Page 27 of Beast
“I take it back,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about Marcus anymore.”
I climbed from the van and entered the house, Cutter’s gun stuck in my back. He pushed me toward a windowless back room. We entered the room, and he closed the door. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silencer for the gun in his hand. He put it on the gun, watching me the entire time. Was he trying to scare me? It wasn’t working.
“Take your clothes off.” He removed his vest and waited. “You heard what I said.”
He was fucked in the head if he in any way thought I’d let him rape me. But, like any man in front of a naked woman, he would lose his ability to think straight.
I started removing my clothes, and a sudden, small bulge grew in his pants. I’d bite it off before I sucked it. I laid my clothes neatly on the floor. I’d lost my shyness a long time ago. I stood there with my hands behind my back. My tits stuck out. Legs spread enough for him to glimpse my pussy lips. Come try and get some motherfucker.
“Get on your knees.” He took a step closer when I moved to the floor. “Good girl. Learning how to do what you’re told.”
“Marcus is going to wear you out,” I said. “He won’t kill you right away. He’ll make you suffer for hours.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He pushed his jeans down and waddled forward, placing the gun’s barrel against my head. “I’ll put a bullet in his head as soon as he walks through the door. Like Rip did to that old man who raised him.”
“Rip killed Kickstand?” I said.
Cutter’s face fell flat. He’d made a big fucking mistake by running his mouth. He had no choice now but to kill me. “You’re gonna suck my cock until you feel that warm jet hitting the back of your throat.” He pressed the barrel harder. “You understand?”
“Yes.”
Pussy makes men do stupid things. His cock couldn’t have been five inches long. I grabbed it with one hand, and he moaned, tilting his head back. The gun’s barrel released a little pressure and moved to the side. If he pulled the trigger, the bullet would only graze my shoulder—stupid asshole.
“Put it in your mouth, cunt.”
That word again. I glanced at his raised face. His eyes were closed.
“Yes, sir.”
I slid my thumb and forefinger to the base of his tiny dick, took a deep breath, sighed, and then put his dick in my mouth, biting down as hard as I could, leaving him with a two-inch dick with no head and lots of blood.
Cutter fired the gun once and did manage to graze my shoulder. It burned like hell, but at least I was still alive. I stood and spit his dick in his face. He dropped the gun to grab his nub, and I picked it up. If anyone else was in the house, his screaming like a little bitch would bring them into the room.
He stumbled back against the wall, his crotch and hands bloody. I’d never seen so much blood and decided he would bleed out. That was the kind of suffering he needed. Putting a bullet in his head was too easy.
“Where is it? Where’s my dick?” Tears welled in his eyes, but I didn’t give a shit. I knew what would have happened to the teenage waitress if his club had taken her that day. I knew what would happen to any pussy he came across. The world was a little bit better now.
Cutter fell forward on his face. The sound of his nose crunching sounded like a balloon popping.
I stepped around the blood and eased the door open. There was nobody else in the house. I used the house phone to call Marcus, and fifteen minutes later, half the club showed up outside.
“What the hell’s all over your mouth?” he asked. He held my chin with his hand. “Tell me that’s not your blood on your shirt.”
“It’s Cutter’s. He’s inside on the floor.”
“You four stay outside. Diesel, Big Kentucky, you’re with me.”
I followed Marcus inside and showed him where Cutter had taken me. Cutter was still breathing when we entered the room. He was lying on his back, hands to his side. It was obvious what had happened.
“He said Rip killed Kickstand,” I said. I didn’t want Marcus to focus on what I had done.
“That Cutter’s gun?” He nodded at my hand. “Give it to me.”
I shook my head. “I wanna do it.”
“Get a towel from the kitchen, BK.” Marcus took the gun from my hand. “No prints.” He was still wearing his riding gloves. When BK returned, Marcus cleaned the gun and gave it back.
“Please don’t,” Cutter said weakly. I couldn’t believe the man was begging.
