Chapter Eight
MALICE
Islept a fitful three hours between four and seven in the morning, and I have zero will to get out of bed now. Duty will call, but for now, I want to see Monroe before the day really begins.
“Alright, my pretty little pixie, let’s learn your schedule.”
I pull up the security app on my phone, the display filling my screen with the vacant, sterile room. It’s bizarre. Knowing that Rolo is also in this room, but waiting to get a glimpse of the woman who’s stolen all of my thoughts.
My fingers idly trail up and down my bare chest, eagerly anticipating her arrival.
I toy with the single ring pierced through my nipple, tugging and twisting.
When Monroe finally enters the frame, I swear it’s like a bolt of electricity zaps through my entire body.
My cock snaps to attention, rapidly thickening and tenting the thin sheet draped over the bottom half of my body.
Fuck she’s pretty.
She’s wearing a long, baby-blue dress with dots scattered across the fabric.
The top scrunches around her small breasts with what looks to be a delicate little tie.
Disappointedly, sleeves cover her shoulders, but the entire outfit is so pretty, so her.
Rose gold hair frames her sweet face, and I wish I could see the blue of her eyes from here.
She moves around the room with grace and elegance, almost as stealthily as I do.
She’s bright and airy, and it suddenly hits me that she looks and dresses nothing like how I imagined a mortician dressing.
Isn’t there a rule for wearing black while in mourning?
Are morticians ever in mourning with all the death that surrounds them?
I make a mental note to ask her.
Monroe looks unaffected as she sets up her room. My fingers play with the short hair at my pelvis before diving deeper, until I’m grasping the hard steel rod between my legs. My thumb brushes over my pierced, engorged head, sending shivers down my spine.
I watch as she opens one of the freezers, pulling out a long, empty tray. At least there’s no human lying on it. I can’t promise I would have stopped touching myself while she worked on one. She’s too addictive.
My hand squeezes the base of my cock hard before I bring it up to my mouth, spitting several times into my palm. Then I’m stroking from root to tip, watching as my pixie girl works around the room.
Pleasure spreads throughout my body, lighting me up. I groan as I start to cant my hips, bucking into my hand, my palm squeezing just to the edge of pain, while my thumb swipes over my head at every upstroke.
My eyes roam the petite frame of her body, her tiny little tits that are begging for my mouth. I imagine how rosy her nipples are, how she’d arch into my mouth, what her fingers would feel like as they thread through my hair.
I stroke myself faster, my orgasm building quicker than ever before. I have the endurance and stamina of a fucking god, and I’ve never come this fast.
I don’t take my eyes off her, the shape of her pretty face, how pretty her pink lips will look when they’re wrapped around my thick cock.
I imagine myself on my knees, her dress shoved up around her waist, my head suffocating between her lithe legs.
I want her pussy all over me. I want her scent to coat me.
And fuck, to sink into her tight heat? I have no doubt her tight pussy would strangle the shit out of my dick, milking the cum right out of me until she was overflowing with it.
When Monroe drops a pen on the floor, her body turning and bending over at the waist, I groan out loud.
The fabric of her dress is thin, and I can see the perfect peach shape of her ass.
Firm, tight, and begging for my mouth to ravish.
There will be no place left untouched that my mouth, tongue, hands, and cock haven’t been once I’m done with her.
My orgasm erupts, ropes of pearly white cum spurting from my slit like a fucking geyser. I coat my lower abdomen and chest with it, moaning out her name as the euphoric waves crash over me.
I never take my eyes off of her, wishing she knew exactly what she just did to me. She’s so perfect. So good. Self-loathing starts to creep in, reminding me how unworthy I am of having something so pure, untainted, and good.
With one last longing look at my pink-haired pixie, I close out of the app and head to the shower.
After cleaning myself up, I pull on a pair of low-slung denim jeans and slide into my cut.
Fuck the T-shirt, socks, and shoes. My phone pings as I’m trying to do something with my hair, alerting me that I should probably come out of the dungeon at some point today.
Especially with all the shit we need to do to find Rolo’s murderer now that we know who the Kingsnakes are.
Luckily, we didn’t find any more treasonous bastards among us, and the two that we did are no longer breathing.
Wrath: Who wants Maggie’s for lunch?
Sin: I’m down
Me: Can you two read minds?
Wrath: What?
Me: I’ve been craving subs
Me: It was meant to be
Sin: I guess so buddy
Wrath: I’ll have my usual
Sin: You aren’t coming? You’re the one who asked us if we wanted it
Me: Rude, sir!
Wrath: You know damn well that evil woman has banned me from entering
Sin: That’s because you fucked her and her sister, man
Wrath: I didn’t know they were sisters!
Sin: They’re identical!
Wrath: Just go get the damn sandwiches before I chew off my arm
Sin: We have food here
Wrath: And I want Maggie’s sub sandwiches
Me: I’ll go. Haven’t been in there in months
Sin: Wait up, I’ll go too. I need to pick up lunch for Bristol to bring to the shelter anyway
Sin: You’re a pussy Wrath
Wrath: Fuck off and get the subs
Me: Chaos?
Me: Prez?
Me: Pookie bear?
Chaos: Fuck off
After grabbing my boots, I meet Sin outside the clubhouse doors, his big ass already straddling his bike, ready to go. We ride into downtown Amberwood side by side, parking damn near the same place I parked last night.
Maggie is working the front counter, just like she always is, her chocolate brown hair hanging around her face in tight, natural ringlet curls.
“Hey, boys, aren’t you looking like trouble,” she flirts.
“Maggie, haven’t you heard? I’m a taken man now!” Sin says, and I don’t miss the pride laced in his voice. I bounce on my toes, looking at the menu in front of me, even though I always get the same thing.
“Who’s the lucky lady, Rhys? She must be pretty special.”
“Bristol. She’s a veterinarian in Bloomfield, and the prettiest, smartest, kindest woman I’ve ever met. No offense, Maggie.”
“None taken. I’m happy for you, Rhys. She sounds perfect for you. What about you, Crew? You tie someone down, too?”
I immediately think of Monroe and what she’d look like tied to my bedposts. Fuck, that’s a pretty sight. “We’ll see! Only time will tell! Now, time to eat?”
Maggie laughs. “What can I get you two?”
Sin orders first. “I’ll have two club sandwiches and a side of fries.”
“Two? Quite the appetite today.”
“As good as your clubs are, I gotta bring my old lady her lunch.”
“Well, that makes more sense. Crew? What about you?”
“I’ll have the BLT, no side, and an Italian sub with extra tomatoes and pickles.”
Maggie shoots her eyes up at me and squints. Fuck. Wrath always orders the same goddamn thing, and she’s gotta know it’s for him. Maggie’s demeanor changes quickly, plastering on a large smile and tilting her head off to the side.
“Coming right up.”
I bristle. Rhys leans into my space as we move to the side to take a seat and wait for our food. “She scares the shit out of me.”
“Same. Did you see that look she gave me?”
“She knows it’s for Wrath.”
“Just stay cool.”
“When am I not cool? Am I not cool?”
“Of course you’re cool. Just stay that way.”
“Then why tell me if I already am?”
“Just because you’re at risk of not keeping cool.”
“Whatever.” I brush Sin off, instead pulling out my phone, my body itching to get eyes on Monroe again. Turning to the side, I bring up the feed, only to find her working on Rolo. I should close out of it. I should turn away. But I can’t. I’m enthralled. Entranced.
My brother lies on the stainless-steel table, dead, cold, nothing but a shell of the man he once was. But Monroe is such a light. She washes his body carefully, meticulously, as if she reveres him. She gives Rolo such care and attention that I can’t help but watch. How is she so pure? So good?
“Order up, you two,” Maggie calls out. Sin and I both stand, straightening our cuts. I like that Maggie never tells me to put a shirt on before coming in here like Mrs. Odette does. She’s got a cool “come as you are” mentality that I dig. Even if I’ve never been interested in her that way.
“Thanks, Maggie, we appreciate it,” Sin says with a smile.
“No problem. But do me a favor, yeah? Tell that sleazy fuckwad of a brother of yours I said to try not to choke on his food. And that I hope he enjoys my secret ingredient.”
I shake in my boots. “Jesus, Maggie, you’re terrifying,” I tell her.
“Good. Remember that. Don’t ever try to cross me.”
“You got it, there are no worries there, won’t happen,” I say as I take the bag of mine and Wrath’s food. I lean in toward the counter and whisper my next words. “Is my food good, though?”
Maggie pops her hip out, placing her hand on it as she raises her eyebrows. I wait for her to confirm or deny, but she never does, just flicks her hair off her shoulder and turns and walks away. I spin on my heels, turning around and finding Sin already gone.
“What the fuck?” I huff. I round the corner just as Sin is revving up his bike.
“Thanks for leaving me high and dry, fucker.”
“You’re a big boy. See you tonight.”
I toe the gremlin bell dangling from the bottom of his bike and feel good knowing there’s a tracker sitting in it. Sin drives off as I take a few steps over to mine, my eyes flicking down to my own gremlin bell, the memory washing over me, followed strongly by grief.
Mine is silver, the Hell’s Heathens insignia etched into it.
Rolo gave it to me the night the vote happened and I was initiated as a full member of Hell’s Heathens.
Gremlin bells are gifts of guardianship and protection against road spirits.
At least I can carry a piece of Jesse with me now wherever I go.
Back at the clubhouse, I toss the sandwiches down on the bar in the common area to eat. Wrath opens his greedily, laying the white paper out flat and picking up the first half of his sandwich.
“So, is there any reason I got a call today from George at the mortuary asking questions regarding Rolo? ’Cause last I checked, you were there to take care of it all,” Wrath says after swallowing a bite of his food.
“I did take care of it.” I think.
“Did you, though, Mal? Cause the old man was sweating bullets, I could hear him panting on the line, scared shitless to fuck something up.”
“Yup. I said it all sounds good.”
“He asked if we wanted him to import a coffin, Mal. Any idea why?”
“Hmm. Nope. Did you get it all sorted?”
“I did. You were distracted. Why?”
I don’t like his questions, so I quickly flip the discussion. “When’s the last ride?”
“Saturday. Rogue is coming in Friday night and staying through the weekend. He’s not taking it well, and he’s been holed up with Kinsey.
” One of our road sergeants, Rogue, lives in Aspen Ridge, a few towns over, closer to the mountains, with his old lady.
After the murder of his sister and Chaos’ brother, he was never the same.
Once you become a Hell’s Heathen, there’s no way out besides death, and even then, we’re bound in the afterlife by the devil himself.
Chaos allows Rogue to live apart from the club and report back two weekends a month and whenever duty calls.
He’s still a member of this family even though we don’t get to see him every day.
He’s a ruthless, gigantic fucker, who works as a tattoo artist in their tiny little town.
He kept his identity hidden from everyone there until it caught up with him.
I was with Rogue and Wrath the night we went after the Widowmakers.
And because of our actions that night, it spurred a vendetta against us that ended with his woman’s kidnapping.
We fuckin’ love Kinsey, and just like we love Morgan, Saige, and Bristol, we’d protect any of them until our last breath.
“Any updates on where we can find the goddamn Kingsnakes?”
“None. Chaos has Otto helping me.”
“Lovely. That kid needs to stay a hang-around and not a prospect.”
“However we get our answers, I don’t give a shit anymore.”
“Let’s get through tomorrow, and then we’ll move forward.”
The last ride is going to hurt like a motherfucker. It’s where we’ll ride Rolo’s casket—not coffin—through town, the entire club in a tight formation, until we reach the cemetery where his final resting place will be. It’s emotional and deeply important to all of us.
That night, I don’t sleep, like usual. Instead, I park my bike down the road from 7 Wildflower Lane and stand across the street from the aging white picket fence, the dusty-blue house that’s worn and well-loved.
The shutters and trim are white, and as I stare at it, I realize it’s a quintessential home to raise a family in. Almost exactly the one I imagined when I would close my eyes and dream of a family that loved me, that wanted me, while I was locked in that cage.
I wait for a glimpse of pretty rose gold hair in the window, but she never comes.
I wonder what her life must be like inside those walls.
I bet it’s beautiful, just like she is. Full of love and joy.
I could never give her that. I’m destruction.
Death. There’s no light here, and I don’t deserve hers.
I shove my hand into my pockets and rock on the heels of my feet.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I’m not alone anymore. I’m not in a cage anymore. But for the first time in my life, I want more than just being free.