Captive Ride(20)
The first floor of the granary is semirespectable. Sure, there are folks groping each other and plenty of nudity but Judge, the Death Lord’s president, likes to keep the raunchy stuff for the second floor playroom. Michigan had volunteered to run security which means he stands around, arms folded, watching everything. The bored, flat look in his eyes shouts “been there, done that, fucked till the T-shirt fell off.”
I drink a few beers and pour two shots down my gullet hoping to take the bite off my lust. I hadn’t seen Annie today. I’d ridden by her place but didn’t see a soul around. Under the guise of checking out a book at the library, I asked Pippa where Annie was. Pippa gave me a long knowing look but admitted Annie only worked two days a week at the library. The rest of the time she’s at the Methodist church. Churches are about as off-limits as teenage sexpots trying to get into a mash. In the last couple of years, this has begun to be a real problem. I blame it on the stupid-ass television show.
Fortunately Judge’s stepdaughter comes by to mark them for us. We don’t need underage flesh getting us in trouble. People get leery just at the sight of our leathers and our bikes. And there are some who are dying to pin shit on the club to make us look bad. Judge’s son, Wrecker, got sent to the state penitentiary for three years.
An underage girl at a mash? Might as well take a bulldozer to the granary. We’d be done.
When my foot lands on the second floor, the sounds of sex in the party room travel all the way down the hall. The high-pitched wails carry over the lower grunts and shouts of encouragement.
I peek in the first room and see a woman on a low, round coffee table. Her hands are tied behind her back, her ass is high in the air and the guy fucking her has a hand on the back of her neck. The rockers on the back of his cut proclaim him to be a Stonehead Bandit. The Bandits are a crew out of Illinois that are known for moving drugs and guns along the Mississippi. He finishes with a hard grunt and steps aside. Without much more downtime, another Bandit is taking his place.
“Nice hospitality you got here,” says Thrasher. He’s the Bandits’ enforcer. Like Michigan, he’s just watching but it’s early yet. He might find a sweet butt he can’t keep away from once all his boys have bedded down.
“Can’t have a mash without a few willing women.”
“You boys care a little too much about a sweet butt’s age. Michigan’s more strict than a Chicago bar.” The toothpick in the corner of his mouth barely moves as he talks.
“We’ve got liquor and a bunch of horny guys running around. Being careful is why we’ve been here for generations.”
“Nothing like the tight hole of a virgin,” Thrasher muses. “Hear there’s a club up north specializing in that kind of treat for visiting clubs.”
“Then you should’ve rode straight up there if that’s your thing because it’s not something the Death Lords will ever have on the menu.”
“Don’t tell me now that Judge has hooked up with permanent pussy that you guys are turning into a choir group.”
The slaps of flesh on flesh are starting to bore me. Giving the room a quick perusal, it appears everyone is here willingly. There’s a Death Lords patch with a woman bouncing on his lap and a prospect the Bandits brought with them taking in the entire scene. He reminds me of Abel, one of our prospects who’s so fresh out of the Marines, he still smells like mortar and sweat. I like the looks of the prospect more than any of the other Bandits here. Pushing away from the wall I was leaning against, I grab Thrasher by the neck. He jerks in surprise but my grip is relentless. “You talk shit about Judge’s old lady like that again and one of us will reach down your throat and pull your colon out through your mouth.”
The three other Bandits in the room stand and the sex acts grind to a halt. Robot, the Death Lords patch, has his trusty ten-inch liner lock knife in his hand, blade flipped out. I give him a tiny shake and he folds the blade inside the handle.
I release Thrasher with a small shove. “You know old ladies are untouchable.”
He strokes his throat. He smiles but his eyes are burning with anger. “Yeah. ’Course. Meant no disrespect.”
Holding back my snort, I give a nod toward the occupants of the room. “This is a party. Go forth and have a fucking good time.”
Robot follows me out, dragging his sweet butt with him. “Give them ten minutes and then clear the girls out.”
“They were having a good time,” Robot says. “Everyone in there was willing.”
“Oh yeah, Tracey’s the girl on the table and the mash is all she’s been talking about all week.” A brown-haired girl with a pixie face looks up earnestly at me and then Robot. “But we’d rather be with a Death Lord, if we had the choice.”