“Yup, she’s a natural alright,” someone laughs.
“Let’s see,” Jack grunts. “Easy! Don’t kill her, jackass.”
Air. Air. No air. The last thing I feel is the tug of my pants being removed as the darkness takes me under.
My eyes crack open a notch and I look up, but the view makes me dizzy and confused. All I can see is a concrete floor disappearing under the rhythmic stride of large feet. I’m swinging like a doll, face-to-face with the backside of some beat-up leather pants.
It takes me a minute to process that I’m slung over one of the giant bouncer’s shoulders and that we’re walking down a long, dark hallway. Jack and the other bouncer are behind us. I notice drains in the floor. Drains…for draining what? The place looks like a bunker or dormitory, utilitarian. There are no windows.
I raise a limp arm to brush my swollen cheekbone, which hurts like hell, and then slide my hand up the length of my body, which I realize is not in any pain. Grimacing, my hand reaches my hips and I sigh in relief. Thank god, I’m still wearing my underwear. And bra. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to reduce my violent shaking to a subtler trembling.
Don’t worry, Jack’s voice echoes in my head, we’ll save the touchy stuff for the Beast.
Nope, I lied; the violent shaking is back. What the hell is the beast? As my carrier’s footsteps slow, I have a sinking feeling that I’m about to find out.
I realize there is a small entourage around me: Jack, the bouncer carrying me, a couple of other guys. They’re all wearing heavy boots and guns. We grind to a stop outside a door at the end of the hallway, knock once, and then the bouncer dude kicks the door open because apparently that’s easier for him than using the knob or waiting for someone to open it.
“Jesus Christ!” curses a voice from inside the room.
We spill in like a tidal wave, crowding the darkness. It smells like sweat and sex and leather and man. Someone trips the switch and light stings my eyes. I squint. The bouncer swings me down off his shoulder but my legs are too wobbly to trust. Collapsing in a small puddle on the floor, I blink until I can take in the scene.
There’s a man lying naked in bed—at least he was lying naked in bed until the ruckus roused him. Now he’s sitting half-up with a shotgun cradled over his forearm pointed our way. There’s an empty bottle of Jameson rolling between his legs.
I do a double-take. He looks so much like Ryan Reynolds that I have trouble convincing myself that it’s not actually Ryan Reynolds. Shoot, after this evening anything seems possible. Why wouldn’t Ryan Reynolds be here? But this guy’s face and body are harder than a movie star’s, more dangerous. Dark tattoos blossom and twist all over his rippling forearms and torso, and down one leg.
There are two women in bed on either side of him, also naked, their faces groggy.
I have just enough time to zero in on the sight of his enormous, exposed cock before I feel hot shame rush to my face and pointedly avert my gaze. As soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t: I see Jack and company with their own guns drawn, faces full of menacing smirks.
I’m in the middle of a fucking western or something. Only these aren’t cowboys.
“Shit,” laughs the man in bed. A lazy and long-suffering smile relaxes his face as he groans, setting down his gun. “Doesn’t anyone just txt anymore?”
“Conversation time, Bane.”
“What the fuck you want, Jack? I was kind of occupied.”
“I can see that. Party’s over.” Jack nods at his entourage and they all put away their guns. With a grin he acknowledges the women in bed. “Trinity, Coco, beat it.”
The two women scramble to their feet, revealing tight gorgeous bodies and rumpled sex hair. Their gazes flit over me with something like hostility. They reach for their discarded clothes, but Bane has grabbed his gun again and caulks it, firing a shot into the ceiling and bathing us in a shower of plaster chips.
A scream of panic escapes my lips and the women freeze. The other men whip out their guns again and everyone tenses.
“Now hold up one minute!” Shouts Bane. His lazy smile is gone, a cold mask in its place. The change in demeanor is fast and startling. “Where’re your fucking manners, Jack? This is my room. I don’t care if you are the fucking club prez, Czar of Persia, or my mother may she rest in peace. The girls stay until I ask them to go. My room, my rules.”
Jack’s eyes narrow to lethal slits. “You’re gonna want to pick your battles more carefully, brother,” he says. His voice is dangerously soft as he turns the barrel of his handgun toward the beautiful black woman’s chest. “Trinity, Coco, OUT! Now.”
Long seconds draw out as the women look at the guns, at me, at Jack. He and Bane are having a staring contest—or pissing contest, hard to say.
“Ladies,” Bane grunts eventually. “Guess we’re about finished for tonight. Classes resume tomorrow. Better scram.”
A ruthless grin lifts the corner of Jack’s mouth, and the drawn guns are tucked away. There is total silence as the women nab their clothes, glaring at me. As they make for the door Jack grabs the black woman and licks her neck, resting his gun between her legs.
“Wait for me outside, Trinity,” he orders with a leer.
Bane’s expression clouds but he says nothing.
With another dark look in my direction, the women hustle the fuck out. The door bounces shut behind them, and there’s a long pause as the men continue to stare each other down.
After an interminable moment, Bane laughs to himself and shakes his head.
“I’ve always said you were a cock block, Jack,” drawls Bane. He deliberately sets the shotgun down on the mattress beside him and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. All this time, he hasn’t bothered to cover his dick. He shifts in bed, stretching his hips out long and folding his arms nonchalantly behind his head. Try as I might, I can’t keep my eyes off of him. “Now,” he rumbles, “What the hell was so goddamn urgent?”
“It’s time, Bane.” Jack’s hands are on his hips. “I’ve been more than patient with your conscientious objection bullshit. Yesterday’s vote made it official: we’re all in. The D.L. club is the MC’s main pipeline now. I want you beside me.”
“Fuck, Jack,” Bane groaned. “That all? Look, I know I’m outvoted and I’m cooperating. I help you with the elimination matches. What more do you want?”