Authors: Jenika Snow
Torque had been in the club since he was twenty-one years old, but for the better part of five years he had been doing runs for the Phoenixes located in the Rush Falls chapter. Colorado was a nice state, but definitely not where he wanted to set up shop for himself. With no Old Lady, no kids, and no home, Torque was a forty-five-year-old biker with a nasty ass attitude, a lot of pent-up anger, and the violence that was fueled by that rage. He didn’t care who he took out if they crossed his path, didn’t care about anything aside from his next stop. Maybe one day he’d slow down, get a nice cabin isolated from others, and live out the rest of his days with his .45 on his right side and a bottle of Jack on his left.
Right now he had to deliver some handguns to the Rush Falls chapter from the River City location, and then he planned on disappearing for a while, just getting lost wherever the road took him. He had about a dozen .38 Specials in his pack that he needed to get to Brack Stringer, the Rush Falls Phoenix MC president. He’d chill for a few days in their clubhouse, hit up a Cherry, one of the free pussy who liked to hang around the clubhouses. They served no real purpose aside from servicing the brothers in any shape, way or form they saw fit, and they sure as fuck didn’t expect anything aside from some deep dicking and maybe being picked up by a brother as their Old Lady But that wasn’t something Torque would ever delve into. His past and background were far too fucked up to be tethered to a female, and he sure as shit could never give her what she needed: love. But there was only one problem with heading back to Rush Falls, and that was in the form of big tits, long legs, and an ass that was juicy enough all he could think about was fucking it. And that problem happened to be Delilah Stringer, Brack’s daughter, and totally off-fucking-limits to Torque, as well as any other member.
Fuck, his dick started to get hard at just the thought of her. She was young as shit, about half his fucking age, and until she hit legal age Brack had done a pretty good fucking job at trying to keep her away from the club. But being the president and having the club be his life meant that was a hell of a lot easier said than done. What really ended up happening was she was at the club more times than not, since that was where Brack was most of the time, the brothers became her family and protected her like she was their own, and Delilah had been the biker brat she had been born to be. When her bitch of a mom dropped her off at Brack’s doorstep when she was only three, Brack hadn’t known what in the hell to do. But he found out fast enough how to raise a little girl, and now she quickly she became his pride and joy. But Delilah was a hardheaded little thing. Just like her dad. He had seen enough arguments between her and Brack that made him cringe, because if it had been anyone else screaming and pitching fits at the fierce-as-fuck Phoenix president, they’d be six feet under from a bullet wound to their head. But he loved Delilah so much he put up with her shit and finally caved when she had insisted on working at the club and helping out with the books.
Shit, it was pretty fucking sad he knew so much about her, like some kind of damn stalker, but he was close with the Rush Falls chapter, had been since he first joined the Phoenix MC. He had even considered at one point in becoming a full member with them. But he hadn’t given that a lot more thought since the idea made him itchy as fuck, and he was afraid he would have done something he would regret, and that would most likely get him killed. He couldn’t count the number of times he had passed through Rush Falls, seen her fine-looking ass at the clubhouse, and could only think about fucking the shit out of her. In fact, he thought about the last time he had seen her, which had been four fucking years ago. She had been really fucking young, eighteen and legal, but still pretty fucking young.
Before she had turned eighteen he had noticed the way she looked at him, like she wanted to jump his dick, but fuck, it was bad enough she had been underage and giving him those “fuck me” eyes. But then once she turned eighteen and he had seen her as something more than Brack’s little girl, he had known he needed to watch his shit or he’d lose his balls. He remembered that day, even four years later. She had shown up at the clubhouse, and when she had seen what one of the club whores was doing to him the look on her face had done something to him. He had felt like a bastard for the first time in his life. He had watched Delilah grow into a gorgeous woman, but he supposed it had been that one moment when he realized that if he wasn’t careful he could really do something that would fuck everything up and piss off a whole lot of people. Delilah had shown a lot of fucking emotion, whether she knew that or not, but he hadn’t pushed away the Cherry. The slut had sucked his dick until he had come, and being the bastard he was, Torque had come thinking about Delilah and being balls deep in her cunt. But he had stayed away until right now, let the years pass by, because the things he felt for a girl he should stay away from were suicide. He tried to forget about Delilah and the Rush Falls chapter, but, fuck him, he couldn’t. Whatever she had done to him when she looked at him with those big baby blues had changed something inside of him. And Torque didn’t fucking like it.
Fuck, he was a sick bastard for the things he had thought about concerning Delilah. It was sick and twisted shit, the kind of stuff someone didn’t do to a good girl like her, and would have her screaming and running in the other direction. And Delilah was a good girl, no matter who her dad was or the life she was surrounded by. She was just so damn innocent, and not at all like the loose skanky club whores who hung around and spread their legs at the snap of a finger. What he thought about concerned hard spankings, hair pulling, and feeling her nails rake down his back as he fucked he so hard she was fucking raw from his cock but still begged for more. He palmed his cock through his jeans and cursed. He couldn’t remember the last time he beat off. If he wanted to come he just found some pussy, but after thinking about Delilah he didn’t even want to taint the image he had of her by finding some loose-as-shit cunt. He unzipped his jeans, pulled out his dick, and braced a hand on the little desk pushed up against the wall. Then Torque did something he hadn’t done in a long fucking time. He jerked himself off like some kind of virginal teenager to an image of a female he could never have.
Chapter Two
Being the daughter of a motorcycle club’s president wasn’t all flowers and tiaras. There was a lot of shit Delilah Stringer had seen growing up being a biker brat, and a lot of shit she wished she could erase from her memory. But on the tail end of the random sex that went on in the clubhouse, the coarse language, and the violence that surrounded the Phoenix MC on more days than she cared to admit, Delilah wouldn’t change any of it.
She parked her Mustang in an empty spot in front of the clubhouse and cut the engine. There was a row of Harleys lined up off to the side, and the huge garage door was open. The garage wasn’t a business, just where the guys could work on their bikes and cars. Most of them had a lot of different trades under their belts, the majority being talented in the illegal variety, but they all knew how to fix shit. She stared at Ringo, who got his name because he was a dead ringer for the Beatles drummer. He was currently under the hood of Malice’s truck. Climbing out of her car she grabbed the file that held receipts from the “family business” that needed tallied up. The club did a lot of stuff that would land them in prison, and in fact had at some point in their lives.
“Hey.” The sound of a tool clanging on the cement was followed by the noise of Ringo hitting his head on something under the car. Delilah shouldn’t have laughed, but when Ringo got out from under the truck with grease smeared across his face, she couldn’t help it. He was too old to be under any vehicle, but the old bastard liked to keep busy.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Ringo greeted her. He was the oldest member in the club, and at seventy-three he looked good for his age.
“My dad here? I didn’t see his truck or bike.”
Ringo wiped his hands on a greasy rag that would serve little purpose in getting them clean. “Yeah, he’s in there. Just got back with Malice.” She didn’t miss how Ringo didn’t give her any more information. It was obviously club business, therefore no concern of hers, even if she was the prez’s daughter.
“Okay, thanks.” She turned to head inside but Ringo’s voice stopped her.
“Just a heads up—”
She looked over her shoulder.
“Pinkie is in there.”
Delilah gritted her teeth and forced herself not to groan aloud. Pinkie and her damn slutty ass.
Ringo held up his hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger, sweetie. I just wanted you to know so seeing her skinny ass wasn’t a shock. I know you two don’t get along, and I don’t want to know why.” No, it never was a shock, because Pinkie had to be the biggest Cherry of them all. She was now in her thirties, but looked rode hard and put away soaking wet. Yeah, her and Pinkie had a nasty little history, one that Delilah wouldn’t forget, because that bitch had gotten pleasure in rubbing the fact she had been with Torque in her face. Even all these years later she still made off-the-wall comments about Torque and his big dick, and how she missed him coming to Rush Falls and fucking her ass. That was a problem with these biker assholes. Pussy was pretty high on their list of priorities, especially ones they
thought
were good fucks. Yeah, just thinking about her pissed Delilah off, and ever since then she tended to steer clear of the Cherry or there would be an all-out brawl between them, and Delilah would rip those extensions right out of her bleach-blonde head.
“That bitch needs to get a life and leave the club alone. I don’t know why they keep her dirty ass around.”
Ringo snorted. “Girl, you know your pop ain’t gonna get rid of her unless she really fucks shit up. She’s the most popular Cherry in the club, and sucks dick like a damn—”
Delilah cut off Ringo with a firm shake of her head. “No way. I don’t want to know any more so don’t go there. I already see more ass in this place than I ever needed to in my entire life, but hearing about her—” she shook her head again. “Don’t even, Ringo.” Most of the guys tried to censor what they said around her because they still saw her as a little girl, but hanging around the club meant there was no hiding anything. Also, Ringo wasn’t one to mince his words no matter who a person was. He held up his hands in surrender and turned to finish working on the truck.
Delilah pulled open the door and the scents of beer and cigarette smoke filled the air. It was early in the morning and the lights were dim. The place was a freaking wreck, with beer and liquor bottles, half-naked females sprawled out across the furniture, and yup, there were even some members under those bodies. Dixon pushed a broom across the floor, making a pile of dirt with some condom wrappers and even used ones thrown in there. Delilah wrinkled her nose. She didn’t see Pinkie, and most likely she was in one of the back rooms with a member, sucking him off. Ugh, dirty slut.
“Hey, girl.” Dixon propped herself up on the broom and smiled. She was an attractive older woman that Delilah was pretty sure was giving lap dances to Ringo. Yeah, that wasn’t a sight she wanted to visualize.
“Hey. You’re here early.”
Dixon rolled her eyes and looked around. There were even a few naked chicks grinding themselves on the members and even the furniture. “Yeah, came in to prep for a big dinner for the guys and their families, but looks like I’ll spend most of the morning cleaning up.” Dixon shrugged and went back to sweeping. “This is the life I guess.”
Delilah shook her head and made her way across the room, stepped over bodies and garbage, and stepped into the office. She shut the door and tossed the file on the scarred desk. The office looked like she had stepped into the seventies with its yellow shag, faded and torn brown chair, and posters on the wall of Farrah Fawcett lookalikes hanging naked over Harleys. Just as she sat in the chair there was a knock on the door.
“Yeah?” Delilah leaned back and looked over at the door.
Dixon pushed it open and leaned against the frame. “You are going to eat dinner here tonight, right?”
Delilah smiled. Dixon was more like a mother to the club, and had been around since before Delilah even came to be part of the Phoenix clan.
“Of course. You know I’d rather hang out with you guys than spend a Saturday night alone at my place.”
Dixon gave her a warm smile and the corners of her eyes and mouth wrinkled from the act. At fifty-one Dixon looked old for her age, but her warm personality and caring nature made her seem a lot younger. Delilah didn’t know how she had gotten involved with the club but assumed it had something to do with Ringo since no one but him touched her.
“Good. Be back here around eight, sweetheart.” She shut the door behind her.
Delilah rested her head on the back of the chair. The thing had to be as old as her and smelled like mold and dirt, but it was one of the most comfortable pieces of furniture in the place. She had thought about leaving Rush Falls, going to college in another city, maybe even Denver or Boulder, but at the end of the day she couldn’t do it. So, she had finished school here, gotten her dual business and accounting degree, and stayed in the only place she had ever called home. Now she helped do the books for the club’s legitimate business selling hunting equipment to the huge hunting community in this town. The money was decent, but didn’t bring in nearly as much as their on-the-side jobs, whatever those may be. Delilah didn’t ask were the wads of cash came from because, honestly, she wouldn’t have gotten an answer anyways. What she did know was that it was probably blood money, coming from guns, drugs or both. She should have felt guilty and wrong for living this life, but this was the only kind of life that had ever opened their arms and accepted her. Not even her mom had wanted her, but then there were eight big, burly and meaner-than-hell bikers who treated her like she was their little girl when she was only that to one of them. She drummed her fingers on the desk and stared at the water-stained ceiling. There were a lot of fucked-up things in this world, and maybe she was in the thick of it, but hell, she wouldn’t change it for anything. Maybe one day she would spread her wings and leave the Phoenixes to start her life in a big city. Oh, who was she kidding? This was her life, and no one left Rush Falls or the MC.