Road's End: Apocalypse Riders Page 7

  “Stop!” I shouted into Chief’s ear. I pounded on his shoulder. “Let me off!” He pulled to a stop, signaling the other bikes as he did. All three halted their approach. We were close enough to read the signs on the wall. “Property of Devil’s Ashes.” “No admittance without approval.” “Lay down your weapons before you approach.”

  I jumped off the bike and stared up at it. What horrors might the other side hold? God, I hated the unknown.

  “Go on ahead,” Adam called, “I’ll walk her in, she just needs a minute.”

  They nodded as if they understood, as if this was nothing unusual at all, and then they drove forward. Adam held my hand as I watched. What looked like a corrugated garage door pulled up, allowing them to drive through.

  And on the other side, women, running up to greet them. I could hear them laughing from where I stood. But still my hands shook, and I felt frozen in place.

  “Listen,” Adam said quietly, “Maybe I was wrong to force you here. But I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t.” He stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the door and the people.

  “If you want to go back to the city, I’ll take you. I’ll grab a bike and we’ll go. You don’t even have to come inside.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll stay with you out there. Maybe I’m crazy. But I can’t leave you.”

  I threw my arms around him, hugging him tight. “I can’t leave you, either, but I can’t make you go back.” He squeezed me back.

  "Can you think of just one reason to trust me? One little thing?" Remembering our time together, I could. I could think of many. The look in his eyes after we fucked that very first time in the city, when he was afraid he'd hurt me. How careful and gentle he was when he marked my hip. His white-hot passion in the rooftop. He'd been pig-headed, and rough, and angry, sometimes scary, but never cruel. I nodded, and he stepped back. "Hold it in your head. Take my hand. Come home with me."

  No more hesitation. The city had stopped calling me. It was, after all, nothing but bones. I whispered, “Thank you,” and took his hand.

  “Look.” He turned and led me onward. “They can’t wait to meet you.” The women had lined up and were smiling and waving. I laughed; there were children amongst them. They looked clean and well-fed and happy. How long had I been living alone in that grave, that a place like this could grow and thrive?

  “We’ll have to change your nickname, pigeon,” he said, smiling was we walked.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Pigeons always return home. I was afraid you’d go. I was almost sure you would.”

  “I am home. I think. I’m just…” I smiled shyly. “I’m home when I’m with you.” He’d had to drag me kicking and screaming, but this was where I belonged.

  He groaned. “Okay. Pigeon. Maybe you’re too tired to meet everyone tonight. Maybe you need to meet my bed, first.” I laughed, a real, genuine, joyful laugh. Not only because of what he’d said, but because there would be a real, proper bed.

  “Let’s run!”

  Thanks for reading!

  If you liked this story, continue turning the pages to check out another that you may enjoy as well…

  * * *

  Find all of Britten’s books:

  Amazon Author Page

  Official Site

  Old Man’s Ride

  Stubborn, hot-headed Lily only had three options - get married, get on her back, or get the hell out of town. The local MC makes the rules, and they rule the town. She chooses to leave. Nobody tells her what to do. Nobody bosses her around.

  Until she meets Nomad. He’s the former president of the Dust Bowl Devils. When he offers her a ride to LA, she jumps onto the back of his bike without looking back. But he’s got a different sort of ride in mind…

  Warning: This 20,000+ word novella contains explicit language and graphic adult content including wild and rough sex between a young woman and a dominating older biker.

  Excerpt:

  “We’ll be staying in this town for a day or two,” he said as he stood. I followed him back outside. “I’ve got some business to attend to. You’ll wait in the motel unless I take you out, understand? You don’t go anywhere alone.”

  “What?!” That was just too much. He may have been doing me a favor, but I wasn’t his prisoner.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “How about you ask like someone that has some manners?”

  I knew I was being deliberately shitty. I couldn’t help it. I was stressed and far from home, and his calm about the whole situation was making me angry. “Care to tell me what the fuck please, sir?”

  We’d reached his bike. He paused to kick the stand up, intending to walk it to the gas station just in the next lot. He didn’t look at me as he spoke. “Oh, honey. You’re going to pay for that.”

  I followed him to the gas pumps, a few steps behind. What did he mean by “pay”? I should have taken off right then. Fact was, I wasn’t his prisoner and I wasn’t his family, and if I wanted to run screaming, no one would take his side. Hell, he might not even try to follow me. I could make my own way to LA, or to anyplace else. But something stopped me.

  That hint of promise in his threat.

  Bondage Beneath the Big Top

  Daisy is a dancer in Maxwell's Spectacular, a traveling carnival in the early 20th century. Arthur is the show's new strongman, and the most handsome one any of the other performers have ever seen. He's a quiet and mysterious man, but when Daisy feels a spark between them, she feels she has no choice but to explore it.

  Will the dangers of traveling carnival life come between them? Will her outspoken nature push him away, or will the storm of his desires bring her willingly to her knees?

  Warning: This 14,500 word short contains explicit language and graphic adult content, including first time BDSM experiences, bondage, spanking, whipping, and various sex acts between two carnival performers.

  Excerpt:

  Daisy walked towards their show tent, intending to stretch and practice on the stage while it was free and empty, but her feet carried her beyond the main tent and out amongst the wagons.

  She found Arthur’s easily - the tall, red one, that appeared to be sagging on its wheels. Determined to stop being a coward, set aside her silly feelings, and stop avoiding him, she marched up and knocked on the door.

  “It’s open.” He didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard - it was booming enough on its own. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

  Arthur had his own wagon because it would have been impossible to fit another bed inside. There wasn’t even room for a chair, though he had a small table the back, covered in books. His strongman costumes dangled from a curtain rod above it.

  He was lying on his back on his bed, reading. The book looked oddly tiny in his huge hands. If she’d stumbled upon the scene at another time, she’d find it almost comical. Now, she straightened her back. He glanced up from the book, then back down.

  Not good. He wasn’t happy to see her. “I never properly thanked you for chasing that creep away the other night,” she said.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Well, I’m thanking you, now.”

  He looked up, raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t so grateful then.”

  “Well you were rude.” She put her hands on her hips. “Nobody talks to me that way, not ever.”

  He closed his book and studied her for a moment, then rose to his feet. He stood directly in front of her, looming so she had to tilt her head back, even lean a little, just to see his face. She stood her ground, but felt the fight leaving her. Suddenly, she felt very small. “What I mean to say is, I... I...” she stammered.

  “What you meant to say is, I was right.” He was so close she could smell him - sweat from practicing in the morning, hay from being near the horses, a faint hint of cigar smoke. Her knees trembled. What was wrong with her?

  “I wouldn’t say that,” she said, annoyed at herself for sounding less confident, “You made some good points, but-”

&nb
sp; “I was right. You made a poor choice to flit out of that tent unescorted, and you brought your friend into danger with you.”

  “When you put it like that-”

  “You were bad.” He growled the last word, and it sent a thrill through her, straight down between her legs. Again? she thought. How did he manage to have such an effect on her? Who was he, to call her “bad”? Yet in some strange way, it felt right.

  “I was bad,” she whispered, eyes locked on his. He leaned forward, planting his palms to either side of her, against the wall and the door. She felt crowded, trapped. Helpless. The huge man was frightening, but not in a "run for your life" way. More like "what is he going to do to me, and please do it now."

  “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson.” The tone of his voice - part threatening, part teasing - made her heart race. His face was so close. His green eyes bore into her, as if seeking something inside of her, something even she couldn’t see.

  “I can be good,” she said, squirming beneath the gaze, clamping her legs tight against the moisture gathering there.

  He took a loose lock of her hair between two fingers, twirled it around. She imagined those hands elsewhere on her, how warm, how encompassing they would be, and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, and he smirked.

  “No,” he said, and released the hair. “I don’t believe you. Girls like you only learn from punishment.”

  Punishment? What on earth was he talking about? Did it mean he would touch her? She abandoned all worries about what the other girls or Leonard or anyone else would think if they found out she'd come alone to Arthur's wagon. It made no difference if they found out what was happening, though she didn't know what it was herself. All she wanted was whatever Arthur wanted in that moment. And to have his hands on her.

  “What did you have in mind?” It came out like a squeak. That sort of question suggested acquiescence. A small grin touched just the corners of his mouth.

  “Go to the back. Put your hands and elbows on the table.”

  She obeyed without hesitation, though her mind race. Did this mean he was going to fuck her? It seemed pretty sudden. They hadn’t even kissed just once. Despite her brain’s objections, her body followed the instructions with alarming haste. She had to shove a few books aside, which in turn knocked more books off the table, but Arthur didn’t comment. She positioned herself over the desk as he’d demanded, and waited in silence.

  Crack! His hand came down on her ass. She yelped in surprise. The impact shocked her more than it hurt, though her backside heated where he’d struck. A part of her wanted to turn and snarl at him, scream at him or hit him back, but something held her hands firmly on the table. Something bowed her head and raised her ass, ready for the next assault. He’d awakened something unknown, something a little scary deep inside her that she’d always buried, ignored.