Chapter 9 - Claire #2
"We lost no brothers tonight," King continues once the noise subsides.
"We defended our territory. We sent the Eagles running with their tails between their legs.
" Another cheer, louder this time. "But make no mistake.
This isn't over. Vulture escaped. He's wounded, desperate, and now he's lost most of his men.
That makes him more dangerous, not less. "
The room sobers slightly at this reminder.
"Tomorrow, we hunt," King declares. "We find Vulture, we end this threat permanently. But tonight—" he raises his glass, "—tonight, we celebrate being alive. To the Savage Riders!"
"To the Savage Riders!" comes the thunderous response.
Glasses are raised, liquor flows, and the celebration resumes with renewed vigor. Luna appears at King's side, her hand finding his as naturally as breathing. He leans down to kiss her, a private moment of tenderness amidst the rowdy celebration.
Watching them, I feel a twinge of something I haven't experienced in a very long time: hope. Not just for survival, but for the possibility of happiness, of connection. If Luna, Amelia and Jenny found love and safety after their ordeal, perhaps there's hope for me too.
"Ready to go?" Rage asks, finishing his drink. "We can slip out while everyone's distracted."
I glance around at the celebration gaining momentum. The room pulses with life and relief, brothers toasting each other, recounting narrow escapes, laughter rising above the music.
"You don't want to stay and celebrate with them?" I ask. "You earned it."
Rage's eyes drift to Eli's sleeping form. "I'd love to, but I'm exhausted, and the kid needs a real bed." He looks back at me. "You're welcome to stay if you want, though. I can ask Luna or Amelia to bring you to my place later."
I shake my head without hesitation. "I want to go with you."
"Follow me then. We'll grab one of the club cars."
As we make our way toward the garage, Rage stopping to collect his sleeping son, I notice Luna watching us from King's side. She catches my eye and gives me a knowing wink before turning back to her conversation. I pretend not to notice, heat rising to my cheeks.
Is it that obvious? My attraction to Rage? Though honestly, who wouldn't be drawn to him? Even battle-worn and exhausted, he's devastatingly handsome. Powerful shoulders beneath his cut, strong jawline shadowed with stubble, those intense green eyes that seem to see right through me.
The garage is an absolute mess: vehicles with shattered windows and bullet-riddled exteriors line the space. Rage approaches a black SUV that seems to have sustained the least damage.
"This one should still run," he says, shifting Eli in his arms while opening the back door. He lays his son across the back seat, removing his own cut to place under the boy's head as a makeshift pillow.
I climb into the passenger seat as Rage slides behind the wheel, the engine starting with a reassuring rumble. The windshield has a spiderweb crack on the driver's side, and there's a neat row of bullet holes along the passenger door, but the vehicle seems otherwise functional.
As we pull away from the clubhouse, the sounds of celebration fading behind us, Rage glances over at me. "How are you feeling? Really?"
I consider the question as we drive through the deserted streets of Blackwater Falls. "Better, I think. The worst has passed now that Tommy's dead and the Eagles lost and we won." I turn to look at him.
He nods, a satisfied smile playing at his lips. "We did. Big win for us. The Eagles will have to take weeks, maybe months just to get back on their feet. We can finally breathe for a while."
I smile and turn to look out the window, watching the darkened town pass by. I've escaped. I'm alive. Against all odds, I've survived Tommy, the Eagles, and a full-scale MC war. For the first time in over a year, my future is entirely my own.
Maybe it's time to make my own decisions.
To fight for what I want, even if what I want is an older, dangerous, impossibly handsome biker.
Logic says I should get as far away as possible.
From Blackwater Falls, from the club, from Rage.
But I can't bring myself to want that. Not yet. Not when I might have a future here.
I know I'm not men's first choice. I'm not model-pretty, too curvy in a world that prefers women rail-thin. But tonight has taught me life is too short for hesitation. I survived. I deserve to reach for what I want.
And right now, I want Rage.
We turn onto a quiet residential street lined with modest, well-maintained homes. Rage pulls into the driveway of a ranch-style house with a neatly trimmed lawn and actual flower beds along the front walk. It's the last place you'd expect to find an outlaw biker.
Before I can unbuckle my seatbelt, Rage is out of the car and coming around to my side. He opens my door with an old-fashioned courtesy that surprises me. Then he moves to the back, gently gathering his sleeping son into his arms.
I follow them up the walkway, watching as Rage balances Eli while unlocking the front door. The interior of the house stops me in my tracks. It's... immaculate. Clean, organized, warm. It's like stepping into another dimension.
One where there are no fights, no violence, no outlaw MCs. Just a normal home for a normal family.
Rage carries Eli down a hallway to what must be his bedroom.
I wait in the living room, taking in my surroundings.
The furniture is comfortable but well-kept, the hardwood floors gleam, and the walls are covered with framed photographs.
There's just one showing the Savage Riders MC—a group shot taken outside the clubhouse.
The rest are all of Rage and Eli at various ages—fishing trips, birthday parties, school events.
When Rage returns a few minutes later, he's removed his boots and looks more relaxed, more at home in this space than I would have imagined possible.
"He sleeps like an angel," he says with fatherly pride. "Never wakes up no matter the noise. Complete opposite of me. I'm up at the slightest sound."
"It's probably a defense mechanism," I suggest. "From your life at the club."
He nods thoughtfully. "Never thought of it that way, but you're probably right." He gestures to the couch. "Sit, please. Can I get you anything? Water? Beer? I even have wine somewhere if that's your preference."
"Water would be great," I say, settling onto the comfortable couch.
He returns with two glasses of water, handing me one before taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch.
He leans back, clasping his hands behind his head, and holy fuck, the way his biceps flex with the movement makes my mouth go dry.
His t-shirt stretches across his chest, revealing the outline of what can only be described as a perfect male physique.
I take a large gulp of water, trying to cool the sudden heat coursing through me.
"Have you ever regretted it?" I ask, partly to distract myself from inappropriate thoughts. "Joining the MC instead of just moving to the city or something normal?"
He considers the question, still in that position that showcases his incredible arms. I can't help imagining what he could do with that strength—pick me up like I weigh nothing, carry me to his bedroom, tear my clothes off with those large, capable hands...
"I've thought about it," he admits, pulling me back to the conversation.
"More than a dozen times, especially since Eli came along.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just wake up one day, pack our stuff, and leave without ever coming back.
" He sighs. "But that wouldn't be fair to anyone.
Eli has school, friends here. I have my life, the club.
This is my life, dangerous as it gets sometimes.
" He chuckles. "Though I promise it's rarely this dangerous.
If it weren't for the Eagles, things would be a lot calmer. "
I shift closer to him on the couch. "Thank you," I say softly. "For saving me. For protecting me. I have no idea what they would have done if they'd caught me."
He moves closer too, the space between us shrinking. "I did what any decent man should do."
I clench my thighs together, rubbing them against each other as heat pools between my legs. Beads of sweat trickle down between my breasts beneath my borrowed shirt. I place my hand on his leg, feeling the solid muscle beneath the denim.
"I think few men are truly decent," I tell him.
He turns to look at me directly, his green eyes intense. "Maybe you've just met the wrong ones."
"Maybe," I agree, my voice dropping to just above a whisper. "Or maybe I've finally met a right one."
He smiles, but I notice his body's reaction.
The unmistakable bulge in his jeans throbbing beneath the fabric when I squeeze his thigh.
It grows with each passing second, the outline becoming clearly visible against his pants.
I gulp dryly, feeling my panties dampen in response.
God, I want to put my mouth around his cock, taste him, savor him.
Rage leans closer, placing a hand on my chin and tilting my face up toward his.
"My eyes are up here," he says playfully.
I laugh, caught in my obvious staring. "It's hard to look you in the eyes when that is happening."
He glances down at himself. "This?" he asks, gripping his bulge, which pulses visibly in his hand.
"Yes," I admit, shyness suddenly washing over me despite my desire. "I want to see it. Touch it." Fuck. I feel like a virginal girl wanting to touch her first cock, vulnerable and timid despite my experience.
Rage doesn't say a word. He simply unzips his jeans, pushes his briefs aside, and takes out his cock. It's fucking insane—thick, veined, magnificent. Exactly how I like it.
I extend my arm slowly, still not believing this is really happening. When I grip it, my fingers can't even close around its girth. I stroke it a few times, feeling it grow another impossible inch.
I can't resist anymore. I slide off the couch onto my knees between his legs, spreading them wider to accommodate me. I wrap my lips around his cockhead and slide down, taking as much as I can. Rage tilts his head back with a low groan, surrendering to the sensation as I begin to work.
I bob my head back and forth, finding my rhythm before attempting to take him deeper.
It's challenging. I'm gagging slightly, but I'm not a quitter.
I survived the Eagles; no way am I getting stopped by a big cock.
I push myself down, taking him to the back of my throat, saliva dripping from the corners of my mouth before I slide back up.
"Fuck, you're incredible," Rage murmurs, his voice strained. "Need that pretty mouth on my cock again."
I smirk, feeling a surge of confidence unlike anything I've experienced before. I'm in control here, making this powerful man come undone with just my mouth. I descend on him again, and this time he gathers my hair in his fist, pulling it back from my face.
"Want to see you," he explains hoarsely. "Your eyes while you take my cock."
I keep my gaze locked on his as I continue, watching the pleasure play across his features.
His mouth is half-open, eyes heavy-lidded with desire, his free hand gripping the couch cushion.
But what captivates me most is his body.
As he leans back, his shirt rides up to reveal sculpted abs that ripple with each breath.
I keep sucking him while my hands explore those perfect muscles, tracing each defined ridge. Fuck, he's so hot it's almost unreal. I can't take it anymore. I need more, need him inside me.
I release him with an audible pop, saliva still connecting my lips to his throbbing cockhead.
"I need more," I tell him breathlessly.
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. "Stand up," he orders, his voice commanding in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
I obey immediately, and he leans forward, turning me around. He pulls down my jeans and panties, his large hands squeezing my ass cheeks. He presses a kiss to each cheek before spreading them apart, running a finger along my wet slit.
"Fucking soaked," he murmurs approvingly. "Sit on my cock."
I position myself above him, lowering onto his cockhead. He grips my hips firmly, guiding me down until he's buried deep inside me. I throw my head back at the delicious stretch, the perfect fullness.
His mouth finds my ear, hot breath making me shiver. "Gonna make sure you've never been fucked like this before."
I begin rocking my hips, grinding down on him as he reaches around to pull off my shirt and bra, tossing them aside. His hands find my breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over my hardened nipples.
A shameless moan escapes me, my voice trembling with pleasure. We fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle meant to connect. I start bouncing on his cock, his grip on my hips tightening to help me maintain rhythm and balance.
We move faster, harder, my body singing with each thrust. Just when I think it can't get any better, his lips brush my ear again.
"Ready to get fucked like never before?" he growls.
"Yes," I gasp. "Please, Rage. Fuck me."