Page 2 of Savage

“You’re one sick bitch, Ivy, you know that right?” I shake my head, sliding my fingers down the seam of her crack. She spreads her legs wider for me. I thrust a dry finger in her arse, and my thumb inside her cunt. She moans and rocks against my hand until she comes, slapping and scratching at my bare chest. I tighten my hold around her neck, watching her gasp for air as she rides out the remainder of her orgasm.

With my hand wrapped around her throat I pull her closer, smother her mouth with my kiss, and then I fuck her. For hours. In every hole she possesses, and in every position possible because the bitch is hot, and not just that, beyond the gorgeous tits, and hair, and that broken down look she gets in her eyes right before she comes, squeezing my cock with her pussy harder than a vice. It’s because I recognise something in her. Something more than her fucked-up daddy fantasies and her innate need to be used up. I recognise loneliness. And the fact that she may just be the one other person inside this clubhouse who is as fucked in the head as I am.

My brothers kick her out when she begins sobbing like a little girl. They can’t wait to be rid of her. After they’ve used up every hole she has to offer, they discard her like trash. But not me. I like to watch her cry. I taste her tears. I relish them. Because pain is beauty, at least in my world. And everything in my world is pain.

Has been since the morning I woke with a gun pressed to my head.

Sinceherlife was snuffed out.

CHAPTER TWO

KICK

Ishrug off the frosty fucking reception I receive from Prez and my brothers as I walk into church, and I flop down in my chair beside Tank, a dude with short dark hair, bright blue eyes and a frame a hell of a lot bigger than any other I’ve ever seen, way bigger than Moose ever dreamed of being. I’m late because after fucking all night, Ivy had decided she wanted to snort coke off the end of my cock at the arse crack of dawn. It took forever to come.

Prez glares at me, his no-nonsense stare pinning me to the back of my seat. I sniff and feel a wet trickle of what I think is snot dripping from my nose, but after wiping it away with my sleeve I quickly realise I’m bleeding. Tank smacks me upside the head.

“You fuckin’ high, Kick?”

“It’s a party isn’t it?” I shrug, but know I’ve said the wrong shit as soon as Crazy, Tank and Killer shake their heads.

“No, arsehole, it ain’t a fucking party,” Prez roars. “Last night was a fucking party, today we got business. And I don’t need your spoiled little newbie arse fucking my shit up. So you’d better sober up real goddamned fast. Or do you need me to beat that shit outta your bloodstream?”

I hate when he refers to me as a goddamned newbie. Prez is ten years my senior. He’s a bad-arse motherfucker—don’t get me wrong. But he wasn’t indoctrinated into the life. He stumbled upon it after a stint in a Sydney jail fifteen years ago. He built this club from the ground up, and I gotta give him props for turning it into one of the most notorious clubs in Australia in such a short amount of time, but I was born into the club life. My father was an Angel, and my grandfather before him. I was birthed by a club whore, suckled at the breast before the bitch ODed. I was chewed up as a sweet, blue-eyed baby boy and spat out a man. I took down every bad-arse motherfucker in my chapter when they turned against me. I did my time as a prospect for both the Angels and the Saints, and I patched into both early by doing the really fucking dirty-arsed shit no one else wanted to do. I was not a fucking newbie. I never had been, because I’d never had another choice.

“I’m sober, Prez,” I say quickly.

“Good, then go clean your shit up before you ride out. You and Tank are going to pay our friendly neighbourhood dentist a visit. Bastard fucked with Raphe’s old lady. Been putting the moves on bitches while they’re under sedation. This time he picked the wrong bitch to fuck with.”

“Raphe doesn’t want a go at him?”

“Why the fuck do you think he isn’t at church? He already had a go, landed his dumb arse in jail because of it. Told him we’d have a little Kinder Sur-fucking-prise for him to play with when he got out.”

There’s a timid little knock on the door, and Prez leans back in his seat, scrubbing his hands over his face in agitation.

“What?” he yells, and then his eyes widen a fraction when the door swings open and he sees Raine, a pretty blonde with a banging body and an even sweeter disposition, standing on the other side. “Come on in, darlin’.”

“Sorry, I’m interrupting,” she says, staring nervously between Prez and the rest of us sorry sons of bitches. She’s carrying a steaming cardboard cup of coffee and one of those little white bakery bags. She sets them down on the table in front of him. “I stopped by the bakery near my house this morning. It’s a warm crème brûlée muffin. They’re really good.”

“She wants you to eat her warm, sweet muffin, Prez,” Trigger says, waggling his eyebrows like a fuckin’ geriatric douche. His boyish good looks are mis-fucking-leading, because the dude is motherfucking crazy. He’s like a kid with ADHD. On speed.

Prez glares, and Trigger quickly shuts up.

Prez took Raine on as a bar wench and occasional cook after she lost her job a few months ago at the local café we frequent. Most of the brothers take care of their own meals, and some of the lucky bastards head home to a cooked meal at the end of a long day and the same familiar pussy in their beds at night. And some of us eat take-out twenty-four fucking seven. But food doesn’t prepare itself for club meets, and that’s where Raine comes in.

Far as I know, she’s alone in the world; no family and no friends, except a club full of criminals. Raine tiptoes around this place as if at any moment she’s afraid Prez is going to turn her out on her arse, but he wants up inside that pussy bad; I’d seen it the first time I tagged along to the coffee shop with him, and I still see it every damn day. Prez is hard up for the vanilla bitch who makes his coffee and cleans his office. And I’d bet my last dollar that he’s wishing and hoping she could start cleaning his pipes, too.

“Well, I’ll just …” She points to the door, and scurries away like a little mouse.

“Sweetheart,” Prez calls to her, and she turns. He grins like the fucking Cheshire cat. “I’ll savour every morsel.”

Raine’s eyes light up like Christmas. She blushes and then leaves the room as silently as she entered, closing the door behind her. My brothers and I practically bust our nuts laughing. All except Grim. Dude needs his fucking head checked because Prez is going to rip it off his shoulders if he catches Grim staring at Raine the way he does.

“Shut the fuck up,” Prez hollers, as pissed off as a fucking cut snake. “Tank, don’t come back without that dentist.”

Tank nods. He’s a douche of few words.

“The rest of you,” Prez says, “we’ve got Bandits to meet with.” He bangs the gavel against the table and the room is filled with the sound of shuffling feet and shifting leather. I sit in my seat long after the others have piled out.

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