Savage: Iron Dragons MC (36 page)

“What? Why?” She looks at me in terror, as I pull out the gun from my waistband and stick it into the pocket of my leather jacket. “Where are you taking me?”

“Mexico. We’re going to go see a guy who knows who did this.”

Chapter 8: Torn at the Seams

“Do you want me to grab you some water or something?” Tank pulls a large leg over the side of the parked bike and hops off. He then reaches out his hand to me, but I refuse it. I can get off this thing on my own. I certainly don’t need help from my kidnapper.

“No. I can get whatever I need on my own.” I storm away from him in a huff. We’ve been riding for three hours now with no breaks. I’m wearing this ridiculous dress that doesn’t protect my legs from the scorching hot seats or the rub of his jeans against my thighs, and my hair is in a complete wind-blown knot at the back of my head. All I want now is to stretch my beat up body and figure out how to get the hell away from this monster.

I didn’t appreciate being dragged out here across the border. Part of me wasn’t even stunned when we managed to cross through without a second glance from border patrol. He just flashed an ID at them, and they sent him through the roadblock as if he was some diplomat. It must be nice being the big man on the U.S. side with all the connections and power.

Once we got past the U.S. officials, I knew that I was screwed. Even if I could take my hands that clenched to his jacket and reach into his pocket for that gun, I wouldn’t be fast enough. And if I got a shot in, there would be no one here to save me or protect me from the wrath of the Apaches—not even the Aztecs.

Rumor among the boys is that the reason the Aztecs couldn’t grow their territory was because Apaches and Tank had a control over who ran drugs in and out of the two countries. Anyone who passes and sells drugs has to do it with the Apache’s president’s permission. But if that were true, why were we in Mexico now? Shouldn’t his power be able to order whoever had the insider knowledge to just confess? Something wasn’t sitting right with me. And if I had to tag along for this, I was going to see it out.

When I get out of the gas station’s filthy bathroom, Tank is standing at the door waiting for me. He is gulping down a large bottle of ice cold water, and I watch thirstily as little trails of water fall out of the corner of his mouth. He gulps down the last of it loudly and tosses the plastic blue bottle into the garbage can. He then turns to me and asks teasingly, “Did you want some of that?”

“Screw you,” I say, trying not to laugh. I did turn him down when he offered. I head over to the cash register with my own bottle and take out my wallet from the backpack. I stare in disbelief as I suddenly realize I don’t have any Mexican currency and that my credit cards are back at my apartment. Under my breath, I use my limited amount of Spanish to tell the impatient cashier that I didn’t want the water anymore.

Tank is standing directly behind me, as I walk out the door and into the hot spring sun. I push around some dirt with the toe of my nude-colored flats as I wait for him by his bike. When he appears moments later, he has an open bottle waiting for me. He ducks his head to meet my downcast eyes, as he pushes it to me. “Come on. I don’t want a dead girl on my hands just because you hate me. Take the damn water.”

“No thank you.” I head over to the bike and attempt to straddle it on my own. I’m anything but graceful as I practically stumble into the seat. Tank is still watching with that smug smile on his face and the water in his hand.

“Don’t make me pour this on you. While it may be hot for me to see that little red dress cling to you even more, I’d rather you drink it than waste it.” He takes a sip and lets out another exaggerated sigh. I’m going to lose this battle.

I grit my teeth and look away as I hold out my hand. He places the water in my hand and wraps my fingers around it. I turn back and let him see me gulp the entire thing down. I can’t even believe how easy that was. While I’ve been riding motorcycles with my dad since I was a little girl, I have never been on such a long ride in the hotter seasons. It’s actually hard and demanding work to do this day in and day out for hours. Part of me was actually admiring Tank for his stamina.

But now that we’re back on the road, all I can do is hate him for this. He somehow thinks he can just take me for no reason or explanation except to promise me that there is a guy somewhere who knows something about Carmen’s attack. How am I supposed to be okay with this? I need to be with Carmen to protect her, to watch out for her, and to make sure that she is treated right while she is so vulnerable. I’m not supposed to be on a scavenger hunt with a hot guy and his bike.

Another hour passes, and Tank’s giving me no indication if we’re even close to this destination. I’ve stopped trying to figure out where we are going. We’ve somehow managed to go from a major highway with normal city traffic to small village in Mexico. It’s almost like one of those movies with the small hut homes and the dirt roads. Once we pull into town, there are even little children with sand-colored clothing there to greet us and ask for candy.

Despite the children being eager to see us, the rest of the town looks anything but. I spot several men running inside their homes or businesses when we pull off the main road. A woman yells for her daughter to come inside, and another shuts her business’ doors tight with a plank lock system out of the Middle Ages. It seems to me that Tank’s reputation has managed to follow him all the way down here.

He gets off his bike and tosses his helmet to me. “Stay here. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t do anything. Just wait for me.” He then hurries inside a white, plantation-style home that stands out from the rest of the village. Its bricks practically gleam in the sun, and the townspeople have all seemed to have made the small water fountain the center of their world.

A few minutes later, Tank appears and grabs me by the hand, forcing me off the bike. Without letting go, he leads me inside the large, wooden doors, out of the view of the villagers. With a click of his fingers, an older man appears from seemingly out of nowhere. He pushes me towards the man as he says slowly, “Manuel, this is Sierra. Whatever she needs or asks for, you get. First, she needs her clothes washed and a new dress for tomorrow. Comprende?”

The older man nods his bald head enthusiastically, as he looks me over, trying to determine my size. With his orders made, Tank then turns to me. “I have to go and talk to a guy. You are not to leave this hotel, do you understand me?”

“What?” I ask, as the anger and frustration builds up to a breaking point. “I thought that the point of you dragging me out here was so that I could be here when you found out who did this to Carmen?”

He looks at me annoyed. He’s clearly not used to a woman, let alone a man, boss him around and tell him how to do his work. “Listen, Sierra. This is a business trip for me, too. Let me handle my end of this, and then we’ll get some answers in the morning.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on here!” I slam my foot in the ground, wishing for once that I had heels on. Heels always make a good foot stomping more dramatic.

Instead of fighting back, Tank grabs me by the arm and leads me off towards a long, tiled hallway and through an outdoor terrace where a small pool is being filled by some groundskeepers. Tank doesn’t even acknowledge them, as he opens the last door in the corridor and roughly pushes me inside. I stumble backwards, catching the corner of a hand-carved wooden desk with the back of my legs.

Tank closes the door behind him and starts walking in slowly towards me. Something in me is screaming “Red alert! Danger!” But I can’t seem to move. I just stand there, waiting for his next move.

“I need you to stop fighting me, Sierra.” He stops right at the edge of the desk and leans his wide, tall body over mine. “The less you fight, the easier this is.”

My knees tremble, as his hand reaches out and strokes the side of my cheek gently. I feel his finger nails as they make their way down my jawline, across my throat, and to my low-cut neckline. My mouth goes completely dry, as I try to answer back, “Never.”

He pushes his hips further into me, causing me to hold onto the desk’s top. I am practically laying on it now, with my legs just dangling off the edge. His hand runs over the neckline of my dress while the other begins to slowly lower the zipper at the back of my dress. I hear it creep open, as the pupils in his eyes grow wider in anticipation.

This is the part where I’m supposed to say “no.” I know that. Every part of my mind is saying that. But that pit in my stomach is growing wider and wider, and it’s begging me to just let go for once. Can I really do this, I wonder? Can I really say “yes” to a guy like Tank?

I don’t have to answer that question. My red dress, the one I wore because it was Carmen’s favorite, slides down my body inch by inch. When the garment hits the top of my bra, coming to an anticlimactic stop, both of us look into the other’s eyes. His burn at me with such intensity that I think I’ll fall into the flames. And something changes. That longing that I am feeling becomes a need, a desperate horrible need.

I practically lunge at him, my legs wrap around his, pulling him closer into the curve of my neck. He breathes deeply into my skin before taking his hands and splitting the seams of my dress straight down the middle. It pops open with several loud pops. The roughness doesn’t bother me, it just makes me push further into him.

I catch a glimpse of his wicked smile, as he tosses the ruined dress down to the ground and unhooks my bra. He stands back, as far as I’ll let him with my hip’s grip to look down at me resting on the wide desk. I hear him whisper, “Fuck, you are spectacular.”

He lowers himself onto me and kisses me intensely. Every bit of me falls to pieces as he holds me there in his arms, taking in every inch of my mouth with his. His tongue slips in, teasing mine as I play right back. It’s a powerful push and pull that I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop. All I want is for him to conquer every part of me.

His kisses move towards my neck, caressing at the nub of my ear. I feel a tender nip as he bites down and pulls. All of the nerves in my body pulsate, as I feel a rush of blood and adrenaline course through my veins. I want to yell or push him away, but I hold back, gripping onto the desk as tightly as I can.  Even the pain he causes feels magnificent when it’s against my sensitive skin.

I push him further down towards my breasts. Already, my nipples have become hard at feeling him rub up against me. He takes them into his hands, warming them with his palms. He kneads at them slowly, as if he’s forming his own creation. His thumbs rest on the tips of the nipple just enough for me to feel the brush of his skin on mine. My hands fly up to his hair and my hips elevate just slightly, as I show him that I want him to take control. 

He moves back up and kisses me. It’s wet and sloppy, but as I watch him go back towards my breasts, I know why. With a huff he blows hot, steamy air on the top of my nipples and around the mounds of my breasts. Then, before I can protest, he sucks in one of the breasts into his mouth. The cold of our moisture combined sends me reeling. I can feel his tongue adding to the pressure and the back of his teeth resting against the most sensitive parts of me.

Why is he so good at this?

He repeats the motion on the other breast, this time lingering to savor my skin. I take the opportunity to wiggle my arms underneath his large chest and grab at the black, skin-tight t-shirt. I yank it free from the belt enough to push it up his smooth body. As it crawls up his back, I push my nails into his skin, causing him to lurch forward in shock. I don’t stop. I continue my path from spine to neck and up the back of his head till his t-shirt wraps around my own body.

He grabs the shirt and stands straight up. In the dark of the room, I hear him say, “Kitten can scratch, I see.”

I drop myself down from the desk and stand before him, naked except for the pair of red panties I am wearing. I reach for his belt and pull him closer to me. As I unhook the buckle, I look him in the eye as I say, “I can do more than just scratch.” And with that, I lower myself to my knees, taking his pants and black boxer briefs with me. He only has seconds to realize what I’m about to do before I can take the long cock dangling between his legs in my warm hands.

I hate to admit this, but I’ve lied. I’ve never pleasured a guy before—not once. It always seemed so dirty, so slutty. But I want to show Tank that I can hold my own, that I’m not one to be totally dominated. And part of me wants to reciprocate what happened in my apartment nearly a week ago.

So I do what I’ve seen in the few pornos I’ve seen. I take the long, girthy length of cock in my hand, and I begin to stroke gently out and in, out and in. I go from his hips to the very tip, being careful not to twist or to pull too hard. After a few long, deep strokes, he lets out a moan that I can feel vibrate even in his shaft. “God, that feels so fucking good.”