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“I can’t stay,” I say quietly. “You know I can’t. Not after a Heathen King has become fixated on ruining me. I’m fucked one way or the other.”
“But you have a life here, a ca—”
“A career, yes,” I interrupt, holding up my hand and then slapping it back on the table. “Mel says I should try to get letters of recommendation and such before I disappear, but that would only leave a trace for Micah to follow. I can’t afford to leave any breadcrumbs behind. I need to get out of this place, as quickly and as unexpectedly as possible. I can’t even pack because I’m pretty sure he’d get wind of that, too.”
Justine falls quiet, and for a few moments while we both stare out the window, I think that maybe she’s letting go. To say that my situation is dire would be an understatement. Having someone like Micah fixated on me is a death sentence and everyone on campus knows it. But then Justine’s mouth opens again, and hope comes flying out of it.
“Then I’ll talk to him.”
***
Micah
THE NIGHT BARREL IS probably the filthiest rocker bar in the country, which is why my men love it. Here, we can shed our skin and let our filthy selves roam free. Before I straddle a barstool and shove a cigarette between my lips, Doreen, the bartender, already has a Zippo ready to light it.
“Hard day, handsome?” she asks in her husky voice.
My jaw tenses because I hate it when she calls me that. I’ve never told her, though, because many women call me that, my looks making them perfectly blind to my monstrous nature. They like my sharp killer features, the fact that my jaw looks hard enough to slice wood or splinter knuckles, but among this band of wretches I look almost like a boy. Yet somehow people always know I’m the boss. Some say it’s the glint of malice in my eyes that gives me away.
“Just the usual,” I reply, my tone bored. “Here’s a little something from the Pablitos who bothered you, with their heartfelt apologies.”
I reach to the inside pocket of my jacket and retrieve a brick-thick wad of cash. Then another from the other pocket. And another from where I tucked it at my back, right next to my gun.
Doreen whistles and rakes the wads of cash off the counter with long fingers tipped with glittery fake nails. “Did they give you trouble?” she croaks.
“They tried. One thing’s for sure, they won’t be asking you for protection money anytime soon.”
Compared to the kind of stuff Sade and I are trained to deal with, a bunch of cock-figthing drug lords with daddy issues are child’s play. I could have probably taken them all out on my own, but the Flaming Skulls—my ride-or-die gang on Harleys—enjoy a good old raid like that. They love the rewards and the fact that it gives them a reason for celebration. And Doreen knows just how they like to party.
She places a glass of scotch in front of me before she turns her attention to them.
“I got something for you boys.”
Loud groans of anticipation fill the stinky joint, making it every bit the Skulls’ home. Some of the guys are helping themselves to beer from the tap, and some are already on their second, the golden liquid trickling down their beards. Pints bang on the counter and two of the bigger guys jump on a table, stomping their feet against the wood and sticking out pierced tongues. Soon it sounds like a Viking raid in here, and the volume rises enough to reach Odin himself, when Doreen re-emerges from the back of the bar, guiding a thin, pale woman by her elbow.
“Here is your prize, boys. You can fuck her raw.”
The pale brunette licks her full lips, her cheeks rosy, clearly anticipating this. This filthy gang of bastards fuck nasty, leaving their cum on every inch of the women they make their whores, but it’s always willing women.
We never force ourselves on anyone. It’s our code of conduct.
And this one is clearly looking forward to being used by a bunch of large bearded bastards in leather.
She’s completely naked except for her blindfold, her nipples hard, her skin puckered in all the right places as one of them grabs her wrist and yanks her over to a table, bending her unceremoniously over it.
He grabs her chin from behind and bends down to her ear, pinning her naked body under him on the table. “Ready to become our cum whore?”
“Yes,” she mumbles, her tone imbued with lust.
He licks the side of her face, smearing it with the rest of the alcohol on his beard. He keeps a grip on her chin with one hand while fumbling with the fly of his leather pants with the other, her thin white thighs trapped between his legs and the table.
Two other guys approach, grinning, freeing their erect cocks.
Grime, the one behind the woman, holds her mouth open for the other two to stick their cocks alternately into it while he grabs one of her asscheeks, holding it apart from the other so he can spit on her pucker. She stiffens under him.
“Don’t worry, whore,” he groans, his voice thick with what he’s gonna do to her. “Plenty of us to make you come. More than a fucking dozen.”
She mumbles something before one of the guys stuffs her mouth full by sliding balls-deep into it. He fists a hand in her hair and grabs a beer with the other.
