A Rebel Love (Black Rebel Riders' MC Book 7) (3 page)

Liberty

Present Day

“You aren’t nothing but a no good cunt. I should’ve run the day I met you. You’re worthless.” My husband, the man who swore to love and to cherish me, berates me, trying to break me down.

His words don’t scar me, his hands do. I thought he was different. I thought he was going to sweep me off my feet. He did for a while, until he didn’t get his way.

John was handsome and charming when I met him. Clean cut and dark hair, always knowing the right things to say or do. He was the opposite of Tread, my tattooed, unruly biker, with a crass mouth.

Now John is nothing like the man I married, he’s the worst version of himself. He’s become a man I fear.

His dark, hollow eyes narrow on me. They once held such adoration for me, but now the only emotion they hold is contempt. “You should just send that bastard back to the hell hole you bore him in.” John refuses to let it go—Kyler not being of his own flesh and blood.

“Maybe I will, and just maybe I’ll go with him!” I shriek knowing better. Mouthing back only makes him more heated. It only serves to make him angrier.

I should throw my hands up and put up a fight, but defending myself only excites him. If I just take what he has to give, he will eventually grow annoyed and leave me alone, to drown his woes, at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

I don’t even flinch as he strikes me with his brass knuckles. I’ve received worse. I don’t even bother to cry, I am numb to the pain. This has become a familiar scene in our house—enduring physical abuse.

John has broken my jaw, my nose. I almost lost full sight in my left eye due to an infection. The Optometrist said had I waited a day longer, my sight would have succumbed to the damage from the blow and the infection. 

He urged me to leave John, he knew the truth. I had been working in his office for a year. I couldn’t hide my scars or my shame all the time and still hold down my job. Carlos was an elderly man and he retired. When he closed his practice, he offered to give Kyler and me sanctuary with him. He was alone and old—lonely after the passing of his wife. He was good to me. I should have gone to Colorado with him when I had the chance.  But I knew John would come for me. He is always threatening me, that if I leave him, he’ll kill me and Kyler.

He'd kill Kyler first, making me suffer the brutality of watching, before taking my life. The thought is unbearable.

John has the whole town believing I am a drunken fool, that’s how he explains my injuries away, but that’d be him. I’ve not touched a drink in years. I leave that to John. He consumes enough Jim Beam for the two of us. I swear if I don’t get the gull to kill him, his liver won’t fail me.

His nostrils flare as he strikes my side.

“Is that all you got?” I continue to goad him. Maybe this time he will kill me for good. But then I hear the voice of my baby and I know I have to fight for him. I have to stay strong and take all John pummels me with so Kyler won’t have to.

“Momma, my tummy hurts,” Kyler cries from his bedroom door. His voice is raspy and pained. He’s sensitive to spicy food, but John doesn’t care. He says, “When Kyler buys my groceries he can tell me what to eat.” He is such a
bastard
.

“I’ll be there in a minute baby boy,” I croak.

“Go on take care of that eyesore.” John shoves me toward the hallway in time to see Kyler throw-up on the carpet.

“Boy, I told you about making messes!”

Time moves in slow motion as John grabs my son by the collar of his Ninja Turtle pajama shirt and shoves him towards the stairs. “Go on and get something to clean this shit up!” He kicks at his little shins, sending him tumbling.

Kyler’s small body sails down the steps, thumping against the hardwood.

I crawl across the floor, to see my world crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, crying out for momma to make the pain stop. From his mouth to God’s ears, I pray for a sign, I pray for anything, but most of all I pray and wish I could turn back time. I wish I could take it all back—leaving Tread, the father of my son.

If I could go back and do things differently I would. I’d have told him I loved him…that I was going to have his baby instead of telling him we were over and goodbye.

Tread’s face smiling back at me, with his dimples glowing and his light brown hair shagging across his eyes is the last thing I see before John’s foot connects with the back of my head. 

Chapter 2

Tread

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday—they all blur into one.  Eat, work, fuck, ride, and sleep—that’s all that I do. It takes more than fucking someone you don’t know to make you feel whole. I’ve not felt whole for quite some time.

Taking a swig of my beer, I watch as Amy works the pole in the center of Truth’s living room. He moved in over the garage a few years ago. Grim gave the apartment and the garage to him. He’s slowly getting it operational again. Place hasn’t been the same since Striker ran it. Miss the hell out of him. Still doesn’t feel real—my best friend, Baby and their little dude, Colt are gone. One minute, they had it all and then—
poof
they were ripped away from us.

This place doesn’t appear as if they ever lived here. Colt’s pictures and toys were boxed up years ago, along with our memories. It hurts to look back. Makes me think of the one who got away—Liberty. I loved her, but not enough to make her stay.

I shake my head not wanting to get caught up in the memories. Instead, I focus my attention on what is in front of me.
Hot ass.
Her blonde curls whip in front of her face as she gyrates her hips. Her titties bounce as she shimmies and shakes. The bitch can move and she knows it. She grins at me as her slim, but muscular legs wrap around the metal post. Her body coils around the pole in a lover’s embrace.

Amy is a club whore but she lives with Truth. He hasn’t claimed her as his, but no one else ever fucks her. Well, no one other than me.

Truth crosses the room smacking Amy on the ass before he sits next to me, toking a joint.  His dark hair’s down dusting his shoulders. He normally wears it on a knot at the top of his head. I tease him and call it his bitch bun.

He passes the joint to me. I take a hard drag and top off my beer. Feeling pretty fucking good right about now. Fixing to use Amy’s hot lips to make me feel a hell of a lot better. I brought Nona over to fuck tonight but the whore passed out thirty minutes ago in the recliner. She smoked too many bowls. I continue watching Amy, knowing she will give me what I need—a release, an escape from my haunted thoughts.

She slithers across the floor on her hands and knees. Her red nails claw at my zipper. Scooting down on the cushion, I allow her to free my dick from the constraints of my denim prison. My cock is hard and ready to go. I’ve been hard for damn near an hour.

Truth is already unlacing his leather pants and stroking his schlong next to me. I have seen the motherfucker’s dick so many times by now, his shit doesn’t faze me. We share our pussy on occasion, and tonight just happens to be one of those nights, a night where I have too much shit on my mind. The past invades my thoughts any chance I allow it to. Hanging with this crew takes all the shit that clouds my head away. They help me forget, if only for a while.

I watch Amy, giving her encouragement as her red lips wrap around the head of my dick. “Fuck yeah, suck my cock while Truth tears up that pussy.” One hand grips her hair, while the other squeezes her nipple.  Her tender, pink skin hardens under my touch.  Her nipple is begging to be sucked but I can’t reach her chest from this position.

She bats her lashes and continues to lick and suck me while teasing my balls. My precum leaks out coating her lips. I’m damn near ready to blow. Amy knows just where to touch me, lick me, and how hard to suck me. Her fingers pleasure me as her wicked tongue massages my silken flesh.

Physically, I am all into this scene. Sharing a woman is a beautiful thing. My best friend and me dominate her, taking all she has to offer. Amy is the best fuck around when it comes to club pussy. Truth is a
lucky bastard
and he doesn’t even realize it. The way Amy looks at him, as if he holds the world,
her world
, I wish I could have that.  I tried finding it, but all I seem to attract are one-night-stands.

Truth slams into her from behind sending my cock to the back of her throat.  Her mouth suctions me tight as her tongue swirls around my dick, damn near swallowing me whole. She gets me off quickly and her pretty little mouth swallows all I have to give.  I call her fast and Nona loud. Amy gets me off quick and when Nona comes the whole fucking world knows it.  If only the whore wasn’t passed out, she’d be screaming my name right about now. I could be balls deep in Amy; I know she loves being double-stuffed but my mood is crashing.

Amy smiles at me and licks her lips one more time, her red lipstick now stains my dick. I slide to the side, excusing myself to the bathroom to clean up right quick. When I come back through her and Truth are hard at it. I nudge Nona with my boot. She doesn’t even stir.
Fuck it
! She can sleep in the chair for all I care. Her neck will hurt like a bitch tomorrow, but that isn’t my problem.

I leave Truth and Amy to finish each other off, taking my drunk, unsatisfied ass across the lot to my empty trailer. The place originally belonged to Foxie and Slim, then it went to Baby and Trouble briefly, before he died. Rebel and Rumor had it next, until she was murdered and he got with Chelle. Although Chelle never lived in my trailer, she took up home in a cabin by the lake. 

Rebel rents me his old place, since he and Chelle ended up building a house out by the moonshine cabin that Romeo used to occupy. They needed the bigger place for all of their rug rats.  She’s a hellcat. You wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She’s short, with dark hair that hangs to the midsection of her back. She has thick bottom; she looks similar to Libby, they’re cousins. It makes spending time with Rebel hard. They are inseparable for the most part. She put his ass in line and she keeps it there too. 

I kick at the gravel as I walk the short distance to my porch. Memories flash of seeing Rumor and Baby sitting on the porch swing, laughing, and watching Colt play. Miss those days. Shit just made sense then, shit was just easy.  Sure, we had our problems with rival clubs but that wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle.

I spent most of my days running the roads making moonshine deliveries. There wasn’t time to think or to care about coming home to an empty bed. Besides, back then I had Liberty—I thought I had it all. I could fuck Liberty seven ways to Kingdom Come and she would eat up every second of the worship I paid to her body. Anything I wanted to try she was all in, no questions asked. She doesn’t mind sharing either. We had plenty of threesomes. 

One night, I took her to a swinger’s club, she fucking ate it up.
Damn
did she liked to get buck wild. I miss that—belonging to another half, having someone who loved me for me.

Sure, I can bring home an easy piece of pussy to fuck, but it doesn’t mean shit if I don’t want her to stay.  And it has been a long ass motherfuckin’ time since I’ve wanted a bitch to spend the night. I get my kicks and send them packing. I’m not looking for a whore eager to land a patched man. I could have my pick of them, they are as abundant as crabs in a poor man’s whorehouse.

I want a
real
woman, a
good
woman.

Inside, my trailer still holds remnants of when Rumor lived here as Rebel’s wife.  The floral pictures she hung in the living room still decorate the walls in the golden frames. Some Home Interior shit she bought at a yard sale. I remember how proud she was when she purchased them. Me and Truth carried all of her finds of the day in for her.

Some nights, I swear I can hear the ghost of her walking through the walls looking for Rebel.  And other nights, I could swear I see Baby’s red hair blowing in the breeze. Rumor and me dated briefly, she was too good a girl for me. She wasn’t able to handle a man like me.

I have a hungry sexual appetite, always needing to be filled. I wonder had I been different with her when I had her, could I have made her happy? I guess I’ll never know. I even fucked around with her little sister, Baby on occasion, but her blood was too wild even for me, and
fuck,
if Grim isn’t a
scary
motherfucker. I left her alone long before I could get caught. I think about her sometimes and wonder if I could have made a play for her? But deep down I know we never would have worked. And that girl had it bad for Striker.

I could see the love they felt for each other long before either of them ever recognized it or acted on it. I used to watch them fight just so they could fuck to make-up. I get trapped by memories of the past more often than I’d like. 

Then I remember
what
year it is, and
where
I am, and all that has come to pass. If I keep looking back, I’ll never move forward. I can’t go back and yet I don’t know who or what I am looking for. What if my chance at settling down has already came and went like dust in the wind?

I lay my head back on my pillow thinking about the
shoulda, coulda, wouldas
.

I
shoulda
fought for Liberty.

I
coulda
begged her to stay.

I
woulda
made her listen.

I kick off my boots and they fall to the floor with a heavy thump. The sound echoes through my trailer, reminding me just how alone I really am. Reminding me that I let Libby go.

I just wanted her to
fight
for
me
but I couldn’t even
fight
for
us
. I was so
damn
hardheaded. Thought I knew everything.  But now, I realize I don’t know anything. When it comes to women and relationships—I might as well be blind.

Sleep takes me with Liberty on my mind. I toss and turn remembering the way she smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. I can still remember the way her dark hair fell between my fingers; it was soft like crushed velvet in my palm when I would pull on it during sex.

She was my
dirty girl
who liked to get down.

She was my
undoing
.

She gave me a
reason
to believe I was
worthy
and then she left me.

I
promised
her she was safe with me.

I
promised
no one would hurt her.

Watching that
bitch,
Diamond, get her head splattered by Foxie changed her trust in me.

She stopped
believing
in what we could have.

I stopped
believing
in us too.

Long lost promises whisper in my ear as I replay the day she left me in my dreams.

I let her go.

Liberty’s voice is hauntingly beautiful as I am taken back to six years ago.
“I love you Tread. I always will, but there is no place for me here, in your world. I can’t stay here and wait for the day I fuck up, or the day someone uses me against you. I can’t. I won’t be that girl.  I won’t end up like Diamond.”

“Is that how you really see us?  Is this how you really feel?” I watch the tears stream down her face unable to stop them.

Unable to do a damn thing to change her mind.

Unable to make myself say the words, ‘don’t go. I want you to stay.’

I needed her to stay.

I wanted her to stay and fight.

I wanted her to force my hand. To make me be a man and make her mine before my brothers and before God.

I was a coward.

I was a fool.

“Don’t go, I want you to stay,” I whisper into the haunted skies of the approaching dawn, but it’s too late,
six years
too late to be exact.