Dominic: Cerberus MC Book 4 Page 8

  “So he took all his frustration out on your mother?” It makes more sense now.

  “Like clockwork. Calypso wasn’t the kind of woman to roll over and take my dad’s shit, but she hated her life. Hated that she was practically bred for the man that was going to take over the Renegades. She treated me with kindness because she knew I didn’t have a choice either.”

  I narrow my eyes at the info. “Were you?”

  She tilts her head, confused. “Was I what?”

  “Promised to one of the club members?”

  Her cheeks pink. “Butch.”

  “The VP?” I scrape a hand over the coarse hair shadowing my face. She nods. “How old is he?”

  “Thirty-one, I think,” she answers. “My dad never came out and said it, but he hinted at it more than once.”

  “And what the fuck does Butch think about it?” I don’t even try to hide the anger in my voice, no clue why the proprietary lilt is there to begin with. Shadow has his own opinions about the Renegade VP, but I’ve always felt he was the only man in the damn club with any fucking sense.

  She laughs, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  “He’s not interested in the least, and it’s not been anything Scorpion has mentioned. Like I said, to my brother, it’s like he forgets about me when I’m not around. He doesn’t consider me at all.”

  “Do you think Grinder threatened him?”

  “Why would he?”

  I barely keep my eyes from rolling. “You said no one touches you because Grinder warned them off. Do you think Butch has kept his distance because he was threatened?”

  She shakes her head. “Butch isn’t intimidated by Grinder and the old guys in the club. I don’t know if he’s fearless or has a death wish, but he wouldn’t stay away from me if he wanted me, no matter what Grinder may have said to him.”

  “Do you think Butch knows about the porn?”

  “I doubt it,” she says finishing off her coffee and walking to the sink to rinse the cup before placing it on the rack in the dishwasher. “He’s not the type to let something like that continue. I mean he has his share of fuck buddies, brings more hangarounds to the club to fuck than any other member, but he’s not into underage girls. They aren’t really his thing.”

  Fuck, I hate to even ask, but I need to know if things are going to go south because Butch feels as if he has some claim on Mak. She wants out, and I plan to do everything in my power to make that happen. “What is his thing?”

  “Other men’s women. He claims they’re less clingy, less of a chance they get attached. He’s adamant about his free fucking. Doesn’t want to be tied down, loves the variety.”

  I ignore the twitch of my cock at her use of foul language.

  “I’m just,” she says pointing down toward her room. “I think I’m going to take a nap. I didn’t sleep very well last night, and we woke up early.”

  I swallow hard at the thought of her stripping out of her clothes and climbing back into a bed that smells of the sex we had this morning.

  “Stop,” I command just as her back is to me.

  I smile when her shoulders slump forward, but her feet go still.

  Chapter 13

  Makayla

  My body obeys his order even when my mind urges me to ignore him. Even when I’ve felt fear, I’ve always held tight to my free will, but that doesn’t seem to matter with Dom.

  “I need all the details, Mak.” My back is still to him because I’m even more powerless when looking into his steel gray eyes.

  “I’ve told you everything.”

  “You touched on things, Makayla. I need to know it all, every gritty detail.”

  My hands tremble knowing I can’t go into explicit detail of the abuse I’ve suffered. The assaults are bad enough when they come back in vivid detail in my dreams, verbalizing them would ruin me.

  “The crimes. The illegal acts you’ve been involved in, the things you’ve witnessed him do. I need to hear it all.”

  I turn back to him finding that he’s standing from the kitchen table, food half-eaten and already forgotten. He points to the sofa in the living room.

  I obey, somehow instinctively knowing he doesn’t want to cause more distress.

  He sits beside me, thighs touching, and just the warmth of his body makes me feel safe to disclose information I’d never speak of to anyone else, no matter what I told Grinder I’d do. For the first time in my life, I feel protected, sheltered by his determination to rescue my sister and put an end to the horrific things Grinder has been involved in for decades.

  He waits patiently as I try to find a starting point to the things I’ve seen, things I’ve done at Grinder’s will.

  “Grinder is the Renegade’s Sergeant at Arms, the enforcer. He’s sick, sadistic, and takes way more joy in hurting people than anyone who’s not a psychopath is capable of.” I swallow and peer down at my hands. Noticing my diverted attention, Dom clasps one of his large hands over mine.

  “Go on,” he urges.

  “Like I said earlier, he’s been around since the inception of the club, which is more than thirty years. Everyone knows he’s crazy, but like Scorpion has said on more than one occasion, sometimes crazy is exactly what you need to get things done.” I do my best to ignore the stroke of his thumb on the back of my hand. “He has a makeshift torture chamber in the basement of the club, gets off on the pain and desperation that clings to the place long after the bodies are dragged out and disposed of.”

  Memories flood but I ignore the tears as they begin to streak down my face.

  “He’s made you watch while he hurts people?”

  I nod. “I’ve watched him kill more people than I can count, watched him fuck club whores down there while rolling around in his victim's blood.”

  He stiffens beside me.

  “The first time he raped me was down there after an especially brutal double murder.” I shiver against the memory. “Told me after the club girl left him unsatisfied that all he could imagine was my virgin blood mixing with theirs. Called it nirvana.”

  He squeezes my hand too hard at my confession, only easing up when I wince.

  “Sorry,” he mutters.

  “They call him Grinder because his favorite form of torture includes a vice around a person’s head.” I shake my head and swallow down the bile that’s threatening in my throat.

  “Jesus Christ,” he snarls.

  I continue, needing to get it out, so I never have to speak of it again. “He’s held my hand, forcing me to pull the trigger more than once. He’s forced me to turn the spindle until skulls have been crushed. I’ve been forced to help clean up his dungeon, bury and burn bodies.”

  My shoulders shake under my wracking tears and sobs.

  “Enough,” he commands, much the same way he did this morning when he pulled himself from my mouth. He crushes me to his chest, and I immediately hate that we’re wearing clothes because I miss the heat of his skin on mine.

  As fucked up as it is, the word does unexplainable things to my body. My heart rate increases, beating in an erratic rhythm while my stomach clenches, demanding I act.

  I nuzzle into his neck, my lips finding the thrumming pulse below his chin.

  “Don’t,” he urges, his voice pained at his own request. “Not like this, not after what we’ve been talking about.”

  I grip him through the denim of his jeans. “Now is exactly when it’s perfect.”

  He pulls me away from his chest with gentle hands on my upper arms. His eyes search mine as if assessing my state of mind after such a horrific story.

  “Now when I have power over it,” I insist, shifting my body so I’m straddling him. His words are rejecting me, but his body is on board, much like my reaction to him when his commanding voice gives instruction.

  His lip twitches, more in indecision than agitation. “Power isn’t something I ever relinquish, Mak.”

  Ignoring him, I lean forward, my mouth searching, seeki
ng his. I feel the warmth of his panting breaths against my lips, but he turns his head to the right, denying access to his mouth. Undeterred, I lick and nip at his throat as my hips circle, pursuing his hardness against the needy flesh inside my pajamas.

  “God damn it, Mak,” he grinds out. His big hands grip my hips, rendering them immobile for a few seconds before he takes over and controls my rhythm.

  “Please,” I beg, lifting my mouth from his neck and pulling my top over my head. “I need this. Just for a little while, I need to forget.”

  He shakes his head, but his eyes never leave my exposed breasts. “This isn’t healthy.”

  “Everything that feels good, tastes good, is unhealthy, Dom.” I gasp when his lips wrap around the stiff peak of my right nipple. My hands find his hair and I hold him against me, relishing the attention when his soft sucking turns to stinging nips and bites.

  “Fuck it,” he mumbles against my flesh. No less than a second later we’re off the couch. He holds me against his body as he makes his way down the hall, muscle memory carrying us to his room.

  Eyes never pulling from his ministrations on my breast, he accesses his room, the whirring of the digital lock the only sound aside from our heavy breathing.

  I expect him to throw me on the bed, strip me naked, and fuck me hard, so I’m surprised when he eases me down his body and begins removing his own clothes.

  “Get naked,” he whispers.

  My hands are pushing down my pajama bottoms before he can toss his shirt to the floor.

  “Fuck you’re perfect,” he praises. He must be ignoring the yellowing bruises on my rib cage.

  “And you’re the fittest guy I’ve ever seen.” His jaw twitches and I have an urge to tell him he’s the only real man I’ve seen completely naked but his jeans hit the floor, and his glorious cock demands my attention.

  He fists it as he kicks his jeans away. I watch, awed by the rough grip, paying close consideration to how he likes to be touched.

  “Are you wet?” I nod. “Show me.”

  If I wasn’t before, I am now. The gruff command of mandate slickens me more.

  Not having a clue about seduction other than a desire to please him, I trail my finger over my breast and down my stomach, my hips jolting when the tender touch hits me in the right place. Releasing his hold on his cock, he walks toward me, my core clenching around the finger I’ve been using.

  His own fingers walk over my flesh from my shoulder to the back of my hand, where he tugs it free. Glistening on the tip, he draws it into his mouth.

  “I want your mouth,” he urges around my finger. My lips tilt up, and my mouth floods at the anticipation of his mouth on mine. I take a half step closer, inching up on the tips of my toes, only for him to release my hand and press a gentle hand to the top of my head.

  My movement is stunted for a long second, but I slink to the ground. Wanting a kiss but getting this instead isn’t so bad. I swallow, my tongue snaking out to wet my lips. The instant the softness of his crown parts my lips my eyes flutter closed, and I suck in earnest. The hand that guided me to my knees now fists at the nape of my neck, much like it did this morning. Squirming doesn’t help ease the urgency in my core, but knowing that doesn’t prevent my weight from shifting. My hands find the front of his thighs as he sets a punishing pace. This is only the second time I’ve had my mouth on him, but he’s already aware of the heights I can take him.

  “Jesus, fuck,” he spits. “Look at me.”

  I ignore the spark of pain from my hair being pulled and me fighting against his will.

  “I want your eyes on mine,” he insists.

  I pull off of him, pushing gently on his thighs but don’t look up. “I want your mouth on mine,” I whisper

  “I don’t,” he pants tracing my swollen lips with his cock. “I don’t kiss, Mak. It’s too intimate.”

  I huff a laugh. “Your cock is in my mouth, what’s more intimate than that?”

  “My tongue in your ass,” he says without missing a beat.

  I sputter around his dick when he shoves it in further. I counter by hollowing my cheeks with extreme suction until he uses the grip on my head to pull me from him. The same hand guides me to my feet while my eyes stay locked on my hand as it fists his cock.

  With reigned frustration, he urges me away and reaches into his bedside table. I appraise his technique as he opens the wrapper and rolls the latex down his thick cock. His hand finds mine, and he tugs me to the bed, only he settles his back against the headboard and pulls me to straddle his lap. With one hand on my hip and the other lining himself against my entrance, I groan a long sigh when I sink down on the first few inches.

  My eyes drift closed as his warm mouth finds my neck and shoulder, praying it eventually finds my mouth even if he insists it’s not something that he does. My battered heart and abused body crave that connection to him.

  “Your eyes, Mak.” There’s enough warning in his voice to make my body tremble, but I continue to deny him. It’s the only control I have. I may be riding him, he may be on bottom, but he’s still in ultimate control.

  I tilt my head back, my mouth falling open as my hips circle hard.

  “Damn, Mak,” he grunts.

  I shriek when I fall to my back, and he’s over me. My feet are pinned against each shoulder as his hips pick up the rhythm.

  “Oh God, Dom. Right there.” The words leave my mouth, and he pulls out, my body clenching around nothing.

  “Your eyes, Mak,” he demands again. I shake my head and squeeze them tighter. “You won’t come until you look at me.”

  “If I do, you’ll get attached and won’t ever want me to leave,” I tease.

  “Not likely,” he says, the tone of his voice more serious than it should be right now. “I never do, sweetheart. My heart died seventeen years ago.”

  I stiffen under him, the truth in his words enough to cause pause.

  I shake off his admission because the grinding of his hips paired with sweet measured strokes nearly have me on edge.

  “If you don’t kiss me, I won’t let you come,” I drawl, on a gasping breath as he hits that spot inside that is tantalizing enough to hand over my first born child just to feel it again.

  “Eyes, Mak!” The growl is almost enough to snap open my eyes, but before I can I feel the pulsing of his cock deep inside of me. I turn my head away when his breath skates over my cheek to my ear. “I make the rules.”

  I shove at his chest, tears nearly falling. I don’t know if I’m more upset about the orgasm denial or that once again I have no control over my body. He leans back on his heels, and the smirk on his face is just egotistical enough to make me scream.

  Rather, I slide out from underneath him and begin to gather my clothes, only then realizing my shirt is still on the couch in the living room.

  “Where are you going?” Honest confusion marks his voice. “I’m not done.”

  “I am,” I say. “I’m so fucking done.”

  I pull open his bedroom door to the sound of motorcycles near the house.

  “Fuck,” he hisses and pulls his phone from his pocket, locating an app and tugging on his clothes simultaneously. He looks down at his phone, and my blood runs cold before he even says another word. I’d recognize those patches from miles away. “Renegades.”

  My eyes find his now. They plead with him, I’ll give you anything you want if you protect me.

  Chapter 14

  Dominic

  Pure fucking terror in her eyes. If I ever had any doubt about her honesty concerning Grinder, the truth is written on her face.

  “Panic room. In my closet,” I instruct. “Passcode is zero-seven-three-one.”

  She shakes her head violently. “You can’t lock me in a room.”

  “It’s the only thing I can do right now.” I look down at the app, seeing them dismounting their bikes. “Get in the fucking room, Makayla.”

  Almost as if she’s in shock, the only movement in her body is the
darting of her eyes as the search for an alternative escape.

  “Mak,” I say grabbing her by the arms and shaking her. “They’re fucking coming.”

  Her head turns to look past me, and I know she’s not hearing a damn thing I say. “Mak. Baby!” She tilts her head up to me. Goddamn, she’s beautiful. “Listen to me, baby. Let me get rid of them, and I’ll be right back.”

  I all but drag her inside the closet, and I think she’s going to comply, but when the door pops open after I enter the code, she turns in my arms and fights to get away.

  “It’s too small,” she hisses trying to get away from me.

  She must not hear the pounding on my front door because she struggles in earnest to get out of the closet. I grip her face in my hands, silencing her with my mouth on hers, doing my best not to get lost in her taste and the way no matter what is outside of this room, in this five seconds nothing else matters.

  “Stay,” I demand pulling my mouth from hers.

  I shove her as gently as I can and close the door to the panic room, all sound from the inside ceasing immediately. I look up at the micro camera that looks just like another hook on the tie rack that’s disguising the door to the room.

  “I’ll be back, baby. Settle down. No one can open the door from the outside unless the person inside allows the override. You’re safe. I’ll be right back.”

  It’s a lie. The lock can be overridden, but that requires an override from Blade, former Marine and intel expert for Cerberus, but the truth remains that Renegades will never get their hands on her. They could burn this place down around that room, and she’d still be safe.

  I stop by the bathroom and splash water over my hair, not giving a shit that it runs down my chest and back. The wetter I am, the easier it makes the lies to swallow. Ripping the hand towel from the rack, I make my way out of my room, stopping to grab my t-shirt from the floor, ensuring the door is closed behind me. Now two barriers protect Makayla, the second impenetrable.