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Hawk's Property

By:Chiah Wilder

Prologue


He stood in the corner of the empty, concrete warehouse barely breathing, the anticipation of what was to come taking hold of him. Time seemed to stand still as he waited for the roar of the bikes, the vibrations of their powerful engines. They would arrive soon, bringing a sexy treat with them, then the desire clenching his cock would be satiated.

The four motorcycles roared to a stop in front of the building. The lead biker pulled his passenger off his bike. A trembling girl with platinum blonde hair stood in front of him, appearing awkward in her too-high heels and her tight-fitting spandex skirt, her cropped, red top barely covering the underside of her small breasts.

Dragging her behind him as he entered the warehouse, the biker said, “Hey, I gotcha somethin’ extra special.” His voice bounced off the metal walls.

From the shadows, the man appeared. The girl stood in the middle of the room with crossed arms. Her lips and chin quivered. A smile broke out over his face and he whistled softly under his breath, nodding in approval. “You did good. She’s perfect.”

“We know you like ’em young and tasty.” The biker shoved the girl in front of him.

Moving toward the girl, the man said to the biker, “I will take care of you, as promised.”

“Fuck yeah, man. You take care of us, and we’ll take care of you. There ain’t no shortage of pretty young things. Have fun.”

The warehouse door clanged shut and the girl flinched at the motorcycles’ roaring engines. She and the man stood, listening to the bikes as they disappeared into the night.

“What’s your name, little one?”

Looking down, she said in a low voice, “Nadyia.”

“Well, Nahdeeah, you and I are going to have a real good time. You treat me right, and I’ll treat you right, okay?”

Nodding slowly, Nadyia tugged her top down. Watching her shift from one foot to another, his eyes took in her petite figure. When he touched her hair, a glimmer of hatred shone in her eyes.

“Don’t you like me doing that?” he whispered.

“No very good English,” she mumbled.

“You from Russia?”

“Slovakia.”

“How do you like the US of A?”

“Excuse me?”

“USA, you like?”

“No, not what I want.”

“I can give you what you want, sweet one.” He moved closer to her. “Tell me what you want.”

She glanced quickly at him then turned away. “I was to be model. I come here for job as model. I come to make money to send to my family.”

“Are all the women in your family pretty like you?”

Shrugging, Nadyia picked at her cuticles. “I want to make much money, pretty clothes, and beautiful home. I want to be women I see in Good Housekeeping magazines.”

He laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you look more like the women in Playboy.”

Redness brushed across her cheeks as she yanked her top down again, trying in vain to cover her midriff. “No, Good Housekeeping. You know, where kitchens is modern, husbands nice-looking, everyone has straight, white teeth.”

“You’re such a luscious angel.” A thread of danger wove through his thick voice.

“I no understand what you say to me.”

“It doesn’t matter. Hell, I’m nice-looking and I’ve got straight white teeth. This is your lucky night.”

“You make me do dirty things I no want to?” Her voice shook.

“Come over here, little one.”

Avoiding eye contact, Nadyia moved toward him. He grabbed her arms and slammed her into his tall, slender frame. Moving his hands down her face, to her neck and shoulders, he cupped her breasts, squeezing them hard. Nadyia winced. He squeezed them harder until she cried out. He panted heavily as he tore off her top, exposing her chest. Licking his lips, he continued squeezing and hitting her breasts. He twisted her nipples and she stifled a cry. Putting his mouth on her nipple, he bit down. Hard. Very hard. Nadyia screamed. He kept biting. Her screams pierced the stillness of the night.

* * *

A few hours later, in the darkness of the early hours, the man threw Nadyia’s battered, lifeless body into the newly dug grave behind the warehouse. She was nude except for the too-high heels on her small feet. He planned to keep her top and skirt so he could relive the excitement, the rush, this pretty angel gave him. This was one of the better fucks he had experienced in a while. Those asshole bikers outdid themselves on this one. They gave him a bonus—a virgin. He hadn’t had a virgin in a long time. He was so damned excited he fucked her in every hole, and the more she screamed, the harder he fucked and punished her. Just thinking about it and seeing her darling body in front of him gave him a hard-on. Shit, he needed her again, but he liked fucking them alive, not dead. After all, he wasn’t a sick bastard.

He laughed aloud as he covered her body with dirt. He’d have to get another luscious angel soon.





Chapter One





“Why are we here again?” Cara looked around the dark, smoky bar. Leather-clad men gawked at her.

“I have a crush on the bartender,” Sherrie said, jerking her head in the direction of a muscular, thirty-something guy behind the bar.

“But a biker bar… really? How did you even find out about this place?”

“Friend of mine who likes it wild parties with different bikers. She said this place was fun. I’ve been here a few times, and I’ve totally fallen for the bartender. His name is Patsy. Don’t you think he’s hot?” Sherrie threw back her shot of scotch and motioned the bartender for another one.

“Not my type. Has he fallen for you?”

“He flirts with me, but he does that with all the girls. I figure if I keep coming, he’s bound to want to know me better. We’re kinda at the ‘checking out my ass and boobs’ stage.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t think you should put your love life on hold for too much longer.”

Shrugging, Sherrie threw back her newly delivered shot. “You still sipping your first drink? Damn, girl, you’re taking it slow.”

“Yeah, I guess I am, but this vodka tonic is so damn strong. I’m feeling a little lightheaded already. I guess I should’ve eaten before we went out. Speaking of, you better slow down with those shots. You’re on your fourth, and there’s no way I want to be the only sober one tonight, especially in this place.”

Looking at Cara with slightly unfocused eyes, Sherrie turned around on her bar stool, trying to get the bartender’s attention. Cara watched the various patrons as they came up to order their drinks. The majority of them were men, and the few women in the bar were dressed in provocative clothing: short skirts, barely-there tops, skin-tight jeans, and spandex dresses. Her blue jeans and sleeveless, knit black top made her look like the poster woman for prim and proper. Sherrie, dressed in a tight black dress with silver studs and buckles, had told her to “slut it up a bit,” but Cara didn’t feel comfortable wearing anything too revealing in a biker bar. Seeing all the women strutting their stuff, she realized she stuck out like a sore thumb. She jumped when the entrance door slammed, making Sherrie laugh.

“God, you’re nervous.”

“These aren’t the type of people I usually hang with.” Cara looked toward the door and watched a tall guy heading toward the bar. She gasped when he came into full view.

Her first impression was of raw power and sex. He was gorgeous, with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a ponytail. Sporting a nice build—muscular, but not bodybuilder-like—he wore two earrings in his right ear, jeans which fit him snugly around his legs and crotch, and a t-shirt that molded over his sculpted abs. A black leather jacket hung over his broad shoulders and gleaming silver chains hung down from his jeans’ pocket. He was definitely all male.

Cara raised her eyes from his body to his face, and a strange shiver slid up her spine, making her scalp tighten and her hands tingle. His ocean blue eyes stared at her from below perfectly shaped dark brows and above a slightly Roman nose. Full lips twitched in a half-smile, making her lick her own while widening her eyes. Hard, angular planes, a strong jaw, and a five o’clock shadow lent to his blatant sexiness. Swallowing hard, Cara glanced down again at his crotch, transfixed by the big mound against his zipper.

Looking up once again, she met his blue eyes, smoldering with intensity. Her cheeks turned crimson and she glanced away. In the mirror behind the bar, she saw him smirking at her as he leaned against the end of the counter.

“Hey, Hawk, what’s your vice?” the bartender asked him.

“A bottle of Coors.” His deep, smooth voice stroked Cara’s senses like silk. He jerked his head toward her. “Do you know her?”

“She’s a friend of the blonde who’s been coming here for two weeks chasing me. Damn, her friend’s so nervous and outta place. It looks like she’s never been to a biker bar.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t exactly fit in. Fuck, she’s hot, though.”

Cara’s whole body tensed as her face heated, and she crossed her hands on the bar while he flagrantly assessed her. She averted her eyes and stared at the scratched markings on the wooden bar, running her fingers over the grooves, while she wondered if she should be livid at his vulgarity or flattered that he thought she was hot.

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