Made to Riot_A Motorcycle Club Romance_The Ancestors MC Page 11

The waitress was incredulous.

  “You mean to say you want some meat to go with your meat?”

  Her eyes were on the slab of steak on one of the plates, a red and raw thing sitting hot and tantalizing in a pool of thin red blood.

  “Can never have too much meat,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” said Anya. “I’m a nurse.”

  The waitress shook her head and set down the last item, a rich-looking chocolate milkshake topped with whipped cream and a cherry.

  I set into the food, wolfing it down and barely coming up for air.

  “You look like you’re about to get sent to the gas chamber,” said Anya, poking listlessly at her salad.

  “Like I said,” I replied, my mouth greasy from the meat, “killing’s hungry work.”

  “Evidently,” said Anya, her eyes flicking around the diner once again to make sure that no one had heard what we were talking about. “Hey, how about a bite of that?”

  Her finger was pointed at the plate of pancakes that I hadn’t yet gotten to.

  “No way,” I said. “You made your salad bed; you can sleep in it.”

  Soon, the waitress returned, a pair of plates in her hands, each filled with greasy sausage links. And right as she set them down, Anya’s slim hand darted out and grabbed a couple. Taking a bite out of one, she smiled a mischievous grin at me.

  “Now, what the hell’s going on there?” I asked.

  “I think you’re becoming a bad influence.”

  I could only smirk.

  “Little lady, you have no idea.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Anya

  My arms wrapped around Bryce’s firm body, we raced down the highway leading to Atlanta. The towers of the city began to grow in the distance, and my stomach tightened with each passing mile. The plan was to meet up with his fellow gang members—his ‘MC,’ as he called them—and figure things out from there.

  I was far more nervous about this proposition than he was.

  Bryce seemed to have a confidence that I could only dream of. He seemed to be sure that no matter what he did, it would work out for the best, and that all he needed to do was stick his chest out and walked forward and the world would stand aside for him. I didn’t share that confidence. I could only think about the dangers that lay ahead, all the things that could go wrong with his plan.

  What if the entire group was against him? What if they all expected him to be dead from the attack, and as soon as they laid eyes on him they’d just pull out a gun and take him out? I had seen first-hand the kind of brutality that Bryce was capable of, and I had the sneaking suspicion that he was one of the more even-keeled members of his club. Sure, he had his anger, but I could always see the glint of intelligence in his eyes; I couldn’t imagine the type of behavior a less-restrained MC member might get up to.

  I knew that I was only in the middle of this situation because I wanted to be, and that any danger was my own choice. But I wanted to help, and I couldn’t quite explain why. Maybe Bryce was right, and I didn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t looking after some man with a devil-may-care attitude. All I knew was that I had to be at Bryce’s side. If anything, it was the only way to make sure that this whole mess was resolved. And there was the chance that he’d need my help.

  We soon reached the city limits, and Bryce pulled off an exit leading to a neighborhood near downtown. Minutes later, we arrived at an apartment building of gray stone with tall loft windows.

  “Is this it?” I asked, looking up at the many-story building.

  “Nope,” said Bryce. “Just a pit stop.”

  “For what?” I asked as Bryce killed the engine of the bike.

  He looked over his shoulder at me, his green eyes narrowed.

  “If you’re gonna be tagging along, first rule is no questions. We go where I say, no interrogation.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said, my voice a little sheepish.

  He certainly had a way of getting people to fall in line.

  He set the kickstand of the bike and followed him up to the building. We entered into a lobby that was decorated with a fashionably industrial look and entered into a large elevator that was probably at one time use for moving equipment.

  “This is my place,” he said. “My real place.”

  “Didn’t you want to not come here because of the danger?” I asked, my stomach tightening with fear once again.

  “Something I need to get here,” he said, his eyes forward on the tall, brushed steel doors of the elevator.

  I caught myself before asking just what it was that he needed so badly that he would risk his life; I didn’t want another stern glare followed by a restating of his rule.

  Soon, a chime sounded and the doors opened, revealing a massive loft apartment. The place was stunning—the sort of fashionably industrial look that you might expect from an artist living in the city. The ceilings stretched up high, the huge windows looked out onto the city, and the walls were exposed brick. The décor was simple, with leather furniture, the latest electronic gadgets, and posters of rock bands that I’d never heard of. One corner of the huge room was dedicated to bike work, a blue tarp covering the floor was strewn with gear and grease, and the scent of the stuff filled the air with an astringent, mechanics shop smell.

  My eyes flicked from corner to corner of the apartment, and once I saw that there was no gang of murderous thug waiting for us, I let out a sigh of relief.

  “Nice place,” I said, looking around. “Lots of space.”

  “A little too hoity-toity,” he said, my compliment appearing not to affect him one way or another. “I just needed a place downtown where I could work on my bike inside.”

  Bryce stopped in the middle of the room and looked around.

  “Where the fuck did I put …” he said to himself. “Oh, yeah!”

  He moved with long strides over to set of stairs that led up to the second floor of the loft, an overhanging area that was above us when we walked in. I followed him up the stairs, which led to a messy bedroom area, beer bottles and cans strewn here and there.

  “There it is,” said Bryce, walking over to a leather vest adorned with patches that was laid out on the bed.

  Pulling off his shirt and tossing it into the corner, he held the vest up in front of him. My eyes flicked back and forth between the vest and Bryce’s bare torso; I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to pay more attention to. As he stood there looking at the vest, I began to feel that same tight heat form in my body, and without thinking, I crossed one leg over the other as I leaned against the wall, my glance dragging down his perfect, sculpted abs and to the hard jutting of his hip bones.

  Goddamn, this guy has a hold on me, I thought to myself, allowing myself to admit it.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “This my kutte,” he said, slipping his arms into the vest and giving it a tug, as though making sure it hadn’t changed size since he’d last worn it.

  “Your … what?” I asked, walking closer to him, my heart beating faster with each step.

  “My kutte,” he repeated. “It’s like ... hmm, how to explain this to a normie?”

  “A ‘normie’?” I asked, crossing my arms and letting a small smirk form on my lips.

  “Yeah, that’s what you regular-types are to us. Don’t take it personally, but that’s what you are.”

  A flash of realization came to his gorgeous face.

  “Think of it like your résumé in my world. Your kutte is who you are, where you’ve been, what kind of shit you’ve gotten up to. Another guy from another MC can take a look at this and know right away who I am.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “And how would a ‘normie’ interpret all … this?” I asked, gesturing to the patches on the vest.

  “First, my crew,” he said, turning his body and showing me the back, which was covered with a logo of a skeleton dressed like an old-timey soldier, the expression on the skull menacing, the words “THE ANCESTORS” written above and
below. “We’re the Ancestors, one of the hardest fucking crews in the state.”

  He turned back around.

  “Rest of these you don’t need to worry about—except for this one.”

  He pointed to a small patch at the lower bottom right that was a one followed by a percent sign.

  “One percent?” I asked.

  “That’s right. That means we’re an outlaw club, not like the ninety-nine percent of other bikers. Get it?”

  I did. I couldn’t stop staring at the colorful array of patches, my eyes drifting to the sculpted body underneath. Seeing him standing there like that, the leather hanging off his cut torso, I could barely hold a thought straight in my head.

  “What’s your deal?” asked Bryce.

  “It’s just … impressive, is all,” I said, suddenly having trouble speaking.

  “Huh, wouldn’t think a normie like you would be into this kinda shit.”

  I walked close to Bryce, stopping only a few inches from him. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body, and without thinking, I placed my hands on his bare arms. His skin was warm, with just a hint of perspiration. Taking a long, slow breath through my nostrils, I savored the raw, industrial scent of him and the rest of the apartment; just standing in this place that was so clearly his was almost like being wrapped in his arms.

  “I think I might have a few surprises for you,” I said, moving my hands along his sides.

  Bryce only smirked; he knew what was on my mind. I surrendered myself, letting the primal instincts in me take over. I leaned in close to Bryce, kissing his neck, my lips slowly moving down to his collarbone, then down along his tanned, toned pecs. Bryce moaned a bit, the vibration rumbling through his body. His hands moved to my shoulders, guiding me down. I flicked up a glance at him, my eyes narrowing as if to instruct him to be patient.

  But he wasn’t having any of it.

  “You want my cock?” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Yeah, I want it,” I said.

  “Where do you want it?”

  “In me,” I said, the words tumbling out, as though my mouth had managed to bypass my brain and give a direct link to my innermost desires.

  But it was true; I wanted nothing more at that moment than to have that thick, hard prick buried deep inside of me. With a swift motion, Bryce reached down and snatched up a handful of my hair, pulling me back up to his level.

  I could see oh-so-clearly that he was thinking the same thing.

  He quickly unbuckled his pants, pulling them down to his ankles, his cock springing out, already hard. His hands then moved to my clothes, pulling them off with haste, leaving me in nothing but my bra and panties. I could see by the hungry manner in which he looked at me that he wanted it just as bad as I did. But at that moment I felt the need to be in control.

  Placing my hands on his solid shoulders, I pushed him back towards the bed until he fell onto it in a seated position, his prick pointing up at the ceiling. I bit my lip as I looked down at his cock, the need for it to be in me almost overwhelming; I couldn’t think of anything else aside from those thick inches.

  I snapped off my bra and stepped out of my panties, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I gave his body one last once-over before sitting down on his lap, my legs spreading around his body. Then, I lowered myself onto him, his cock splitting me in half, impaling my body on his. I let out a long sigh as he entered me, resting my head on his shoulder as I moved down, down on top of him.

  “Goddamn, you feel so fucking good,” said Bryce, his hands on my hips as he guided me onto him.

  “I … just can’t get enough of your cock,” I said, the words just springing out of my mouth; it was like someone else was talking.

  Bryce responded with another one of those little smirks that I just couldn’t resist. Holding me in place, his big hands on the curves of my thighs, he began to move me up and down on top of him. Each full sheathing of his cock into me pushed another wave of pleasure through my body, and soon I was making the moves, bucking my hips and riding him hard. Reaching back, I undid the simply ponytail that my hair was in, letting my hair fall onto my shoulders.

  He felt so goddamn good; it was almost felt like I was getting away with something. I ground hard into him, making damn sure that each millimeter of his prick was deep, deep into me. Then, after several minutes of this, I placed my hands on his shoulders and gave him a push. I wasn’t nearly strong enough to force him back, but when he realized what I wanted, he smirked and let his body fall back onto the bed.

  Now I was over him, his hands still on my hips as I started to bounce on his dick. I was wet, so wet, and his cock moved in and out of me with ease. Bryce moved his hands along my body, along the curves of my stomach and coming to rest on my breasts as they bounced with each up-and-down movement.

  I rode him hard, the sound of my hips slamming down on his filling the air of the apartment. I moaned and screamed as I crashed down on him over and over, and before I knew it, thundering orgasm took hold of me. I grabbed Bryce’s wrists, gripping them for dear life as the pleasure burst through me like some force of nature that I was helpless before. My eyes winced shut, and the words “oh God, oh God” left my mouth like some chant of carnal invocation.

  Then, my body went stiff as a spear as the last roars of ecstasy ripped me apart. Once they ran their course, I felt Bryce cum, his body tightening as he shot himself into me. The pleasure too much, I collapsed on top of his sweat-sheened body as I struggled to catch my breath.

  We lay like that for a time, his hand moving along my back as we both regained our breath.

  “Damn, girl,” he said, finally. “You sure have a way of getting a man distracted.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bryce

  I rolled out of bed, pulling my pants and underwear back up, my belt buckled drooping down and clanking against the button of my jeans. I too a slow sniff of the air, the smell of sex heavy all around me. God help me, but I was starting to really like these little fuck sessions between Anya and me.

  “As fun as this’s been, I’ve got shit to do.”

  I stood up and finished getting dressed. Sliding my kutte back onto my body, I relished the feeling of the cool leather against my skin. I just didn’t feel right without it on me.

  “You sure?” asked Anya, her body propped up on her arm as she lay on her side, her blonde hair mussed around her pretty little face. “I’m sure we could get away with killing another hour or two.”

  It sounded fucking nice, but this business with the MC was too pressing.

  Women—always distracting you from what needed to get done, always that siren song calling you back to bed, to pretend the rest of the world could just go on hold while you fuck the hours away.

  “Nope, too much shit to do,” I said, stepping into my boots and lacing them up. “You want to lay around here in bed all day, be my guest.”

  “I was thinking it’d be a two-person kind of laying around,” she said with a smirk.

  “Oh, I know exactly what you were thinking.”

  With a bratty little harrumph, Anya got out of bed and dressed. A little while later, she and I were back on my bike and headed towards Jasper’s bar, where the Ancestors were headquartered. I spent the drive thinking about what lay ahead, just what sort of bullshit politicking was going on while Donny plotted my death. If there was any justice, I’d get the okay from the top to track him down and cut him to pieces, maybe even with a few brothers at my sides.

  After a time, we arrived at Jasper’s. It was a dingy little shithole, a squat building that looked like its better days were decades ago. A long line of bikes was out front, the chrome glinting in the afternoon sun. As soon as I killed the engine, the rock music blaring inside could be heard in steady thumps of bass.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said, turning back to Anya. “You don’t say a word. Things might be different in your little white-collar nurse world, but in mine, women are treated a little more, ah, traditionall
y.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Anya.

  “Meaning that unless you’re one of these guys’ old ladies, that means his wife, you’re thought of as fair game.”

  “What?” asked Anya, put off in only the way a college girl used to awkward OK Cupid dates with soft men could be. “Like they think they can just pass me around?”

  “Don’t get the wrong idea,” I said, “the girls who get on board for that shit do it knowing exactly what they’re getting into. Believe or not, some girls love this life, and take pride in just how many of us fuckers they can get into bed.”

  “That’s … gross,” said Anya, her nose scrunched up.