Read Online Captive Ride by Ella Goode - Free Book Online Page A

says Thrasher. He’s the Bandits’ enforcer. Like Michigan, he’s just watching but it’s early yet. He might find a sweet butt he can’t keep away from once all his boys have bedded down.
    “Can’t have a mash without a few willing women.”
    “You boys care a little too much about a sweet butt’s age. Michigan’s more strict than a Chicago bar.” The toothpick in the corner of his mouth barely moves as he talks.
    “We’ve got liquor and a bunch of horny guys running around. Being careful is why we’ve been here for generations.”
    “Nothing like the tight hole of a virgin,” Thrasher muses. “Hear there’s a club up north specializing in that kind of treat for visiting clubs.”
    “Then you should’ve rode straight up there if that’s your thing because it’s not something the Death Lords will ever have on the menu.”
    “Don’t tell me now that Judge has hooked up with permanent pussy that you guys are turning into a choir group.”
    The slaps of flesh on flesh are starting to bore me. Giving the room a quick perusal, it appears everyone is here willingly. There’s a Death Lords patch with a woman bouncing on his lap and a prospect the Bandits brought with them taking in the entire scene. He reminds me of Abel, one of our prospects who’s so fresh out of the Marines, he still smells like mortar and sweat. I like the looks of the prospect more than any of the other Bandits here. Pushing away from the wall I was leaning against, I grab Thrasher by the neck. He jerks in surprise but my grip is relentless. “You talk shit about Judge’s old lady like that again and one of us will reach down your throat and pull your colon out through your mouth.”
    The three other Bandits in the room stand and the sex acts grind to a halt. Robot, the Death Lords patch, has his trusty ten-inch liner lock knife in his hand, blade flipped out. I give him a tiny shake and he folds the blade inside the handle.
    I release Thrasher with a small shove. “You know old ladies are untouchable.”
    He strokes his throat. He smiles but his eyes are burning with anger. “Yeah. ’Course. Meant no disrespect.”
    Holding back my snort, I give a nod toward the occupants of the room. “This is a party. Go forth and have a fucking good time.”
    Robot follows me out, dragging his sweet butt with him. “Give them ten minutes and then clear the girls out.”
    “They were having a good time,” Robot says. “Everyone in there was willing.”
    “Oh yeah, Tracey’s the girl on the table and the mash is all she’s been talking about all week.” A brown-haired girl with a pixie face looks up earnestly at me and then Robot. “But we’d rather be with a Death Lord, if we had the choice.”
    I chuck her under the chin. “It’s early yet. Plenty of Death Lords to be had later tonight. Plus you got Robot here. Never heard of a girl complaining who had the attention of this dude.”
    Robot rolls his eyes and pulls the giggly girl back into the room. At the end of the hall, I see Michigan waiting for me.
    “There trouble inside?”
    “Not yet. Just visitors talking trash. Judge having an old lady is a big surprise.”
    Michigan rubs a hand across his chin and then heads downstairs. I follow him to the front of the granary where he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers me one. I shake my head. I’m pissed he’s smoking again, but I’m not his keeper. I’m his best friend.
    “What do you think Pastor Bloom would do if I sat in a pew on Sunday?” I ask. He blows out a stream of smoke but doesn’t answer. I press on. “She’s a hot little thing. Just our type.”
    With a grunt, he sucks the cancer stick down until it’s more ash than tobacco. Finally he throws the piece of shit on the ground and grinds it out with his boot heel. “You’re a fucking fool if you think that Annie Bloom has any interest in roughnecks like us individually or together. She’s not the type.”
    “You ask her?”
    He grits his teeth. “I