Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) (8 page)

Snare doesn't smell like a man. Or the protector I so vividly remember.

He smells like home.

Snare

Noose floats a Ben Franklin at a bouncer with a bald head that glows underneath the soft illumination inside the club. He stands guard at the edge of the scarlet ropes, his large hands clasped together at the entrance to the corridor that houses six doors. Brass numbers are affixed to each one.

He makes the hundred-dollar bill disappear in his pocket then jerks his chin in the direction of the doors behind him, lifting the brass hook that cordons off the area.

“See no evil, hear no evil,” Noose mutters as he walks by.

“Kitty?” I ask the bouncer quietly.

“Three,” the guy answers in a clipped voice.

Noose is already a storm of movement down the hall.

He grabs my arm before I can follow Noose. “No three-way shit. Thorn won't go for that,” the bouncer tosses after me once I shake off his hand.

I feel my expression turn to thunder. “There won't be any three-way for Kitty—ever.”

The bouncer's eyes tighten, his brows coming together.

I ignore him, seeing Noose's hand on door number three, his eyes on mine.

I nod, anticipating the view.

Hating the outcome.

We walk in, and it's way worse than anything I could have imagined.

*

I'd know the curve of her spine anywhere.

But Sara's so thin now, it's a shadow of her former beauty. The girl I knew had curves that fit against my body perfectly.

This version of Sara is bobbing her dark head on some other guy's dick.

I freeze for a critical moment, my eyes riveted on a chubby stump of glowing candle held in one of his hands, high above them—his face slack with lust. Red wax drips down onto the small of Sara's back, horribly close to the exposed crack of her ass where tatters of an outfit are flayed open like a glittering cloth wound.

Fuck me.

She whimpers around this fucker's cock, and I spring from my position. I hear her choking on his load, and a part of me comes unhinged.

I grab her around the waist, the scrap of torn dress scratchy between us, and lift her. She's light as a feather in my arms.

“Snare,” she chokes, and I close my eyes at her voice and what it does to my insides, shredding the tough exterior I've worked so hard to maintain.

Noose moves in, his fists low and ready at his sides.

For the first time in five years, I feel right. Simply because Sara is in my arms. That void I was trying to fuck out of every woman I met, the emotional disconnect I maintain to survive, slides away like molten lava.

The effort not to cry in relief is ugly. Not killing that fuck she was working over is even worse. “What the fuck, Sara?” I say, and she slumps forward.

A big fucker chooses that moment to blast through the door we just came through and lands on Noose.

The men grapple as Sara goes limp against me.
Fuck.
I swing her into my arms, holding her tight to my chest.

She moves her face away from me and spits onto the floor. My eyes hold the mess of it, the proof of her just sucking off this prick.

My stomach tightens, and I haul us backward as the dickhead climbs over the back of the huge chair he'd been sitting on. It starts to lean backward, and he falls, ass over teakettle, behind it.

Noose gives an uppercut to the big dude's solar plexus, and he folds in two. Roaring like a bull, the man charges Noose.

Noose dances away.

That's when I get a load of the cut the big guy wears.

Chaos.

I gently set Sara down behind me and get a flash of tits. I gulp back the insta-lust that slams my dick and turn, feeling ashamed, angry—fucking hyped—and go after the fucker on Noose.

The big guy that met us at the door, Thorn—I think his name was—wades into the room. “What the blue fuck is going on?” he roars.

Noose gives the Chaos fucker a love tap on the neck, and Thorn steps in, attempting to pin Noose.

Good luck with that.

Noose throws him against the wall with a judo move I didn't know he had.

Thorn hits the wall with his palms, smoothly pushing off with the momentum created by the throw.

He catches his breath, his chest heaving, glaring at no one and everyone. “I said, and I quote, ʻI do not want MC crap.ʼ” He puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head as though he got his bell rung. “And here I stand, with a client, an unknown bodyguard, and you two.” He sweeps his hand at me and Noose.
Shit.

A nice bruise is beginning to bloom like an ugly flower on Noose's cheekbone.

“Here to get my property,” I say into the room. The words are like a sentence of small bombs detonating into the sudden silence.

Thorn raises his eyebrow. “You're fucking kidding, right? I mean, I know a little about MC culture, and why would your old lady be fucking stripping. Stripping at my club?” His fingers spread on his chest.

Good question.
Except answering that isn't easy. She's not really my old lady. She's my stepsister. And—yeah. I love her and want to stick my dick in her and protect her and—geezus—
she had that guy's cum in her mouth.

My head feels hot. Like it's going to blow off my neck. “Sara's mine.”

Noose groans with a shake of his head then wipes his mouth, flicking blood off his fingers.

“Who?” Thorn asks. His eyes move behind me to where I laid Sara down to keep her out of harm's way. “You mean Kitty?”

I hate the stage name. But I've got one of my own. However, since mine doesn't also mean pussy... “Yeah.” I fold my arms.

“Snare.”

I cut a glance at Noose that's sharp enough to slice.
Can't he see I'm fucking talking?

The Chaos Rider gives an uneasy look between the half-naked client behind the chair, swiftly putting on his pants, and the two of us.

Fuck.
Unease slides down my spine. “What?”

“Sara's gone.”

I whirl, and sure enough, there's just some glitter where she'd been. In the middle of this fucking mess, she's slipped out, and I hadn't noticed.

“Fuck!” I bellow into the room.
Could this get any worse?

Actually, I find out, it can.

When the fucker Sara'd been blowing stands up, he smooths back his hair. He meets me dead in the eyeballs and says, “I'm Mover.”

Noose and I exchange looks. My stomach drops into some kind of a pit I didn't even know existed, my balls trying to climb up my ass.

He smiles. “I believe you belong to Viper?”

Fuck, fuck, fuckity
fuck
.

Thorn throws up his hands. “Out. Everyone out.” His eyes find me and Noose. “Don't ever come back.” His gaze shifts to big guy, panting badly after the breadbasket strike he just got, courtesy of Noose. “You get the fuck out.” Finally, his gaze comes to rest on Mover. “And I had no idea of your affiliation with MC. Mr. McKenna doesn't do motorcycle club bullshit. So you're not welcome anymore either.”

Mover comes around the fallen chair, walking past Thorn as though he doesn't exist. “I owe your dancer money. And I pay my debts. Especially when she relieved me of so much.”

He smirks.

I jump forward, grabbing for his neck.

Noose is there, spinning me away. He folds me against him as he whispers fiercely in my ear. “Ya haven't touched him yet. Ya do—it's war. Know this. He
will
pay.”

My body is one hot line of rage. I can't speak. I don't turn around and look at the president of the Chaos Riders. The one who just unloaded his cum into Sara's willing mouth. I can't.

He'll die if I do.

He and his boy leave as I relearn how to breathe. “Let go.”

Noose releases me, wary. Dollar bills lay spread out all over the floor. I can't help the tally.

Around a thousand bucks. For Sara to blow him and let him hurt her with hot wax. This isn't the Sara of five years ago.

The one who hid behind me while my father abused us.

*

“That is the most fucked-up coincidence of my life.” Noose shakes his head, swinging his booted leg over the top of the seat of his Harley Road King. We all thought he was crazy for getting that. The ride doesn't have near the sleek look as a Fat Boy or some of the rest, but Noose has tricked the ride out.

And now he has Rose. He likes his old lady riding in comfort on the back of the hog. I guess I can see the logic.

Now I wish I had a bike that's better for the bitches. But I don't. My Fat Boy doesn't accommodate chicks. Being as how I want to just fuck them, that's worked out so far.

Now there's Sara.

I just sit there on my bike, not moving. Fucking unreal. I took this girl's virginity. Now she's taking her clothes off for strangers and giving blow jobs like some hooker in the back room?
I don't need this shit.

Do I want it?
From where I sit, it kinda looks like Sara's taking care of Sara just fine.

I clench my hands into fists.
I thought she was mine.

Now I'm thinking she's her own.

“Now what?” Noose asks quietly.

Trainer looks around nervously. Probably wishing he hadn't come, but thankful as fuck he didn't make it back to the VIP room once he gets a play-by-play of what went down. That it didn't go well. Couldn't have gone worse.

A vein throbs in my temple with the promise of a raging headache. “It's fucked up that somehow Chaos is involved. I mean, what the fuck is Mover doing paying one K for a blow job? He doesn't have enough sweet butts to fucking suck his rocks off?”

Noose shrugs, being his reasonable self. “Wants exotic. Got local tail galore but maybe the man wants something different.”

I clench my fists.
Why Sara?

“I don't know if I can forgive her. Seeing her sucking off Chaos? The prez?” I make a derisive noise in the back of my throat. “Fuck.” I lace my fingers and pop them on top of my head. “Fuck!”

“News flash, pal. You just
now
give a shit about Sara? Why didn't you look for her in the last fucking five years? She will be the one looking at you like a deserter.”

“Me?” I plug my thumb on my chest. “Nope. I was
saving
Sara. I had set up a fucking spot for us. She took off—
she
left
me
.”

“She wrote you a note. What'd it say?”

I grunt. “Some bullshit about how she wanted me to be free, have my own life.”

Noose nods. “Looks like this was the best she could do, pal.”

I shoot him a sour look. Truth blisters.
Maybe he's right.
But why is the best she could do fucking other guys? Getting naked and flashing her shit at other men?
Why was leaving me an excuse to turn into a whore?

“You need answers, or do you just wanna leave her be?”

I drop my hands by my sides. Talk about conflicted.  “I don't know.”

“If you're all wishy-washy and shit, she was never
the one
, man. And her being related and all.” Noose shrugs.

“Kinda pervy,” Trainer pipes in, sounding vaguely like Storm.

I flip him off. “I had about enough of that at church.” I glare at Trainer. “Thanks, asshole.”

Trainer's smile fades. “Just saying maybe let her do what she wants.”

I grind my teeth, my jaw tight. “My fucking sadist fuck of a dad is after her. I can't just let her go.”

Noose's head kicks back, but he's not blowing smoke rings for once. “I don't know, seems like work. Seems like Road Kill already put our boot in a steaming pile of Chaos shit. And we're not here to back a hero complex.”

I scrub my head. “Yeah. This is going to fuck things between Viper and Mover even more. Fucking
balls
. And this is not about me being a fucking hero, Noose.”

Noose says nothing. His hands loosely clasped, he waits.

“I'm going to see Sara, talk to her. Get some shit straight.”

Noose keeps eyeballing me. “You're not going to hurt her, are you, Snare?” His voice is soft. The tone sounds like before he uses knots.

Makes me feel sick to my stomach he'd ask that. “Fuck no, I'm not going to hurt her. I'm the only thing that stood between her and my dad for three fucking years.”

Noose folds his arm, hikes a shoulder.  “Gotta say the words, man. Even though Sara sucked off the prez of Chaos Riders?” His eyebrow rises in question.

I flinch. My answer is painful but full of truth. I meet his bland stare with one I know is rage-filled. “Even though.”

Noose raises his knuckles, and I give them a light tap.

We pull out of the parking lot and, courtesy of Noose's intel, head in the direction of the apartment complex where Sara lives.