanie hard with his forearm and Beanie went down.

Hawk fell limp when Beanie let go. Larry flailed underneath him.

Beanie slumped on the mat. His head shook slowly. Larry crawled out from under Hawk. He moved toward Beanie, but Hammer blocked him. From the bikers around the barn came a noise between a rumble and a growl.

The sound should have told Larry if he laid a hand on Beanie now, he wouldn’t get out alive. Hammer told him it in words.

Jascinta moved quickly onto the mat and over to where Hawk lay. She held the back of her hand under Hawk's nose. She pulled his eyelids open one by one and peered into them. Then she hauled him onto his side.

Moving around his body, Jascinta pulled up Hawk’s knee, then his arm. She pulled his mouth open and poked her fingers inside.

By her brisk, efficient movement, she was following a practiced procedure.

Hammer said, “Is he going to be OK?”

Jascinta nodded.

Beanie got to his feet slowly. Hammer clapped a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was okay. Beanie nodded.

Hammer’s voice was low and firm. He told Larry, “It would be timely if you fucked right off about now. That way, we won’t have to wipe your carotid spray off the walls.”

Larry’s temple throbbed. His neck bulged. Hammer’s eyes narrowed. “You’re pumped on ’roids. You sold ’roids to Hawk, didn’t you?” Larry looked dumbstruck. I could see the familiar fury rise. Thwarted again.

Hammer’s eyes narrowed. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Larry didn’t move. Hammer said, “No one else here would have been that dumb.”

His hand was still on Beanie’s shoulder. He said, “Sorry about the slam, Beanie. I like Hawk, too, but I need you whole.” Waving his hand at Larry, he said, “I don’t give a fuck about this piece of shit, and I don’t care enough about the two of them together that I’d risk losing you.”

Hammer’s chin straightened and flattened. Beanie’s mouth tightened. Hammer said, “Not to the jail or the morgue.” They looked in each other’s eyes a moment.

Watching, I felt a surge of feeling for the commitment these men gave to each other.

Hammer turned back to Larry. “You, fucker.” His voice was cold and hard now. “You came into our club and you brought drugs to sell? You dealt drugs in a biker bar, and you didn’t even think to discuss it with us?”

Larry was gathering his response. Hammer didn’t give him time. “Forget about what kind of drugs they were—how did you think that would
not
get you killed, asshole?”

Hammer’s hand went to Larry’s shoulder. He spun Larry around fast and got his arm tight around Larry’s neck. He put a knee into Larry’s back and stretched. Larry’s face flushed red and he shook.

His arms trembled and he reached for Hammer’s arm. Then his legs twitched. He went limp. Hammer let him slide to the floor. Still kneeling by Hawk, Jascinta looked up at Hammer. She made no move.

Hammer told her, “He’ll be out for twenty minutes. Half an hour, at most.” He turned to Beanie with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s if I timed it right,” he said, and he shrugged.

Hammer beckoned a group of bikers over. “Sling him in the back of that despicable pimp boat outside. Drive him about fifteen minutes or so into the desert. If he comes round before you leave, knock him out again.”

I said, “Will he survive, Hammer?”

“Probably, Belle. But, you know what? I honestly don’t care either way.

Beanie’s eyes welled as he bro-hugged Hammer.

“You, Hawk… well, I’m not one to tell a bro his business, but I’d put some thought to how you conducted yourself these past few days.”

“You,” Hammer turned to me. “I’m claiming you.” I nearly came on the spot. He said, “For the club. For Beanie.” His smile was evil as he said, “For tonight.”

I still wasn’t clear with myself, about what it was I really wanted. I knew that right now, though, it was in this club. It was with Hammer and Beanie.

Hammer’s dark brows glistened as they knotted. He emitted a low growl as he gripped harder in Carlie’s messy blonde cascades. Down on all fours, her back arced and her butt cheeks rippled as Hammer’s heavy thighs slammed against the tops of her widespread legs. Her eyes rolled a Hammer slapped her ass and his grip tightened.

Between my own wet thighs, Beanie swelled and throbbed. I gasped as he parted and filled me. I clawed in my hair and my breath fled as his velvety ridges stretched the walls of my flower. Deep inside me, sensation welled and brimmed.

I traced the intricate ink and the burr of shaved tribal swirls on his almost naked scalp. My thighs clenched and trembled as he pulled me wider. He lifted my thighs as he penetrated deeper and I shook from deep within.

The thrumming heat of my wetness clung around his fat girth as his rhythm hardened and he forced himself farther.

Carlie’s wet lips parted and her eyebrows raised as she shook. Hammer plunged harder into her. I traced her lips with my finger as rolling, boiling waves of tension and release bubbled and burst through me.

Beanie belted into me. He yanked my hair and he slapped my ass as his full red lips sank onto my aching nipple.

I clawed and arched and gushed when his pump cannoned hot lava blasts into me.

We had a bond. A network of bonds, really. There was a connection between Hammer and me, Carlie and me and definitely Beanie and me. There were also links both ways between the men and Carlie.

The trust between Beanie and Hammer something extraordinary to me. It wasn’t just the biker camaraderie and code. Those two really cared about each other, and it seemed to light their other relationships.

I felt very privileged to be part of this group within the club.

Beads of sweat sprayed from Beanie’s brow as his head shook. Hammer shouted, and the two men reached up to slap a high five.

© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2014

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 any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.

All the people portrayed in this story are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary. If you think that you know some of them, or that you may be one of them, then you should consider writing fiction yourself.

Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing

THE DEVIL’S HAND
Knights of the Lost Highway MC

Alice May Ball

For Gat, my rock.

Without you, it wouldn’t mean a thing

Larry was a massive cock on legs. I saw it the first time our eyelines crossed. Fine legs, attached to a smoking bod, it has to be said. But even the steel balls of his hard, rolling ass are nothing but a delivery system, a means of propulsion for that rock of a cock.

Larry is driven by one thing only. To pump that monster into every beautiful woman he sees. It doesn’t make for much of a challenge when businesswomen, cheerleaders, teachers, cocktail waitresses – every kind of beautiful women — start tugging at their clothes and primping the moment he struts into a room.

Ordinary girls and women have the same reaction too, of course, but only Larry doesn’t ever notice. Never except for me, for some reason. I still don’t have a clue why me.
 

He isn’t dumb, not in any way. Thinking simply doesn’t occupy much of his time or energy. He makes his living, such as it is, providing muscle for bike gangs. That and what he takes from poker tables.

He could be a poker pro and make real money. Serious money. If he’d ever stop still long enough to hone his skills. If he would concentrate on one thing for more than ten minutes at a time. And if that one thing wasn’t a plump, hungry pussy.

He can focus on a pussy all day long. Long enough to get the girl’s attention — usually less than a minute — long enough to get her panties thoroughly wet — literally the twinkling of an eye — and long enough to get them off her. That’s a few more seconds.

He can look at a woman’s pussy through her eyes, he can taste it breathing into her ear. He can get a scent of it from the hollow by her collarbone. He can feel her arousal as the tip of his tongue grazes the side of her neck.

And he has the devil’s hand.
 

After that, his attention span will mostly depend on the girl’s stamina, her imagination and inventiveness, and by how outrageously filthy she is.

With me he was different.

Daddy’s reaction when I handed him the ten thousand dollars was a disappointment, most of all because it was exactly what I expected.
 

“Belle,” his eyes shone, “I’m back in the game. I can turn it around.” He didn’t even look up at me, he was transfixed by the little stack of bills.

Daddy was still a good looking man, even with the ‘distinguished’ gray at the leading edges of his retreating hair. His wide open, optimistic smile could get him into the senate. The thought of where it might get him in jail made me cold inside.
 

“Daddy,” I told him, “You can roll it back over the tables if you want, but Spinal will still be after you for what you owe him.”

“But Belle, I can turn this into…” I held up a hand.

“Daddy, the money Spinal lent you, what did you turn that into? And the money you borrowed from the Kazinzcis, what did you make with that?”

He was about to respond. I held my hand up still.

“You made a hole, Daddy. You dug yourself into a pit so you had to go borrow some more.”

The thought of where I’d been that past week, of what I’d had to face and what I had done inflamed me. “I thought about taking the money straight to Spinal myself, so you wouldn’t have to be in room with ten thousand temptations. But you know what? I decided, it’s your choice, Daddy.”

I looked him right in the eye. I thought of myself as immature for an eighteen year-old, and I always considered my father as a sage. But when it came to money, he was a gurgling infant. After the week I just had, I was middle aged, weary and worn.

“Daddy, don’t you even want to know, don’t you wonder how your teenage daughter came up with ten thousand dollars in less than a week?”

His big eyes sloped. At that point, I didn’t know whether it meant anything or not. Or, even if it did, whether all it meant was a variation on his old theme of, ‘Please, Belle, I don’t deserve you and I know it. Please don’t make me look at the consequences of my actions.’

“I worked hard,” I told him, “and I did some things that I never wanted to do. And I did it all to give you the chance to pull yourself out of the hole. If you want to stay down in the hole and play some more, that choice is yours.” He couldn’t help his smile from brightening.

“But I’m done with it, Daddy, I am out of here.” The pitch of my voice shocked me as it deepened, “I’m not going to watch you do that to yourself. I don’t want to go with strangers to identify parts of you.”

The scents of stale perfume and beer with the perpetual background burble of slot machines was not how I had imagined a casino, not from the ways that Daddy talked about them, so what I found behind the big doors of the the Copper River Lounge was a surprise.

I don’t know exactly what I had expected. Tall, wide rooms and people in evening dress, elegantly poised around huge roulette wheels, maybe. What it was, it was like a cross between a hotel lobby the size of a football field and a low-lit mall with no glass walls and where the neon was all inside.

Most of all I think I expected an atmosphere of excitement. Danger even. Most of the people that I saw in were in work clothes or sweat pants and tee-shirts, stood in clumps around tables or sat in lines and hunkered over slot machines.

From what I heard betweenDaddy and his buddies about casinos, I expected some kind of a low-light glamor. The kind of thing that you’d see in a James Bond movie. If not that then at least something like the glimmer and golden glow of a gangster movie.

The lights were too bright, too ordinary. A buzz rose in the pit of my stomach, but it could have been the rising empty zing in my stomach, a mixture of anticipation and fear at what I had come to do.

The warren of tables meandered like an indoor market. Small, semi-circular blue tables of blackjack and long roulette tables with LED readouts on poles were surrounded by lines of slots and video poker screens. Players hunched blank-faced over the flashing screens and prodded the big buttons like it was a minimum-wage job.

Players around the roulette table were more animated. A tall man in a business suit, maybe in his thirties, checked me out as I walked by, making me feel conspicuous and even more out of place. I felt his eyes on me, appraising her. I realized that he was liking what he saw.

A pair of eyes on the far side of the bar, way off to one side watched me over a pair of shades and under a mop of black hair. The man in a black leather coat watched me walk across the floor like I was an unknown species. Like he found me out.

His brown eyes melted my insides as his head shook so slightly I could almost believe I hadn’t seen it. I lifted my chin and tried to act like nothing had happened. The way he looked at me, like he saw all the way inside me almost stopped me in my tracks.

Then he threw back his drink, bourbon or a brandy it looked like. He looked at me a moment, then he rose, turned and headed for the back where, I guessed, the private games rooms were.
 

My heart pounded as I tried to focus. I had come here, come into a casino when all my life I swore it was one thing that I would never do. Here I was, out of options and about to attempt the most desperate thing I had ever considered in my life. Something I had to do.

The fifteen bucks in my purse didn’t seem like it would ever be enough to achieve what I needed. The rising swirl of panic boiled and chilled inside me. It was too important. I couldn’t fail, but how could I possibly succeed?

Daddy said, over and over as far back as I could remember, ‘Protect your bankroll. Got to protect your bankroll. That way it doesn’t matter how slow you roll, as long as you’re rolling it your way.’ It was like a motto. When the money rolls to your side of the table, detain it.’