11. Zane
11
ZANE
M ost of the time, I fucking hate that I’d don’t have a voice anymore, but then there’s moments like this, where the new girl is completely bewildered and floundering out of her depth, where I actually enjoy it.
“You met Vani before,” Saint says, “didn’t you, Zane? You saw her arrive.”
I lift my chin and study her, as though I’m checking it’s the same girl, and then nod. She fixes me with those deep brown eyes, and my heart does something strange. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it actually swells in my chest.
Instantly, I push the emotion away. I do not need to feel that. Girls are for fucking playing with—that is all—and this one seems ripe for it. It’s clear Saint already has his attention on her, and I bet Lex will be exactly the same. I almost feel sorry for the girl. Almost.
“Zane,” she says. “That’s your name?”
I press my lips together and nod.
She sticks her hand out toward me. “Vani.”
I can’t help myself. I’m curious to touch her. I slide my hand against hers. My palm must be twice the size, and my fingers engulf her tiny digits. Her skin is warm and soft. My gaze travels from where our hands are joined and runs up the length of her arm. The sleeve design is monochromatic and mostly floral, but between the roses and lotus flowers are the hollow eyes of skulls. It’s beautiful work and must have cost a small fortune. Plus, she must have sat for hours, and it would have hurt like a bitch. For someone so young, it shows she has some balls.
It also shows how much she is not of this world. None of the women here would be allowed such ink, and never while living under the family roof. What else did Biker Daddy allow her to do? Does she drink? Has she had rough sex with another biker? I can’t imagine her dad would have stood for that.
She really is a delicious little morsel. It’s hard to keep my focus on her arm. Her tits are huge, and they rise and fall with every breath she takes. I wonder how responsive her nipples are. I bet they’re big as well and will fill my mouth when I suck them. She has a fat ass that will jiggle like a fucking earthquake when it’s slapped, and her thighs fill her jeans. Combine the bountiful body with the long, dark curls, the big, brown eyes, and the full lips, and she’s practically begging us to corrupt her.
Keeping hold of her fingers, I use my free hand to trace some of the images on her arm. Her skin dots with goosebumps, the fine hairs rising in response to my touch.
Interesting.
“You like my ink?” she asks.
I nod.
It’s her turn to study me.
“I see you have plenty of your own,” she says, but her line of sight goes directly to my scar. She flinches, and the muscles around her mouth twitch.
I drop her hand.
What does she think of me right now? Does she feel sorry for me? Is she disgusted? Will she go away and laugh at the big man who doesn’t even have a voice? Whatever I’d felt only a moment ago evaporates. I don’t need her pity, or anyone else’s, for that matter. Yes, I’m damaged, and, as each surgery I have to fix my vocal cords fails, it looks like I’m beyond repair.
I sign to Saint. She thinks I’m a freak.
He chuckles and says, “You are a freak.”
Vani must have realized I’d spotted her reaction when she’d fixated on my scar. Her cheeks flush, and a mottled blush appears across her neck and chest.
“No, no,” she blurts. “I don’t think that at all.”
I angle my head and let my tongue swipe my lower lip. She’s gone from being a tough chick to a flustered one, and while it may be from more of that toxic pity, I think I like this side of her. I wonder what else we can do to get under her skin. I’m still pissed that one of her father’s men had the nerve to threaten me. Besides, I could use a new distraction since my last operation didn’t work, though I’ve not reached the end of the line with it yet. I’ll keep fucking trying just as long as the surgeons will work on me. But I’m spending too much time beating myself up about it, picturing a future where I have no voice in this world. It keeps me awake at night, so either I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, and contemplating whether this is a life I want to sign up for, or else pacing the corridors of the college, wanting to tear down the walls.
I lock eyes with Saint for a moment, and understanding crosses between us. I wonder what it will take to get her out to the mansion with us? Of course, it’s not actually a mansion, but it would have been an amazing home at one point. It’s an old Colonial in the woods, and it has been abandoned for years, until we took it over. Most of the rooms are derelict, and the second floor isn’t safe at all, but on the first floor, we’ve made three of the rooms into our own hideaways. There’s even a working bathroom now. It took us a long time to get it in order and make comfortable enough to spend time there, but now, it fucking rocks. It’s the place we go to get away from the repressive walls of the university. We’ve got a couple of old couches there, and even rigged up some solar power so we have electricity. It’s secluded, and no one bothers us there. We can do whatever the fuck we want.
Not that anyone is stupid enough to interfere with what we do, anyway. We’re the Vipers, and anyone who crosses us quickly comes to regret it.
“Maybe you should come hang with us sometime,” Saint says to her with one of his million-dollar smiles. “We’ve got a place not far from where we met in the woods. It’s a good hangout spot.”
She blinks a couple of times and looks like she wants to bolt. I’d put several hundred bucks on the fact she’s about to come up with some kind of excuse why she doesn’t want to hang with us.
“Oh, sure,” she says instead. “Sounds like fun.”
Her response surprises me. Is she crazy? Why the fuck would she want to spend time with us? Doesn’t she realize she’s the lamb walking into the wolf’s den? We will literally eat her all up.
My cock twitches at the thought. I picture her naked and splayed out for the three of us. I’d wrench those thick thighs apart and bury my face in her pussy. There’s nothing I love more than the taste of pussy. I could feast on her all day and still not get enough. Now I’m imagining us wringing orgasm after orgasm out of her, leaving her shaking and unable to take any more. My cock fully hardens now, and my balls tighten. It’s confined in my jeans, but it’s clearly noticeable.
I lick my lip again and drop my eyes to my crotch, lifting my eyebrows. Automatically, she follows my line of sight.
Her jaw drops. She still doesn’t move, though. Not an inch. And she forces her gaze back to my face. There’s a determination in her eyes, and I wonder what the hell makes this girl tick.
Why is she not running? She should be running.
But then maybe I’m expecting her to react the same way all the other girls at Verona Falls would, except Vani isn’t like those girls. The way she dresses, with the ripped jeans and biker boots and the tattoos, highlights all the things that make her different. I don’t know much about her yet, but I assume she grew up surrounded by bikers, probably spent her adolescence hanging in a bar somewhere.
My palms tingle with the urge to shove her to her knees, unzip my jeans to free my cock, and then shove it between those pretty lips. Saint could fist her hair to hold her in place while I fuck her face, and then, after I’ve emptied myself down her throat, we’d swap places.
Fuck.
The thought makes me almost come in my jeans.
I want this girl, and what I want, I get.