Lilith: Lucifer's Legion Motorcycle Club (2 page)

“Once
upon a time, there was this bitch picked up in front of the shelter on
Mission
Street. She was brought to a place with very bad, very dangerous men who
didn’t
give a fuck if she cried and screamed and begged to be let go. The chick had
to
be taught to suck and fuck on command. That’s all her life was good for now.
She had one week to get her shit together and learn her role, because when
she
was sent to her new master, if she didn’t suck him off the right way or come
when he fucked her in the ass, he’d shoot her dead. The end.”

Randy
takes the smoke from his mouth and offers it to her. She doesn’t move a
muscle.
“This
ain’t
no
fuckin
’
fairytale
ending for you. It’s live or die time. Which you want to do?”

The
bitch stares at him for a moment, then her hand shoots out, and she pulls
the
knife out of his boot. “Fuck!” Lucky yells. “Somebody get down there.”

“Wait!”
I say, holding up a hand. “She’s chained.”

Randy
skitters backward out of her reach. The bitch runs the blade across her
tongue,
closing her eyes as a thin line of blood appears. She licks the tip of her
finger and draws a pentagram on her cheek in blood.

Silence
pulses around me. Not one of the brothers makes a sound. Then from the back
of
the room, Gunny’s baritone rings out. “That. Is. Fucked. Up.”

Randy
leaves the basement without once looking back. The brothers watch the crazy
bitch on the screen for a few more minutes, but she relaxes against the wall
and stares at the ceiling again. Meat turns the TV off, and they go back to
their partying. Randy never comes back in.

“Crazy
fuckin
’ loon,” Meat says, filling me up
again.

I
finish off the Jack in one long pull and walk away from the bar. Down the
long
hallway, the only sounds are moans and grunts as I pass the rooms of the
other
brothers, who’ve made their claim on the club bitches. Inside my door at the
end of the hall, I open my top drawer and pull out a loaded
Glock
.

Sex
trafficking is serious business, and Randy made it into a circus. Time to
end
this freak show and get rid of the bitch.

TWO

She’s
naked beside me, belted in the passenger’s seat. Her wrists and ankles are
bound with the ropes she was brought in with, wearing the gag that was made
into a blindfold, so she can’t see a fucking thing.

The
hum of the van’s tires on the road is the only sound as I drive out into the
middle of nowhere, out into the desert. The moon is full in the black sky
with
no stars. My headlights catch the slither of a diamondback across the
two-lane
road, but it doesn’t outrun my tires and disappears under the
van.

Sweat
rolls down my back, over the creases and ridges of burn scars, not so
different
from the ones this bitch carries between her legs. My
fuckin
’
past made me the monster I am today—kidnapping, rape, and murder, all
patched
up and accounted for on the front of my leather cut—and her past must’ve
made
her the psycho lunatic she is.

I
glance over at her. Her knees are bent, her heels on the edge of the seat.
Her
hands are fisted up under her chin. She finally looks
fuckin
’
scared. Too late. Too
fuckin
’ late. The loaded gun
’s
tucked in the back of my jeans, and I’m
puttin
’
this
bitch to rest.

Spotting
a rocky outcrop up ahead, I pull the van off to the side of the road and cut
the engine. I get out, round the front, and tug the passenger door open.
After
unbuckling her belt, I cut the rope around her ankles and guide her out onto
the hard packed dirt.

Guiding
her by the ropes binding her wrists, I lead her under the outcrop and take
her
blindfold off. She looks straight at me, doesn’t give a shit where she’s at,
just
fuckin
’ nails me with that evil, steely-eyed
glare of hers.

It’s
been a long
fuckin
’ night. I take a joint out of
my pocket
and light it. It’s good shit. I offer it to her. “Want a hit before I put a
bullet in your head?”

She
takes it and inhales deeply. Maybe she’s not as
fuckin
’
nuts as she lets on. “What’s your name?” I ask her. When I get patched for
her
murder, I want to be able to put a name to this hit and not just remember
her
as the
fuckin
’ satanic cunt I shot in the desert
at
three in the fucking morning.

She
stares up at the moon and exhales, watching the smoke drift lazily into the
night air. “Lilith,” she says. One side of her mouth quirks up, almost a
smile.
“Every man’s worst nightmare. Taker of lives. Demon of the night.”

I
pull the
Glock
out of the back of my pants. “Guess
I’m
doin
’ mankind a favor then,” I say, cocking
the
pistol.

Slowly,
like she’s in a trance, she takes my trigger hand in both of hers. She’s so
fuckin
’ calm, I let her lift my arm until the gun’s
muzzle
is pressed against the center of her forehead.

Jesus,
she’s lost her
fuckin
’ mind, but at the same time,
there’s peace in her eyes. She came to me already tortured and broken, and
this
is her way out. She’s waiting for me to pull the trigger and end her
life.

There’s
only one problem.

I
can’t
fuckin
’ do it.

Killin
’ her would be like
clubbin
’ a goddamn baby seal to death. I should put her
out
of her misery, but it’s not her fault she’s fucked up.

She’s
starin
’ into my eyes like I’m not even
standin
’ here with a gun to her head, and fuck if I’m
not
the one whose hand starts shaking.

Motherfucker,
do it
.
Shoot
this bitch.

She
reaches out and ghosts a finger down the side of my face. “I see you,” she
whispers.

A
chill crawls up my spine. The bitch is in my head. She does see. She knows
my
weakness. She holds my secrets in her fucked up brain.
Fuckin
’
night demon.

I
drop the gun to my side. We look at each other for a second, an
eternity—fuck,
there’s no sense of time when I’m stoned in the middle of the desert with a
soul-sucking cunt like her.

She
steps right up to me and brushes her nipples against my chest, bare under my
cut. The tiny silver hoops send a chill straight to my cock. She tilts her
head
up, her breath hot on my neck. Her teeth tug my earlobe and pinch hard
before
she whispers, “I know you.”

She
traces her nose along my jaw, thick with dark stubble, and lifts her eyes to
mine. Her tongue eases out and traces my lips.

A
strange sensation takes over my body, fear and lust, like I’m about to fuck
a
tiger that could tear my throat out with her teeth.

She
stands on tiptoe and rubs her pussy against my thigh, making my cock strain
against my jeans. I get the insane idea that if I fuck her, I’ll be selling
my
soul to the devil, like I haven’t already. This is different though. She’s
covered with Satan-loving ritualistic bullshit tats.

But
fuck, it’s already like my soul’s leaving my body in this hotter-than-Hades
desert with this bitch licking my neck and rubbing on me. She might be a
succubus, because I can’t
fuckin
’
resist.

She
drops to her knees and unfastens my jeans. That mouth and those teeth that
ripped into the skin on the back of my neck, come around my rock-hard cock.
I
stand there with my head thrown back, looking up at the raw, white,
unforgiving
moon with my
Glock
in my hand being sucked off by
the
bitch I brought here to kill.

I
grit my teeth and bring the gun up to the side of her head.

Do
it motherfucker. Pull the trigger.

She
moans at the feel of the hard steel against her temple and sucks me harder,
works me like I’m granting her a last request. Her bound hands stroke the
base
of my cock, jerking me off. She looks up at me with pleading eyes, and I
swear
to fuck it tears me wide open. I grab the back of her head and shove my cock
down her throat, come flowing out of me like blood, like a
fuckin
’
sacrifice that binds me to this bitch.

I
pull her head back and shove her to the ground. She wipes her mouth on the
back
of her hand and smiles up at me. “I am you,” she says. “Soul of my soul,
Lucifer.”

“Fuck
you.” I point the gun at her chest. My finger tightens on the trigger. In
the
last second, I jerk the gun up and fire over her head.

I
walk away shaking my head. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I
see you.

I
know you.

I
am you.

Her
words
fuckin
’ run on replay through my head as I
stalk back to the van.

The
hour drive back to the compound alone makes me want to tear my
fuckin
’ head off. I can’t stop the thoughts that keep
jumpin
’ out at me. That bitch wears her evil intentions
on
her skin; mine are displayed on my cut—my patches. She wears proof of being
fucked
up on her inner thighs—the burn scars that match the ones on my
back.

I
don’t know one damn thing about her, but I do know I’ve taken women from
bars—from right off the street—and held them naked and cuffed in a cold,
dark
basement, forcing them to submit to oral, anal, beatings, multiple partners,
any and all types of sexual depravity a man could expect from a woman he
buys
for sexual slavery.

I
’ve
killed in cold blood over territory, over loyalty, and for revenge. But I
couldn’t kill her.

I
fucking could not kill her.

Soul
of my soul.

She’ll
die out in the desert tonight—naked. Hypothermia will set in if the coyotes
don’t hunt her down first.

My
cock still tingles in my pants, and I can still feel her mouth—feel my cock
jammed in her throat as I come. It’s fucking insane, but it’s like I left a
piece of myself with that crazy bitch. She’s got my come in her belly, and
she’ll probably puke it up and do some fucked up satanic ritual that makes
my
cock fall off.

Shit,
I’m losing it.

I
should turn around and empty my
Glock
in her
head.

I
need another bitch. The cartel boss wants one in a week, and he’ll have one.
I’ve always delivered the goods, and this won’t be the first fucking time I
don’t.

When
I turn off the road through the gates of the compound,
Butch’s
bike sits in his spot beside the clubhouse door. If he’s back, shit’s going
down.

Inside,
everyone’s cleared out, except Butch and Pretty Randy, who’re
sittin
’ at the poker table in the corner
talkin
’ in low voices. Their heads turn to me when I
walk
back toward them. “Take care of her?” Butch asks.

I
nod and grab the bottle sitting between them on the table. I toss my head
back
and let the whiskey burn down my throat.

“We
shoulda
used her,” Randy says. “If you knew what the
fuck
you’re
doin
’, you
coulda
made it work.”

I
slam the bottle back down. “You couldn’t even keep her from stealing your
fuckin
’ knife, so watch your
fuckin
’
mouth.”

Butch
pounds a fist on the table. “There’s a lot of
fuckin
’
money on the line,” he says, eyeing me. “It’s not only New Mexico’s rep that
’ll
be shit if this doesn’t go down. You think Texas or Arizona will be able to
sell bitches if we fuck this up? No
fuckin
’ way.
LLMC’s
fuckin
’ broke if this falls through.”

Expansion’s
the goal. I’ve been training six to eight bitches a year in different
states.
The MC’s been
lookin
’ for a partner, like the
cartels, to grow business. “I’ll find a bitch and get her ready,” I say.
“
Nothin’s
fucked up.”

“What
are you
doin
’ here then?” Randy asks. “Shouldn’t
you
be out
findin
’ a new bitch?”

If
Butch wasn’t here, I’d pound my fist in Randy’s pretty
fuckin
’
face. “Thought I’d come back and see if you were still off
cryin
’
somewhere after the bitch made you shit your pants.”

He
bolts to his feet and leans over the table,
gettin
’
in my face, but Butch stands and shoves his hands on each of our chests,
backing us apart. “You boys want to fight, do it some other time. Right now,
we
focus on business.”

I
don’t step back until Randy does. I’m done with his
fuckin
’
attitude. “Your VP thinks he can do my job better, maybe you should let
him,” I
say.

Butch
slumps back down in his chair. “Here’s a
fuckin
’
idea. Both of you go. Luc, you say this isn’t fucked up yet, so the business
is
gonna grow. We’re gonna need more than you to get bitches and train them.
Teach
Randy how to do it.”

Randy
and I look at each other. He’s the last motherfucker on earth I want to
teach
my trade to. He’s all chiseled jaw and charisma, but without a hog and a
gun,
he’s a pussy. Fuck, Lilith saw right through him when he sat down to have a
pow
-wow with her ass. Snatched his blade right off him.
Stupid fucker.

“He
don’t listen,” I say. “Won’t ever work.”

“It’s
done,” Butch says, pushing his chair back and leaving the table. “Get me
another bitch before daylight.”