“Rico, Charlie went out the back. I think she might have nicked an artery, so he isn’t going to get far.” With a nod, Rico and one of the others hurried out the back door.
I sat down at Charlie’s desk, not trusting my shaky legs to hold me up, and tried to listen to what Dax was saying to the third man, but it flowed over me like water. I didn’t need to know the ins and outs of the MC to know I had just participated in the start of a war.
***
That’s how it all began. With Charlie gone, the bar needed a new owner, and Dax made it very clear that anyone who had a problem with that owner being me had to take it up with him. Needless to say, there weren’t any takers.
My days became filled with inventory and shipments, counting cases of beer and cases of guns off the same trucks. I took over Charlie’s old apartment above the bar, after I let a few MC members toss the place for any valuable information of how deep Charlie had gone with the Outlaws.
They found a stash of cash way larger than the amount Charlie would have made off the bar and his work with the MC. Good old Charlie had been skimming from the club and figured that he’d get caught eventually, so he gambled on a big payday with the hit on Dax. Charlie never was a very good gambler.
He was found in an alley a few days after the showdown. I had come close to finishing him off with the box-cutter, but he had managed to make it back to his new friends. The Outlaws weren’t too happy about Charlie failing in his job and letting Dax know they were out after him. Bye-bye Charlie, and then the war really started.
My bar was a safe haven for all the Diablos, and I quickly learned the names and faces of the entire crew. While Charlie had been more interested in hiding in his back room and counting the money, I knew they way to make myself valued as more than a pretty pair of tits by the club was to stay visible and knowledgeable. My teachers had always told me that I could really make something of my life if I would just apply myself. Somehow, I don’t quite think this was what they meant.
The three men I met with Dax on that first day were Dax’s most trusted allies, and they quickly grew to be my own as well.
Rico was the muscle. Six foot five with black hair and black eyes, Rico cowed most people with just a glance. A ragged scar cut across the length of his face, adding even more menace to his appearance. He rarely spoke, and when he did, the object of his wrath usually backed down fast.
Despite all that, Rico was actually the only one of the four with a wife and a kid. Life as an MC wife was. . . weird. All the women seemed to tolerate and even expect that their men would have a fair amount of meaningless sex with whatever bar skank they might find. As long as that bar skank never messed with their standing in the club, nothing was said. Jealousy wasn’t tolerated, and neither were revenge fucks. An unattached woman could spread for any guy she wanted, but if you were caught with your dick in someone else’s old lady, you might end up losing it.
Rico’s wife was a tiny redhead named Gina. Barely five feet tall, she seemed to be the only person who wasn’t even a little bit afraid of Rico. I never met their son, but in the few unguarded moments where Rico had mentioned Danny, he obviously cared for the boy and wanted to keep him out of the life until he was old enough to pick up his father’s colors.
Ray was Dax’s right hand and a champion shit-talker. For every word Rico said, Ray had fifty more to add. He’d grown up with Dax and that brought with it the kind of loyalty you can’t buy or intimidate your way into. They were as close as brothers, and I never doubted that Ray would take a bullet or more if Dax asked him too.
Dax’s father had all but adopted Ray when he was a kid. Both second generation in the MC, Dax’s father had been MC president before him until two Outlaw shots made an end of him five years ago. Already in his late 20s with nearly a decade of riding at his father’s side behind him, Dax assumed the role of president easily.
Ray’s father had been the lowest of the low in the gang, an errand boy who got a little too mixed up in what he was selling. Ten year old Ray found him dead with a needle in his arm, and, rather than leaving him to the perils of the foster care system, Dax’s father took him in. The two men had been thick as thieves ever since.
Ray had sandy blonde hair and a perfect toothpaste commercial smile. Underneath the tattoos and leather, he looked like a wholesome, all-American boy. That image disappeared pretty quickly when he opened his mouth and started ranting about what exactly he planned to do to the “Outlaw cunts.”
The first year Dax rode as president was a year of blood. Both sides lost a lot of members as Dax tore through their chapters on a quest for vengeance. Violence was a part of life in the MCs but Dax had been truly brutal in the beginning. Crazed with a grief-fueled vendetta, Ray had been the only one able to convince Dax to broker an uneasy truce with the Outlaws. At least for a time, the streets no longer ran red.
Then there was Johnny. Older than the other two in Dax’s inner circle, Johnny had been riding with the Diablos since the 70s. Two MC presidents lived and died during those years and Johnny remained fiercely devoted to the club and Dax. Practical to a fault, Johnny was a firm believer in the motto “hope for peace but prepare for war.”
Johnny had crisscrossed the country on his bike, seeing far more of the world than I ever had. “You’re not missing much, Blanca,” he told me once. “Just a whole country of people tied down with houses and jobs.” Johnny had shuddered at that thought. Without the open road, Johnny would shrivel up and die.
Johnny sneered at the weekend warriors who tried to come into the bar with their shiny new Harleys and pristine leathers, telling themselves that this lifestyle was something they could buy and play at for a few hours. Johnny had been around the block more than a few times and had the scars to prove it, physical and otherwise.
In those first months running Hades, I grew to know most of the club. I heard a few grumblings from some of the members about how “Dax was crazy for putting a barely legal piece of ass in charge of the bar” but those faded once they saw how I worked.
I ran a tight ship. I didn’t bring redecorate or change the menu. I didn’t start ordering white wine and fucking throw pillows. I had no intention of turning the bar into something it wasn’t, but Hades was a shithole back then. Broken sinks in the bathroom, a floor that hadn’t been mopped since the Clinton presidency, grime caked in the cuts and gouges out of the bar.
That first week, I threw myself into turning the bar around, scrubbing down every inch of the place and throwing out all the expired shit Charlie tried to serve as I tried to forget that I had actually stabbed a man. I called in plumbers and electricians to fix the sinks and the wiring. Seven days of cleaning all day and serving drinks well into the night had me ready to collapse, but it was worth it. I didn’t expect any of them to notice or comment, but when Dax rolled in at the end of the week, he whistled in appreciation.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place this clean,” he laughed sharply. “The floor’s even a different fucking color.”
Beyond that, my first few months with the MC were quiet. The retaliation for Charlie and the attack on Dax never happened, and I let myself relax into my new life. I never saw it coming.
***
It’s not bragging when I say I was one of Dax’s favorite girls. Monogamy wasn’t something you could demand from an MC man, and I had no illusions that he wasn’t getting blown by the bar skanks and bike groupies. Dax was too damn good looking and even I couldn’t blame those girls for wanting a taste of power wrapped up in such a sexy package.
Our first encounter had been cut short by Charlie and his .45 before I could get my top off, and the next few weeks were nothing but scraping of ten years of dirt and neglect and learning the ins and outs of the MC. I jumped at every noise, convinced the Outlaws were going to come and kill me for attacking Charlie.
Last call had come and gone, and I was just turning off the lights, ready to drag myself upstairs and collapse for a few hours when someone yanked on the locked door. I jumped at the noise and had my hand on the pistol that stayed behind the bar before I looked up. Dax stood alone on the other side of the metal security door, watching me silently.
I opened the door and shoved aside the steel gate and found myself pressed against the doorjamb. The metal dug into my back, but I barely noticed as Dax kissed me for the first time.
All the air seemed to flow out of the room, and suddenly I became very grateful for that support of that door, biting metal or not. Dax kissed like a man who knew every day might be his last. His hands were everywhere, tangling in my hair before gliding downward, ghosting over my breasts before reaching my hips. He pulled me tight against his body, and I felt the evidence of how badly he wanted me pressed against my hip.
Coming to my senses before I ended up getting fucked in a doorway, I pushed Dax back and yanked him inside, closing and locking the cage behind him before slamming the door.
No one was going to interrupt us tonight.
Dax was on me again before the keys were even out of the lock, pressing me against the closed door. He moved my tangled curls aside and kissed my neck, his erection grinding against the curve of my ass as I desperately tried to stay upright.
Neither of us had said a word yet, and the silence seemed to intensify every touch. I turned around while I still had enough motor function to stand and wrapped my arms around Dax’s muscled shoulders. I pushed his leathers off his shoulders, aching to feel his skin against mine.
I couldn’t help the squeal of surprise that escaped me when Dax lifted me up, swinging me around and depositing me on the bar like I weighed nothing. His hands paused at the button of my shorts, giving me one last second to back out. Needless to say, stopping him was the last thing on my mind.
He pulled off my shorts of panties in one quick motion, leaving me bare from the waist down and spread out on the bar. His hand slowly stroked the bare skin of my mound, and my legs fell open, showing him all my secrets.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, breaking the silence. His finger followed a line from my belly button down to my center, testing the slickness there. One finger pushed inside me. “And so tight,” he added.
I couldn’t manage anything more coherent than a moan as that perfect finger began teasingly pumping in and out of my pussy. Abruptly, his finger was gone but before my whine or protest even left my throat, his mouth was on me. Dax ate pussy with the same abandon that he kissed with. His tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, circling my folds, giving quick, teasing licks to my clit, and long, languid strokes where his tongue dipped inside me.
This time, it was my turn to bury my fingers in his hair, tugging on the short dark locks and I pulled him closer, desperate for more contact. Dax flattened his tongue and licked the full length of my slit, lapping up my juices eagerly.
I could feel my body growing closer and closer to orgasm, the tension coiling through me as Dax licked and sucked my most sensitive areas. “Please!” I begged, my entire body trembling as I hovered on the edge, needing something to push me over, but not sure what.
Dax plunged two fingers into me, and that was all it took. My orgasm crashed over me, and I sobbed Dax’s name as wave after wave of blinding pleasure poured over me until I slumped back on the bar, wrung out and trembling. The only noise the sound of my gasps as I tried to get my breathing under control.
I sat up, sliding off the bar and into Dax’s arms as my shaky legs gave out beneath me. I could see his erection straining the front of his jeans, and I wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs and feel that thick cock inside me.
This last week had been far too long.
Without warning, Dax lifted me up and slung me over his shoulder and gave my bare ass a quick smack as he clattered up the stairs to my apartment.
Inside my tiny sanctuary, the silence closed in around us again. I had never been particularly chatty, but something about Dax made me want silence. I spent so much time in the loud bar, hearing a dozen conversations yelled over the din of bike engines. Here with Dax, the only noise was the sound of flesh and breath.
Dax pulled the usual Hades uniform t-shirt over my head, leaving me naked before him. Never one to just stand idly by, I reached for Dax’s belt buckle, rubbing my hands over the impressive sized bulge tenting the denim.
“Mmmmmm,” he moaned, and that moan grew louder as I pulled the zipper down. Freed from the snug confines of his jeans, Dax’s cock sprang free. Despite how very badly I wanted to feel him slide inside me, I couldn’t resist having another taste and I dropped to my knees, pulling his jeans down with me.
For the second time, I found myself face to fact with Dax’s impressive manhood. I licked the head with the tip of my tongue, using just the barest amount of pressure before ducking my head down and taking him all the way into my mouth. His girth stretched my lips, and I couldn’t help but think of how it would feel stretching my other lips.
“Blanca,” he ground out, breaking the silence. I looked up without lifting my mouth. “Fuck,” Dax swore. “You’re going to make me come if you keep up with that.” Reluctantly, I pulled back and allowed Dax’s cock to slip from my lips. “The next time I come is going to be inside that tight, wet pussy,” he growled. The vulgar words sent a bolt of lust to my center. For all my teasing, I wanted exactly the same thing.