SAVING REBEL: Renegade Rebels Motorcycle Club (11 page)

After my shower, as Harley and I were having dinner, I was delighted when he invited me to Maverick’s birthday party tomorrow night.  I hadn’t been to a party since I was a kid, and as I continued to try to push my forbidden plan to the back of my mind, I distracted myself with trying to decide what, out of my measly collection of clothes, I should wear to catch Mason’s eye.

Out of everything, Mason was the one thing that was proving absolutely impossible to not think about.

He had penetrated not just my body, but my heart, and my soul.  And while it felt better than anything I had ever felt in my life just to think about him, I couldn’t shake an underlying feeling of doom every time his face flashed in my mind.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

The party was in full swing by the time I arrived.  When it came to birthday parties, the Renegade Rebels pulled no punches.  

Alcohol flowed as freely as the cocaine, and dozens of club girls sashayed around in daisy dukes that were barely there, half of them topless before the sun had even set.

When Harley told me he invited Rebel, I was tortured with thoughts of her.  If there was a vise I could put my dick in to get through the night without fucking her, I would have.

But it was no use, and I knew it.  Now that she was in my thoughts, in my consciousness, hell - in my fucking nostrils, considering I couldn’t stop smelling her in every room of my house - my cock had been standing as hard and tall as a fucking mountain twenty-four hours a fucking day.  

It was pure torture, and I was tempted to skip the party all-together.  But I would catch so much shit from the other guys, and I couldn’t get in the habit of avoiding things just because Rebel was there.

I would have to learn to live with it.  With her.  With this constant stupid fucking erection.

When I saw her standing across the parking lot, her black hair pinned up on her head, bright red lipstick smeared across her lips and her body covered in nothing but that damned bikini top and denim skirt again, I knew it was going to be one very fucking long night.

“Sorry, chief,”  Harley said behind me as I walked into the clubhouse, headed straight for the closest whiskey bottle.

“What?”  I turned around, confused.

“For Rebel.  I tried to get her to cover up, to wear something a little…more substantial…but she’s fucking nineteen, and she either doesn’t realize the effect she has on men, or she just doesn’t care.”

“She fucking knows,” I replied, practically growling in agony.  “And she fucking loves it.”

“Yeah…” Harley followed me to the bar.  “I guess you’re right.”

“I gave her the bike,” he said quietly as he sat next to me at the bar while we waited for Hairy Joe to pour our whiskey.

His words jarred me, I had forgotten about that bike long ago.

“The bike? Her bike? The red Harley?” I asked, incredulously.

“Yep.”

His brevity told me questioning him not an option on this topic, so I just nodded my head slowly as I devoured my first shot of many.  

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked somberly.  We might have been partying tonight, but our duties tomorrow were no joke.  We all took our business seriously.

“More than ready to show these cartel cunts that we are not a club they want to betray, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, me too.  Fuck them.”  Our loyalty to the club rang loud and true, and I knew we both found some comfort in that fact.

“Yeah, but listen. Tonight, we celebrate Maverick.  He’s a righteous dude, and he deserves a good party.  Let’s let loose a little and have a good time.”

“You got it, boss,” I replied, the fifth shot of the day going down like butter.

“There’s a lot of women here tonight.  Maverick insisted he get at least three of them, so make sure you save some for him.”  Harley winked at me as he walked away, leaving me at the bar alone.  

I watched the party in full-swing through the garage doors, the band playing loud rock music, the girls dancing in front of the stage, each of them holding a bottle of liquor in their hands, and circling around Maverick like vultures around a dead cow.  And there was Rebel, right in the middle of the action.  Looking like she belonged and completely out of place all at the same time.

She was so damned young and naive, and as I watched all the other men leering at her, the familiar feeling of wanting to rescue her filled my veins.  And there was something else I wasn’t used to.  Jealousy.

Ignoring it, I took three more shots before I walked out the door to join the party.  As soon as my boots hit the pavement, Rebel spotted me and made a bee-line right for me.

Fuck.

As I swayed in front of her, she looked up at me, all innocence and sexuality, and I realized that if I wanted to keep my guard up, then drinking eight shots of whiskey was probably not the best idea.  I could think of nothing else but ripping that top off of her and bending her over my bike again.

“Hey…” she smiled up at me, purposefully jutting out her tits, and rubbing them against my arm as she placed a hand on my chest.

“Hey, Rebel.”   I tried, I really did, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her mouth.  I watched it move, remembered the feel of it beneath my own lips, the softness, the way she melted into me, and I licked my lips, staring at her speechless.

“Will you dance with me, Mason? I’m tired of dancing with the other girls.”  She ran her hand up and down my chest, pleading with me with those damned eyes of hers. “Pleassssssse?”

“No.”  Abruptly, I grabbed her hand, and removing it from my chest, I dropped it and walked away from her, leaving her standing on the side of the stage all alone.

I knew I hurt her, but what the fuck was I supposed to do?  If I put one hand on her, not only would Harley kill me, but if my cock swelled any bigger it would explode, and I would surely die from blood loss.

Was Rebel’s pussy worth dying over?

It was a fact I would debate with myself over and over the rest of the evening.

I avoided her as much as I could, watching her from a distance when I got curious what she was doing.  The moments of having her out of my sight were a welcome relief, and pure torture at the same time.  I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn’t, and if I didn’t find some relief soon, I was going to explode.

Women.  Fucking women.  No woman had ever gotten to me like this, and I was doing my damnedest to convince myself that the only reason I felt this way about Rebel was because I had known her so long, because I felt responsible for her in some way, because I felt this ridiculous macho need to save her.

I knew what I needed to do, and the best thing to do was to do it quickly.

I nodded to Becky, one of the regular club girls, a tall, lanky red-head with a great ass.  She walked over to me, hell she strutted over to me, her short black dress and leopard print pumps practically begging me to fuck her before she stopped short in front of me.  

I looked down at her, then looked over at Rebel dancing uninhibitedly, with not a care in the world, looking like some young, innocent starlet.  I grabbed Becky by the arm, pulling her along with me, and down the hall to the club bedroom.  Hopefully, nobody else was in there.

We were in luck.  I shut the door behind us quickly, desperate for some sort of release, some quick moment of reprieve from thinking about Rebel.  

“Hey, Mason…” Becky knew the drill.  She pulled off her dress quickly, standing bare naked in front of me, nothing but her tall heels and her diamond earrings adorning her perfect body.  Her long red hair flowed down her back, reaching all the way to her amazing ass.

“Hey Becky, how you doing tonight, darling?” I asked.

She smiled her most beguiling smile at me, her body just as tightly wound as mine.

“I’m better now, Mason…” her voice trailed off as she walked closer to me.

Small talk was bullshit.  I had one mission here, and I needed to complete it as efficiently as possible.

“Bend over the bed,” I commanded gruffly.

Becky obeyed me like a puppy.  She placed her hands on the bed, her ass pushed up at me invitingly as she wiggled it.  

She was magnificent.  Young, fresh, with smooth, flawless, creamy skin. She was a masterpiece in a shit show.  

I quickly undressed, and standing behind her, I grabbed her red hair, wrapping it around my fist, and pulled her head back towards me.  My cock had been hard for days and yet as soon as I entered her, it softened.

“Fuck!”  I yelled, as visions of Rebel’s face flashed in my head.  “You gotta be fucking kidding me!”

Becky turned to look up at me, wiggling her ass at me again.

“You okay, darlin’?” she drawled.

“Shit. Yeah, sorry Becky, this ain’t fucking happening after all.”

She stood up, pressed her red lips to mine quickly and smiled.

“No problem, Mason,” she shrugged.  “It happens. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

“Yeah, I guess…” I mumbled.  This shit never happened to me, no matter how much I drank.  No, this had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with a rebellious hellion of a woman.

I gave Becky a hug, and just as I was regaining my thoughts, I heard the loud slam of the door behind us.  I turned quickly, catching the sight of black hair before the door closed and the sound of footsteps running down the hall filled my ears.

Fuck!

It had to be Rebel, and the last thing she needed to see was me in a naked embrace with Becky.

I dressed, gave Becky a quick kiss, and ran down the hall after Rebel.

But she was nowhere to be found.  After five minutes of looking around, I gave up and returned to the bar, my buzz having disappeared already.

I sighed as I sat drinking from the bottle slowly and slowly smoking a joint I pulled from my pocket.  Becky emerged from the back room, flashing me a sweet smile as she walked back outside.

That was not how it was supposed to be.  Up until now, my life had been once easy fuck after another.  Easy.  Two consenting adults addressing a mutual need, and once fulfilled, going their own separate ways.  No messy feelings.  No disappointing relationships or expectations getting in the way.  No broken hearts or yearning for better days.

Nothing lasted forever, and I wasn’t so delusional that I thought I could ever have something with Rebel.  It was impossible.

It was my cock that was having a hard time believing it, as it slowly began growing again now, betraying me for a second time.

I sat there for over an hour, trying to forget everything, going over all the details regarding tomorrow in my mind, but repeatedly interrupted by flashes of Rebel.  

Rebel, at twelve, learning to ride her bike, the smile that lit up her face when she finally got the hang of it and went around the block by herself the first time.  Rebel, crying and trembling in fear as the cops brought her home after her first shoplifting adventure.  Rebel, walking up to me that first day in the shop, pretending to be brave, pretending to be someone else, before I kissed her, before her luscious lips kissed me back.

Fuck this shit.  I couldn’t just sit here bathing myself in her memory.

I needed to pee, so I stumbled to the bathroom at the end of the long hallway near the bedroom.  As I approached, the door opened, and Rebel came out giggling and adjusting her clothes, followed by a very sheepish looking Maverick.

“What the fuck?” I bellowed, throwing the birthday boy up against the wall.