Page 17 of Arch
The other half of me is screaming to run, to keep pushing against his rules until something breaks.
He’s got me all confused up, his voice in my head—“You’ll learn to kneel, or you’ll learn the hard way”—and I don’t know if I want to obey or spit in his face.
That kiss, his hand on my throat, the way he held my cock and made me pump… it’s all too much, too fast, and I’m drowning in it.
But I can’t lie.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever done.
Arch made me submit to his commands, had me pleasuring myself with his hand… but all the while totally on his terms.
And here I am, my head spinning with desire yet at the same time right in the thick of things with the Wolf Riders…
I’m outside the clubhouse now, the night air sharp against my skin, my bike idling as I wait for the job Arch assigned me.
Guarding a shipment—some crates of “product” the Wolf Riders are moving through Willow Creek.
It’s a test, he said, to see if I can handle the trust, the responsibility.
I’m not even a potential member yet, and he’s throwing me into the deep end.
Part of me is pissed—why me, why now?—but another part, the part that’s been itching for purpose since the Army kicked me out, is ready to prove I’m not just some hothead drifter.
Tank’s leading the run, his bulk dwarfing the bike he’s on, with Jinx and a couple of prospects riding behind.
I’m at the back, eyes scanning the dark roads as we roll out toward the warehouse on Route 17. The same one the Vipers are planning to hit, according to Clay’s call.
My pulse is steady, but there’s a hum under my skin, like I’m waiting for a fight I know is coming.
Arch’s words from the safehouse echo:“No half-measures.”
I’m in this now, whether I like it or not.
The warehouse is a hulking shadow against the night sky, its metal walls rusted and silent.
We pull up, the bikes’ engines cutting off one by one, and Tank signals for me to take point at the loading dock.
“Eyes open, kid,” Tank grunts, tossing me a flashlight. “Anything moves, you holler.”
I nod, gripping the flashlight like a weapon, my other hand brushing the knife tucked in my boot.
The Army taught me to stay sharp, to read a situation before it unravels, and I’m not about to let these Wolves think I’m soft.
The young guys unload crates from a van, their movements quick but tense, while Tank and Jinx stand guard, their eyes scanning the tree line.
The air’s thick with tension and every rustle in the dark feels like a threat.
Minutes drag by, the silence heavy, and I’m starting to think this is a bust when I catch it—a glint of metal in the woods, too sharp to be natural.
My stomach drops. It’s on.
“Tank, we’ve got company,” I hiss. “East side, in the trees.”
Tank’s on it in a second, signaling Jinx, but before they can move, the night explodes.
Gunshots crack from the opposite direction—west, not east—and I curse under my breath.
The Vipers didn’t come from the expected route. They flanked us, clearly smarter than we gave them credit for.
