Pack Challenge

Chapter Six

TOC

The arguing about clothes started as soon as Sara had picked Miki and Angelina up that evening. The moment they were both in the vehicle, Angelina and Miki started yelling. That was at 6:00. Sara looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was now 10:20 and these two bitches were still at it. Well, she really wanted to go to this party, so she wasn’t waiting a minute longer.

“She is not wearing that.”

“And exactly what is wrong with this?” Miki asked as she held up a long, but very pretty sun dress.

“She’s not a nun. She’s a horny girl that needs to get laid. The least we can do, as her friends, is help her out. That’s why she should wear this.” Angelina held up the tiny black hot pants she still had clutched in her hand.

“That’s just trashy,” Miki snapped. “She’s not going out like that. EVER.”

The two friends stopped arguing as Sara walked by them. She didn’t even glance in their direction as she headed straight for the front door. Her hair was tied into a loose French braid. She wore a green camouflage skirt that landed just above her knee, a slit up the left side of her leg. Her favorite old pair of black cowboy boots, her thin but deadly weapon concealed inside its leather. And a green tank top. For good measure, she even had on her black cowboy hat pulled low in front of her face.

She stormed out of her house, but not before yelling back at her two friends, “You two bitches coming or what?”

“Little party?” That was the third time Miki had muttered that. It started an hour ago as they waited in a long line of cars heading to the park. Then they waited for a parking space. Now they were standing in a long line of people waiting to get into what was clearly a huge all-night rave. A well-organized, well-run rave.

“Christ, would you quit complaining.” Angelina was already grooving to the pounding music. “Just relax.” Sara shook her head. The girl could enjoy herself anywhere. Even in line.

It took awhile but they finally made it to the entrance. Large hulking men took money and checked for weapons, which seemed to relax Miki.

Sara stood in front of them. She was hoping this thing wouldn’t cost a fortune. She only had $50 in her pocket.

The largest of the men, looked down at Sara. He stared at her and, for a moment, she was worried he some how saw the long, thin blade she had hidden in her boot. Instead he nodded. “Go on in.”

Sara was confused, “I… uh…”

“What’s up?” Angelina asked from behind her.

“They can go too.”

“But…”

“You’re on the list.”

Except he hadn’t checked his list. He hadn’t done anything. Just kind of looked at her.

“Sweet!” Angelina cheered. “Let’s go.”

Before Sara could ask any questions, Angelina shoved her past the men and into a huge clearing. In the center were a couple hundred people dancing. Booths selling food, liquor, and T-shirts, separated the clearing from the dense forest that the three friends had hunted in more than once.

Sara had never seen anything like this before. She had gone to quite a few raves in her less than wild past, but they were always near or in Austin. This was her boring home town. Raves didn’t come out this far.

Angelina stood next to her and, her beautiful face flush with excitement, raised both arms in the air and let out a “Whoooowho! This fuckin’ rocks!” She grabbed Sara’s arm and yanked her right into the dancing, writhing crowd. Miki followed and for the first time in a long time, Sara saw her smile.

It had been a couple of years since the last rave they had gone to. Miki had school and two jobs. Angelina had her own business, although she never seemed to be there—“that’s why I have a staff.” And now that they knew there was no biker gang waiting to drug them, rape them, and send them off to Taiwan to be whores—Miki’s contention—the three friends silently decided that on this clear, chill night they would relax and just have a good time.

Zach easily caught the beer that Conall tossed at his head without his eyes ever leaving the partying crowd.

“Crowd looks pretty good tonight, huh?” Conall walked behind Zach, his own beer grasped firmly in hand.

“Guess.” Zach took a long gulp, and went back to scanning the crowd.

“Not here yet, is she?”

Zach glanced at his friend. “Who?”

“Zach, don’t bullshit me.” Conall smirked.

He was right, of course. Zach was looking for her. He couldn’t stop himself from looking for her. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she shoved her tongue in his mouth.

“Oh, her.” He tried to sound disinterested. “Yates still wants me babysitting her. That’s all.”

“Yeah. That’s all.” Conall could at least pretend to buy his brand of bullshit.

“She’s probably not coming anyway. Your big-mouthed girlfriend probably talked her out of it.”

“I have to ask you not to call the woman I love my girlfriend…she’s my future wife!” Zach shook his head as Conall grinned. “Besides, that Latina was definitely coming and I’m thinking she’s not coming here without ‘em.”

Zach hoped Conall was right. He needed to see her. To prove to himself that she wasn’t anything but a distraction. A problem to be solved. Nothing more. Yeah, right.

It was the “Whoooowho! This fuckin’ rocks!” that caught his and Conall’s attention. Christ, these women were loud.

Zach looked through the crowd, his eyes picking up images that others would never see. He caught sight of her pretty quickly. The Latina was dragging Sara and the other one to the middle of the rave. This was definitely not their first all-night rave. They had no purses. No jackets. And they were prepared to sweat the night away. The Latina—Angelina, right?—had her long hair in a pony tail, allowing the black bustier she was wearing to be seen in all its tight, form-fitting glory. Plus, baggy blue jeans and sneakers. And the thong peeking out from under her jeans was a nice touch. The other one had on a tight belly shirt displaying a gorgeous set of abs that he could hear Conall growling over, shorts, and hiking boots. Sara was sporting a tank top, green camouflage skirt with cowboy boots, and a hat that on anyone else he would have said looked stupid. But it worked for her. Although he figured she was wearing it to hide the scar on her face, the logic of which completely escaped him.

Sara didn’t dance. Her damaged leg prevented that. But she moved really well. Nothing elaborate or fancy. And her moves weren’t exactly “stripper-hot,” which he and Conall had learned to appreciate over the years. But whatever she did, it made his dick bang against the inside of his jeans demanding release…release into her.

Tragically, Conall was not fairing so well. “My. God. She is the worst dancer I’ve ever seen.”

Zach had forgotten there was anyone else at the rave until Conall spoke. His eyes shifted and he took in Miki’s idea of dancing. It was kind of sad…and frightening. But clearly she was having a good time.

“But,” Conall added, “Her ass looks great in those shorts.”

Zach shook his head, Conall was hopeless.

After about an hour of straight dancing, Miki motioned that the water bottle she had brought with her was empty. Sara and Miki moved through the crowd, leaving Angelina behind. She had found herself a nice crowd of beautiful boys to dance with and seemed happy enough.

“Great music, huh?” Miki asked when they had finally extricated themselves from the dancing crowd.

“Amazing!” There were European DJs here; she recognized several of them. How did some, to quote Miki, “low-life bikers” get amazing DJs like these to come out to the middle of nowhere?

The pair made their way to the edge of the park grounds. The first booth they hit was manned by two tall women.

“Is it me or a lot of these females mammoth size?” Miki muttered quietly, almost to herself. Almost. Clearly the two women heard her as they turned and glared.

“Two waters,” Sara asked quickly hoping she wasn’t about to get in one of those fights caused by Miki’s big mouth.

One of the women moved over to them and looked at Sara. Looked at her hard for several long seconds. Uh-oh, I am going to have to fight. Fuckin’ Miki! She thought desperately as the woman reached under the fold-out table and grabbed two waters and handed them to Sara.

Sara, releasing a breath, went to pull cash out of her back pocket but the woman stopped her. “Take it. No charge.”

Sara looked up at the sign that clearly listed water bottle prices. And the tiny bottles she held were $5 each. This was getting weird.

“Why?”

“Take the water and go.” The woman turned her back to them and went back to her friend.

“What the hell…”

“Hi.” Sara and Miki turned to find Miki’s big blond stalker standing next to them. He nodded at Sara but smiled at Miki.

“Hi,” Sara answered. “Nice little party.”

“Thanks. Name’s Conall.” It was like Sara and the other 300 people weren’t even there.

Miki nodded, “Great.”

It was in fact physically painful to watch Miki and Conall stand there, with absolutely no idea what to say next. “Well.” Miki glanced at Sara, but when her friend offered no assistance, she decided to make a break for it. “Bye.” Miki took her bottle of water and walked off.

Sara’s head tilted to the side as she watched the dejected expression on Conall’s face. She just couldn’t help herself, “Well, don’t just stand there. Go get her.”

“I think she hates me.”

“Are you kidding? She really likes you. She’s just shy.”

“Really?” He disappeared into the crowd, looking for the elusive Miki.

Sara let out a laugh as she realized that Miki would make her pay dearly for this tomorrow.

“Having a good time fuckin’ with my friend?”

Or she may be paying for it a lot sooner.

He was behind her. His breath in her ear, as he leaned into her. He didn’t touch her, but her entire body was on fire wanting him to touch her.

“I didn’t…” She couldn’t even finish her sentence. This was getting just ridiculous. She forced her body to move away from him. “Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she snapped as she turned to face him. Great. The sleeveless Harley T-shirt he wore, revealing large tanned muscular arms sporting tattoos on both triceps and his left forearm, was not helping her keep her composure, “And I’m sure your sturdy friend there can take care of himself.”

“Against her? Are you kidding? That girl’s mean as a snake.”

“No, she’s… Don’t talk about my friends.”

“Don’t mess with mine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The two stood staring at each other. And Sara didn’t know whether to punch him in the stomach or lick the black tribal tattoo on his right shoulder.

In order to avoid both, she turned and walked away. She’d gotten several feet when she realized he was walking beside her. She stopped, “What?”

“I didn’t say a word.”

Sara took several more steps but realized he was still there with her. She stopped again, this time turning to face him. “What are you doing?”

“Living life to its fullest.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed, “Go away.”

“Why?” Zach leaned into her, but still didn’t touch her, “Do I make you nervous?”

She snorted, “Please. I’ve known tougher gangs than you people.” She started walking again, but stopped short when she realized he was no longer walking with her. It was what she had asked for but she didn’t expect him to actually listen. She looked back at him, “What?”

“Well,” he slowly moved toward her. His muscles just rippled. It was driving her crazy. “At first, I stopped because I didn’t know why you were calling me a gang member. Then I was just watching your ass move in that skirt. That pretty much kept me rooted to the spot.”

Sara rubbed her nose to hide a smile. “Sorry I insulted you. Do you prefer Motorcycle Club?”

“You do know that we’re not some kind of biker gang, right?”

Of course they were. How could they not be? Groups of grown adults didn’t move around in packs, living together and throwing wild raves if they weren’t a gang.

“We just like to ride. We like the freedom.”

“Then you guys are…”

“Business partners. We own and operate a bunch of clubs.”

“Really?” Sara took a sip of her water as Zach dug into the back pocket of his jeans. She would love to dig into the back pocket of his jeans herself.

Jesus, girl! Get a grip.

“Here.” He handed her a business card. It was on high-quality card stock and the letters were embossed, but all it had was his name, Zach Sheridan, and a cell phone number.

Sara held the card up, “And?”

“Only reputable business people have business cards.”

Sara loved his sarcasm. It was so ridiculous. “And the Hells Angels have their own Web sites. They sell T-shirts.” Sara started walking again. Her leg was starting to tighten up. She was desperately hoping that she could walk the pain off. She didn’t want the night to end. She was, as much as she hated to admit it, having a great time with Zach. He was a fun idiot.

But she had yet to figure out why this guy was spending any time with her. There were women around this place who would drop to their knees at just a wink from him. She watched them watch him. And yet he seemed to be ignoring them completely. She wondered what he was up to. What was the man thinking?

I’d give my eye teeth just to have this woman sitting on my face right now.

“Pole.”

“What?”

“You’re about to walk into a…” Zach walked face first into a pole between two booths. “…pole.”

Zach took a step back and grabbed his forehead. “Motherfucker!”

“Don’t be a whiner.” Sara turned him so that he faced her, pulling his hands down from his face. “Here. Let me see.” She put her hands on his expansive shoulders and lowered him so that she could examine his head. “I don’t even think you’ll have a bruise.”

“Will you nurse me back to health if it’s a concussion?”

Sara smiled, “No. I’ll leave you alone. Naked. Food for the wolves.”

“Naked, huh?”

“Therapy.” She pushed him away or, at the very least, tried. “For many, like you, it’s a viable option.” She walked past him, hoping he didn’t hear her voice catch, or see that her nipples were burrowing a hole through her tank top.

Zach was doing his best to keep some semblance of self-control around Sara. But she wasn’t making it easy on him. Letting him walk into poles. Touching his shoulders. Using the word “naked.”

And the woman was completely oblivious to the hold she had over him. She was looking at everyone but him. Constantly scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of trouble. He realized that while her friends partied and danced she watched their backs and her own.

What an amazing female. The perfect wolf. The perfect mate.

Zach slapped the back of his neck to stop the treacherous errant thought. Sara looked up startled.

“Mosquito.”

“Bet he’s really dead now.”

“You know, we should go out some time.”

Sara stopped. “So, let me guess. Is this ‘get the townie in to bed’ or do you and your buddies have a bet about who can nail the cripple?”

Zach turned and looked at her. Simply stared. But when that big grin spread across his face, Sara didn’t know whether to run or just scream for help. “You are one mean bitch.”

He didn’t say it with any malice. In fact, he sounded kind of… turned on. Sara took a step back. He took a step toward her. “I do make you nervous.”

“Bullshit.” Well, at least she sounded like she meant that.

Zach’s hand reached for her shoulder. Sara stood her ground even though she felt like high-tailing it out of there and heading home to her nice boring house. His fingers went to the Celtic tattoo on her shoulder. He traced the design with his forefinger. She felt her throat get dry and her pussy get wet.

“You know,” His voice was low, like a caress across her skin, “You are an amazing piece of work.”

She raised an eyebrow, “I’m a bitch. I know it and I’ve learned to accept that flaw in my character.”

“Sounds like you embrace it.”

“And if I do, what do you care?” Zach’s fingers slid past her tattoo and up to her throat. She fought the urge to flinch, thinking that he was going to touch the scarred part of her face. She’d never let anyone that close to her. Not her friends. Not her ex-boyfriends. Nobody. And she wasn’t about to let Zach get that close either. Besides, she was feeling that desire again. That desire to lick his tattoo or punch him in the stomach.

“Nice hat, by the way.” He muttered softly. So, it was going to be the punch in the stomach. Good. That she could handle.

Then she was down on one knee, the pain in her leg nearly blinding her. She gasped for air, trying not to scream. Trying not to die merely from the pain alone.

But this was Texas. Someone must have a gun here. Surely they could shoot her in the head, put her out of her misery. She wanted to yell, “Somebody kill me!” But she was gritting her teeth against just screaming blindly.

Until she felt strong arms around her and a deep voice in her ear, “Hold on. I got ya.”

“Get. Off. Me.”

She heard him chuckle, “Get the fuck over it.”

One minute she looked like she was about to punch him in the face, he knew that hat comment would get her, looking more and more aroused the more he touched her. Then she just dropped, biting back a scream of pure pain. And before he knew it, he was lifting her off the ground and taking her away as quickly as possible. He saw the others watching her. Smelling her weakness. Hearing the cry of pain she was desperately, admirably, trying to stifle.

He took her away from the rave. Into the woods that he and Conall had just been hunting a few hours before. They had found a small shack that had been deserted for what looked to be decades and it would give her some time to get over the pain. Get her strength back. And he would be there in case she needed some medical attention or something. He was just going to be there as her babysitter. Just what Yates asked him to do. Nothing more.

Yeah, right.

Sara felt herself being lowered onto something hard and sturdy. She opened her eyes, easy enough now that the pain had begun to subside, and looked around what appeared to be a less-than-pleasing shack.

“Where the hell am I?”

Zach lit a lantern that one of the Pack had left behind. “Feeling better?”

Sara looked down at the dirty, dust-covered cabinet she was sitting on. “Nice digs.”

“Well, you know, we try.” Zach stood in front of her. “So, feel better or what?”

Wow, he just radiated warmth and charm. “Much better thank you. I’m ready to go back.”

“No,” he stated simply.

Yup, she still wanted to punch him in the face.

“Does the pain get like that a lot?”

Sara shrugged casually, “No. Not really.” He knew she was lying. She saw it on his handsome face. “It didn’t used to, but lately…” Sara had to stop because suddenly she was crying. She had been fighting the pain and terror for months. She hadn’t even told Miki and Angelina. She didn’t want them to worry. They’d insist she go into the hospital. But Lynette had always warned “Hospitals only kill ya.” And, except for the constant pain, she’d been remarkably healthy her entire life. Besides, what exactly where they going to do for her now? After all these years? So she’d decided to just live with the pain. And she had. Successfully, in fact. Until now.

Sara buried her face in her hands and quietly wept for several moments. Until he touched her. Not on the shoulder or her knee. He touched her scar. Problem was she had successfully hidden it under her skirt. Her sexy slit wasn’t even on that side.

With a growl Sara’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before it could move further up her leg. “What the hell?”

“I needed you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Only thing I could think of.” She tried to push his arm away, but it was like steel and it wasn’t moving. Didn’t help he was smiling at her. And that he had the sweetest smile she had ever seen. She wanted to slap that smile right off his face. Smug prick.

“You know, it’s amazing you lasted this long. After what you’ve been through.”

“You being a smart ass?”

“If I were being a smart ass I’d say something else about your hat.”

Sara tore the hat off her head, “Happy now?!”

“Thrilled.” He muttered as he pried her hand off his arm. Once accomplished, he pushed her skirt up above her scar.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He lied as he ran his hand over her thigh. For once she didn’t feel any pain. Far from it. All she felt was an intense pleasure, although she was doing her best not to enjoy it. The bastard wasn’t even looking at her. He just kept watching his own hand move over her flesh. The other hand joining in to move along the back of her knee and the bit of exposed calf above her boot. She watched his hands too. Marveling at how big they were. They had light scars, faded over time. Nails clipped or bitten down as low as possible without hitting the quick. Tanned from exposure to the sun. And now these tanned scarred hands were slipping between her thighs and slowly pulling her legs apart.

She bolted straight up, but he shook his head, still not looking at her. “Don’t. You’re distracting me.”

Distracting him? Was he serious? She was distracting him?

His right hand moved back to massaging her scar while his left hand went deeper between her thighs. His thumb ran along the seam of her ultra-fancy “Jockey For Her” bikini briefs, for about three seconds before he simply ripped them off. Sara gasped, her body jerking forward. And, before she could stop herself, she slammed her lips against his. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, while his thumb slipped between the folds of her sex. She leaned into his hand and his thumb slowly circled her clit.

Sara moaned into his mouth. Her arm went around his neck, but he pulled back and pushed her away.

If he stops I’m going to wring his big neck, she thought. But instead his hands went under her hips and roughly pulled her to the edge of the cabinet she was on. He crouched down and pushed his head between her legs, and Sara grabbed the sides of the cabinet and held on for dear life.

She knew she should stop him. She knew she should slap his face and limp off, her head held high. She should be home, safe—and alone—in bed watching another episode of “Seinfeld” for the 4000 time. She definitely shouldn’t be here, leaning back, letting a stranger bury his head between her legs and ever so slowly swirl his tongue around her clit, taking up were his finger had left off. She shouldn’t. But she didn’t want to stop him. Instead, she snaked her hands through his brown hair and spread her legs farther apart. And then, to ensure her place as a slut, she arched her back and pulled his head closer into her. She felt him chuckle against her burning flesh and a low growl erupted from her throat.

She felt his big hands gripping her thighs, holding her steady as he worked his tongue around and in her. When he began to swipe his tongue up and down her clit, her growl became a scream as an orgasm tore from her gut and straight up her spine. She gripped his head tighter as the orgasm rolled through her and his tongue kept moving and licking, bringing on wave after wave of killer pleasure. In the same moment, she felt a sharp pain in her thigh where her scar was, but it only lasted a second and was gone. Compared to what she’d put up with the last few months, she barely noticed it.

Panting, Sara leaned back against the wall. Her eyes closed, her fingers finally loosening from his thick hair. He slowly began to pull away but not before he licked the inside of her thigh which, inexplicably, Sara found really sweet.

Sara thought she might go to sleep right there. In this dingy little shack. But the sound of cloth ripping forced her to open her eyes. Zach had taken off his T-shirt and was ripping several strips of material. She marveled at his body. Tanned skin stretched over thick muscles as broad shoulders and chest narrowed into a tapered waist. The bastard simply had no idea how gorgeous he was, or the affect he had on her.

“Looks like I scratched your leg a bit.”

She looked at her thigh but he had already begun wrapping material around it. But she really didn’t give a shit. Right at the moment, she didn’t give a shit about anything.

Until she heard Miki screaming her name a few hundred feet from the shack she was in. The thought of having to explain this to her friends was just too much. Without thinking she snapped to attention, kneeing Zach right in the face. “Oh, sorry,” she muttered absently. She pushed him out of the way, slammed her hat back on her head, and charged out the door.

Zach sat on the floor of what even he would consider a hovel. Shirtless. His favorite T-shirt in shreds. His jaw in complete agony from where her knee had slammed into it. And he was busy trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He had one simple mission for himself when he brought her here. To stop her pain. It was killing her. He could see that as plainly as her cute little nose. And he figured he needed to try Marrec’s suggestion of bleeding her. From there he decided that explaining the truth would just scare her off, so he had to distract her some how. Okay. Simple enough. She seemed to be enjoying his hands on her, so why not a little hand job? Couldn’t hurt. 5 minutes out of his day. That was the plan. But the more he rubbed her leg, the more his dick got hard. The more she made that little sound in the back of her throat, the more his dick got hard. And then she kissed him. Like that first night, but she wasn’t drunk. She knew exactly what she was doing and that made it even hotter. She wanted him. And before he knew it, he was on his knees, his face buried in her pussy. He could still feel her hands in his hair and hear that little growling sound she made…

Zach gave a growl of his own and stood up. “Fuck this shit.” He angrily yanked off his boots and jeans. Standing naked in the middle of the room, he shifted.

A few minutes later, a 200-pound dark brown wolf silently padded out of the shack. He smelled her scent in the air and knew exactly the direction she had gone to meet up with her friends—he turned and trotted off the opposite way.