The Biker's Fate Chapter 692

Razor

Fuck, I couldn't get enough.

Gripping the back of her neck with one hand, I pulled her closer, kissing her as I slid one, then two fingers inside of her. She was already soaked, as she began to rock against my hand.

With my other hand, I rolled her nipple into a tight nub and moved my mouth back to her neck. Jesus, her scent drove me wild. Jasmine, maybe? I ran my tongue over her pulse moving my hand to her clit and massaging it with my thumb. I continued to pump my fingers in and out as she rode me, her pussy soaking my fingers.

"Are you okay, beautiful?"

"Yes, Gio. I need you. All of you," she panted out.

"Lift, baby."

She lifted so I could slide my sweatpants down my thighs, and I rolled a condom on. Once the rubber was secure, Waverly leaned down and kissed me, desperately, as I guided my dick to her entrance and then she lowered herself onto my cock, taking all of me, and mewing into my mouth.

I cupped her breasts as she started riding my cock, and I took a few deep breaths, trying to keep myself from coming. When I felt like I had a handle on myself, I wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, slamming her down onto my cock.

"Gio!" she squeaked, her hands fisting in my hair.

I kissed her, sliding my hand between us and pressing my fingers to her clit. She let out a feral groan as her hips begin to move faster and faster. I matched her rhythm with my own and when she dropped her head back, shoving her tits up and into my face, I knew she was close.

I gripped her ass, urging her on, and felt her walls squeeze my cock, and when her body shook, I let myself go. With one final thrust, I came, and Waverly cried out, falling over me, her face in my neck, her hand on my shoulder and her pussy still contracting as her orgasm calmed.

"Jesus," I whispered.

She chuckled. "Did you see him?"

"Uh, yeah." I ran my hand down her spine.

"Me too." She kissed my jaw. "If that's what sex is like with you infirmed, I can't wait to find out what it's like once you're fully back to normal."

I chuckled. "You keep talkin' like that, I'm gonna get hard again."

She sat up and met my eyes. "So, get hard."

She helped me dispose of the condom, and then I did as she demanded.

Razor

I had no idea I'd miss the shop as much as I did, and it felt good to the bottom of my soul to be back. Mostly because it meant being around my brothers, drinking beers, talking shit, and wrenching on bikes. All of which was currently happening. Me watching from a stool with my leg elevated, RatHound's first CD blasting on the sound system, because the garage was home to Portland's last fully functioning CD player, and spirits were high, as it was nearly quittin' time for the guys on shift.

"Why is this '62 Sportster still here?" Hatch asked, pulling a beer from the shop fridge.

"We're waiting for Grip to get back from Daryl's with the correct exhaust clamps. The vintage ones that came in were for a '78 panhead, so we're going with the repro ones instead," Flea said.

"Did you ask the client if that's okay?" Hatch asked.

Flea nodded. "Tim said he was cool with us using non-vintage clips if it meant having the bike ready for Sturgis. I told him we'd re-order the correct clips and replace them at no extra charge whenever it was convenient for him."

"Alright, sounds good," Hatch said, before adding. "Hey, how long did you say Grip's been gone?"

"Almost an hour and a half," I replied.

"Motorworks is only twenty minutes away. How long does it take to pick up a box of clips?" Hatch asked.

Brian shrugged. "It was around four-twenty when he left, maybe he hit the shop for a little sticky icky."

"We have our own stash here," Flea pointed out.

"Hold on," Hatch replied, pulling his phone from his pocket and looking at the screen. "It's a video call from an unknown number. Maybe it's Grip," he said, before answering.

"Hatch, so nice to see your face," we heard the caller say over the phone's speaker.

Hatch's jaw clenched.

"Warlock," Hatch replied. "What do you want?"

"Well, you know what I want, Hatch, however you seem unwilling to hand it over to me peacefully so I thought we could try another approach," Warlock said.

Hatch brought his phone over to where I was sitting and the others gathered around so we could all see.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" Hatch asked.

"Well, as you so eloquently put it to me when we last spoke, you're a businessman, and these are business matters. You said you'd rather negotiate than see blood spilled on the streets of Portland, and so here I am. Ready to negotiate."

I couldn't tell where Warlock was calling from, only that he was outside.

"I'm glad to hear that," Hatch replied. "And I'm sure Sundance will be happy to hear it as well."

Warlock smiled wide. "Oh, don't worry about that. I've already spoken with Sundance. He's well aware of my proposed terms and seemed excited about what I had to say."

Something about the way Warlock said 'excited' made my flesh crawl.

"What's on your mind?" Hatch asked.

"I'm so glad you asked, old friend. Because what's on my mind is what's on your mind. For example, I'd love to know just how far the president of a non-one-percenter club would go to save one of his own lost sheep." Warlock panned the camera to show Grip, his wrists bound, and duct tape wrapped around mouth and neck. His eyes were darting back and forth, and he looked terrified. He'd clearly been beaten and was being held up by two Spiders. One on each side.

"Where are you?" Hatch growled.

"Oh, man. I really wish you were here with us now. I'm sure your boy, Grip, does too, you know what I mean?"

"You lay one more finger on him and I'll gut you like a fish," Hatch replied.

"You, see! That's what I'm talking about, my man. You act like you're above committing acts of violence, but you're just like me, Hatch. A man who's willing to kill for what's his."

"Where are you?" Hatch asked.

"Not too far from you, actually," Warlock replied. "Far enough to where you'll never get to us in time, but close enough for you to get my point."

Warlock panned the phone's camera again to reveal they were on a rooftop, somewhere in what looked like the warehouse district near the port.

"This lost sheep of yours is really more of a lamb, isn't he? What is it that you call your prospects? Recruits, right? Like you're in the fucking army, right? Well, armies fight wars, don't they? Armies send young men into battle to face insurmountable odds and certain death, year after year, century after century. You call this boy a recruit into your army, but you expect me to believe that you're the president of some sort of sewing circle. You can't fool me, Hatch. I know you, and I know how far you can be pushed before you push back."

"I hear you and I want to negotiate with you," Hatch said. "Alright? You have my attention and I'm listening."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear that, and I'm more than sure that your young recruit is happy to hear that as well," Warlock said, pinching Grip's cheek, before giving it a slap.

"Tell me where you are," Hatch said. "I'll come get Grip and you and I can talk when I get there. We'll call Sundance together and work something out between the three of us, alright?

"It's really beautiful up here at this time of the evening," Warlock replied before nodding to the two Spiders who were holding Grip. We then watched in horror as they threw Grip from the top of the building. Warlock filming as he plummeted at least ten stories before hitting the pavement below.

"Oh, look, there's that blood on the street you were worried about, Hatch. Well, I guess, now that it's spilled, my terms are this," Warlock said, turning the camera back to face him. "You have forty-eight hours to turn over your grow operation or I start tossing people you actually care about off this roof."

Warlock ended the call.

Hatch turned his back to us and fell to his knees.

Flea went to him, but Hatch growled, "Back off," before falling silent for what felt like an eternity.

I could see his shoulders shuddering but heard no audible cries. Hatch's lament for Grip was silent.

He wouldn't be silent for much longer.