His Road Dog (Patches: Tarkio MC Book 1), page 10
"Hamilton tried to escape when we took him out of the car. Slick stopped him with his face." Curley handed over a suppressor. "I thought you might need this."
Priest took the pistol out of his pocket and screwed on the added piece. The building echoed without any vehicles inside, and from the past, he knew that muffling gunfire was enough to keep the neighbors in the vicinity unaware. That wasn't the case when Nelson got framed for killing his old man and sent to prison. Tarkio had no chance of helping Nelson because the little girl and her mother, who lived behind the garage, had called the police after hearing gunshots.
Walking over to the desk at the back of the room, he dragged a chair to the two men. He straddled the seat backward and rested his forearms on the backrest, letting the pistol hang from his right hand.
"We're going to talk, and before we start, I want you to know that neither one of you are going to open your fucking mouth unless I ask a question." He nodded at Curley. "If you don't answer, you'll wish that you had. It's simple. I ask. You answer. By the time the sun comes up, we all can start a new day."
His V.P. stepped up, holding a ten-pound sledgehammer. Priest could almost smell the sweat rolling off Hamilton and Jones. Their silence either indicated their cooperation or their fear.
"Who do you work for?" he asked.
Neither man looked at him. The cords in Hamilton's neck bulged. Jones' hands fisted in front of him. Each one of them had an internal battle to survive and hated the disadvantage of being tied together, worried that the other man would get him killed.
Priest had seen the battle many times before.
"See here. You both disappoint me. I thought we had an understanding. I ask a question. You both answer." He looked at Paco. "Isn't that what I told them?"
"Sure is, Prez." Paco exhaled heavily. "Simple rules."
"Curley? Go ahead and..." He shook his head. "Fucking A. My mistake. I should've directed the question to one of you instead of both. My fault. Maybe I confused you. Let's let Hamilton go first." He paused. "Who do you work for, Hamilton?"
The man's jaw hardened. Priest dipped his chin, sending Curley in. He wasn't playing around. The sooner the men learned, the faster he could go home.
Razor reached the man first, wrapping Duct tape around his head, covering the guy's mouth. Priest never moved a muscle, taking it all in.
Curley kicked Hamilton's leg to the side and swung the sledgehammer. The muffled scream came a split second after the rectangle chunk of metal connected with Hamilton's ankle. Not even the black leather boots could protect the fragile bones.
Several minutes passed, and the outrage of pain settled into heavy breathing that flared Hamilton's nose. Using the punishment as a lesson, Priest looked to the other man. "Your turn, Jones. Who do you work for?"
"Coveck." Jones' neck muscles spasmed.
Curley moved over and stood in front of Jones. Priest clicked his tongue. He needed both men fearing for their life. Should he give Curley another chance to guarantee the answers to his questions were truthful?
"Who killed Roy Guthrie?" he asked.
Hamilton shook. His body strained against the rope, distracting Jones. Priest motioned to Curley with the tip of his pistol.
His MC brother lifted the sledgehammer.
"Coveck," blurted Jones. "He ordered the kill. Hamilton was the one who pulled the trigger. I swear. Jesus Christ. I'm telling you the truth. Don't hit me. Please. Don't hit me."
Most men would start singing when faced with death.
"What was Coveck's problem with Guthrie, Jones?"
"H-he...Guthrie owed him money."
Priest had already assumed as much. If someone owed him money, he'd torture them, not whack them off. Once dead, there was no chance of gaining the money back.
"I need more."
Jones hung his head. "Man, I can't—"
Curley swung the sledgehammer, busting Jones's kneecap. Paco shoved a towel in the man's opened mouth, cutting off the agony bellowing out of him.
"Take the tape off of Hamilton. He looks like he'll be nice and quiet now." Priest stood from the chair and walked over and squatted in front of the bigger man.
The smashed ankle had done him in. The paleness of his skin and the unfocused eyes showed Hamilton had gone into shock.
"Why did Coveck have you kill Guthrie?" Priest was losing patience.
"Guthrie's got himself girls." Hamilton's eyes remained on the concrete floor. "He brought in two a week—runaways, homeless, it didn't matter as long as they were good-looking. Coveck only wanted ones he could clean up and put to work in the casino. Th-the one woman Coveck wanted, Guthrie wouldn't hand over, so he had me kill him, man. There was nothing I could do. If I came back without doing the job, he would've killed me."
Priest focused on the man's eyes, his muscles tensed, already understanding where the story was going. "What woman?"
Hamilton closed his eyes. "Guthrie's girlfriend. Nicole."
He put the pistol to Hamilton's forehead and pulled the trigger. The noise, even suppressed, reverberated in the garage. Standing up, he put the gun at the back of Jones's head and shot him.
Tied together, both men toppled to the side. Dead.
He walked over to the rollaway and grabbed a towel. Unscrewing the silencer from the pistol, he handed it over to Curley and pocketed the gun.
Nicole was at his house with only one man looking after her. Until he found out how many men worked for Corveck, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight.
"How are you doing, Slick?" he asked.
"Fine, Prez." Slick tossed the blood-soaked towel in the garbage can. "I'll live."
"Good." He turned to the others, knowing they'd make sure the younger member got the support he needed to make sure he handled tonight's activities and came out stronger. "Someone call Wyatt to clean up and have Jerry bring the tow truck. Bury them deep."
"On it." Rick opened up a blue tarp. "Let's go. The day will be breaking soon."
Priest walked out of the garage and hopped on his Harley, knowing Tarkio would protect those involved tonight and hide the crime as if it never happened.
Chapter 19
Nicole
THE RAYS OF SUNLIGHT landed in front of Nicole, bringing all the deep, vibrant colors of the landscape to life. She stood at the railing outside the living room of Priest's house and leaned over, looking for any wild animals starting their day on the hillside.
Already, the air was warm against her bare skin. It looked to be a hot day.
"See something?" said a familiar gruff voice behind her.
She smiled, having not heard Priest arrive home, and turned. "Just looking. I think I could stand here all day."
Priest's gaze swept over her body, and the hardness around his eyes softened a smidge. She'd caught his interest, though, and clung to it.
"I was sad you weren't in bed when I woke up." She tilted her head. "You left early."
"Had shit to do." He stepped out onto the deck.
She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him to her. A shiver went through her.
"Brr. Your leather is cold." She tipped her face.
He kissed her. "My body isn't."
Taking that as a challenge, she slipped her hands underneath the hem of his T-shirt and placed her palms against his stomach. She lifted the material higher and pressed her bare breasts against the front of him, wrapping her arms around his torso to slide her hands into his back pockets. His wallet got in the way of squeezing his ass.
"You have too many clothes on." She leaned back and raised her hands to push his vest off his shoulders.
"I got it." He stepped away and took off his leather, setting it on the outside chair. Then, he pulled his shirt off.
He came back to her, not giving her a chance to wrap her body around him, and lifted her off the deck. Her bare butt met the top of the wood railing. Panic filled her, and she screamed, throwing her upper body toward him and wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Oh, my God, Michael, put me down." She clung to him, shaking and light-headed from vertigo. "I'm going to fall."
"Sh." He pressed his forehead against hers, lifting her face, and looked into her eyes. "I won't let you fall."
Her equilibrium failed. Swallowing hard, her breath caught in her throat. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
"I got you." In front of her, Priest lowered his body.
Her heart raced. Afraid she'd tumble over the railing backward, she froze.
The mountainside went straight down.
Hundreds of feet.
She'd die from a fall.
A whine burst out her lips. Her hold on Priest shifted, and she rounded her back, clinging to his head as he bent in front of her. His hands moved off her back and slid down her arms, gripping her wrists. Her precarious position stole her breath. If he let go, she'd fall.
He placed her hands beside her butt. Every muscle in her body tensed. Tears flowed down her cheeks.
"Hold onto the railing."
"I can't." Her chin quivered.
"I've got you."
Her fingers gripped the wood, and her stomach rolled. She shook. All her strength left her body. She couldn't sit on the railing. She couldn't. She'd fall.
"Relax, babe," he said.
"Please, don't let go of me." Her voice shook, threatening to unbalance her. "Take me down."
He dipped his knees and kissed the tip of her breast. "Pay attention to my hands."
Hands? Hands? She was going to fall, and he wanted to touch her? Now?
He squeezed her ass. "Feel me? I won't let you fall."
Afraid to take her feet off the spindles of the railing to hook around him, she perched atop the wood. The stability provided by his hands on her butt wasn't enough to put her at ease.
He captured her nipple with his mouth. She squeaked. Oh, that was not helping her concentrate on not losing her balance.
Drawing her in, sucking slowly, he nuzzled her breast. Her body rippled with fear that surprisingly heightened the pleasure.
Her legs trembled. She closed her eyes as her body weakened. If she was going to plummet to her death, she refused to see the ground rush toward her. She wanted to feel what Priest was doing to her.
He made her feel as if she floated in the air.
Priest shifted to her other breast. Her body vibrated, making her totter on the railing.
"Michael!" A sob caught in her throat. "I'm scared."
His mouth came off her, and he lifted his head. He slid her off the railing and carried her into the house. In the living room, he placed her on the carpet, following her down. Relief flooded her, now that she could move, and there was nowhere to fall. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him deeply.
He settled between her legs. The roughness of his jeans and his buckle stood between what she wanted. What she needed.
Rolling with her, he stopped when she lay prone atop him. He moved her by lifting her hips. Her mouth came away from him, and she propped herself up to a sitting position.
He undid the buckle, lifted his butt, and pulled the leather strip completely out of his jeans. "Take my cock out. There's a rubber in my front pocket."
There was something sexily arousing about undoing the front of his jeans when evidence of his erection pressed against her fingers. She knew to be gentle as she worked each button, but she'd also seen him touch himself, and he was rougher than she imagined a man to be. He was passionate, and for him, that came out as violent.
She pulled his jeans down to his hips, then pulled his boxers down, releasing his cock. Sucking in a swift breath, she took in how beautiful he was in the raw. Everything about him was big. Even his attitude.
He made her feel safe and cared for. At the same time, he scared her a bit. Moments ago, he scared her a lot.
She'd never found herself attracted to someone the opposite of what she was familiar with. Men tended to pamper and spoil her. It made her feel special.
Priest made her feel needy and desperate at times. He made her feel crazy and wild and small.
She warmed, digging in his pocket for the protection. He made her feel fragile. She found herself wanting to be with him because she was learning things about herself that came as a surprise.
Sex with him was bigger than her world. It made her feel like what they had together only happened with her, for her, and she found herself growing possessive of that feeling. She wanted to be the only one that provided him in that way, and that need shocked her and threatened her independence.
She ran her hands over his lower stomach, spellbound by the control he always possessed. Nothing ever shook him. He was never afraid.
"Put my cock in your pussy."
She placed her hands on his chest, leaning forward. Using her lower half, she moved her pelvis, searching for the hardness below her, lining him up with her.
Priest grasped her hips, plunging her down. Her body arched, and her head went back. The quick response from the fullness left her throbbing and struggling to keep her eyes open.
A clink grabbed her attention. She brought her chin down and gasped.
Priest slipped his looped belt over her head, tightening the cool, leather strap down onto her neck. She stilled. If she moved, the belt would get tighter.
His gaze intensified. "Ride me."
"I can't," she whispered, feeling the strain on her throat. "I won't be able to breathe."
She reached for the leather around her neck. He grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
"Give me your other hand." His cock pulsed inside of her.
"Michael..."
"Trust me."
He held her gaze. She swallowed, hampered by the belt in getting enough air. He'd always taken care of her. His ways were unconventional and extreme, but he had never physically hurt her.
She blinked, wetting her lips. Giving him both her hands, he held her wrists together on his chest. If the belt grew too tight to breathe, she couldn't remove it without using her hands. She could only rely on him to take care of her.
Mustering the courage to step beyond herself and do something he wanted, not understanding if it was for his pleasure or hers, she moved the smallest amount to test what he'd do.
To her surprise, while the belt had tightened, he hadn't cut off her supply of air.
With confidence that Priest would take care of her, she rocked, using her hips and not her upper body. The close contact allowed her to rub her clit against the mound of hair above his cock. She warmed, encouraged by her arousal, and kept moving.
The wetness from her pussy allowed her to glide along his length. She moaned. So slick, so good, so big.
She pulled on her arms, wanting to move more, but Priest held her wrists. Her thigh muscles spasmed, and a jolt of pleasure spiraled tighter inside of her. How could she be turned on by what he was doing to her?
He pulled the belt. Her upper body tilted lower, and a rush of panic hit her as her airway seemed to get smaller. Panting, she made sure her next breath came.
As if Priest manipulated her body, she clung desperately to the sensations pushing her toward riding him harder. She wanted to slam down on him, feel him completely fill her. God, his body was perfect. Every bulge, bone, muscle fit against her, rubbing her, feeding her.
Her lungs expanded, burning with air. Digging her fingernails into the hand that held her, she closed her eyes, only to have him tug on the belt. She blinked, desperation moving her.
She slid on him. Back and forth, grinding her pussy on his body.
Priest held her gaze. Her soul cried out. There was something territorial in the way he watched her.
It was only the two of them.
Together.
Relying on him to let her breathe, to think, to feel, to...oh, God.
A hiss escaped her lips. Frantic to have an orgasm, she dallied with the idea of holding her breath and moving. Move so hard and fast to get her pleasure, no matter how risky. No matter the pain. No matter her fear.
Then, once she got relief, she'd worry about taking the belt off her neck.
Darkness settled around the edges of her vision.
She needed to breathe.
She needed to breathe now.
"Michael?" She moaned, unsure if she spoke. "Help."
He let go of her hands. She reached up to her neck, pulling on the leather at the same time energy soared. Not even having to take the belt off, her body pushed her into climaxing.
Violently shuddering atop him, she fell to his chest. His arms came around her, holding her tightly. Somewhere in the back of her consciousness, she was aware of his body hardening in pleasure underneath her.
Her heart pounded, the sound echoing in her ears. Or maybe it was Priest's heart. Her ear was on his chest.
It took several minutes for her to gain her breath and her muscles to slowly relax. She had never orgasmed that hard before.
"I don't think I can move," she said.
That was the most intense thing she'd ever done, and he was right there with her. She inhaled deeply, her body still trembling. The rush left her weak, yet strong.
"I don't even know what to say about that," she whispered. "That was...it was...I just don't know."
"It's us," he whispered back, kissing the top of her head. "It's us."
"Yeah." She exhaled loudly.
That's what she wanted from him. She needed proof that what he gave her was only hers. She wouldn't want him to share that with anyone else.
He rubbed his hands down her sides to her butt and squeezed. "You're going to have to get up. We've got a lot to do."
She lifted her head and looked at him. He seemed no more eager to get off the floor than her.
"What do you have to do?"
"Not me. You." He slapped her butt.
She startled, pushing off him. "I have to go back to the motel?"
That morning, she'd woken up alone. He'd been gone, but the note he'd left asked her to stick around. She'd hoped they'd spend the day together at his house.
"We need to get your stuff from the motel room. Then, I need to borrow a car from one of the Tarkio members so that you can get the hell out of Missoula."
