Dustin and Shack hated Hawk as much as he did. They also hated Banger, but even though he wasn't a fan of the Insurgents MC's president, Viper's focus stayed on Hawk, the club's vice president. He and his cunt were the reason he was locked up. And every time Brenda rubbed against his limp dick, his body burned with rage at what Hawk had done to him. He unclenched his fists and breathed in and out slowly. He'd have plenty of time to cool the rage that fired his soul, but for that moment, he had to remain calm and logical. In a short while, he'd be a free man.
* * *
"Do you love me?" Brenda gasped as his finger glided into her slippery hole.
"I fuckin' do, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear, his eyes fixed on the scanning camera. "I just wanna be with you all the time. We need more than snippets of thirty seconds, babe."
"I know," she breathed into his ear as she rode his fingers.
"I want us to live together. Get married. The whole fuckin' thing."
"I want that too." She jumped away from him and straightened her uniform. "We're on camera again." She moved away from him, and he hauled a pile of laundry into the dryer.
She stopped shy of the doorway. "I really can't stand not being able to love you the way I want to."
"I know. Me too. We're gonna have to do something about it, sweetie." She walked out of the room before the camera came back for another swipe. I've just planted the seed in her empty head. He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. It didn't take much to make some women abandon everything for a man. He guessed Brenda hadn't been all that popular with men in her lifetime. She craved his attention to the point that she'd risk her job and her freedom for him. What a pathetic whore. He chuckled while he loaded the washing machine with more orange jumpsuits-courtesy of the prison.
In order to make his escape successful, Viper had to enlist the help of the maintenance worker, Buddy Riester. From the background checks Dustin performed, Riester was ripe for the picking. He was broke, a gambler, and in desperate need of cash to pay off the loan sharks who were breathing down his neck. When Viper offered him half a million dollars for his assistance, the pimply-faced Riester agreed.
Bed check was at eleven o'clock in the night, but Viper knew the officers on duty that night were the lazy ones who skipped opening up the cells and making sure the inmate was really the form in the bed. He counted on ineptness; it always made things easier.
Brenda had arranged for Buddy to place Viper in a laundry cart right after dinner. The maintenance workers usually took the laundry carts out to the back of the prison to change the canvas bag or repair the wheels and aluminum bars. Viper lay down in the bottom of the cart, old sheets piled on top of him. Buddy rolled through several doors and then out the back door. When he got there, Viper jumped out and then was transported in Reister's car trunk out of town.
Later that night, Brenda met him and Buddy in a small town a hundred miles from the prison. She threw her arms around him, but he pushed her away. "We have time for that later. We gotta keep moving." He handed the rest of the money to Reister, knowing that he'd be killed before he made his way back home. There was no way Viper was leaving a witness. Dustin had arranged for a couple of the brothers to intercept Buddy and put a permanent end to his gambling addiction.
Brenda chatted incessantly as they drove deep into the night on their way to Iowa. Viper had taken some plates off a junked car a hundred and fifty miles back, so he relaxed a bit as he tuned her off and took a deep drag on his joint. It was an eleven hour drive, and they'd already put a good seven hour distance between them and the prison. Viper knew they'd think he was either heading to the border or to stay with his brother or sister in nearby Kansas. They'd never think to look for him at the Demon Riders' clubhouse. He was a nomad biker so he didn't belong to any one club.
About a couple of hours from Johnston, Iowa, Viper leaned over and kissed Brenda on the cheek. "You ready to have a little fun before we get to the clubhouse?"
She smiled broadly, her blue eyes shining in her round, pasty face. "I've dying to be with you since we met up hours ago."
"Turn down this road and pull into the cornfield. We don't want anyone spotting us." He was grateful it was a dark moonless night.
She did as she was told, and then she turned off the engine and turned to him. "I love you so much. I can't believe we're together." She giggled.
"Yeah." He pulled her roughly to him and plunged his tongue down her mouth, chuckling as she gagged. He ripped open her blouse and stared at her white, full breasts. He grabbed and squeezed them, twisting her nipples until she cried out in pain. He laughed and brushed her hand away as she tried to stroke his cheek.
He pulled, pinched, and bit her as she squirmed under his touch. When her hand covered his crotch, a startled look crossed her face. "Aren't I exciting you? Don't you want me?"
A bitter smile settled on his lips as his forehead creased. "You excite me plenty. I haven't been with a woman since the night I was arrested. I got the desire, sweetheart. I'm just not able to get it up."
Her eyes were wide. "Really? What's the matter?"
"Hawk. The sonofabitch I'm gonna kill. I can still fuck you. It just won't be with my cock." Before she could answer, he was on top of her like a crazed animal, his hand over her mouth snuffing out her screams. He let his rage dictate his actions, and after some time, she quit trying to push him off, she quit crying against his palm … she just stopped. He released the hold he had on the belt he'd looped around her neck. He pushed her limp body aside and straightened up, and then lit a joint as he waited for the brothers to come and help him dispose of her body. He knew from the minute she checked him out that she had signed her death certificate. Outlaws never leave evidence. Her car would be sold to an unscrupulous dealer for scrap metal, and Brenda Rourke would become another disappearance.
His eyes narrowed. He'd strike Hawk where he was the most vulnerable-his old lady. He'd bide his time, striking when the sonofabitch least expected it.
I'm gonna have a good time with his slut, and then Hawk's a dead man.
Chapter One
Pinewood Springs, CO
"You didn't like the almond filling?" Cara asked as she moved the slice of cake away from her.
"Babe, they all taste the same to me. I can't believe we've been here for forty minutes and you still haven't picked a fuckin' cake for the wedding. What the hell?"
"If you were more helpful, it'd be easier." Cara tossed her hair over her shoulder. "The chef is bringing out a couple more pieces. We have to choose. I want your input."
He laughed. "I'm not a cake guy, you know that. Chocolate, vanilla, blue velvet, or whatever else is all the same to me." He scowled as she giggled. "What's so funny?"
"It's red velvet cake, not blue. You're sweet." She blew him a kiss.
He pressed his lips together. "Whatever. You're such a little smartass." He shook his head as he scooped up a glob of frosting on his finger. Leaning over, he smeared it lightly on her nose and lips. Instinctively, she pulled back and picked up a napkin. "No way, babe. I'll clean it up. Get over here."
"You're bad," she said as she licked some of the frosting off her lips.
"Thanks." He stood up and came over to her, bending down low, his hand tilting her head back. He licked off the icing from her nose and mouth, his tongue delving between her parted lips. She hooked her arms around his neck and his hand caressed her cheek as he kissed her deeper.
Someone behind them cleared his voice. Hawk kept kissing his woman, who brought her hands to his chest and pushed him back a little. Hawk straightened up and winked at her then sauntered back to his chair. Cara's face blushed red, and the chef, who held three more plates of cake samples, moved his eyes everywhere but on the two of them. Hawk threw his head back and laughed. The citizens' world never ceased to amuse him.
For the next twenty minutes, he passed the time by picturing Cara's body smeared in the white frosting she and the pastry chef were gushing about. He'd love to lick every bit of it off her luscious body. As he pictured her writhing underneath him, his jeans grew uncomfortable. I'm gonna be pitchin' a tent if Cara doesn't hurry up and pick a damn cake.