Satin and Steel
Satin and Steel
Jayna Vixen
Jayna Vixen Erotica (2012)
* * *
Rating: ****
All Rhiannon Blake wanted was to find her little sister, Mickey. The last thing she expected when she walked into the seedy biker bar was to be assaulted. Luckily, Dax Jamison, the tall, muscled, vice president of The Phantoms motorcycle crew rescues her. At first, the innocent college girl clashes with the dominant biker. Then, a slow fire begins to burn between them, culminating in a fiery explosion of sex, drugs, and passion.
At first, Rhiannon is more than a little afraid of the sexy, tattooed biker. He’s arrogant, domineering, and dangerous. When her apartment is ransacked, Dax insists that The Phantoms provide protection for Rhiannon until he can figure out why she is being targeted by a rival crew. When an escaped drug cartel boss joins the mix, things start to get complicated. Loosely based on the hit television show, Sons of Anarchy, this work combines a strong plot with a scorching tale of danger, intrigue and romance.
Jayna Vixen is a popular online erotica author. Satin and Steel is her first published work. Keep an eye out for the sequel, Leather and Sand, due out in 2013.
Satin and Steel
Jayna Vixen
Satin and Steel
Published by Jayna Vixen
Copyright 2012 Jayna Vixen
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter One
Rhee took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before walking into the seedy bar. Ignoring the lewd stares from the rough-looking patrons, she marched a straight line to the bartender, a hairy guy with a big belly. Her hands were shaking slightly as she shoved a flyer at the man, who regarded her with one eyebrow raised.
“Have you seen this girl?” Rhee’s voice came out high but assertive.
The bartender smirked.
“What if I have?”
Rhee drew herself up to her full height, a petite five feet, three inches.
“Then I suggest you tell me where she is. My little sister is only nineteen years old.”
She tried to make her voice sound calm and steady, but inside she was quaking with tension. The bartender suddenly looked more serious.
“Your little sister, you say?”
Rhee nodded. “That’s what I said, sir. She was dating a guy who rode with a motorcycle club that used to stop in here. She’s missing. At least just let me put up this flyer?”
The bartender nodded to someone behind Rhee’s head and then looked back at her.
“Well, missy. You have a lot of nerve coming in here and making demands. But…it turns out that I have a little sister myself. Hand over one of them flyers you got there. You can put one up in the ladies’ room too, if you want,” he held out his beefy hand.
Ten minutes later, Rhee’s breath rushed out in a great whoosh as she pushed her way back out onto the street. In her haste to get back to her old Toyota she nearly ran headlong into a tall, blond man who had just parked his impressive-looking bike by the curb.
“Steady there, little girl,” a husky voice rasped with an undertone of mirth.
Little girl?! Rhee glared up angrily and felt her breath catch in her throat as a pair of twinkling blue eyes met her own fiery green ones. Damn, he’s tall! Irritated that she had to crane her neck to see his face, she straightened her spine, flushing under the stranger’s perusal.
He wore a black leather vest over a tight, black tee, and loose jeans that might even conceal a holstered weapon. Definitely one of those biker gang guys, Rhiannon thought to herself. It must have been only a few seconds that she stood there, transfixed by the blond hulk’s gaze, but it seemed like an eternity. Rhiannon mumbled an apology and tried to walk slowly back to her vehicle, aware of the man’s eyes on her back. Running would show fear, she reminded herself as she forced herself to take slow, measured steps, willing her hands not to shake as she placed her key in the door.
That was the first place she hit. That week, Rhiannon visited four more biker hangouts, hot on the trail of her little sister, Michaela, or Mickey their father had christened her. Mickey often disappeared for weeks at a time; the girl had been a free spirit since the day she was born. Rhiannon smiled, remembering how her baby sister had scared everyone one cold winter’s morning by crawling behind the Christmas tree and falling asleep, while the family tore the neighborhood apart trying to locate her.
Yep, that was Mickey all right. She had horrified their mother by getting a butterfly tattoo on her sixteenth birthday, and she had rejected traditional college applications in favor of pursing her photography hobby. Mickey marched to her own beat and never stayed in the same place for very long. Her little walkabouts had never worried Rhiannon…until now. This recent disappearance had been preceded by a frantic phone call in the middle of the night. Rhiannon remembered every word out of Mickey’s mouth, even though she had been half asleep.
“Rhee, it’s me! Wait-don’t say anything! I’m in trouble, Rhee. Big trouble. I need you to come and get me…tonight! I’ll be at the corner of West and-oh! Oh, shit…”
The call had been disconnected. Rhiannon had flown from the house in her sweats and raced across town to West Avenue. She drove up and down the street in vain, all night long. Finally, exhausted, she had gone to the police and they had been no help. They all remembered Mickey. Their parents had logged numerous missing persons reports when Mickey was in high school. She always turned up, with a new tattoo or a story about a festival in the desert. It seemed her reputation had followed her to California. Darling was a small town, and the local deputies didn’t bat an eye when Rhiannon begged frantically that this time, a search party really was warranted.
It had been days since she had slept. Well, years really. Rhee’s normally bright eyes had dulled, and she was sporting some dark circles. Thank God the roommates are gone for break. They’d think I was losing it. Plus, she didn’t want to rehash her crazy past and current life to the bubbly coeds she lived with. They could never understand. Kate and Lisa were sweet, but Rhee knew they thought she was a total drag. She always made up excuses to avoid joining them when they went out to parties or bars, and she didn’t want to explain why. She didn’t need their pity.
Rhee dragged herself from a few hours of desperately needed, dreamless sleep and pulled on a pair of worn, low-slung jeans and a simple tee shirt. Blearily, she made herself a cup of strong coffee and nearly fell into her car. There was one last place that she could think of to hit but she had left it for last for on purpose. Tu Madre was a small establishment that an old lady from another hangout had mentioned. It was known to be the den of a particularly nasty Mexican motorcycle crew.
Ignoring the warning tingle that shot down her spine, Rhee shoved her apprehension deep down into her guts. If Mickey was there, or if anyone knew where she was, she had to find out. She pulled up in front of the dilapidated shack that matched the address the
biker chick from the last hangout had given her. Rubbing her eyes, Rhiannon stifled a yawn. A metal sign, rusted with weather and age, proclaimed, Tu Madr-. Rhee groaned inwardly. No “e.” As an aspiring copyeditor, punctuation errors really irritated her. The place looked deserted save for a few bikes parked out front.
Perfect, Rhee thought to herself. Fewer scumbags for me to fend off.
*
Dax sat at the table to the left of his president. He sighed as the latest task came to a vote. Dax raised his hand half-heartedly. Even though he had quite a bit of sway in the club, defying Hawk would be like signing his own death warrant. Part of Dax wanted out, but he simply could not justify leaving. His girlfriend was talking marriage and he couldn’t afford her or her medical school bills without the club. The cut he received as vice president of The Phantoms trumped any full time job he could think of…by a lot.
A crackle of excitement went through the air as Hawk pounded the gavel. The Chicos had overstepped their shit for the last time. Taking the deal for the latest round of guns was the last straw. They would hit them tonight, when they were least expecting it. No doubt the stupid bastards would be partying it up, and they would all be piss drunk and high. It was the perfect time to strike, and take back what was rightfully been theirs.
It was late when the unmarked, black van pulled up outside of Tu Madre. Dax and his crew were suited up and packing hard core. Dax adjusted his bulletproof vest and issued some orders to the rest of the crew. Then, they popped the bathroom window and sneaked in, wholly undetected.
*
Rhee was sick with fear. From the moment she entered Tu Madre, she knew she had made a grave mistake. A small group of heavily tattooed men graced a table at the rear of the shack. Three whorish girls danced groggily on makeshift poles, cigarette smoke wafting up to caress their fake tits and caked makeup. A group of a dozen or so younger guys barged in and assaulted the bar, whooping and high-fiving. Shots were passed out and the distinct smell of marijuana wafted to her nostrils. Rhee turned on her heel, realizing that these were men who adhered to no rules or laws. A large man stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
“Where do you think you’re going, puta?”
Rhee bristled. “How dare you!” She pushed at the man, but he was like an oak. He laughed at her pathetic struggles and then, to Rhee’s horror the smelly man picked her up and threw her over his swarthy shoulder.
“Fresh meat!” he called, as the other men glanced her way, their eyes widening with lust. A few rubbed their crotches and made lewd gestures. Rhee began to struggle in earnest, employing every one of her self defense class tricks. She stuck her thumb into her captor’s jugular and he grunted with surprise and fury. Rhee screeched in outrage as her bottom was walloped so hard she was sure it would be bruised. Nausea bubbled in her stomach as several of the men at the bar stood up and adjusted their pants. Then, they hauled her, kicking and screaming, into the rear room.
Rhee squeaked as she was thrown down roughly onto a concrete floor. She landed on her left shoulder, hearing a sickening crack and then it immediately went numb. She wondered hazily if it was dislocated. A small light bulb illuminated above her and she blinked rapidly. Her heart was beating a million times a minute as she gazed at the five men who formed a ring around her, circling her like sharks to wounded prey.
“Damn, puta. You know how to fight? Fight me!”
A smallish, Latino man who seemed to have some status approached, and Rhee waited several agonizing seconds before placing a well-timed and entirely unexpected front kick. There were several surprised whoops as she managed to catch the man in his groin and he fell back, hissing violently. The next guy fared no better, she slipped out of his grasp like an eel. Finally, two men grabbed Rhee and held her motionless as the first man, purple with rage, ripped her shirt straight down the front with a jackknife. There was a collective catcall as her lacy white bra was exposed. Her breasts heaved with anxiety and a rosy blush stained her flesh as the rough men stared.
Stay calm, Rhee. She saw her opportunity as they leered at her chest, her arms pulled painfully behind her back. Both legs came up and her sharp instep caught one of them right in the nuts. Then, stars danced across her vision as someone backhanded her across the face. Then, her arm was pulled straight and she struggled furiously when she saw the needle poised against her arm.
“Let’s dose this little wildcat. I’m gonna tear her apart,” a voice growled.
Terrified, Rhee screamed herself hoarse as the needle broke her skin. They’re going to rape me! She tried to struggle, but to her horror, her body stopped responding. After a few moments, she dangled limply in the first man’s grasp, suddenly fascinated by the raised scar on his left cheek. An evil chuckle wafted to her ears as she tried to process what was happened in a detached kind of euphoria.
Then, Rhee was swimming in a sea of languid confusion. Voices drifted slowly around the room but they didn’t make any sense. There was a slow, deliberate explosion of activity as a series of loud cracks pierced the night. In slow motion, her tormentors wafted out of the room, leaving her crumpled on the floor. Slowly, she managed to pull herself up, her blurry eyes on the dark rectangle that the men had disappeared into. Rhee floated out the door and into the darkness that lay on the other side.
I want to go home.
She pushed her arms in front of her as though she were doing the breaststroke. Her father’s soft bedtime voice resonated in her ear as a soft, familiar melody played in her mind. A commotion down the corridor sent Rhee in the other direction.
Fly away, little butterfly…
A cocoon! There was a sleek black cocoon in the parking lot. Rhiannon the butterfly floated towards the cocoon and fell inside. She collapsed into the warm, cozy safeness of the haven. Then, she knew no more.
*
It had been a hard sell, but Dax and the crew had convinced The Chicos to hand over the guns. Well, perhaps “convincing” wasn’t the best choice of words. Sonny had Miguel’s pants down, and was threatening to surgically remove his testicles before The Chicos V.P. had acquiesced. Dax didn’t feel bad about the violence. It had, after all, been the The Phantoms’ deal. He was just sick of the constant stress gunrunning produced. They loaded up quickly, filling the Suburban with the A-Ks. Dax leapt into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. He tore out of the parking lot, his mind on a nice, cold beer, when Wince spoke up.
“Uh-Dax?”
“Keep it ‘til we get back to the clubhouse, man.”
“Dax…”
“What the fuck, Wince? Seriously?!”
“I think we picked up a stowaway…”
Chapter Two
Dax pulled over when they reached the clubhouse and yanked the sliding door of the van open. Wince said their surprise passenger was female, and she was in bad shape. Peering inside, he could make out a small form, lying prone against the back bay of seats. From the size of her, she was hardly more than a teenager. Probably one of Juan’s hookers, Dax thought to himself. Great. Hope she hasn’t overdosed and puked in the car!
He reached in and grabbed the girl by her slender ankle. He pulled sharply, eliciting a soft groan. Dax turned the girl onto her back to get a closer look at her. A shock of long auburn hair obscured her face. He brushed it back impatiently, and his mouth fell open in surprise.
It’s her!
It had been strange how he couldn’t get that girl out of his head since she nearly bowled him over running out of Lenny’s a few weeks back. Maybe it was her eyes that got to him, although he couldn’t see them right now. He recalled how those emerald green orbs had practically flashed fire at him, as though she couldn’t believe he dared to speak to her. Looking for her kid sister, Lenny had said. Dax smiled at the memory and then frowned as his gaze wandered over the darkening bruise on the girl’s cheek. Her shirt was slashed down the front, and he could see marks on her neck and chest.
What the fuck happened to her?!
Before he had a chanc
e to process what he was doing, Dax slid his hands under her and lifted the unconscious girl into his arms. She can’t weigh more than a 100 pounds, soaking wet, he thought, cradling her head against his chest. He barked a few orders at Wince and Rollie and they began unloading the weapons as Dax settled the girl in the front seat. He fastened her seatbelt and reclined the seat so her head wouldn’t flop onto her chest. He dialed Trish and she was in the car with her doctor kit before he reached his street.
What am I doing?
Dax had no business taking the girl into his own home, but he didn’t know where else to take her. She obviously wasn’t part of a crew. She had no identification, and upon closer inspection he could see a needle mark in her arm, but he was pretty sure she wasn’t a druggie. They must have dosed her to make her more compliant. He grimaced at the thought of what else they might have forced the girl to do. She looked young, and there was an air of innocence about her.
There was bruising around her delicate wrists, and he knew she had struggled hard. Dax gently extricated his unconscious charge from the seatbelt and picked her up carefully. Holding the girl over his shoulder, he managed to get his front door open. He kicked the guest room door open with his booted foot and settled her into the bed. Dax sank down into the armchair and watched her for a while. Her breathing was slight but steady, and he could see her chest rise and fall. From time to time she groaned softly, as though she was in pain.
As an afterthought, Dax removed the girl’s jeans and boots, averting his eyes as her plain white bikini panties came into view. He gently drew the ruined shirt off of her. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her pert breasts, encased in a lacy white number. Nice. Dax winced at the sight of the bruising at the girl’s collarbone and the marks that littered her neck and chest. He wondered briefly if she had been raped, but figured that more than her shirt would be destroyed if her attackers had gotten any further. He could see defensive marks on her hands and wrists. I hope you gave ‘em hell, little girl. Finally, Dax pulled the covers up to the girl’s chin and slumped in an armchair to wait.