Slick Running (Satan's Devils #3) (Satan's Devils MC) Read online

She leans forward, her face splitting into a grin as she laughs. “Girl, how can I do that? Have you seen them around? Boy, are they something. And do they have some cock. Biker cock, babe. Best there is.” The last she whispers conspiratorially.

  I’m shocked but intrigued, and must admit, a tiny bit jealous. Going through a particularly dry spell myself, I’m becoming increasingly certain my girly parts are starting to forget what they were made for, I listen with my jaw dropping as she elucidates the reasons for her fascination with these men.

  “They live fast, hun, on the edge. They don’t bide by no citizen—that would be the types of you—rules. They fuck hard too. And there’s this one, Tongue, well, he’ll go down on you for hours and I can’t even start to tell you what he can do with his stud.” She glances at me, her eyes are half-lidded, her lips turning up in a smile. “Can’t explain, El, what it’s like to have such power over these men. I have them in the fuckin’ palm of my hand.”

  She sleeps with all the bikers? I’m still trying to get my head around that. What if she doesn’t find one or more attractive? “Do you get any say? What if you don’t like one of them?” I take a sip of my now cold coffee to give my fidgeting hands something to do and my eyes something else to look at. My face burns red and it’s not from the heat of the sun.

  She looks smug and not overly offended by my inquisitive questions and shrugs. “It’s no hardship. They all know how to fuck. So why not? I’m not ashamed to admit that I enjoy sex. Sure, one or two I might need to keep my eyes closed, but the rest. Mmm, mm. And if they’re coming at you from behind it’s their cocks that matter, not their face.” Her eyes glaze over dreamily. “And sometimes there’s one that prefers to keep to one girl, you know, you get to know what each other likes. And maybe in time there’ll be that special one who’ll make me his old lady.” Her lips curl up as though she’s putting them through their paces in her mind. “It’s mind-blowing sex on tap, twenty-four-seven. What citizen boyfriend would be able to offer that?”

  Certainly none I’d ever come across.

  It’s probably one of the strangest and most enlightening conversations I’ve ever had. And one it seems I’m unable to get out of my mind. Over the next few days I keep remembering how she’d shown no shame in being what I would term a whore. But then, my knowledge of prostitutes is limited to films like Pretty Woman, where girls sell their bodies on the streets to anyone who comes along, longing for a chance to get out of that life, preferably by being swept away by a millionaire. Or hookers needing money for drugs. What she’d described was something very different. While at the heart of it she’s still selling herself, it is to a limited pool. And if she’s right about them all being well-endowed and knowing what to do with their endowment, she probably sees more action in a week than I have my whole life. She certainly seemed to enjoy what she does. Hmm.

  Her description of the way she lives gets stuck in my head. While remaining uncomfortable at the thought of being at the beck and call of a group of men—what if you weren’t in the mood, for example? I find myself envying her as I compare her life to my own. Is the way I live so much more admirable? I’ve got a go-nowhere job in a sleazy bar and a shithole of an apartment I share with Tilly, my human companion, and several of the animal variety that I try not to think about. I’ve no man interested in me—if you exclude the shady offers whispered in my ear along with the drinks that I serve, and there’s certainly been none which have tempted me to follow up.

  The thought starts to sneak up on me. Could I do what she does? Of course I couldn’t. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m worth much more than that. Standing at the sink washing up after my messy housemate yet again¸ I dismiss the idea as outrageous. She’s bound to have made it sound far more glamourous than it actually is, maybe as an excuse to justify how she’s sunk so low.

  So low? She didn’t look like she was down on her luck. Her eyes sparkled with fun, and her clothes, while minimal, don’t look like they’ve come from a thrift shop.

  Me on the other hand? I just manage to scrape by.

  You’ll never amount to anything. Oh yeah, my mom never held back. Part of the reason I moved out of home, only to live a life which seemed to prove her correct. Glancing around me, I see it as she would. I’m living in a hovel—and even that’s almost more than I can afford—with a woman I’m fast coming to dislike. If I’m going to get out of here I’ve got to do it myself, and I’ve limited options. I’ve no chance of fulfilling my dream and going to college, and even finding a new, better paying job has proved impossible.

  I think back to the bikers I’d seen around town and a shiver goes through me at the thought of letting them do anything they want to me. What if, as Jill had suggested, there’d be that special man, that someone who’d want only me. Maybe the biker who’d caught me in his arms that day? Oh, it’s obvious why he didn’t find me attractive. Not when he’d got the likes of Jill back at base, ready and waiting.

  Without really realising it’s happening, the idea starts cementing in my head, justified the next time I meet Jill and enviously note the glow of satisfaction on her face, which certainly isn’t on mine. Having now opened up, she revels in telling me such stories she makes my toes curl with her descriptions of the bikers and life on the compound. I find myself feeling jealous at the differences in our lives.

  It takes just one more bad night at the bar, together with a re-examination of what little I’ve got, for me to summon up enough courage. At the coffee shop the next Saturday, I pick up my cup and speak over the top. “Are they looking for another girl?” As the words leave my mouth I immediately regret them, covering my lips with my hand. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m not whore material. Surely I can’t be that desperate? But the memory of the foul-breathed man who’d lent over the bar to grope me last evening reminds me that perhaps I am.

  She doesn’t seem surprised, just laughs and waves her hand. “You fancy yourself some biker cock, do you? Well,” she looks me up and down as if seeing me for the first time, “you’ve kept yourself in shape. The men would definitely go for that rack.” Her visual inspection makes me want to squirm. “I could ask for you. Be good to have you there, El. The others are okay, there’s Chrissy, Pussy, and Allie, and they’re alright, but we,” she points to me then to her, “we go way back.” She breaks off and then gives me a broad smile. “Yeah, I’ll put your name forward and see how it goes.” Her tongue flicks out to catch a stray drop of coffee as she leans forward and continues, “You’ll probably have to come around as a hang-around first off.”

  “Hang-around?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugs, “We have girls up from Tucson every Friday night, sometimes Saturdays too.” Her mouth twists as she continues, and her little frown shows me she doesn’t approve of them very much. “The boys go with whoever happens to take their fancy.”

  That might be a good place to start. A chance for me to give them an informal interview as well as the other way around. A flicker of excitement warms me from the inside. Sex hasn’t been anything great for me before. Oh, I’ve done it, sure. Many times, even had a few one-night stands. But now hearing about the type of experience she has with men who know how to use the tools God gave them, I suspect the ones that I’ve been with weren’t so accomplished. When we part it’s with her promise to float the idea back at the club.

  What the fuck am I doing? I leave the coffee shop bemused. What the hell made me even ask? Is this what I want out of life? My mother would have conniptions. The thought makes me smile as I think of seeing her face. You might not have thought much of me to start with, Mom, but just wait until I tell you I’m thinking of becoming a whore. She’d have a fit. Or then again, maybe not. Sometimes I don’t think she cares very much at all.

  Returning home, I search with the remote until I find a rerun of Sons of Anarchy and settle back to watch, my mouth dropping open as the scenes play out. There’s so much fighting and violence. Satan’s Devils aren’t like that, are they? But oh, my. That Jax Teller. Now
if they were like him… I get engrossed by the way his tight ass moves as he fucks his old lady, muscles rippling as he drives into her, that rapturous look on her face. That night I use my vibrator.

  Come the next morning, I take a real good look at myself in the mirror, lifting my boobs in my hands, and glancing down—they’re firm, not too large, not small and perky though, and from this angle look a bit lopsided. Looking lower, my stomach’s flat, my bush is neat and tidy, but don’t men like that prefer it bare? Well I don’t. Pursing my lips, I decide to give it a nice trim, but not go any further. Not unless I’m asked to. I move my eyes up again and bite my lip. Jill’s so pretty, you could see why anyone would want her. Me? I decide after my inspection I’m very ordinary. Nothing special at all. Nothing to attract the likes of Jax Teller here.

  Would they even want me? I’m suddenly nervous that even if I did get an invite to the club I may end up the girl sitting in the corner with none of the men showing any interest. Now that would be embarrassing. You don’t know until you try.

  Now that I seem to have made the decision and have taken the first step, I start to fear rejection more than acceptance. My life continues to slide downhill. Tilly’s being more of a slob than ever, and I’m desperate enough to do just about anything to get out. The next time we meet I pester Jill almost before she’s got her ass on the seat.

  With a smirk, she assures me she’s mentioned my name, but hasn’t yet had a response. When we part I leave dissatisfied, knowing once my mind is made up, very little can change it, and the delay’s only making it worse. The following nights I continue to pleasure myself, my inspiration that elusive biker cock.

  Chapter 2

  Ella

  Four months ago

  For the next week life goes on much as normal, my tedious job still as boring as hell. Excited and hopeful, I go to the café the next Saturday, but Jill doesn’t turn up. Disappointed, I wonder whether anything’s happened, but then convince myself it must be a sign they don’t want me and she’s too embarrassed to tell me to my face. And that’s probably a good thing, isn’t it? Am I really cut out for the sort of life she described at the Satan’s Devils’ club?

  By the following Tuesday I’ve almost given up on the idea, when there’s a knock at the front door. Flinging it open I’m expecting to find Tilly’s latest layabout boyfriend and am about to give him a piece of my mind for forgetting his key, when I shut my mouth fast. It’s no one for my housemate. Instead, to my astonishment, I see Jill standing there with a Satan’s Devil’s biker waiting behind.

  After a wide-eyed nod to my friend I study her companion. My eyes go up, and up, eventually meeting the grinning face of one of the most striking men I’d ever seen in my life. Not classically handsome, and a bald head which I don’t normally like, but with piercing blue eyes which seemed to see right through me. Full lips I just long to kiss. He leans with his hand on the top of the doorframe, his elbow resting on the side.

  Rendered completely speechless, I stand with my mouth gaping like a fool.

  “Gonna invite us in?” he prompts at last with a smirk.

  After swallowing a couple of times I find the right words. “Yeah, come in. Er, it’s not much.” I step aside and look around, seeing the place as it would look to others. Secondhand furniture sourced from the thrift store, and not looking particularly clean. To call my housemate a slob is to give her a compliment, and after months of becoming tired tidying up after her, I’d become that way too. Dirty cups, glasses, empty bottles, and takeaway bags litter the floor. I feel shame at the way I’ve started to live. They pretend not to notice, and without making a fuss clear a space and sit down.

  Once seated, the biker makes no attempt to hide his blatant visual inspection, his sharp eyes making me flush. He’s checking me out. Although his intense gaze makes me uncomfortable, I realise it’s all part and parcel of what I’m looking to become, and can probably expect more in the future if I make it through this first test. Hoping I will pass muster because, by Christ, if this is an example of who I’d have to make myself available to, I’ll be all for it. Straightening my back, I ignore my discomfort and let his eyes roam.

  In turn I’m giving him a good once-over too, coming to the conclusion I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who made me feel so immediately turned on in my life. As his eyes lazily examine me, my underwear begins to feel damp, my nipples start peaking, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to invite him into my bedroom to give me a trial run. Embarrassed, I look down, then dare glance at him again, and a shiver runs through me as my eyes drop to the apex of his jeans. Hell, Jill hadn’t been lying. He’s hiding one hell of a package under the denim. And it seems to be growing in front of my eyes.

  “Like what you see?”

  Going red, I turn away fast, hating I’ve been caught. I don’t know where to look, or what to do with my hands.

  “The name’s Slick.” He takes pity on me. “Jill, here,” he nods at his companion, “said you’re hankerin’ to join us as a sweet butt. That right?”

  He’s certainly direct, and faced with the plain-spoken question I’m suddenly flummoxed. Am I really going to admit I want to be a whore? But as I step back my foot kicks at a bottle, it rolls away and hits the table leg with a thud, reminding me of my current circumstances. Have I any other option? Living like this isn’t what I’d planned. Anything has to be better. And it’s the handsome biker in front of me that helps me decide.

  Being so tall, when Slick stands up he looms over me. Reaching out his hands, he wraps his large fingers around my arms. “Look, Ella, isn’t it?” When I nod my confirmation he continues, “I need an honest answer.” His eyes flick to Jill. “Sweet butts live at the club. We provide comfortable and,” he pauses and looks around the room, his face wrinkling in disgust, “clean accommodation. And everything you need. You’ll get money to spend. In return, you’ll do whatever the brothers want from you. You’ll become property of the club. In essence, that means you look after us, and we look after you.” He finishes with a wink, leaving me in no doubt what he means.

  Property? I’m not sure I like the sound of that. “What if I don’t like what they want?”

  He offers that panty-melting smirk once again. “Oh, I think you’ll find you like it, darlin’. Look, it’s fuckin’ darlin’. You like to fuck?”

  I’ve never heard it put so crudely. I gulp, and just about manage to nod my head.

  “They’ll expect you to give head. You up for that?”

  Christ! He’s being too frank. With a boyfriend I don’t mind, with just anyone I’m not sure. I suppose I’d have to try. I bite my lip, not knowing what to say.

  “Hmm. Well, most of us use condoms to be careful.”

  I raise my eyebrows. I’d expected I’d have to take charge of birth control. And I probably will, in case. Then it dawns on me why they use condoms. I’ll probably be going from one man to another. Hastily I start to rethink.

  He chuckles. “Biker fuckin’, baby. It’s not one sided. You’ll come so many times you won’t know which way is up.”

  And my traitorous womb clenches. Just how many times could he make me come? Once has been a bonus in my past.

  My face must give my thoughts away. Another close examination, then he seems to come to a decision with a nod. Speaking over his shoulder, he throws out an instruction, “Jill, get lost.”

  Obediently my friend gets to her feet, she casts a look at me I can’t quite interpret, picks up her jacket I hadn’t noticed her take off, and steps to the door.

  “Er…”

  I’m not sure about this turn of events. She’s going to leave me alone with this big burly biker?

  She must notice my confusion, but she just shakes her head. “It’s club business, and I can’t be involved.” Her eyes flick toward Slick. “You’ll be fine with him, Ella. He just wants to talk.”

  I look in the same direction, only able to see this hunk of a man standing in front of me. And if I want to do more? Who’s go
ing to protect him from me? Shit, woman, get a hold of yourself.

  He chuckles and seems to read my mind. “This isn’t a practical, Ella. I won’t be tryin’ you out.” Then his levity disappears and the corners of his mouth turn down. “There’s a conversation we need to have.”

  Again, I look at Jill, but she simply shrugs. She looks puzzled as though this isn’t the normal way they go about things, but what would I know? I’ve never previously auditioned getting into someone’s bed before.

  And she’s going to leave anyway. His strong hands are still holding me, and I realise I don’t have a choice. The door bangs behind her, and I’m left alone with a man I don’t know.

  Slick looks at me carefully, then gives a jerk of his chin. “Ella, I’ll be straight with you. Usually you’d come to a party or two. If the brothers like you, and you’re okay with their demands, then we’d talk about allowin’ you to stay after that. But fuck it, this situation ain’t fuckin’ normal.”

  One of his hands moves down and wraps round my fingers. He encourages me over to the couch and sits beside me, his body twisting so he can look me in the face. “You’re a good-lookin’ woman, Ella. Wouldn’t be any hardship havin’ you in the club. You hear me?”

  I jerk my head. Is he offering me a job?

  “Jill reckons you’re trustworthy. That right?”

  Pleased that she’s vouched for me, I tell him I am. Well, I always turn up on time and have never stolen anything.

  “Won’t kid you, Ella. You let slip one word of what I’m gonna tell you to anyone else, well, let’s say it would probably end up being the last thing you say.”

  Another shiver, this time from nerves, and I try to pull my hand away. I can’t do this. I’ve heard rumours about the club, anyone living in Tucson knows their reputation. They’re not people you’d cross lightly.

  “I don’t think I want you to tell me anything more.” What if I inadvertently gave something away, even if I don’t mean to? Reading between the lines, he’s just told me I’d end up dead.