Page 108 of Devil’s Disciples

He brushed his hair out of his eyes, removed his glasses, and studied me. An untrimmed beard covered his face, giving him a rugged don’t fuck with me appearance.

I looked him over. He was tall and built like an athlete. A black tee shirt clung tightly to his broad chest, and tattered jeans covered his long legs. A pair of lace-up leather boots finished off the biker ensemble perfectly. He looked mean, but if I’d learned anything in my forty-four years, it was that a person’s looks were no indication of who they were on the inside.

Marvin groaned, and attempted to stand.

Without shifting his eyes away from me, the biker swung the toe of his boot into Marvin’s crotch. The impact wadded him into a tight ball, ending any chance of him getting up for a long, long time.

My rescuer undressed me with his eyes, and eventually met my gaze.

“Cash,” he said dryly.

I coughed out disbelief and gave him an I can’t fucking believe you look. “You want me to pay you?”

“No.” He chuckled. “My name’s Cash.”

Marvin remained incapacitated, moaning his displeasure into the warm night air. I studied the biker. His rough looks, disheveled appearance, and bloody knuckles convinced me that in his presence, I would be safe.

“Kimberly.” I shook his hand. “Kimberly Welch. Thank you for helping me.”

He eyed me up and down. After pausing at my boobs for a moment, he looked me in the eyes and grinned.

“I like your pussy,” he said flatly.

My face flashed hot. My lips parted, and although my mind wanted me to respond, my mouth had gone completely dry. Saying anything wasn’t going to come easily.

I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and swallowed hard. “Huh?”

His eyes dropped to my hardening nipples. “Nice pussy.”

I glanced down, and then quickly realized what he was talking about. There was a cartoonish cat plastered across the chest of my pajama shirt. He didn’t like my pussy at all, he was simply making fun of my late-night attire. Despite the awkwardness of having my ex-husband moaning in pain at my feet I imagined riding away on the back of his bike and never looking back.

It was nice to dream, if even just for a moment.

I squeezed my biceps against the edge of my boobs, feigned a chill, and gave a quick curtsey. “Thank you.”

The sound of police sirens wailed in the distance. He cocked his head to the side. One side of his mouth curled into a grin. Then, he winked playfully.

I gestured behind me. “Sounds like someone called the cops.”

He looked me over but didn’t budge from where he was standing. “If I had any common sense, I’d leave,” he said dryly.

I glanced at Marvin, and then met the biker’s gaze. “But you’re going to stay?”

He took another look at my pussy and grinned. “Yep.”

44

Cash

In addition to housing our motorcycles and cars, the garage of our MC’s clubhouse acted as a repair facility for all personal modes of transportation. Ghost lowered the Mustang’s motor into the engine bay and checked the positioning. After satisfying himself that it was exactly where he wanted it to be, he looked up. “Like that waitress at the fish place in Oceanside?”

“No. This chick had more than big titties. She had some serious curves. Perfect ass, nice thick legs. And, she had good hair. Big hair.”

I conjured up an image of her perfectly round ass jostling up and down in her pajamas as she paced the driveway. My cock stiffened at the thought. I shifted my attention to Ghost and shook my head lightly.

He gazed at the engine for a moment, and then looked at me. “Was she built like Amy Betterman?”

Amy was a thick-legged cheerleader in high school that had nice tits and a spectacular ass. Although she sparked none of our interest during school, it was easy to look back at those days and wonder what was wrong with us when we were kids. The five of us would fight each other to get a shot at her now. Back then, all we wanted a girl who was built like a pencil and wasn’t afraid to put a dick in her mouth.