Page 4 of Scarred Sacrifice

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“I know.” I sigh, rubbing my temple. “But a bigger Sanctuary means more attention. Attention we don’t want. As it stands, we are just a woman-only MC. Men don’t look twice at us, thinking we are just here with our stupid little hobby.”

“But we also can’t turn women away. That isn’t what we are about,” Eden states.

“Well, then maybe we need to look at expanding, and I don’t mean the Sanctuary. I mean, here. If there are more of us here, then there are more of us to fight, meaning the more we can help,” I suggest as I down the last of my coffee. “Right, I need to go. Meet back later unless you are coming to self-defence?” I ask them both.

“Last time I went there I was limping for a week. I think I will give it a miss,” Bernie says with a tight smile.

“If we are done in time, Betsy and I will join you,” Eden agrees.

A loud crashing sound comes from the kitchen. “What in the world was that?” Bernie screeches.

“Oh, I told the lap dogs to make me breakfast. My bad,” I wince.

“For god’s sake, they will burn the place down!” Bernie tuts before storming off to the kitchen.

“Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Might catch you at the defence class later.” I wave over my shoulder and walk outside towards my baby, a Yamaha R6 racer. She was in tech black and built for speed. I pull my fitted biker jacket and black helmet on, along with my gloves. I swing my leg over her and press the ignition, feeling and hearing her engine roar to life. A thrill radiates through me every time. I kick back the kickstand and pull away. As soon as I hit the open road, I let her rip, speeding down the open road as the warm summer sun beats down on me.

I ride for an hour, just losing myself in the thrill of the freedom riding gives me. Needing a drink, I pull up to a coffeehouse. It has small tables out the front with people sitting there enjoying their coffees in the sun. I cut the engine and get off the bike, removing my helmet before I shake my hair out. My dark hair is wavy from letting it dry naturally, and as I go to make my way into the coffeehouse, a man comments.

“I got something here you might want to ride later, sweetheart,” he drawls.

I look at him and see a balding man with a potbelly. I curl my lip in disgust. “Thanks, but I think I will pass.” I brush him off as I walk in to order my coffee.

I also grab a brownie to have with my coffee. Bernie often comments on my weakness for sweet treats, especially cakes and pastries. I’d happily just live off my coffee and cake every day for the rest of my life. I take a seat outside, a little away from the pervy man, and eat my brownie and drink my coffee, just enjoying the sun on my face.

“I bet she sucks like a demon,” I hear one of the guys mutter.

“Yeah, bro. I’d be having her gagging and begging me to stop,” another states.

I inhale a deep breath and close my eyes.They’re not worth it, they’re not worth it,I mentally repeat to myself.

“She’d only be good for fucking, though. She ain’t wife material,” the first guy adds.

I grit my teeth and attempt to drink my coffee and not throw it at them.

“Yeah, you’re right. She doesn’t look like she knows how to even cook. Fuck, I don’t want my steaks being overcooked.”

“True, although if she fucks as good as she looks, I might be able to forgive the overcooked steak,” the other snorts.

All my self-resolve snaps. I stand and walk past two women, who give me a sympathetic look. I almost want to tell them they’re aiming their sympathy at the wrong person, because in a minute both of those men will be on the floor crying out for their mommies.

Their snickering dies as I get closer. The balding one with a potbelly leans back in his chair with a smirk on his face.

“Well, well, well. What can I do for you, gorgeous?” he asks, his eyes sweeping over my body, and I immediately want to shove my fingers in his eyes and yank them from his head for looking at me in such a way.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your comments,” I state.

He arches his brow, his gaze full of intrigue. Like those comments would just turn me on, and I would throw myself at him and his friend. Fucking morons. “Oh?” he quips, the corners of his mouth twitching in an arrogant smile. Prick.

I seductively bend down, my face inches from his. He adjusts himself and spreads his legs further apart. Does he honestly think I would just drop to my knees and suck him off? Since when did men become so delusional? I rest my hands on either side of the armrests, running my tongue across my bottom lip. His eyes follow the movement.

“Your words did something to me. They made me feel things,” I whisper.

He glances a look at his mate, as if to say I’m in with a chance here. “I’ve often been told I’m good with words,” he says with a proud look on his face.

Tired of this game, I bring up my knee, keeping a tight grip on the arms of the chair before I slam my stiletto-booted foot down on his dick. He lets out a high-pitched scream in pain as I press the heel in further.

“You need to change the way you speak and treat women,” I seethe. His mate shifts from his chair, and I look and glare at him. “You come any nearer, and I will drive my stiletto through his pathetic little testicle,” I threaten.