“Clean pair of what?”

  “Panties.”

  “You—oh my God.”

  “Do you?” I say softly.

  “In my backpack.”

  “I’ll help you change.”

  She crinkles her nose. “Help me how?”

  The Escalade’s tall enough to shield her from view. But I look around to make sure no one can see what I’m about to do. Especially no fucking men. She’s a treasure meant for my eyes alone.

  I open the rear door, set the bottle on my backseat. I pull off her shorts and she gasps, but I see the desire in her eyes. I feel the desire in my cock. Her panties stick to her, still wet with my seed, and it’s hot as hell, but I peel them down and put them in a bag.

  “Spread your feet, darling.”

  Her eyes bulge. “Here?”

  “That’s right.”

  While she parts her thighs, I drop to my knees in the dusty earth, unbelt my jeans, and rip my cock out and stroke shamelessly. Seeing my cum on her delicate cunt folds turns me berserk.

  “Good girl. Now you just stand still.”

  Her pussy drips with fresh juice and I catch a strand in my palm for a quick taste. Heaven. Strawberries and honey. That's what she tastes like to me.

  I splash cool water over her folds, rubbing gently until my old cum's gone, rivulets of water running down her legs. I peel her lips apart for a good look at her swollen little clit, that pink rosebud begging for my attention.

  Piper lets out tiny whimpers.

  I stroke my cock a few more times, then grab her by the ass and bury my mouth in all that sweetness, plunging my tongue into her. I taste her cream that’s all mine.

  I don’t care whether she’d been a virgin before she met me. But now that we have met, no other man will touch her. Fuck no. The privilege of taking this pussy for the first time will be mine.

  All mine.

  But not behind a gas station.

  I’ll just get her off quick. Myself too.

  Piper whimpers as I roll my tongue between her folds. Her hands comb through my hair. She sucks in little gasps and lets out long moans. I know she’s close, so I focus on whirling my tongue on her clit and gently dip two fingers into her tight hole, rubbing underneath her front wall. I feel her flesh flutter. I taste the sudden release of more sticky honey on my tongue.

  “Oh,” she gasps.

  Staring up into those beautiful eyes, I get a grip on my cock and stroke from head to balls, beating myself savagely before cum races up my shaft in hot squirts that splatter the sand.

  “You just had to do that, didn’t you?” she says.

  “Yeah.” I slip a fresh pair of white cotton panties around her ankles and yank them up. By the time I get her shorts on, my blood has calmed enough for me to look her in the eye without animal thoughts.

  “Comfortable?” I ask.

  She smacks my head lightly. “Warn me the next time you do something this crazy.”

  “I’ll try.”

  We get back into the car.

  Piper has a bright shine to her face.

  The gas station owner stands by the pumps, giving us a strange look as I drive past onto the highway.

  “I bet he’s wondering what the heck we were doing back there,” Piper mutters.

  “We’re two weary travelers having a rest stop is all.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We’ve barely made two hundred miles by nightfall thanks to that traffic jam. We stop in Sheffield, some ways off I-10, for the night. It’s a small Texas town in the middle of the wilds. All the businesses are clustered around one street, and there’s only one motel.

  “Reminds me more of home,” Piper says as we pull into the parking lot.

  “Yeah?”

  I look at her, thinking of how she’d stared at that police cruiser in Boerne. I think of Gavril Marsh too. I want to know more about her. I know I’m in love. It’s a feeling I can’t fucking explain, but I believe in it. What I need to know is who I fell in love with.

  “What are you really running from?” I say.

  “You’ll laugh at me, Mr. Moneybags.”

  “I’m no Mr. Moneybags.”

  “You have three bags of money in the trunk!”

  “A recent acquisition. Now tell me—why’d you run away from home?” She told me once she wants to find a school in San Diego, but that’s a dream, not a reason. I suspect the reason or reasons are ugly.

  “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine,” she says. “No lies.”

  “Deal.”

  “I ran away because my mother wouldn’t stop dating scummy men who treat her like trash. And me as well. Gavril Marsh is just the latest example. I ran away because I couldn’t live in her house another day, I had to be free. And I do want to live in San Diego. And I do want to go to college. Satisfied?”

  “It’s a start,” I say. “Ask your question.”

  “Something easy first—what’s the deal with that chain around your neck?”

  “It was a gift.”

  Piper frowns. “From a woman?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Men don’t buy each other necklaces, I know that much.”

  “Darling, this is called a Cuban link chain. But yes, it was from a woman.”

  “A special woman?” Her tone is sharp.

  “Not in the way you mean.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Maya. She used to be president of my motorcycle club. We called her Mama.”

  Piper raises an eyebrow. “I ain’t never heard of a woman biker president.”

  “Now you have. And you’ve asked more than one question.”

  “Fine,” she snaps.

  Suddenly I laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, darling. Like I’ve always known you, but we hardly know each other, do we?”

  She bites her lip, staring at me for a long time. “Do you believe in fate, Luke?”

  My hand slides up her thigh. “Yes.”

  She blushes and knocks my hand away. “Now you behave. We ain’t even checked in yet.”

  We check into a room facing the motel parking lot, so I can keep an eye out for any unwelcome tagalongs.

  The motel has a diner where we grab a quick bite.

  Piper orders a roast beef sandwich with gravy and feeds Bandit under the table. I ask for five eggs with no yolks, a salad, and a plate of whole grain pancakes. None of it is on the menu, but the waitress, a woman named Nora, says they’ll take my order.

  Nora looks at me funny when she drops off my plate.

  “Thank you kindly,” I tell her.

  “You from California?” she says.

  “No, ma’am. You get a lot of visitors from California?”

  “You’d be the first.”

  "Well I'm not. How would you know what Californians eat if none of them has ever been through?"

  Nora shrugs. “Some things you just know.”

  “I expect the Californians just know we all eat cornbread and chili down here.”

  Nora smiles faintly. “Only on Mondays. You watch that mouth of yours around town.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  The omelet tastes savory with a dash of mesquite. The pancakes are thick and moist. And the spinach salad with chopped cucumbers and tomatoes has a lemony zest.

  “You’re a picky eater,” Piper says after we’re alone.

  “Sometimes. Childhood habit.”

  “All the time. Don’t think I forgot your chicken salad and grilled salmon.”

  “I got salmon because they didn’t have tuna sashimi.”

  “Tuna what?”

  “Sliced raw fish. Bandit would feast on tuna sashimi.”

  Our kitten companion meows from under the table.

  Piper puts her fork down. “Where you from, Luke? Lusander. I told you where I’m from, so you owe me that at least.”

  “I’m from San Antonio.”

  “Yeah, right. You gonna tell me about your fascination with Santa Muerte? Or how you came by with all that cash?” She leans closer. “You gonna tell me your real story?”

  “Why do you think I have a story?”

  “Cause you’re quite a character,” she says.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me tell you what I think, little girl. It takes a character to know a character.”

  “I ain’t no character,” Piper says. “I’m a good girl. I followed a curfew, I stayed out of trouble, and I lived a normal life right at home until . . .”

  “Until you left.” I smile. “But you went on vacation, right? Or was it for school?”

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  I feel her knees nudge mine under the table. And now that we’re both full, I get hungry in another way.

  “Tell me about the money,” she stammers. “And this Santa Muerte thing you got going on. What is she, like a saint you worship?”

  “Santa Muerte means different things to different people. She’s worshipped in Mexico as a saint. The Vatican calls her the angel of death in disguise. Well, they would. Santa Muerte generally doesn’t appeal to people who live in palaces. She’s the patron saint of the lost and the damned. The downtrodden. She’s there when nothing else is. And no, I don’t worship her, but I respect what she stands for. I belonged to the Santa Muerte Motorcycle Club out of San Antonio."

  Piper’s eyes get bigger. “Does this club have something to do with the money?”

  “The money belonged to Santa Muerte. I took it. Those men after me are my former MC brothers.”

  “Why’d you take the money?” she whispers.

  “Call it a crisis of conscience.”

  “Huh?”

  “The current President of Santa Muerte is Johann Schmidt. We had a disagreement. Things got out of hand. So I stole Johann’s drug money.”

  Piper frowns. “Drug money?”

  “I was eighteen when I joined Santa Muerte. Back then, Maya was president. She'd been the old lady of her predecessor. Maya took me in from the streets, looked after me. I wasn't the only one, that’s how she got her nickname Mama. That woman taught me right from wrong. More importantly, she made me believe the difference mattered.”

  My voice tightens. “We weren’t outlaws then. We were bikers who looked after the community. Maya died five years ago. One of my MC brothers, Johann Schmidt, thought the Club had gone soft under her leadership. He took cover, convinced the others to side with him, threatening anyone who disagreed. Most bowed. I did not. Johann didn’t have the balls to confront me or make a move, but I was no longer considered a trusted member.”

  I look out the window as I tell Piper the rest.

  After Johann gained control, he got Santa Muerte into the drug trade. I never touched the stuff, but the others made a fortune.

  Johann made my brothers narcos.

  They transported the raw stuff from suppliers down south to wholesale buyers around the country. Santa Muerte’s best client was a man on the East Coast by the name of Verne Resnik. This guy ran a casino in Maryland, but sold dope on the side.

  Last month, the feds shut down his operation. Bye bye, Mr. Resnik. This left Santa Muerte in a pickle.

  Johann said we could replace the lost income by hiring ourselves out as hitmen. Any job was acceptable: men, women, and children. People with legal troubles who needed witnesses silenced came to Santa Muerte. Businessmen who wanted their competitors to suffer an unfortunate accident came to Santa Muerte. Criminal organizations hired us when they wanted someone dead, no questions asked. Johann himself had been killing for money ever since Mama died.

  He enjoys it.

  Call me old-fashioned, but I have a thing about murdering innocent people.

  Three weeks ago, I decided to settle the score with Johann and stormed the clubhouse. There was a shootout. I didn’t exactly come out on top, but neither did they. The only members of Santa Muerte still alive are Johann and his two closest buddies, Wesker and Romo.

  I grabbed the Club’s treasury money and escaped, staying in different safe houses around the city, but Johann was never more than one step behind. He tracked me like a fucking bloodhound. It didn’t matter where I stayed or how well I covered my movements. He always showed up a few days later.

  Hell, one night I parked my ass behind an abandoned factory, and that fucker showed up the next morning with guns blazing. I barely got out.

  I realized I had to leave San Antonio.

  So that’s what I did, but I needed a few things from Walmart first.

  “Where you met me . . .” Piper whispers.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just my luck. Why couldn’t you have been a dentist or something?”

  Bandit meows.

  “It’s getting late,” I say.

  “Back to the room?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “What else are you thinking?” she says in a soft voice.

  “Let me show you.”

  I pay the bill, then take her hand and guide my girl back to our room. When the door shuts, my cock jerks in my pants, and I turn her around to kiss her hard.

  Chapter Five

  Piper

  I put Bandit on one of the two beds, where she curls up to fall asleep.

  Luke’s kisses pepper my shoulder.

  My mom loved bad boys. Bad men, really, always older than her.

  She told me when I was fifteen there was something incredibly wonderful about men who take charge, but by then, I was old enough to know what she meant by “take charge.” Men who pushed her around, who yelled at her, and who always had to do things their way.

  I didn’t understand why she liked them. She’d had more boyfriends than I had birthdays, and they always treated her bad. Me as well.

  Men of violence like Luke.

  I used to think she was sick somehow. I mean, why else would you put yourself through that again and again?

  She’d tell me whenever she brought a new guy home that this one would be different. That he would treat her right. Treat us right.

  But the right one never walked through our door.

  When I ran away, she’d fallen in with her newest bad boy. Except this time he’s younger than her.

  Gavril Marsh.

  Age ain’t got nothing to do with it though. He’s the same as the rest of them.

  Maybe I have the same disease Mom has.

  Is Luke so different?

  I have to wonder. Once you get past the gorgeous looks, does he have the same rotten heart?

  No.

  I don’t believe it.

  I don’t sense in him what I sensed in those men, the simmering violence just under the surface. He may be a bad boy, but he’s a good man.

  Luke lays me on the other bed, stripping off my clothes before he sheds his own. His huge cock stands erect. Stroking it, he brings his mouth to my pussy, but I shake my head.

  “I wanna do it for real,” I whisper.

  He looks like an animal about to pounce, but he leans back. “Not a chance in hell. You think I’ll let your first time be in some motel room in the ass middle of nowhere? No.”

  I glance at his hard cock that’s swollen so big it must hurt. “But . . .”

  “Shh. I’ll make you cum in other ways.”

  “But I want you.” I add in a tiny voice, “Daddy.”

  Luke’s cock twitches as a strand of clear cum lands on my belly. The man smell of him sweeps over me in a hot tide that makes my girl parts sing.

  But he shakes his head. “Darling, it’s not happening. If I take you now, someday you'll look back on tonight and think me a fucked up man who couldn’t control his base urges. I’m gonna do it right.”

  A kiss on my thigh.

  Hot.

  Wet.

  “I love you,” he says softly. “Call me Daddy all you want, but Daddies protect. They don’t take. You understand? I’m not fucking you in a goddamn motel. So lay back, spread your legs, and give me your pussy.”

  I don’t know whether to scream or kiss him, so I slump against the pillows and open my legs.

  “Play with your tits while I eat you.”

  I gasp. “What were you just saying about base urges?”

  He strokes his cock once, wetting himself with his cum. “I'm still an animal. An animal in control.”

  Oh.

  Right.

  Hear that, Bandit? There’s another animal in the room. But Bandit’s sleeping on her bed with one paw around her mouth.

  “Keep quiet,” Luke says. “We don’t want to disturb the little one.”

  “Bandit ain’t no baby. She’d sleep through anything.”

  “Shall we put that to the test?”

  His strange accent comes out thicker than ever. A mixture of Spanish and—British. That’s what I’ve been hearing.

  Again, I wonder where he’s really from. I’m sure Maya didn’t teach him to talk like that.

  Then a gentle slap lands on my pussy, and I stop wondering.

  My breath hitches.

  “Look at me when you play with your tits,” he growls.

  I smoosh my breasts together, pinching my nipples while he grabs my thighs, dragging the flat of his tongue over my folds. He keeps his eyes on mine as his tongue swirls up and down. The ticklish heat I feel spikes as my walls ripple, and a shudder rocks my hips.

  “Good girl,” Luke says with a pause. He licks the wetness off his lips. “Give me all that honey.”

  He climbs over my body, the palm of his hand cupping my desire. He kisses me for a while, our tongues sliding past each other. I’m still squeezing one breast, but he pulls my hand away before molding me with a firm grip.

  “So soft,” he groans. “Every part of you is so soft.”

  I grind on his palm between my thighs, desperate for more friction. But what I crave is to feel him inside me. In the throes of this pleasure, I won’t be complete without his cock inside.

  “Please,” I beg. “I’m ready for more. It’s fine—”

  A sharp slap thwacks my pussy.

  I suck in a gasp.

  “Patience, darling.”

  “Don’t tell me to be patient when your hand’s on my—”

  Another slap makes me gasp. And another. He's spanking my pussy, and every time his palm stings me, a bolt of hot pleasure slices up my belly. Wet claps fill the room. My clit feels on fire and throbs for release.

 

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