Hardcore

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2015 Jenika Snow

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-508-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  HARDCORE

  Bleeding Mayhem MC, 1

  Jenika Snow

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  Big got his name for one reason, and one reason only. He got his nickname because he had a big fucking cock, thick and long, with a piercing right through the huge head. He was proud of his dick, used to get hard just thinking about all the pussies he’d stretched with the fucker between his legs.

  “God, it’s like another arm, Big, and it’s not even hard,” the club bitch said, her mouth open, glossy from her saliva because she was so ready for him. She wanted to suck his cock, to drink his cum, but he couldn’t even get it hard for her.

  Hell, he was so damn drunk that he shouldn’t have even allowed her to follow him, which she had, like she was some kind of fucking lost puppy or some shit. But he’d come into his room, turned around, and there’d she’d been, with her tits handing out of her shirt, and this “fuck me” look written across her face.

  “What’s wrong? You’re not getting into this?”

  The sweet-butt was on her knees, staring up at him her mouth open and waiting for his dick. She’d gotten on her knees of her own accord, and Big had been so amused by the fact she was so blatant in what she wanted that he hadn’t stopped her. Maybe if he wasn’t so drunk and in a foul mood skull-fucking might have sounded pretty damn good, doing it so hard she gagged, but he couldn’t get hard, least of all for her. She was one of the loosest bitches in the club, and putting his dick in any of her holes, ones the other Patches had stretched out and torn up, wasn’t appealing in any sense.

  But it wasn’t just the fact this sweet-butt was dirty as all hell. The massive problem he had, the reason he had trouble getting his dick hard, was because of one person and one person only.

  Claire.

  It seemed the monster between his thighs only wanted to get hard for her, and it was a problem he’d faced way too many fucking times since she left.

  Pushing away from the club whore he shoved his cock in his pants, zipped his jeans up, the zipper she’d pulled down because she had some big balls, and went over to the dresser by the door. “I’m not in the mood.” He was at the clubhouse, the party in the other room going hard and strong. He grabbed a joint from the dresser, took out his lighter from the inside of his cut, and lit the end. He needed to just chill, to relax and not think about Claire and the fact she’d fucked up his life and probably didn’t even know it.

  With his back toward the club bitch, he inhaled a few times before exhaling slowly. The thick smoke wafted around him, making a hazy cloud in his face.

  “You want me to stay, Big, maybe try and work you over? I know some of the guys, if they’re too drunk and can’t get hard—”

  He turned and looked over his shoulder, giving her a hard, dangerous look. “You’re the problem why I can’t get hard, so it’s better if you just get the fuck out.”

  She snapped her mouth closed, not continuing with that shit line. Hell, he didn’t even know her name, but he didn’t fucking care either. He turned back around so he didn’t have to look at her.

  “If you can’t get it up don’t blame it on me. I know how to please the guys.”

  “Get the fuck out.” He lifted his hand and made the gesture for her to leave. When Big heard the door shut he exhaled a lungful of smoke, feeling his body start to relax, the high start to take him away from the grime of his life and the drunkenness of the night.

  After two years he still thought about her, that bitch that broke his goddamned heart, made him hate the female population, and who created the monster he was now. Fucking any pussy he saw that was willing and clean, Big had done his best to try to forget about Claire. But hell was it hard given the fact her brother, Mayhem, was a Patched member, and every time he looked at her fraternal twin, saw those vibrant blue eyes, all Big could think about was Claire.

  Because he was a masochist Big grabbed his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, opened it up, and slipped out the small, weathered picture of Claire. Yeah, he’d kept this picture of them that had been taken when they’d been deep within each other, when they’d been inseparable. She’d been it for him, even if he hadn’t been a man, even if he hadn’t had the balls to tell her.

  Looking down at the picture, he felt his cock jerk to attention at the image of her. Even two years later he jerked off to this picture, thought about the times he’d had his cock deep inside of her hot little snatch, and wished like fuck he had been a better man back in the day. But even if he had been that didn’t mean she would have stayed.

  Big was even worse now when it came to his dirty ways with women, well, when he could get it up for them. Those times were far and few between, and that pissed him off even more. Claire had ruined him, but he’d never fucking admit that shit to anyone. He blamed it on the thick as fuck, dirty as he was, little blonde staring back at him from the picture. The photo may be weathered and worn from being in his wallet and the fact he’d taken it out many times during these years, but her eyes were still wide and crystal blue. She looked innocent, but he knew how she really was. She was a woman after his heart, a female who craved the dirty sex he did.

  “You fucking ruined me, Claire,” he gritted out, feeling his anger grow.

  Claire was anything but innocent. Before she’d decided she was too good for the club she was just as filthy as he was, fucking him whenever and wherever he saw fit. Maybe if he would have been a man, be the man his reputation dictated, and admitted he loved her, she would still be here. Claire was never just a piece of ass on the side to him. She was so much more, but he’d been such a bastard back then that he ruined it all.

  Shoving the picture back in his wallet he finished off the joint. He was hard as hell now, but he wasn’t going to jerk off. The discomfort would be a reminder of what he wasn’t ever going to have again.

  He wanted to get good and trashed, wanted to be a man and not think about “the one that got away”. Big couldn’t complain, had no right to, in fact. He hadn’t had the sack to tell her what she meant to him back then, and her wanting to be happy wasn’t a sin. What was a fucking sin was the fact he was in this room alone, thinking about a girl he used to love, would have killed for, when there was a sweet ass MC party just a few rooms down.

  He set the roach on the ashtray on the dresser, made sure his zipper was all the way up, and headed out. He might be high, but he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t throw some more shots back. He wasn’t about to end the night without having the liquid kind of intoxication going on, the kind that had him blacking out and not thinking about the dark, depressing shit. Getting trashed would help him get rid of his demons, and the biggest fucking demon in his life was the memory of Claire Houston.

  ****

  The trip back to Desertion had been long, or maybe her mind had been so thick and full with her own thoughts, her own worries, that she hadn’t been able to allow herself to relax?

  She looked out the window, but it was pitch black outside. She would be entering Desertion soon, and the name of the town alone should have reminded
her that she should just have stayed where she was. But even thinking that, knowing what would be waiting in that clubhouse, wouldn’t have had Claire going back.

  She breathed out and rested her head back on the seat, focusing ahead of her. The two bags she’d packed with the important shit she owned sat in the backseat. Even though she had been away for two years, having her own life, Claire hadn’t accumulated anything of importance in the form of personal possessions. A lot of her stuff was still in a storage locker in Desertion, a part of her unwilling to clear it out. Maybe she’d always known she’d be back, that she couldn’t quite leave any of this behind?

  She spent another twenty minutes driving in silence before the sign that she was entering town came into view. She drove to where the club was, but the closest she could park was down the street. Once she was where she needed to be, she pulled up to the curb. Cutting the engine, she grabbed her bags and got out of the car, standing on the side of the road for a moment. This was the place she’d run away from two years before, and all she could feel was this heaviness settle inside of her.

  Mayhem, her twin, would welcome her; she knew that, as would the other guys in the club. But it was one biker in particular, one Patch that had the worry, the emotions she’d buried long ago, rising up. She’d tried to forget about him, but that had been stupid on her part. No one, especially not her given how she felt for him, could just forget about Big.

  Claire knew going to the Bleeding Mayhem MC compound was going to end up being a big mistake, maybe the second biggest mistake of her life, but she didn’t have anywhere else to turn. With her bags in hand, she felt her nerves start to tell her, to scream at her, to just deal with her shit and go in the other direction.

  But she really didn’t have any other choice, not unless she wanted to go back where she came from and deal with the mess she’d made, the nightmare that was probably waiting for her with a gun in his hand and sporting a concussion thanks to her.

  Taking a deep breath and holding her bags a little tighter, Claire started walking toward the motorcycle club that she’d turned her back on more than two years ago.

  Mayhem might still be a member in that club, and would be until he drew his last breath, but Claire had been the one to leave, to turn her back on her family. And yes, the club was her family through and through, but how she felt for Big, and knowing she had no future with him, had had her leaving that all.

  She’d packed some of her shit when the man she loved, Big—fucking cocky, arrogant Big—the man she would have died for, only saw her as a piece of pussy.

  That’s all he saw women as, and you knew that and got involved with him despite that.

  After being with him for over a year, hoping like hell he’d see her as something more than just a receptacle for his cock, Claire had decided she needed to think about herself.

  God damn Big for the scar he’d caused within her, the deep wound that would never heal, no matter how far she ran, how much she tried to forget about it all.

  A part of her hated Big, wished that she’d been brave enough to just tell him how she felt. But when he was as caveman as they came, spoke in short sentences, and was so hardcore he never seemed like the type of guy to settle down, Claire had just decided she deserved to be happy, and that she wouldn’t have a future with him.

  But the truth was, deep down, she did still love him, always would. He was her first, the guy that took her virginity on a blanket in the middle of the woods, his Harley just a few feet away, and making her come so hard she’d seen lights in front of her vision. He hadn’t apologized for who or what he was, never sugarcoated the fact he was, essentially, a criminal. He’d given her what she wanted, when she wanted it, at the time, and back then it had been good enough for her. But as she fell in love with him things changed. She changed. The way the world looked to her was different, and she wanted to be by Big’s side, to be his old lady. But it seemed what she wanted and reality weren’t on the same page.

  Her thoughts in turmoil, her mind thick with what she was doing, she finally stopped and looked up at the massive gates of the clubhouse. The large gate blocked off the MC from the rest of the world, protected the ones inside, and kept out anyone that wasn’t welcome. It was safety for the club as much as it was protection for the residents of Desertion. She exhaled when she saw some of the club guys on the other side of the gate, but stayed in the shadows as she watched them.

  Smoking a cigarette was Dirty, a club member even dirtier and filthier than Big, if that was even possible. Her heart was beating fast and hard, the memories of her leaving two years ago slamming into her head.

  She hadn’t escaped in the middle of the night, hadn’t hidden that she was leaving to start her life over, try to be happy. She’d told Mayhem, told the club. Big hadn’t stopped her then, and that had told her where he stood concerning her. Big didn’t want her back then, and she knew he probably still wouldn’t.

  You don’t want him anymore.

  That’s a damn lie.

  Yeah, it was a lie, and she hated herself and her lack of strength where Big was concerned.

  Her worrying was foolish, because she had a hell of a lot of other problems to keep her concerned.

  “Mothafucka, you better not be sucking down all my cigs.”

  Even though she couldn’t see him because of the shadows, she recognized Dealer’s voice right away, a Patch in the club. Dealer got his club name because he was the one the guys went to if they wanted some party supplies: coke and weed. He was the club’s dealer, so he’d gotten stuck with the nickname.

  “You know the asshole likes to smoke everyone’s shit.” Shorty, the club’s Sergeant at Arms, was the next to speak, and he was the one standing closest to the light. She could see him clear as day, and that brought back memories of the good times she’d had at the club. These men were his family.

  “Didn’t your momma eva tell you to get your own shit,” Shorty said, and Dealer snorted in amusement.

  Just like Big, Shorty got his name because of what he packed between his thighs, and the fact he was built like a damn tank. Shorty had acquired his nickname, not because he was small, but because he was the opposite. At a towering six-foot-eight height, Shorty was a mean biker if crossed, just like they all were, Claire supposed. She’d also heard from the sweet-butts talking that Shorty had a ten-inch dick, but she’d only ever been with Big, and that had been plenty for her. Big hadn’t been small in any sense.

  God, just thinking about Big and all that hardness, all that maleness, had Claire’s insides tightening. Yeah, Big certainly was … big, in every sense of the word.

  She knew the stories of how the guys got their club names, had been around since the very beginning. She knew everything about these guys, and had never felt more at home than at the MC and in their presence.

  Claire was off to the side, part of the building next to the club blocking her body so that even if they looked in her direction they couldn’t have seen her. She continued to look at the guys, listened to them joke, talk about the pussy they’d gotten, and couldn’t help but smile. They hadn’t changed at all. She moved closer, feeling her strength rise. Steeping into the swatch of light from the streetlight, she knew they’d see her sooner rather than later. These men, bikers, had this uncanny and intense sense of their surroundings.

  It only took a few seconds before Dirty turned his head, and stared right where she stood. Claire felt like the world tilted right from under her.

  “What the fuck?” Dirty muttered out.

  “Is that…” Shorty said after that. He stepped away from the side of the clubhouse, a joint between his lips. A club whore stumbled forward, hidden within the shadows, and probably just on her knees sucking all three of the guys off.

  “Claire?” Dealer asked, and pulled the gate open. All the guys in the club were such big fucking beasts, built like the Hulk, tatted up, and mean motherfuckers if someone crossed them. She stepped further into the swatch of light from the streetlam
p.

  “Well I’ll be fucked,” Shorty said. He inhaled from his joint one last time, dropped it to the ground, and snubbed it out with his black boot.

  “You didn’t tell Mayhem you were on your way,” Dealer said, not phrasing it like a question.

  She shook her head. “No.” Claire should have, she knew that, but all she’d wanted to do was get here. She wanted to talk to Mayhem in person about all of this. “I just wanted to get here.” She saw the looks the guys gave each other, and then saw their expression when they looked at her again. They knew shit had gone down, bad shit. She could see that by their expressions, but they weren’t drilling her … not yet.

  “Where’d you park?” Dealer asked.

  “Just down the street.”

  “Your brother ain’t going to be happy you didn’t have him come get you. It’s late as fuck, girl,” Dirty said and pushed the gate open fully. “You know how dangerous it is this late at night, even if you parked close to the clubhouse.”

  Yeah, she did, but she had only been thinking about getting here and away from her mess.

  She walked up to the gates, and then stepped over the threshold and into Bleeding Mayhem territory. Her body was shaking as she held her bags, and she felt a little lightheaded. It was a combination of her running from the crap she’d gotten herself into, and the fact in a very short time she’d be seeing Big and everyone else she’d left all those years ago. She might still talk to Mayhem on occasion, love him no matter what, but she’d only seen him a handful of times since she’d left.

  “Let me take those, sweetheart,” Dealer was the one to speak, and grabbed her bags. He kissed her on the top of the head after a second of standing there looking down at her.

  She could have cried at the familiar endearment.

  “It’s good to see you, Claire. It’s been a long damn time,” Shorty said and pulled her in for a hug. Dirty did the same, and it was strange that she instantly felt like she hadn’t been away for the last two years. This felt like home, and these men like her family.