Big Dog (2 page)

The old man had been a second generation owner and was a very nice person. What made him pick her ridiculously low offer for the place and give her terms for a mortgage she couldn’t have gotten from a bank, was still a major issue with her. She tried to give a little extra over and above her normal mortgage payments when she could, but he always applied it to the principle. Something odd was going on but she couldn’t afford to be too picky at the time, and he was anxious to leave the state and retire to Arizona.

After a long, hot shower and tossing a load of laundry in the washer, she checked her e-mail and paid a few bills. The bar was a good solid investment and she was thankful her guides had led her this way. It had been a good night even without the five hundred the biker had stuffed in her bra, tips were good. She locked the cash in the safe, and went to bed.

She should have known she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. Thoughts of the big men coming into her bar, and looking for answers instead of pussy was a novelty. The problem that came with the answers was what they wanted, she wasn’t willing to give up again. It surprised her the men didn’t appear to realize the Oracle wasn’t an object—it was a person—her to be exact. She was born Oracle Madonna Smith.

Her parents were products of the 1960s hippie bikers, her father had serious drug and alcohol problems, and a serious belief in the mysteries of ESP, and fortune telling. Her grandmother or aunt , she couldn’t get a straight answer from her parents about who, had told them that she was born to see the future.

The reasoning behind this pronouncement was that she was born with a piece of thin membrane covering her eyes. The midwife pulled it off her face at the time, but her parents kept the ‘veil’ in a plastic baggy and taped it into her baby book. They rejoiced time after time as she grew up, and told them things she saw when she touched someone or something belonging to someone else. It frustrated them the gift of sight didn’t work on command, and only worked for certain persons.

They tried to use her as a trick pony at the biker meets, but after telling one of the big hairy leaders of a gang from up north that he smelled funny, like the dead possum they’d passed on the road earlier, she wasn’t brought out as a party favor again. The fact his body was found a few days later, bloated and stinking by his own men who were looking for him. Her words had been forgotten or ignored by his group. No one took much stock in her observations about the man.

Except by her father’s club, the Burning Bastards MC, they made her parents keep her around the clubhouse, or as her father always called the place, the crib. She became the touchstone of the place, never allowed to be like other kids, and always looked upon with suspicion, and fear.

Before any confrontation, she would be passed from biker to biker and encouraged to talk about them. The hardcore guys refused to touch her, and she understood. A few of them scared the hell out of her too. If she’d told everything she saw, there was no doubt in her mind she would have ended up dead.

She didn’t like being treated differently than the other children in the place. The other kids stared at her and some refused to talk to her. The men gave her the nickname of little witch, and it stuck over the years. She had tried to leave and live with her mother’s parents for a summer, but within a few weeks, she was brought back into the fold “where she belonged”.

She tried marriage, but that was a colossal failure. He was handsome, considered a good catch, and a true badass. He was supposed to be her ticket out of there, but found the club kept him happy to keep her around. He became too self-important, and one night his ego got him killed. She was left with a custom Harley that she couldn’t ride. The ape hangers, or highway bars, depending on who you talked to, were too high, and the bike was too tall for her to put her toes on the ground to balance. She had five grand in the bank and the money Bert had in his pockets when he died. Bert was cremated and his ashes were spread down in the compound where the gang had claimed as the playground. She was twenty-two and a widow with no kids at the time.

The playground was a two acre tract of land the guys drove scooters around and practiced maneuvering and wheelies on. It was used for break ‘em football games and even picnics. It was a place to let off steam and fuck around. It was also used as a place where trials and in club battles were staged. If someone started shit in the clubhouse, they were forced to take it to the playground. Provided the fight wasn’t spontaneous. As volatile as tempers flared most of the time, the playground was seldom used to settle such problems.

She’d been pressured to give the bike to the club, but instead traded it in on a used Heritage softtail for her own use. It was a good trade as far as she was concerned, and gave her some small measure of independence. She loved to ride, and knew it would take a special kind of man to get her on the bitch perch of a bike behind someone again.

She remembered the last day she’d spent with the Burning Bastards. Her father insisted she come with them to a meeting between their club president and his counterpart in a club named Lucifer’s Breed from a town four counties away. She hated leaving her ride back at the crib, but her father insisted she ride with him. They were to meet in neutral territory, at a farm where the owner was known to be friendly with bikers. The feeling they were driving into a trap refused to let go of her brain, and she tried to tell the VP what she felt. He was one of the men she never trusted, and sneered at her warning. He’d called her a few names and argued the club was becoming pussy whipped by listening to her. He was going to the meeting and anyone who took her word against another club that had never been a threat to them before, was ‘candy assed motherfuckers’.

His, “We’re bikers, not fuckin’ pussies, and if you let this cunt with her voodoo shit stop you from showing up to the meeting, you’re going to be meeting me afterwards, we don’t need her shit to fuck with our heads.”

The meeting went well, and she’d caught the smug looks Dorsey and his buddy, Krebs, kept giving her as they staggered around the campfires acting like the asses they were. She was one of three bitches who had gone on the trip, the other women were servicing their favorite guys while she sat on her bedroll, waiting for the inevitable.

The bikes came out of nowhere, and the resulting chaos was almost funny to watch. They hadn’t believed anyone would attack a group this large, and paid for their carelessness in blood. Historically, bikers used knives as a preferred weapon against other bikers, their attackers were not so honorable. Guns, knives, and tasers were used in this fight, and Oracle moved to the shadows trying to stay out of the line of fire.

Luck wasn’t on her side that night. Two of the bikers grabbed her, and even though she fought as hard as she could to avoid them, she was knocked out and dragged into the night with several others who were taken for ransom. She owed that VP a baseball bat to the kneecaps for pushing her into the arms of the enemy while he ran like the chicken shit he was.

Over three long weeks she had been used and abused to a point where she began to antagonize her captors into killing her. She’d found out a lot about herself after her time spent with Lucifer’s Breed. She learned she could enjoy sex with two men at the same time, without willingly participating. She learned that sometimes pleasure became more intense with a bite of pain tossed in. She also learned that no matter how strong a person was mentally and physically, they could break. They could be brought to a point where they no longer cared what happened to their bodies, they only wanted the end. As they used her body and wished they would just end her, she thought about life after this if she survived. Would she ever be herself again? She very much doubted it. Happiness and everything she dreamed of as she was growing up had moved out of reach for her.

To this day she couldn’t explain what had come over her when the man they called Jarl had dragged her by the collar and chain they kept her leashed to a hook on the wall with, and taken her to a room with two other men. They laughed as they pierced her nipples and she screamed. They laughed as they pierced her clit, and she screamed. They laughed as each man forced her to suck their cocks and then bathed her body in their semen. Jarl laughed as he beat her with his thick leather belt, stripping her ass and enjoying the sight of the belt curling around her stomach biting into the tender flesh. She had egged them on, taunting them as soon as she stopped screaming.

One of the men decided that she needed a souvenir of that night, and started a fire in a trashcan to heat up a makeshift branding iron. While they waited for the fire to get hot enough, they took the collar off her neck to have a nice visible spot to burn their brand into her skin for all to see. The argument began when they decided to fuck her in each hole, gangbang style, and have the man with the largest dick take her in the ass, so if they wanted to go back for more, no one had to fuck a sloppy hole. The fight began between Jarl and a redheaded giant called Mule. They each claimed to have the largest prick and during the fistfight to decide the issue, the trashcan was knocked over with no one paying attention to it. Within minutes, the old dried wood of the room’s walls was engulfed in fire. A beam fell on top of the two fighters, and the screams of pain coming from them was music to her ears...

She remembered laughing and enjoying their screams. That was all she remembered from that night. How she ended up in the woods with only a blanket covering her naked body still puzzled her. Her eyes were so swollen that she could barely see through the slits when she forced them open. Breathing was painful, and movement was almost impossible. She ended up crawling on her hands and knees trying to find help. She didn’t remember the farmer who found her on a country back road, or the ambulance ride to the hospital.

Chapter Two

They waited outside for her to come out after closing time. She never showed, and they decided she must be living at the bar. Maybe she had quarters in the back, or possibly the place had an apartment in the basement, they had no idea, all they did know is that she never walked out the doors of the place that night

They went to a chain, no tell motel near the highway a few miles out of town and crashed for the night. It had been a long ride to this Podunk town and they’d been on the road for almost two days, chasing the mysterious ‘Oracle’ they were sent to collect.

The only bright spot during the trip had been meeting the woman at the bar last night, at least as far as Demon aka Nail Faultersak, was concerned. She was short, but leggy and those heels she wore while dancing for tips still only brought her up to his chest in height, so he estimated her to be five foot six inches or so barefoot. He still remembered the soft skin of her breast as he’d deliberately touched her when he put the money in her bra. Her nipples were responsive to his mere touch, and he wanted a piece of that pussy. It was obvious her nips were pierced, and the thought of seeing them with a double end threaded bar connecting them, made his cock wake up and hum. That thick hank of hair he’d held in his fist reminded him that he needed to find a friendly piece of ass to fuck—soon. If he was really lucky, he would sweet talk the woman called Future into getting sweaty with him. It was a damn shame he was in a hurry, or he might stick around and find a way to bring her to her knees with his heavy cock jammed halfway down her throat. For now, he grabbed the hotel bar of soap as he stepped into the shower. If he didn’t take care of it now, he wouldn’t sleep at all, and he needed a few hours of shuteye.

Lucas George, known as Knight in the club, yelled through the door for him to hurry up. “Some of us need to use the shitter and shower too you know.” Fortunately for both of them, Demon had finished painting the shower floor with his jizz and was rinsing it off with pure hot water when Knight started complaining. He wrapped a towel around his waist, and left the bathroom still dripping water from his body.

“Sorry to interrupt, man, but I couldn’t sleep. That sassy piece back at the bar has me thinking about how pretty her ass would look with my handprint blazed in red, every time she got smart mouthed. If I get a chance to test her out, I plan to ride that pussy ‘til she purrs. She rode that fuckin’ pole like she loved it, and she wasn’t even naked or close to it.” He grinned and shook his head. “I need to get laid, man, when a chick with a body suit, or whatever you call that thing she wore, can make me hard as a fucking stone, it makes me want to peel it off her real slow and fuck her real fast.” He walked around Demon and went into the bathroom with the small shaving kit he always carried on road trips.

Crazy Charlie was asleep on the sofa. He hadn’t even pulled it out to have a bed to sleep on. No one knew much about the greybeard, but he was a mean fucker, so no one asked him about his past either. There was a reason they called him Crazy Charlie, and Demon had seen the man in action a couple of times, so he knew the name was earned.

When he woke up around eleven, Demon called the Prez to tell him what they were doing, and why it would take another day to get the Oracle from the woman that had it. “She denies knowing about the Oracle, and from what I can see of her and her set up, she doesn’t plan to change her mind. It would help if we knew what the damn thing looked like you know. How do we know if she gives us the right thing anyway? Doesn’t old Merlin know what he is looking for?” He listened to Big Dog, telling someone to find Merlin’s fried ass and bring him to the club.

“We are going to head out and try to make her see reason, if that doesn’t work, we go with plan B.” He slapped the phone on his thigh before remembering the damn thing was fragile, and checked to make sure he hadn’t busted another one. Two weeks ago he’d shelled out over four hundred dollars on the damn new phone to replace the one he broke in a temper.

They stopped on the way to the bar for eats, and wolfed down at the Saturday morning breakfast bar that featured a sign saying it was an all you can eat spread. Demon and Knight ignored the stares they drew from the other patrons in the place. Half of the reason people were staring was the show Crazy Charlie put on for them. He carried two heaping plates to the table and stuffed his mouth full, then chewed the mess with his mouth open for everyone to stare in horror at.