Page 42 of Nomad: Violent Devotion

Hours. Huh. There’s no sense of time in this place. No daylight or moonrise. Only the steady drip-drip-drip of blood into the circle drain beneath the rival biker’s reddened toes. I’m not even sure if he has skin here anymore or if I already took it off.

After a time I step back and swipe salt and grit from my brow with a damp hand. Ragged breaths rattle in his chest. I don’t need Saint’s permission at this point, but this is his sideshow alley and for today, he runs the schedule. His nod when I glance his way is interrupted by a soft, cool hand on my arm. Poppy’s lips find the corner of my mouth. She pushes my blade away from Mutt’s throat.

I stare down at her. “It’s time.” Surely she saw death at her father’s hands, understood what he did yesterday in the dirt. We’ve been at war for a long time. Some months are quieter than others. Some hours hurt. Then there are times like this one where we are right up close with the faces we know and the expenses that must be paid.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t let me end this man’s life. He has suffered at my hand, and though I don’t care for his pain, I have a job to complete before mine is ended. She should never have been here in the first place but her safety can only be guaranteed once this is done and we are out of this room.

The moment that Saint or any of the Sons considers us collateral, we will join the Forsaken Saint on the floor in a pool of his own blood, his life gushing into a drain and swept away with the rest of the town’s refuse.

“Cosita. Let me,” I repeat, my voice soft but firm.

Her fingers toy with the edge of my blade encased in his blood as though it fascinates her. Her eyes lift to mine and before I can argue with the thought that flashes across them, she draws the knife I slipped to her earlier when we entered the room and plunges it into the man’s throat.

As he gurgles away the last fragments of his useless life, she leans in close. Blood speckles her pale cheeks and stains her hair, gliding over the tops of her breasts. “You were unable to complete your job for my father, and in being here, you have betrayed him. Did you talk about me?” She asks the dying man. I wondered what she thought about while I flayed her father’s man, but I know now as she circles him. Prowls around him as he gurgles a few choked, short breaths. “Here you hang, the man who used to sneer at me. Who groped and hurt me. Now, you die. Because of them.” She points at the Sons hierarchy. “Because of him.” Her fingers go to me, but Mutt’s eyes are already rolling and white. A last breath shudders through him and he’s gone.

“And because of me.” Worthless,” she mouths, but the word never comes out. Not aloud, anyway.

Poppy taps the tip of her blade in his blood, then steps back, letting it dangle from her fingers. Loose. Easy to use.

And she’s perfectly positioned in the room to take out one of the boys as needed if they come for her. For us. My beautiful, clever fucking girl. Christ, I love her so damn much.

“Are we done here?” I ask, my voice soft and low.

Saint watches Poppy from his seat at the base of the stairs with interest. “Yeah. We’re done.”

“Good. Turn out the lights when you leave.” I stride forward, take the knife I gifted to Poppy and slide it back into its sheath, unclean. I’ll do that later. “Right now.” I lean in and kiss her. Warm blood that’s spread across her body smears between us as I spin her around and slam her face first against the wall. “Either fuck off or stay and watch. I don’t give a shit.”

She moans as I slide a hand into her jeans and rub her clit. Her back arches, pushing her breasts against the wall.

“Fuck, that was beautiful.” I shove her hair aside and suck on the shell of her ear. “If I knew you were into that I’d have had you help me.” And not be so damn scared that you’d run.

“I don’t think we’d have done as good a job,” she admits, shivering when I squeeze her breasts and pull her top up so her nipples press to the rough brick wall. “Fast and hard. Please?”

“You got it.” I rip her jeans over her hips and bare my cock, pushing into the gap between her thighs. She’s already wet and dripping. “Fuck, you loved it.” I’m breathless.

Part of me thought she’d be horrified and run screaming from me and yet she’s killed a man. She’s covered in his blood and now she’s begging me to fuck her.

I pull her hips out from the wall, pushing her neck down. She turns her face and moans loudly when I shove deep inside her. There’s no foreplay between us, I fuck her hard and fast, railing her while the other men watch. Someone lights a cigarette. Haze fills the small room, mingling the sharp scent of tobacco with the permeating tang of metal.

I grip her tighter, railing her wet little cunt until she screams for me. But it’s not enough. Not after that. After nearly losing her yesterday and scaring all fuck out of her this morning, I need more. We both do. That’s my fault. But seeing my girl take her place in our world without a shred of fear and earn the respect of the men who were testing me today?

My fingers wind through Poppy’s hair, the silky strands escaping me. I grip her tight at the roots in my fist and draw her backward until she’s arched in full and push us both into the wall. Her cheek grazes the uneven brick and she whimpers as I pound at her, soft skin jerking in the brutal prison I’ve created for her.

“You’re the most beautiful fucking creature I’ve ever seen,” I growl into her ear, uncaring who hears us. “Kill anyone like that when I’m around again, and expect me to bend you over and take you right there. You don’t get a choice. Do you understand me?” I expect her to fight me. Slap and scream and lash back. Instead, her hot little pussy quivers as her orgasm rolls through her.

“Yes, Judge,” she whispers. Her hands lie flat on the wall as she lets me rail her, every sound a soft, sweet sigh.

“Fuck,” Saint—or maybe Crimson—mutters behind me.

A roar builds in my chest as I plunge deep inside her, spilling every sin I’ve ever committed like confession. For her, I want to cleanse myself but we’re both too stained for that. Instead I mark her with my brand of darkness. A twisted thing I’ve never defined. Maybe she can, and make something from it one day. Or maybe that never mattered. As long as she stays with me.

The cry she gives me when I pull out leaves me semi hard again. I tug her jeans up and turn her around, kissing her long and deep as I fondle her breasts in full view of the others until Poppy’s panting in my arms.

Neither Saint nor Crimson say a word as we leave them with a dead man. I lead her up the stairs and out of the empty clubhouse to find the rest of the Sons loitering outside, waiting. Eyes pop out of their heads when they see Poppy, her hair tangled, and covered in blood. No one in the clubs is a stranger to sex, but the women don’t usually get involved in club business. But then, Poppy doesn’t come under any heading of “usual.”

I tap the blade I sheathed earlier as I climb on my bike. “When I clean this, it’s yours.”

Poppy slides on, her hands toying with the edges of my cut and tug gently. “Maybe one day you’ll offer me something else again.” Her cheek rests on my shoulder.