Madeline Sheehan - Undeniable

"Just let me go," I whispered.  "You're shitfaced!"

"Yeah.  Your fault babe.  Want you so bad I fuckin' ache.”

Oh god.  Pain and regret so violent gripped my insides and my knees buckled under the onslaught.  Deuce caught me under my arms and hauled me back up.

He pressed his mouth against mine and breathed into it.  “One fuckin' kiss, baby,” He whispered.

I choked on a sob.  “Deuce,” I whispered through my tears.  “Please don’t do this.  This is really, really, fucked up.”

“That's the thing darlin', I've always been really, really fucked up.  For some fuckin' reason you weren't seein' it.  But you get it now, so shut the fuck up and lemme fuckin’ kiss you and pretend that hot mouth around my cock is your sweet pussy.”

“Deuce, please…"

"Yeah," He breathed into my mouth, "Keep beggin'."

"Fuck you," I whispered.

"No babe," He gritted out.  He released me and his hands shot into my hair, gripping handfuls.  "Fuck you."

He shoved his tongue in my mouth and tightened his grip on my hair to keep me in place.  He came moments later, groaning, and I burst into tears.

"Please, please," I begged, "Please let me go.”

His nostrils flared.  “Let you go?” He hissed.  “Let you fuckin’ go?”

He pushed me backwards and I tripped over the girl's legs and landed hard on my backside.  Deuce shoved the girl away from him and hiked up his jeans.  He glared down at me.

“Been tryin’ to let you go, been tryin' for fuckin' years,” He said roughly.  “Haven’t figured out how yet.”

Speechless, I watched him stalk out of the kitchen.

The girl, who I had just realized was Lynn, my Uncle Joe’s favorite girl, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and looked over at me.  “Bikers, Eva,” She huffed.  “Fuckin’ crazy.”

“Don’t say anything to Joe,” I whispered.

“No worries, baby.”

I heard the telltale sounds of Harley pipes growling loudly then fading off into the distance.  I wondered if this was the last I would ever see of Deuce.  For five years, I wondered.

Then one summer night I didn’t have to wonder anymore.

Deuce cut his engine, toed his kickstand down and studied the farmhouse in front of him.  Mick pulled up beside him.  Five more of his boys followed suit.

"You sure ‘bout this Prez?"  Ripper asked, leaning forward on his handlebars.  Even in the dark Deuce could see the ugly looking slashes that married the entire right side of his face.  Right eye gone, right side of his mouth slashed, frozen in an ugly looking frown. His chest was worse.  This was all courtesy of Crazy Frankie, who had done him over real good about two years back.  Frankie was all about the torture before the killing.  Luckily, Ripper had gotten away before the fucker could do him in.

"How can you ask that?"  Mick said.  "After what he fuckin' did to you?"

Ripper shrugged.  "Don't get me wrong Mickey, I want the fuck dead more than any of you."

He wasn't so sure about that.

"I'm just lookin' out for the club.  We do this, we do Frankie, and we're at war with Preacher.  Full out war.  Shit won’t be easy; it will be downright fuckin' ugly."

He looked back at the house.  Loud music was blaring, bikes and a few pickups covered the lawn.  Through the lit windows he could see people dancing with beers in their hands.  It was a typical MC party.

But he wasn’t here to party, he was here to kill the Silver Demon's VP.

He looked back at his brothers.  "We all agree or we all leave."

Tag, ZZ, Cox, Mick and Jase all gave him the thumbs up.  He looked at Ripper.

Ripper stared at the house.  "We got the manpower to go up against Preacher.  We got the connections, we got the money, we got the Russians, fuck, we even got some of Preacher's connections ready to go up against Preacher for the right price, so what the fuck.  Let's do it.  'Bout time someone put that rabid dog down."

Deuce nodded to Cox.  "You and me are goin' in.  Tag and ZZ take back, Mick and Jase take front and Ripper…you just fuckin' wait and I'll bring the fucker right to you and you can gut him like the fuckin' pig he is."

Ripper grinned his deformed half grin.  "You sure do know how to turn a guy on, Prez."

He shoved an extra clip in the back of his leathers. "I try," he said dryly.

He grabbed Cox's arm before they entered.   "Remember we need to be cool.  Frankie knows we got beef.  Look like you're here to party.  Start drinking just don't get shitfaced or grab some pussy but keep your eye on your phone."

"You got it."

It wasn't hard to grab pussy at an MC party, it was usually a free for all.  But Cox, being Cox, shaved head and pierced everywhere, every-fuckin'-where, covered from neck to ankle in tats, the women fucking flocked.  Boy didn't even have to crook his finger.  They just magically appeared on their knees in front of him.

They walked in and split up.  The place was packed solid with Demons.  He saw a few Red Devil cuts wandering around and healthy mix of nomads, but fuck, there was a crap load of Demons.  He went straight to the kitchen, nabbed a blue, pushed off a crack whore who'd grabbed at him and started walking around, getting the lay of the place.

"Horseman!" A familiar voice shouted. A meaty hand hit his shoulder.

He turned around and faced the three hundred pound, sweat covered asshole.

"Tiny," He said evenly.

"Whatcha doin' in Virginia?"

"Passin' through."

"Lucked out brother.  Mad fuckin' pussy here.  Got sugar too."

Fucking morons.  Snorting what they're supposed to be selling.  Fuck-ing mor-ons.

"Gonna get some pussy first.  Been on the road for weeks.  You gonna be around?"

Tiny slapped his bicep.  "Blow your load and come find me.  Got some side business goin' on that you might be interested in."

Rolling his eyes, he resumed walking, stepping over drunk fucks and drunks fucking.  When he reached the back, a closed in porch that ran the length of the house, he stopped walking and started staring.

Leaning casually against the wall, smack dab in the middle of a long line of Demon's was mother fucking Frankie.  And no, his eyes hadn’t gotten any less crazy.  But he had gotten a fuck of a lot bigger.

His long brown hair was pulled back in a man bun, displaying his spider web neck tattoos interspersed with extensive, thick scars. His beard was long and ratty and the brother's muscles were bulging out of the skintight Val Halen tee he had on.

He might have half an inch on Frankie but bodily they were evenly matched.  And with the asshole being as crazy as he was he wasn't too sure he'd come out on top.

Frankie and his crazy eyes were fixated on something across the room.  He followed his line of sight.

Fuck.

Black Harley tee, the collar cut off causing it to fall off her shoulder, exposing a new tat, a colorful collage of flowers.  Her pants were leather, tight, and on her feet, sparkly silver chucks.  Her dark wavy hair had grown even longer, nearly reaching her ass.  She'd gained a little weight, none of it bad.  How long had it been since he'd seen her last and acted like a fucking asshole?  Four years?  Five?  She had to be around thirty now.  She didn’t look it.  If he didn't know her he’d think she was in her early twenties.

He wanted her still.  Fucking. Bad.

He looked back at Frankie whose gaze hadn't moved, whose body hadn't moved.  Every inch of him was solidly trained on Eva.

Crazy.  Fucking, scary crazy.

Eva looked up from her conversation with another woman, older, battered looking, wearing stripper heels, definitely an MC whore, and her gaze caught Frankie's.  Frankie's eyes fucking blazed with possession and…insanity.

Eva handed her beer to the woman next to her and started for Frankie.  Crazy fuck never took his eyes off her, watched her like a vulture does when it’s waiting for something to die.

When she reached him, his arm wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her up against him.  His head lowered and his mouth covered hers and he just fucking ate at her.  Eva's arms went up around his neck; she pressed her body into his and kissed him back just as hard.

He stared at them, his fists clenched, his chest aching something fierce.

Frankie pushed Eva off him. "Got business babe," He yelled over the music.  "Stay right fuckin' here until I get back or you’re gonna catch a lot of fuckin’ shit from me that you know you don’t fuckin’ want and I don't wanna give it to you but I fuckin' will if you don't fuckin' listen."

She nodded.  She just fucking nodded.  Frankie walked off and disappeared out the back door.

Turning around, he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Cox.  Brother answered on the first ring, breathing hard.  The sound of skin slapping against skin came through the phone loud and clear.

"Yeah?"

"Got a problem."

"Fuck.  What is it?"

"Eva."

"She here?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"Is Kami here?"

Deuce closed his eyes.  What. The. Fuck.

"No asshole.  Kami is not here."

"Damn."

"Cox, call the fuckin' boys.  Have ‘em stick with Ripper till I figure this shit out."

"Got it."

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and headed back the way he came.  After grabbing another beer, he headed out the kitchen door.  The door had just barely shut behind him when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.  Startled, he dropped his beer.