Property of Drex (Book 1) (Death Chasers MC Series) (3 page)

“Where’d you find her?” I ask, looking back toward Benny as he curses the fed’s body that lies still in a pool of his own blood.

He spits on the fed’s corpse, and turns back to me as some of his guys take a few shots at the dead man as well.

“She grew up with my boy. She needed money, I needed this, and your father wants peace. It’s a winning situation all around.”

So he definitely knew Marks. This just raises more suspicion.

How much money does it take to have a girl hand over her body for life? It’s not like the money is going to do her much good, unless she’s expecting to be set free by Benny. Until we turn her on Benny, she’ll never get to go anywhere or do anything—besides warm my father’s bed.

That thought doesn’t settle well with me now. And I really don’t like the fact that I don’t like it. It’s hard to ignore the sour taste in my mouth.

This is our world, and I signed on for it a long time ago. Then again... Pop doesn’t need to take chances. If she’s supposed to be a
token of peace
, it doesn’t have to be Pop’s bed. Pop prefers the wild ones, anyhow.

Then again, so do I.

But if there’s even a chance she might be up to something, Pop doesn’t need to risk it. I’m not ready to lead the club yet, and I’m sure there are several from his second crew that would raise hell if the position fell to me prematurely. The last thing we need is a war within the outfit.

And if she
is
up to something shady, I can always fuck it out of her. Since she knows what she signed on for.

My smile grows as she staggers backwards, shielding her eyes from what’s left of the gory remains.

Stepping away from all the fun and moving out of earshot, I pull out my phone, dialing my father while keeping my eyes alert.

“What’s she like?” Pop asks by way of greeting, and my eyes rake back over the body of the sweet girl.

“Definitely not your usual type. But I don’t want her with you. She could be their spy.”

“I was already prepared for that. I have a list of fun things planned out for breaking her. Most of which will happen in the bedroom.”

It shouldn’t bother me—the girl is asking for it—but for some reason, the thought of Pop having her is making my stomach churn.

“She’s not your style, Pop. And for all we know, she could slit your throat in your sleep. I’ll keep her, see if I can find out what Benny’s up to. Besides, Benny doesn’t want me dead. It’s you he’s after right now. Let’s play this smart.”

His laughter creeps through the phone, and I can sense his smile.

“In other words, you want between the girl’s legs. Must be a looker. You’re lucky your old man has a soft spot for you, or I’d kick your ass for wanting what’s mine.”

I don’t say anything, because I sure as hell don’t want to push my luck. After a few minutes of silence, he releases a breath. “Fine. Take her. You haven’t ever asked for anything, so this once I’ll give you something. But don’t tell her a damn thing, and see if you can figure out what Benny is after.”

A lazy grin crawls into place as I turn back to face the brunette beauty who is still shaking, probably in shock. This is going to be fun.

“No worries.”

“And, Drex, if she fucks up, she’s dead. Understood?”

He doesn’t even need to ask that.

“I’ll put a bullet in her myself.”

Chapter 7

EVE

He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since we got here—his
clubhouse
. In fact, he’s barely taken his eyes off me since he met me.

The warehouse, if that’s what you can call it, is huge. As soon as you walk in, there’s nothing but wide open floor space full of couches, TVs, weird art work, and even a massive kitchen off to the side. The wall against the back has doors, but two are open, leading into a red lounge type room with carpet instead of concrete.

The building is tall, big enough to be considered three stories, but there only seems to be two floors, and there’s a metal, industrial-style balcony that wraps around the top, guiding the way to several doors along the path.

Large concrete columns are strategically placed along the lower level, and several large rugs are resting in various areas over the concrete floor. None of them match, but then again, neither does any of the furniture. Even the dining room table has random chairs shoved under it—and that’s one hell of a massive table.

There are several sets of stairs, but Drex leads me up a set that isn’t too far from the entryway, keeping me from prying farther. I follow silently, acting like the good little
gift
I am.

As I go, I ignore the curious eyes of the numerous men around. My eyes flick to a wall at the other end, all the way across from us, and I see several large garage doors that are open.

Motorcycles and cars are parked all in it, and I half wonder why Drex parked his outside instead of in there. But my thoughts are cut off as we reach a room.

It’s a large room, and once we’re inside, the sound of the door shutting is almost deafening, because we’re alone. My life is changing, and it’s changing quickly.

Is he going to leave me here for his father?

I shudder discreetly, hoping I don’t get sick. Waves of nausea crash against me, battering me from the inside, but I do my best to remain an external picture of composure.

Even though this room is big, there’s not a lot in it. One large dresser, one large closet, a massive bed, several odd angles—that could be perfect for hiding—and what appears to be a bathroom.

The walls are cold and hard, just like Drex.

Drex is the Vice President and son of Herrin—President of the Death Dealers—and I’m actually surprised. I’m surprised about Drex being VP, not Herrin being President.

Drex is maybe in his late twenties, but he doesn’t look anything like what I expected a VP to look like. He doesn’t look polished, but he doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed either.

This isn’t the type of MC that just hangs out and loves to ride together on occasion. This isn’t the happy-go-lucky type of group that look like killers but are secretly Teddy Bears. No. This is an organization, a business, and an elite team of criminals who have banded together, just like the Hell Breathers. And now I know for a fact that they’re killers.

Coldhearted killers.

These are the lethal criminals; motorcycles just happen to be involved.

Drex isn’t bearded like some of them. He has just enough stubble to pull off that slacker sexy. His soft, dark hair is short on the sides, almost buzzed, but the top is long enough to run your fingers through and have something to tug. Though the only reason I want to tug it is to use it as a handle to hold him still while I knee his balls and run away.

Unfortunately, I’d rather live—at least one more day.

He’s tall, like at least 6’3. Even though it’s hot outside, he’s wearing a leather jacket that has “Death Dealers” proudly displayed on the back. There are several skull symbol things embroidered on the jacket that apparently represent their club, along with a grim reaper in the center of them.

On his right hand, his fingers are tattooed near the base, with the exception of his thumb. DREX is spelled out, as though he wants someone to see his name before his fist connects.

“Eve Marks?” he asks, intrigued, and it shakes me from my inner appraisal.

I just nod as he chuckles, circling me as he reads from the file Benny apparently gave him. I’m not sure what exactly he finds amusing. How much of my personal information is in there?

Though he’s beautifully disguised, he’s a monster just like the rest of them. I’ve never seen anyone die right in front of my eyes, especially not so brutally, but they all seemed to either enjoy it, or they acted bored. This creep watched me the whole time, probably enjoying how sick it all made me.

I need therapy now.

Alcohol would be a good substitute, since I doubt this group has a therapist on hand.

I’m not sure if I’m still in shock, or maybe staying in denial, or if it’s just survival mode, but I’ve pushed the entire scene from my head, refusing to fully let the reality sink in.

He drops the file on the table in the bedroom, and the loud clap it produces forces me to startle just a bit. I recover quickly as he crosses his arms over his chest while he studies me.

“What does Benny want to learn about us?” he asks, his voice deceptively calm.

Huh?

“What?” I ask in a hoarse rasp, inwardly cringing at how terrified I sound.

I hope he doesn’t confuse terror for guilt. I’m not sure what he’s probing for right now, but I certainly don’t want him thinking I’m working for Benny.

“Come on, Eve,” he says with a lazy drawl, letting my name roll off his tongue. “It’s not every day a girl from the suburbs crashes into a clubhouse and offers herself up to be used and traded. In fact, it’s probably the first time I’ve personally heard of it. So what does Benny have on you, and what does he want? Either he’s blackmailing you over some dark, dirty secret. Or you’re here because you’re one of those girls who is going through a curious, rebellious phase. Believe me, darlin’, this isn’t the place for a phase.”

Regardless of my answer, it’s too late now. Benny would kill me if the Death Dealers didn’t kill me first. I’ve signed myself over to be at their disposal—consequences be damned.

I suppose I’ll be damned, too.

And I hate being called
darling.

Deciding not to mention that, mostly because I don’t want to piss him off, I answer honestly. “I needed mone—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, waving his hand for emphasis. “Money isn’t why you’re doing this. If you want money this way, you prostitute yourself out to classy businessmen. With a face like yours, you’d be with the high class hookers, making more than enough money. Here, you won’t be getting to use that money too often. For as long as you can think, this is your new home.”

A tear begs to fall, but I deny it the right. “Prostituting myself out wouldn’t have gotten the money as soon as I needed it. My mom was about to lose the house, and my brothers start school this year. She was on the verge of losing everything.”

For a fleeting moment, his expression softens, but almost as quickly, the hard, emotionless glower is back.

“So you’re saying you did this for your family. That’s your story?” He pauses, and I nod, deciding to rest my tremulous voice. “Well, as sweet as that sounds, I reserve the right to be suspicious. Guys like us don’t make trades for peace.”

He walks around me, and my breath catches in my throat, becoming painfully lodged when he touches me just at my collarbone. Though his touch is gentle and not inappropriate, it’s a reminder that soon his father will be touching me in places that aren’t so innocent.

His finger trails over my chest, slowly heading south, going between my breasts, and stopping right at the top of my jeans, hovering over the button.

“You should strip. These clothes aren’t going to cut it. And I also need to search you. Everywhere.”

Everywhere.
That word echoes through my mind, crashing back at me as though it’s a warning.

He removes his hand and steps away, watching and waiting, and I swallow hard. The painful knot in my throat only grows as I reach for the hem of my shirt. Taking a deep breath, I pull it off quickly.

His eyes are on me, watching with open interest as I move to my jeans. As much as I’d like to draw this out and delay the inevitable, I also don’t want to keep dreading the first time. The sooner I’m naked, the sooner the suspense ends. I’ve prepared myself for what I hope is the worst.

“You know what’s going to happen to you, right?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest as I push the jeans down my legs. He takes a deep breath as I step out of them. In nothing but my pink, cotton underwear, I try to find the courage to meet his gaze, keeping my expression as impassive as possible under the grim circumstances.

“I know.”

His lips twitch with amusement, and I reach for the clasp of my bra, trembling harder as it comes undone.

“And this is consensual?” he asks, acting as though he gives a damn.

“Would it matter if it wasn’t?” I retort, my eyes growing wide with fearful regret.

Shit. Why did I say that?

His eyes darken as he studies me, and I drop the bra to the ground, baring my breasts, and hoping that’s enough to distract him. His father is about to do as he wants with my body. It’s stupid as hell to piss off his son right now.

His eyes dart down to my breasts, and his dark smile barely returns.

“If this isn’t consensual—completely consensual—you’re going back to Benny. I don’t have to force girls into my bed. And the second you give your consent, you’re mine any time, any place, and any way I want. This is your one and only chance to walk away. Understood?”

His? I’m his? I thought I was going to his father.

Deciding against voicing that—since a guy closer to my age is preferable to some perverted old bastard—I nod.

“I understand,” I murmur, ignoring the surging adrenaline in my body. If I’m going to be his, then... This is about to happen. Shit.

Hooking my thumbs in the sides of my panties, I shimmy them down my legs, ignoring my desire to cover myself as I straighten back up. He appraises me, putting me on a level beneath him as he stays clothed and keeps that scrutinizing gleam in his blue eyes.

“Turn around and put your hands on the top of the mattress,” he says, his voice commanding but restrained and husky, as though he’s holding himself back.

Nausea sweeps over me again, but I fight it back as I turn and do what he wants me to. My hands shake with crippling fear as I push them against the mattress, and his breath comes suddenly, surprising me at my ear as his shirt tickles against my bare back.

“I’ve got to search you.” His velvety, smooth, deep voice shouldn’t be seductive. He’s a criminal, a coldhearted killer, and I’m about to let him touch me without true protest.

“Open your mouth and spread your legs,” he orders.

Even though my knees try to buckle, I immediately obey, and he reaches around me, putting his middle finger into my mouth. He circles his digit around, inspecting each crevice as though he might find something. I try not to gag, because even though that finger tastes good, I have no idea where it has been.

After a lot of probing in my mouth, he withdraws his hand, and it disappears from sight. He warned me he would touch me, but he never said where. When his wet finger—lubed with my own saliva—slips into a place that’s never been touched, I try to jerk away out of instinct.

“Don’t. Move,” he growls in my ear, bringing his other large hand to wrap around my waist, spreading his fingers over my stomach and hip, firmly holding me against him as he probes me.

There’s no real pain, but the feeling is so alien and... uncomfortable, especially since I’ve known him for just minutes. He pushes in a little deeper, and I suck in a breath, feeling his finger touch places I didn’t consider would get touched. I suppose I only thought I was prepared for the worst.

I really hope his finger is all he puts up there.

“You’ve never been touched back here, have you?” he asks, his lips close enough to graze my ear. The denim of his jeans scratches against my skin as he pushes even closer, letting me feel the hard outline of proof this is turning him on.

I swallow down my panic while trying to answer, but my voice breaks and some squeaky sound comes out instead. So I shake my head
no
to answer.

His throaty chuckle is mocking me, but I can’t really focus on it when he pulls his finger out and swaps hands. The hand that was just violating me moves to be on my waist, restraining me, while his other comes between my legs to cup me.

My rush of breath falls out as his finger slips inside me, and that’s when I feel my body has betrayed me. Shit.

“Turned on?” he muses, sliding his finger through the wet slit, a teasing, slow motion that makes my stomach muscles clench in response.

Silence is the best reaction to that question. I’m not turned on, but my body doesn’t understand what’s going on. It doesn’t know the—

“I can’t get deep enough to give you a thorough search this way. You’re on birth control, right? I’m not using a condom with you.”

A cold sweat breaks out as those words resonate. My body trembles for reasons that confuse me as conflicting emotions rattle around. I shouldn’t feel excited, but I do. I should be appalled and in tears, not quivering in anticipation of the promised debauchery.