Mad Delights Page 4

  “Oh, my God!” she cried out as she arched her back. She could only imagine Dax’s mouth sucking on her tits while Romeo fucked her good and deep.

  Her pussy made a squelching sound as the scent of her musky wetness filled her nostrils. She squirmed on the bed as pleasure flowed from where the long, thick toy vibrated inside her pussy. She soon fucked more strongly up against the toy and her fingers massaging her clit.

  “Oh yes, fuck me hard,” she called out to her imaginary lover. “Ram that cock deep.” In her fantasy, he came inside her pussy, filling her up. Only now, there were two men, and just as Romeo slipped out of her, Dax would surge in, taking over. His huge dick would push out Romeo’s cum, and it would run down the crack of her ass. One day, she would want them both to take her at the same time, one surging into her pussy while the other slid deep into her ass.

  “Yes! Yes!” she whispered hoarsely as the peak hit her. Just the image of both men taking her had her coming so hard she saw stars.

  When her body finally came down from its high, she became aware that she was sprawled naked on her bed. It highlighted that she was alone. While momentarily satisfying, her masturbation fantasy ultimately left her lonely. She turned off the pink dick and tossed it into her nightstand, deciding to wash it tomorrow. Her body had that nice relaxed feeling, but her soul remained empty. She wondered, as she always did, what it would take to fill it up.

  And a small voice deep in her head questioned if someone as twisted as she was had the right to find happiness.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Romeo wandered down from the second floor, where his room was located, and into the large clubhouse kitchen. The smell of bacon and eggs turned his stomach and he walked to the bar and signaled to the prospect behind the counter to pour him a cup of black coffee.

  “Rough night?” Hawg asked. “Didn’t think the pussy was that bad.”

  “Don’t want to talk about it,” Romeo muttered as he sipped the strong brew. “Dax here?”

  “Yeah, out in the garage.”

  Romeo nodded his thanks and headed through the clubhouse and out of the back door. Too-fucking-bright sunlight hit his eyes, sending daggers into his brain. He groaned and hurried into the garage. Dax was at his bike, tuning it up, and Romeo leaned over and grabbed the glasses off his nose.

  “Hey,” Dax protested.

  “I’m using my presidential privilege to steal these,” Romeo said as he settled them on his face. Instantly, the incessant glare of the sun eased.

  Dax set down a wrench and smirked. “Hangover, eh?”

  “Man, I am getting too old for drinking until I puke.”

  “And I know you’re too old when you say shit like that. Should I call the nursing home now?”

  Romeo flipped him off and drank more coffee from his mug. Dax picked up a rag and wiped off his hands.

  “By the way, I met up with the person in that Mercedes,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me it was the Shanks.”

  Dax shook his head. “Turns out you have a stalker.”

  The cup halted halfway to Romeo’s mouth. “Come again?”

  “Her name is Chloe,” Dax said. He sat on his bike and crossed his arms. “Said you saved her cousin and now wants to repay the debt.”

  Romeo’s brain hurt too much to think. “Did I save her cousin?”

  Dax shrugged. “I don’t know that, but I do know she’s a hot piece of ass that has the hots for you.”

  Romeo stared at his best friend, unsure if he was trying to fuck with him or not. They’d both grown up in the MC, although Dax had been there a whole year before he had shown up. Romeo’s father had been a nomad, a drifter going from club to club, and his mother was a club whore. The last thing either had wanted was a kid tying them down. After playing house for so many years, they’d left him with Wheels, giving him a shove on the shoulder and a nonchalant wave of goodbye. In the beginning, Dax loved to taunt, tease and torment him at every opportunity, and sometimes Dax fell back into his juvenile stupidity.

  “How hot are we talking?” he asked skeptically. Okay, so maybe he did too.

  “She’s got an ass I’d love to bite,” Dax admitted.

  “Hmm. How do you know she’s a stalker?”

  “Dude, I scrolled through the pictures on her camera.” Dax scrunched up his nose. “Dozens of you. I wasn’t able to determine if she was a threat to you or not, but I plan on hunting her down to find out.”

  “You think she might be part of those men questioning Creole Jack?”

  Dax frowned. “Anything is possible, and I certainly don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. For now, don’t go anywhere alone.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Romeo muttered. He really didn’t need one more thing added to his plate. “I’m not a baby, Dax.”

  “And it’s my job to protect you,” Dax said sternly. “I’ve done a shitty job for this club so far, so just do as I fucking say. All right?”

  “You haven’t done a shitty job, Dax.”

  Dax just shrugged. “Something is happening, or going to happen. I can feel it. And until we know exactly what it is, I don’t trust the girl with a camera, Drifter, Bandit, the Shanks, or you riding alone. Got it?”

  Romeo held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “Got it.”

  “Romeo!”

  Romeo’s name boomed within the compound, and he looked out of the garage bay to see his VP waving at him near the gate. He set his coffee cup on the tool chest and hurried toward Boone. Dax followed. The compound’s gate had been rolled back and two large coolers pulled inside.

  “What’s this?”

  “Hook rolled up to the gate and saw these coolers resting in front,” Boone said.

  “Anyone see who brought them?”

  A round of “No” came from the assembled men. Romeo went to open one, but Dax placed a hand on his arm and shook his head.

  “No. Let me.”

  Romeo took a step back, frowning. “You think it could be rigged with explosives?”

  “I don’t know,” Dax said. “My gut feeling, remember? There’s too many situations developing and I don’t like it.”

  “Well, I’m not going to stand by while you get blown to smithereens either,” Romeo replied. “Find a way to open it from a distance.”

  For clever men, Romeo pursed his lips as he surveyed their bright idea of opening the coolers. It consisted of them hiding behind a truck and using a long metal rod to pop the lid. When nothing went ka-boom, he rolled his eyes and marched past all the ’fraidy cats and peered into the coolers.

  The lifeless eyes of Babyface stared up at him. His severed head lay on top of his torso. Romeo opened the second cooler and found the rest of him. A note had been placed between his fingers.

  “Holy shit,” Dax muttered.

  “Fuck,” Boone swore.

  The rest of the Brothers gathered around. One turned away to vomit. They were all hardened men, seasoned to hurt—or kill—if they had to. But it took a certain level of depravity to cut up a person and stuff the parts into coolers. Romeo’s hungover stomach rolled at the sight of the prospect chopped up like fish bait.

  “I asked him to follow you last night, make sure you got back to the compound okay,” Romeo whispered. Tears pricked his eyes.

  “I didn’t…” Dax’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t come straight here.”

  The implication was clear and Romeo glanced at him. “Someone was waiting at the club. This could’ve been you.”

  “No, Rome,” Dax said, shaking his head. “This was meant to be you.”

  Rattled, Romeo took the note that Babyface clutched then closed the lid on both coolers. The prospect had only been twenty, nicknamed Babyface because he couldn’t even grow a proper beard. Now he lay in pieces, delivered like fucking mail.

  He unfolded the note. “The Men of Hell will be dismantled piece by piece unless you leave Bair immediately.”

  “What the fuck?” B
oone growled and snatched the note out of Romeo’s hand to read it for himself. “Is this a fucking joke?”

  Gabby took the piece of paper from him and held it up to the light. But, as usual, he didn’t comment on why he was doing that.

  “I want to know who the fuck did this,” Romeo said coldly, pointing to the coolers. Fury washed through him, leaving a wake of freezing ice behind. It fueled him. “If it was the Shanks, I want to destroy them. If it was someone else, I want them hunted down and their fucking heads on pikes. Understood?”

  Every member nodded grimly.

  “Make sure Babyface gets a decent burial,” he added. “He has a mother out in Red Vine. I’ll ride and tell her.”

  Boone clasped his hand on Romeo’s shoulder. “Gabby and I will go with you.”

  “I’ll take care of the body,” Dax added.

  Romeo nodded, too choked up to say anything else. He placed his hand on the closed cooler once more before marching away. What the hell was going on? Who cuts a man into pieces and gives him back to his family stuffed into coolers?

  He stormed into his office and slammed the door shut. He craved privacy, but, almost immediately, the four walls closed in on him. The patch on his cut proclaiming him president was like a noose, cinching a little tighter every day. He’d never wanted the damn thing, even though Wheels had practically trained him to replace him one day. When Shepard had decided to take over, Romeo had secretly been relieved. And now this was his fault. What had happened to Babyface rested squarely on his shoulders because he hadn’t acted like a proper president and had neglected to lock down all the things that needed to be figured out. With a roar, he swiped off everything from his desktop, smashing it all on the floor.

  Just like the chair, this stuff was tainted too.

  He grabbed the fire extinguisher sitting in the corner, the one that had about an inch of dust on it, and began hitting the desk. Again and again, he bashed in the old, tough wood that had served the Men of Hell president faithfully for forty years. The blows reverberated through the metal canister and up into his arms, but he welcomed the pain. His avoidance had almost brought about the ruin of the club, and if he didn’t grow some steel balls and become a fucking leader, then Babyface’s death wouldn’t be avenged. Hell, he could fight, maim and kill all night long, but figuring things out and trying to think two steps ahead was something he’d never counted on doing. One thing a president did was keep his men safe—and he’d failed.

  Someone knocked sharply upon the door.

  “Come in,” he barked. Sweat rolled off him from the exertion of destroying the desk.

  Dax poked his head inside. “You finished breaking everything?”

  Romeo tossed the fire extinguisher onto the pile of broken wood. It clanked loudly and rolled, making even more clangs and clashes. “Yep.”

  “Feel any better?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. I was wondering if you had a moment.”

  Romeo placed his hands on his hips and gestured to one of the chairs that had been pushed back during his rampage. When Dax sat down, Romeo dropped into the other one and stared at the pile of rubble between them.

  “I have Frank from the funeral home coming to pick Babyface up,” Dax said. “He’ll do him right.”

  “Yeah,” Romeo muttered. “Frank is a good guy.”

  “At some point I want to find Chloe and question her.”

  “You think she’s involved with what happened to Babyface?”

  “I don’t know, but it can’t be coincidence that she’s in town and shit starts happening.”

  Romeo shrugged. “Sure. Have fun torturing her.”

  “Afterward, I thought I would go track down Mendoza and shake information out of him. If he and his men have any, that is. I’m not too sure this was their work, though. Not their MO.”

  “We can’t rule anyone out.” Romeo looked around at the destruction of his office. “I’ll meet up with you after I talk with Babyface’s mom so we can question Mendoza together.”

  Dax shook his head. “No.”

  “They threatened the club, not me.”

  “You are the club, Rome. What d’ya think will happen if you get gunned down? This club has been through too much. It’ll implode.”

  Romeo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I hear what you’re saying, but I’m pulling rank, Daxton Christopher Squire.”

  “Shit. I hate it when you use my middle name.”

  Romeo smiled, although he didn’t feel any amusement. All that consumed him was vengeance. The need to hurt the ones who had killed Babyface burned through his soul, and he was more than happy to embrace the flames.

  Chapter Five

  Red Vine was located in the middle of nowhere and boasted a convenience store that also doubled for a gas station and a place to buy groceries. The population sign stated that it had about four hundred people, but fuck if Romeo knew where those people were hiding.

  Babyface’s mom lived in a mobile home that had rooms built onto it, no doubt, to make it bigger. The mishmash of materials used, however, only emphasized the poverty. Well, that and the numerous vehicles in the yard sitting on cinder blocks, rusting away little by little.

  He, Boone and Gabby pulled to a stop near the end of the gravel driveway and turned off their bikes. A large woman carrying a shotgun marched out of the front door. She wore a muumuu and a cigarette dangled from her mouth. From the side of the house stepped a middle-aged man with greasy hair and a paunch belly, wiping his hands on his dirty overalls. A gun belt hung around his hips.

  “Mrs. Stillwater?”

  “Who wants to know?” the old woman asked.

  “My name is Romeo. This is Boone and Gabby. We’re with the Men of Hell.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” The shotgun lowered a fraction. “You’re here to tell me bad news about my boy, ain’t you?”

  Romeo nodded.

  “He was kilt?” the man asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Boone replied softly.

  Mrs. Stillwater looked away for a moment. The shotgun hung limp in her hand. “I don’t have any money if you’re looking for help to bury him.”

  “The club is going to give him a proper burial,” Boone replied softly. “He wasn’t a full member yet, but he was a good man. A loyal prospect.”

  Mrs. Stillwater nodded sadly. “He was my only boy. Got me a couple of girls who don’t care about their mama, but Joshua came by regularly to make sure I was okay.”

  “Do you know who did it?” the man asked. “I’m his…was…his uncle.”

  Romeo shook his head. “Not yet.”

  The man reached up and took hold of his sister’s hand. “What’ll you do when you do find out?”

  “I plan to tear him to fucking pieces,” Romeo promised solemnly.

  “Good,” Mrs. Stillwater said. “You do that for my boy.” Grief hunched her shoulders, her face a mask of misery and regret. Just as a tear escaped from her eye, she spun away and headed back into the trailer.

  “We’re so sorry,” Romeo told Babyface’s uncle, then he turned to get back on his bike. Anger churned in his gut. There was no way he was going to reveal to Mrs. Stillwater just how her son had died, how he’d been disrespected. “We should be able to compensate her.”

  “With what money?” Boone asked as he straddled his bike.

  “I don’t know. And I know money can’t possibly make up for losing a kid, but I want to help her.”

  Boone glanced at Gabby. “Listen, I have a bit of cash saved up. We can send that to Mrs. Stillwater if you want.”

  Romeo frowned. “I wouldn’t ever ask you to do something like that. You earned that money.”

  Boone shrugged. “It’s yours if you want it.”

  “Thanks,” Romeo said. “Boone, do you…?”

  “Do I what?” Boone prompted.

  “Do you think Wheels made a mistake about me?”

  Boone stared at him with his cool gray eyes. Behind him, Gabby stared at
him too. Romeo met their scrutiny without fidgeting under their intense appraisals.

  “This club is at a crossroads,” Boone finally said. “And I think Wheels saw this coming years ago. Now you have a choice. You can be the man who got the name Romeo by burying himself in pussy, or you can be the president Wheels always thought you could be. But you can’t waver and you can’t ignore what this club needs.”

  It wasn’t until they were halfway back to the compound that Romeo realized Boone had never answered his question.

  * * * *

  Monday came all too soon and this time Chloe was stuck doing urology procedures. One thing she’d learned long ago in this job was that seventy-year-old cocks were vastly different from thirty-year-old cocks. Pulling kidney stones out of shriveled urethras wasn’t her favorite task at all.

  So when lunchtime rolled around, she wasn’t in the best of moods and sneered when she walked into the break room. Someone with seriously bad taste in rustic country charm had gotten their hands on decorations for the area. Cutesy wooden cutouts of farm animals, adorned with calico material, took up every available space. Even the table and chairs were nightmares from a craft store hell, with cow seat cushions and salt and pepper shakers shaped like pigs. The urge to vomit every time she walked into it cramped Chloe’s stomach.

  Susan, the snob OR nurse—as Chloe liked to think of her—sat perched on the edge of her chair as she blew on a steaming cup of tea. She was so not the person Chloe wanted to deal with, but short of denying herself lunch, she couldn’t kick the woman out.

  “So how was your weekend?” Susan asked brightly.

  “Fine.”

  “I can’t imagine what you did, stuck here.”

  Chloe shrugged. She didn’t want to answer and encourage more idle chitchat.

  Susan didn’t pick up on the mental thought. Nor, did it seem, was she prone to mind control. “Then again, I don’t know what possessed you to move to Bair in the first place.”

  Chloe popped the lid on her soda.