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Chapter 8
Gunner
I never sleep very well. I’m always haunted by nightmares of where I come from. It doesn’t matter if I’m in my own bed, sandwiched between the arms of a beautiful woman, or on a sofa.
Right now, I’m on the latter instead of the former. I wince as I sit up. My slightly sweaty body sticks to the leather. I grunt, but stand. I glance over to see if I’ve woken Rex, asleep on the other sofa, but he’s still snoozing. His long legs are strung over one arm because he’s so damn tall.
There’s no need to rouse him yet. I creep over to the other side of the room. I slept in my boxer briefs, covered with a blanket. My morning routine can't start until I get myself into the shower.
As silently as possible, I slide open the door of my closet. When I glance over my shoulder, I can see the slow rise and fall of Margiold’s figure, covered by sheets.
Dammit,I think. I was really hoping to see her naked. I’m a red-blooded man, after all. I’m a Grim Rider. It’s just my nature. Despite Marigold being off-limits, I can't stop myself, but I tiptoe past her and gently close the bathroom door behind me.
Once the shower is running, I step out of my boxer briefs. Now freed, my morning wood stands at full attention.
It has nothing to do with the beautiful woman in my bed,I think and I’m groaning as I step underneath the hot stream of my shower.
My muscles relax as the warm water washes over my body, but my cock is still rock hard. It’s always like this in the morning. There’s only one solution.
I wrap my fingers around my shaft, squeezing gently, and I can feel blood rushing to my groin. My balls are aching for release as I begin to stroke myself. I can feel my cock throb in my fist, but I think about it throbbing inside of Marigold’s tight pussy instead.
The preacher’s daughter,I scoff at myself. I know that she wouldneverget fucked by the likes of me, but there’s no controlling my imagination.
I would rip the clothes off of her ripe body and bend her over my bed. The thought of her round tits bouncing and her wet cunt gripping my cock makes me pant and suddenly, my entire body is tightening. I grit my teeth as waves of ecstasy roll through my body. White ropes spray from my cock, coating the shower wall, and I clean it off as soon as I catch my breath.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.
I can’t remember the last time I came so hard. And in a solo session, too.
It’s nothing to do with the preacher’s daughter,I tell myself and I shake my head to force any thoughts of Marigold away. I shampoo my hair and scrub my skin until it’s almost raw. With a towel wrapped around my waist, I peel open the bathroom door and tiptoe towards my closet.
I grab a pair of jeans and slip them on as quickly as possible in the dim morning light. I reach back in the closet for a black t-shirt but glimpse my back in the dresser mirror before I can slide it over my head.
I hate looking at my scars. My back is criss-crossed with them, remnants of the abuse I suffered at the hand of my ultra-religious parents. Spare the rod and spoil the child, they always used to say.
For one second, it’s almost like I’m back there: on the compound, waiting for my punishment to begin. I remember the crack of the whip, the searing pain of it slicing through my flesh. If I wanted to, I could still recite every one of those Bible verses.
When I slip on my cut, it is as if I’m healed. I’ve chosen my vest today, instead of my jacket, but either makes me feel like I’m wearing a coat of armor. I’m a Grim Rider now. The scarsunderneath are a reminder of whatthosepeople are capable of and I’ll never, ever forget. I live with a reminder of the memory each and every day.
When I turn around to check that Marigold is still sleeping, she stirs slightly and my entire body freezes. She turns her head on her pillow and her golden blonde hair splays around her like a halo. A beam of sunlight streams in from the window above the bed, highlighting an adorable dusting of freckles across her upturned nose. I hold my breath as the smallest, sweetest sigh escapes from her plump pink lips.
I’ve been with my fair share of women, but I’ve never seen a prettier one sleeping. I think she looks like an angel. She’s undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women that I’ve ever seen. I can only wish her full body wasn’t covered underneath the sheet and I frown when I realize that she’s sleeping in the dress she was wearing the night before.
She’s worse than a regular church girl. She’s the preacher’s daughter,I remind myself. I know better than anyone what those people are like. I might still be one of them today if I hadn’t escaped.
Despite all of this, I’m still sympathetic to a hangover, even if it was the devil himself suffering. So I put a bottle of water and a few aspirin on the bedside table slowly and silently. Marigold doesn’t move a muscle.
I tiptoe over to the other black leather sofa where Rex is stretched out, sleeping. He’s got both arms folded underneath his head, but I nudge one elbow that’s hanging off the couch. He immediately jerks and his green eyes open.
“I’m headed out,” I whisper, and he nods at me before closing his eyelids once more. I back away from him and shuffle my feet silently to the door. I close it gently behind me, making only a soft click sound, and fish my key from the pocket of my jacket.
There’s not normally a need to lock up my room, given that I trust every other Grim Rider with my life and limbs, but I don’t normally have a hostage I’m trying to contain inside. I hope Rexisn’t too deeply asleep, but I console myself with the facts that our compound is like a maze and Marigold wouldn’t get too far from the room without another brother catching her.
Come hell or high water, I have the same routine every weekday morning. I’ve got to go check that my little sisters are up and ready to head off to school.
Kitty and Kiki are 15 and 17, respectively. I’m twice their age and more of a father figure to them than an older brother. When I was eighteen and able to flee my abusive, fundamentalist home, I couldn’t bear to leave my little sisters behind. They were little pipsqueaks then, but now they’re almost grown. Somehow we’ve managed together all this time, along with some help from the brotherhood of the Grim Riders.
We owe everything to the Grim Riders M.C. They took us in and the girls have finished growing up here. We traded a compound of extreme Christian fundamentalists for a compound of an outlaw motorcycle gang, but my little sisters are happy and healthy.
