Never Ever: Book One Perdition MC Read online

  Never Ever

  A Perdition MC Novel: Book 1

  By

  Isabel Wroth

  Copyright © 2016 by Isabel Wroth

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places are entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

  All quotations used in this book are part of public domain works and/or translated copies existing in public domain. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book. Trademarks have been used without permission.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex, language, and violence. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  Chapter One

  The room was nothing special. There weren’t any luxury items or decorations to make it special, just a bed on a platform made out of shipping palates, a beat up dresser with a microwave sitting on top of it. An old school coffee maker with a can of Folgers beside it, and a Harley calendar on the wall. That was it. No frills, no homey touches to make it look like anything other than what it was, a dorm room at a biker compound.

  But the ungodly handsome man lying beside her, and what had just happened to her in that room had been the most spectacular few hours of her entire life.

  She’d come to the compound of the Perdition MC with her friend Susan, and honestly this is not what she’d had in mind when she’d imagined this evening’s hog roast. Susan had been begging her to tag along, telling her all the crazy, sexy wild stuff that went on inside the compound, not knowing how familiar she was with the life. A life she honestly, secretly, had missed very much. She’d walked into the smoky atmosphere and smiled because it was exactly how she remembered it. Different city, different state, totally different club, but the music was the same. The laughter and the crude dirty jokes were the same. The scantily clad club sluts looked just the same, hell, even the scent of the place was the same. Motor oil, smoke, beer and leather.

  She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed that smell until it hit her full in the face.

  Susan had kept her close at first, being a good friend and not ditching her to fend for herself among the multitude of leather wearing, horny bikers. But once she’d proven she could hold her own, Susan had gone off to slide into the lap of one of the big guys, her old man, Pike. It had shocked her, that despite the range of ages in the men, from 21 year old prospects, to grizzled veterans pushing fifty, every single one of the big bastards were handsome. It should have been statistically impossible, and yet under this compound roof, it was not. They looked bad ass, every one of them walking tall with confidence and an oozing aura of bad assery. They were sun burned, sun tanned, road worn, but fucking hot! And the one that flipped her switch the hardest, naturally, was the one crawling with club sluts.

  He looked like the definition of dangerously sexy, but the smile that curled his lips made his face look like he’d been born of Lucifer’s own blood. So handsome it hurt to look at him. He had a thick chin length mane of tawny blonde hair, the sort that he kept raking his hand through, tousling the already windblown locks in a careless tangle. He had some golden scruffle on his strong jaw, golden scruffle that framed his gorgeous, full, smirking lips. His body was massive, even sitting down he was a big, muscled hunk of sin. And when he’d stood up, towering over the club sluts as he’d grabbed another beer from the cooler beside him, she’d estimated he was well over six and a half feet tall. Just a fucking sexy beast. And with a wistful sigh, she’d turned away from the beauty of looking at him in his thigh hugging jeans, his tight black tee and his black leather cut that was just a frame for the cobbled ridges of his abs. She just knew if he turned around, she could have bounced a whole roll of quarters off his ass.

  She’d given up any thought or even consideration of catching his attention, turned her back and sharked her way through a few games of pool with any one of the guys who’d play, every now and again sneaking a glimpse of him in the mirror across from her. Enjoying that tug of lust, of danger, that breathless shivery sensation that one time their eyes had met in the mirror and she’d seen the crystalline blue of them from all the way across the room. She’d felt herself blush clear to the roots of her hair and looked away after meeting that heavy, powerful stare, reminding herself there was no way she would land that, no way she wanted the guy who fucked anything with a pair of tits, and went back to her game.

  She’d bent over the table to take her shot, and froze when she felt heat caress her back, when a shadow bent over her and the scent of amber and leather surrounded her. Froze when a big, scarred hand planted next to hers on the green felt of the pool table, and a warm wash of breath, a tickle of coarse hair brushed against her ear. “You just gonna eye fuck me and shake your ass at me all night, or come say hello?”

  Her entire body had broken out in hot chills, her heart lunged up her throat, pulse pounding, nipples turning to painfully hard nubs, her pussy had gushed cream, and a shiver of pure wanting tightened the backs of her thighs. She rolled her eyes up to the mirror to see the big blonde biker folded over her like some beast, their eyes meeting while he rubbed his nose against her hair and inhaled slowly. “And get some kind of incurable disease from the cloud of club slut pussy? No thanks, I was content admiring the view from afar.” She had no idea where that smart ass remark had come from, but the surprise, his laughter had rumbled along her back. The guys she was playing had guffawed and given their buddy a hard time, and then thanked him profusely when she missed her shot and the white cue ball missed the red and white striped one she’d been aiming for, by a mile. “No fair! Do over! He knocked me off balance, rubbing that sock in his jeans on my ass!”

  She’d seen his eyes narrow to dangerous slits in the mirror while his brothers gave him hell over her disrespectful comment. She knew it was disrespectful, but hell if she was going to apologize. He’d rubbed the unmistakable, lead fucking pipe of his jean covered cock, right up the crease of her ass and pissed her off by being so…rude. Her playful insults had continued, daring him, and she’d seen the dominant bastard rise inside him, nostrils flaring to make his conquest. “Back off, Roar. We saw’er first!” His brothers challenged, brothers who she’d learned had just recently been patched in, and she’d looked over her shoulder as he’d straightened and let her up out of being half bent over the table under him. A position that had evoked some seriously rabid fantasies. “Yeah? Well I didn’t see a single one of your fuckers makin your move. Next time grow a pair instead of just slobbering all over her tits.”

  She’d leaned back on the table and looked at him in amused amazement, crossing her arms over her chest and glad she’d worn just a simple black Van Halen tee, her best pair of ass hugging jeans and called it good. He’d glared so hot at his brothers that she’d half expected to see them catch fire. Poor kids had scowled but moved off, leaving her alone with big sexy. He’d challenged her to a game of pool, claiming he’d go back to the club sluts if she won, but if he won, she was on his lap for the rest of the night.

  She’d been cocky, confident in her abilities, but the bastard hadn’t played fair and at every opportunity, brushed his fingers along the seam of skin along her low back, where her shirt had slid up when she bent over the table. It made her shiver, every god damn time, and the bastard looked angelically innocent when she’d shot him a dirty glare to make him quit. “You smell like sunshine, Ginger.” She hadn’t introduced herself, so he’d called her Ginger, unoriginal, and she’d shot back sass at him out of
habit. “Only another ginger, can call a ginger, a ginger.” His eyes had danced with amusement and lust, his lips quirking sardonically. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want,” He shot back, the tone of it tightening in her belly, making more cream gush from between her thighs at the hedonistic growl. “Whatever, Squatch.”

  “Roar.” He’d corrected firmly, and she cocked her hip at him knowing that it was like a smack in the face. Knowing she was crazy for speaking to a man with the kinds of club patches he had on his vest. Especially the one that said, Enforcer, in bold red letters over his heart. But she just couldn’t help it. “Ever.” She said in the same tone, and he frowned. “What?”

  “My name. It’s Everly. Ever, is what most people call me. As in, Never Ever.”

  But she’d lost the fucking game by one move, and he’d grinned with bold, cocky triumph. He’d swung around the table, grabbed hold of her ass and steered her outside to the collection of picnic tables. His one hand was big enough to cover her entire cheek, his fingertips giving her big butt a squeeze. He’d fed her well and only allowed her a single beer to wash it down before moving them to one of the Adirondack chairs by the bon fire. He’d patted his thigh expectantly, and for a moment she’d debated letting him pull her onto his lap, debated whether or not that rock hard thigh could support her weight. But then she’d shrugged, said an internal ‘fuck it’, and sat. Bet was a bet.

  The chair had been perfect for falling against his chest, perfect for him to wrap his arm around her waist and draw her into the warmth of his body while he talked shop with one of the other brothers for a little while. Her attention had started to wane, nostalgia setting in as she looked around, catching Susan’s eye and shrugged when her friend made bug eyes of shock at her. “They’re playing our song,” A shudder had torn through her at his voice in her ear again, and she looked into his gorgeous blue eyes while she’d focused enough to hear Nine Inch Nails being blasted on the stereo.

  I wanna fuck you like an animal, it brings me closer to God, -

  She’d laughed at him and shook her head, “Cocky, aren’t you?” And that’s how she’d wound up in his bed, being fucked raw. He’d had her on the back of his bedroom door. Bent over his bed. On her back. On his back. And that sock she’d accused him of having, was in fact the biggest, most perfect dick she’d ever had the privilege to ride. He’d finally surged up inside her one last time, growling like a lion, leaving her limp as a wet dishrag, quivering on his bed beneath him and seeing stars. “Don’t you fucking move, I’m not done with you.” He’d ordered, pushing his gorgeous body off of her, pulling out of her with a hiss and stumbled to the bathroom to dispose of his rubber. She’d heard him curse, and had been too dazed by the pleasure to wonder why he came back looking pissed, “You on the pill?”

  “Implant. In my arm. Yes.” She’d panted, and he grunted. “Good. Cause your pussy is so tight it tore that damn rubber in half.”

  “You clean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then don’t care. I am too. Do it again.”

  He’d taken her slow that last time, praising her, calling her raw, raunchy, beautiful things that made her heart give a twinge of hope. Hope that was shattered when he finished her that final time, flooded her with his come until it had gushed out between them. “Fuck that was good,” He grunted, and she smiled while she panted beside him, trying to catch her breath. “Catch your breath, babe, then go home.” His words were like a bucket of ice on her overheated body. “Flip the lock on the door on our way out too,” He’d said, patting her on the ass like a good little bitch. The ache of their furious fucking, the ache that was going to last her for days, moved beyond her well used pussy to permeate her entire body. A sadness welled up that had little to do with him, and everything to do with that life she’d left behind. “Right, I forgot.” She sighed, and rolled out of his bed. “Forgot what?”

  She found her jeans, used her torn panties to clean the evidence of their pleasure from her thighs and chucked them in his trashcan by the door. She didn’t want to look too closely at it to see how full of used wrappers it was, and stepped into her jeans, “Nothing, just something my dad told me.”

  “Daddy’s princess, huh? What, he tell you not to fuck a biker?” He sneered, not knowing how much her stomach shriveled. She had to fight to keep her sass, her careless tone while she looked around for her shirt. “Nope. He wouldn’t have given a fat damn who I fucked. Just remember him telling me, act like club slut pussy, get treated like club slut pussy. Forgot how that worked for a second, must have been the repeat orgasms that fried what brain cells I have left. You ripped my shirt in half,”

  She held it up, her favorite shirt ripped clean down the back and he shrugged, lighting up a cigarette, which made her lip curl in disgust, “Take one of mine. Don’t care.” She nodded and snagged a blue and white checked button down, slipping into it and knotted the tails at her waist. She wanted to leave him thinking she didn’t give a rats ass that he’d just crushed a dream she hadn’t even realized she’d entertained, so she leaned over and touched a kiss to his washboard abs, “Thanks for the wild ride,” He’d looked at her like she’d surprised him, which made her wink. But she couldn’t help the tears gathered in her eyes when she turned away, flipping the lock on his doorknob as she pulled it open, “See you around, Ginger.” He drawled from his torn up sheets, and she snorted, “No. You won’t, Squatch.”

  Chapter Two

  Four months. Four fuckin months and he was still dick sore over that smart mouth ginger. Layin in his bed every night alone, like a fuckin fool, with her ripped shirt pressed to his nose so he could drag in the last lingering scent of her perfume. Pissed the fuck off, frustrated, physically unable to get it up for any other woman after riding that bitch raw. Not even Felicia, who could suck the brass off a door knob, could get his blood up like that ginger bitch had. He’d laughed at her when she’d looked over her shoulder at him and told him that no, he wouldn’t see her around. But that sweet piece hadn’t been joking, he hadn’t seen hide or hair of her.

  Best pussy he’d ever had, and she had fucking disappeared.

  He’d even sunk so low, as to ask Pike’s old lady, Susan about her, but she’d just shot him the dirtiest look ever, “Do you know how hard I worked to get her here? She works her fucking ass off, all day every day at her god damn nursery, I convince her to come out, have a good time, and you fuck it up by treating her like some club slut. Fuck you, Roar, she’s too good for the likes of you.” She’d flipped him off, evil in her eye and gone upstairs to Pike’s room. His balls were so blue from jacking off every night to the memory of her beautiful tits, bouncing while she’d ridden him like a racehorse. Her long red hair tickling his balls, her pretty face flushed with pleasure while she’d moaned his name to the ceiling and come, her sexy hazel eyes on fire while she’d looked down at him. He dreamed about her and woke up trying to fuck a hole through his god damn mattress, and every time he’d tried to pull one of the readily available club sluts into a dark corner, the raging hard on he sported deflated like a fucking balloon as soon as he’d put his fingers up their loose cunt.

  He was so twisted in knots over this bitch, the first month after her, he’d almost beat a dealer pimping women on Perdition’s turf, to death. Nasa had barely been able to pull him off the guy, and the Prez had been fucking pissed that they’d almost gotten caught by the cops. The second month, he’d started a brawl in one of the MC’s strip clubs. The third month, he nearly started a turf war with the owner of the pimp dealer he’d beat nearly to death, during peace negotiations and almost got himself shot. And today was apparently the last straw. He was hungover as fuck, sitting in the chair across from the Prez, getting ripped a new asshole. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, you rank mother fucker, but this is it. I’ve fucking had it. You did a god damn mother fucking doughnut in the front mother fucking lawn, drunk as shit, and puked in my god damn bushes like a fucking prospect. There’s a god damn track in the
front lawn of my house! I am this close, this close you cock sucker, to ripping that patch off your god damn cut before I shoot you in the face.”

  His Prez, who was the closest thing to a father he had, ranted on like that for a while, and to be honest the hangover was nothing in comparison to his disappointment. Joshua “Top” Frasier was so pissed, he was surprised there wasn’t steam coming out of his ears. He was so pissed that the end of his salt and pepper beard was jutting out from clenching his jaw, fists white knuckled into fists on top of his desk, his blue eyes so cold that his nuts felt icy in their glare. “You got five seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on with you, and it better be good, or pay the fucking price.” He shook his head and leaned forward to press his thumbs into the corner of his aching eyes, “Got no excuse worth hearing, Prez. I’ll pay up.”

  “Fucking right you will! You’re gonna get your ass in the truck and get me some fucking grass,”

  “Grass? I thought you quit smoking, Top-”

  “Sod, mother fucker! Grass! Jesus, how fucking hungover are you?”

  “Two fifths of Cuervo.”

  “Don’t fucking tell me your dicks in a knot over a gash?” Top roared

  “Okay.”

  Top’s fists crashed down on top of his desk so hard that everything on it bounced, “Are you shitting me? All this mother fucking shit over a woman? There is a reason we got pussy on tap out there, Roar. Go fuck this…whatever the fuck this is, out of your system, after you get me some god damn grass and you fix that crater you made in my front fucking lawn. And if I see a single prospect out there helping you, I will nail your cock to the wall, with his teeth. You got me?”