Torched (8 page)

Looking back, Torch hadn’t thought that part through before marrying Penny. The bitch had only gotten his ass kicked once, but it was one time too many. Fuck if he repeated that mistake again. Women in general were more trouble than they were worth. And it was hard to find a quality one anyway. It took a special kind of female to put up with the highs and lows of club life without turning into a raging fucking psycho, and you didn’t find those women among the throngs of skanks who got passed around an MC clubhouse.

Not that they didn’t try. A lot of the girls figured if they were wild and satisfying enough in the sack, they might be considered old lady material one day. It never happened. Who the fuck wanted to claim a woman who’d spread her shit for any brother that looked their way? Sometimes, Torch pitied them. They all obviously had daddy issues and zero self-esteem. But most of the time, he didn’t really think about it. What kind of man turned down eager pussy? Not this one.

Torch greeted the brothers at the bar—Stag, Roach and Slim—and asked a prospect manning it for a beer and shot of tequila.

“Hey fucker! How’s life as nomad?” Roach asked, ignoring the leggy blonde sucking on his neck.

“Can’t complain, man. I hit the road when I want, do a couple runs here and there, and don’t have anybody breathing down my neck.”

Slim was already giving him the side-eye. “Is this one of your runs?”

As usual, nothing got past that kid. “Nah, just representing the mother club. I was in Pittsburgh anyway, meeting some potential suppliers. Figured I’d come through since none of the other guys could make it.” Torch hoped that would appease Slim’s curiousity. “Why? You boys need help?”

“Nope,” Roach cut in, a little too quick to be believed. “All’s well in Ohio.”

“Good to hear, brother.” Torch noticed that Stag had yet to say much and was going out of his way to avoid eye contact. Normally, that asshole ran his mouth like a marathon.

Yeah, something was definitely up.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it before a buxom redhead approached, wearing extremely short shorts, a sparkly green tube top, and clear hooker heels—standard issue for a crawler. She seemed a little classier than most though.

“Hey, stranger,” she breathed, leaning close to his ear. “Feel like company?”

Why the hell not? Business could wait. He drew her in between his legs, ignoring the cat calls erupting around him, and cupped her ass with his hands. “Whatchya got in mind?”

She softly bit down on her index finger and batted her eyelashes, a nice preview of what she might look like sucking on his dick. “Whatever you want, baby. I’m all about hospitality.”

Goddamn. It was a good thing his brain wasn’t hard-wired to his cock. That thing had a life of its own. No matter how fucked in the head he was, he could still get hard at the drop of a hat and fuck like a champ.

“Torch,” Roach called out, before tossing him a key. “Guest room.”

He caught it with one hand, already off his barstool, and pulled the redhead behind him down a back hall where all of the rooms were.

The guest room was the first of many, empty of any personal touches except for a bed, dresser, and night stand with a bowl of condoms on display. Simple and functional, exactly how he preferred his accommodations.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Ginny,” she said sweetly, as he locked the door behind them.

He turned around and pulled her to him, sliding his hands down the back of her shorts. Her hair smelled like flowery soap and he buried his face in it. That was his threshold of intimacy with a bitch. Torch didn’t kiss—not since Penny—it was too personal. He didn’t do personal.

She wasted no time, sliding her hands down to his belt buckle and expertly undoing it in three seconds flat. Her warm fingers found their way to his zipper and undid that too, before digging in and pulling out his throbbing dick from its denim confines.

Torch snapped his head back and groaned at the sensation of her small hands wrapping around his cock and squeezing it, all blood flow in his body now being directed in a southern direction. He grabbed the back of her head and pushed down, signaling for her to get that eager mouth of hers where it needed to be. Ginny happily complied, sliding down to her knees and taking him in both hands now as her tongue worked the tip.

“Fuck,” he moaned, “deeper, babe.”

Ginny tried to comply with that request too, slowly sliding her mouth down around the length of his shaft. She could only get about halfway there before hitting the back of her throat, but did her best to make up for it by stroking the base with one hand and kneading his balls with the other.

Torch could feel himself getting even harder and longer as she went at him like a Hoover—sucking, stroking, moaning.

She smiled up at him, eyes wide. “You like that?” she tried saying, mouth full of throbbing biker dick.

“Mmhmm.” Yeah, fuck yeah he liked it. But then something else jolted through him as a ray of light hit her hazel eyes. For a split second, the illumination brought out a hint of green in them and his mind flashed to a different pair.

Fucking Livia, eyes the color of jade. Eyes surrounded by bruises.

Son of a bitch.

“Enough,” he snapped at Ginny, feeling his dick softening as anger started boiling within him.

She released him from her mouth, looking confused.

“On the bed,” he demanded. “Face down, ass up.”

Ginny sprung up and shimmied out of her shorts in a hurry. She didn’t bother losing her top before following directions and hopping onto the bed. Torch took off his cut and shirt, and stepped out of his jeans. He grabbed her thighs and yanked her closer to the edge.

“You want it rough, baby?” she cooed.

“Shut up. No talking,” he snapped.

He didn’t want to hear her voice, didn’t want to see her face. He just wanted to pound the shit out of her pussy—which could have been anybody’s at that moment for all he cared—just to get out the frustration of not being able to pound the face of whoever had fucked up Livia’s body.

Ginny got the hint and buried her head in a pillow. Torch snagged a condom and tore it open with his teeth.

His eyes narrowed at the bare ass in front of him. He wanted to imagine it was Livia’s, so that was what he did.

“I don’t appreciate being treated like a fucking charity case.”

How the hell had he treated her like a charity case? Christ, she needed a fucking spanking for running that dirty mouth at him. Just thinking about her getting all worked up made his dick start twitching again.

When the bare ass in front of him had been warmed, Torch pulled his arm back and brought it back down with an open-handed smack. Ginny squirmed, but her whimpering was muffled by the pillow, so he reached back and did it again.

And again.

Not hard enough to bruise, but definitely hard enough to turn the surface of her skin a bright red.

All the while, picturing it as Liv’s and hearing her voice between slaps.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Slap.

“No one tells me shit.”

Slap.

“You’re more broken than I am.”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Jesus, why did her bitching turn him on so much?

He was back to being hard as a rock, and had to stop before busting a nut just from using his fucking imagination. He flashed back to the image of Liv’s exposed wounds as he traced the bruises and looked under that bandage at what looked like a nasty knife wound.

Instant rage.

He rolled the condom on, not bothering to check if she was wet and ready before positioning himself at her entrance. He didn’t care. His hips thrust into her with all the force he could muster, causing her back to arch and head to pull up in shock. If he was hurting her, she didn’t say shit. They never did. Club skanks took as they got and didn’t give a fuck who was giving it to them.

He slammed into her over and over, balls slapping her clit so hard that they stung. Sweat poured off his brow and fell in drops along her lower back, but he kept going until all of his anger had worked its way to the surface and exploded with one final thrust. Torch waited for the release that usually came from the last spasm in his groin. It didn’t happen. He was just as fucking frustrated as before.

Ginny scooted out from under him and sat back against the headboard. “Hope that helped, baby.”

He looked up, sweaty hair plastered to the sides of his face. “What?”

“A woman knows when she’s getting fucked outta frustration. Someone’s got you twisted up, pissing you off and turning you on at the same time. Not my business, honey, but this bitch would kill for one of the brothers to have me stuck in his head like that. She’s a lucky girl.”

Torch stood up, tossed the condom in a trash can and picked up his shirt from the floor. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Okay, baby,” she said with a conciliatory shrug.

Fuck, had he turned transparent? That wasn’t a good thing in his line of work. Torch stared at her, wondering what the story was. She was pretty and soft-spoken, not as trashy as the rest of them.

Ginny pulled her skirt back on, not once looking back at him. As she walked by him, he noticed something on her nose and grabbed her arm. Bringing her face close to him, he touched it with his finger and tasted it.

Cocaine.

At least it wasn’t meth, which seemed to be what dragged down a lot of clubs these days. But fuck, coke wasn’t much better if this particular chapter was getting it from the cartels Snoop had ordered them to cut ties with. “The fuck? You using?” he asked her.

Junkies were a universal no-no in Serpent clubhouses. They were unstable and unpredictable, prone to running their mouths to the wrong people and bringing all kinds of problems.

Her eyes got big as he squeezed her arm. “Just once in a while, baby. I’m not addicted. Today’s a celebration, right?”

Suddenly a sick feeling came over him. “Who gave you that shit?”

She turned pale, probably realizing that someone’s ass was on the line. “A friend.”

With his other hand, Torch grabbed her by the throat. He didn’t choke her, just reminded her that he could. “Only gonna ask you one more time before shit gets ugly, Ginny. Who gave you the fucking blow?”

“D..Di..Dino,” she stuttered.

Jesus fucking Christ. Dino was the Akron President. If anyone should have known better, it was him. “Here at the clubhouse?”

Ginny nodded, looking scared shitless. “He keeps it in his safe. A lot of it.”

Even fucking better. “He selling or just giving it out to the girls?”

“I don’t know.”

“You better fucking spill it, Ginny.”

“He’ll kill me if I talk—”

“Well I suggest you don’t tell him you talked then,” he snapped.

She sighed, eyes down. “I really don’t know what he’s doing. I’ve seen a few outsiders in his office, but couldn’t tell what they were doing or talking about. I know a few of the guys are using.”

“Son of a bitch,” he seethed.

“Torch, honestly, that’s all I know. I don’t ask questions. That would be stupid.”

No, dealing out of the clubhouse would be fucking stupid. Or even keeping that shit laying around. One unexpected raid and the whole chapter would be locked up, the entire organization under a microscope. Again.

Fucking idiots, they’d just gone through this shit in San Diego. He was livid, but released his hold on Ginny. He’d gotten all there was to get from her.

Her body shook. “Are you gonna tell Dino I sold him out?”

“Your name isn’t gonna come up. You need to quit that shit though.”

“Yeah, I know,” she squeaked.

“I’m serious, darlin’. You get in deep with coke and soon you’ll have needle in your arm. No brother wants a junkie for an old lady.”

She nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. See ya, baby.” With that, she opened the door and bolted out.

Torch, picked up his jeans and fished out the burner.

“Yeah,” Buddha answered.

“We got a problem in Ohio, brother.”

“Already? When did you get in?”

“About an hour ago. Might need you and some bodies out here.”

Torch wasn’t scared of shit, he’d been outnumbered in fights before and still managed to stay standing. But these brothers weren’t some street thugs, they were deadly when needed. And Torch wasn’t an officer anymore. As a regular member, and a nomad at that, he really didn’t have the authority to tell leadership how to run their ship. Bylaws and org charts were in place for a reason and it wasn’t his call to make.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Blow—”

“Jesus. You’re shittin’ me. We had a fucking understanding.”

“I know. Listen, I don’t have all the information. I know Dino’s keeping a stash at the clubhouse. Don’t know if they’re moving it, but sounds like he’s been welcoming civilians in the gates lately.”

“He’s keeping that shit at the club?” Buddha bellowed.

“Looks that way.”