The 7: Pride, Page 2

  An extremely muscular man with shoulder-length brown hair and arms covered in tattoos stood amidst the three assholes who were trying to destroy my life.

  Wearing worn jeans, boots, and a white wife beater, the new patron looked rough.

  A safe kind of rough.

  Having spent most of my life on military bases, I recognized most military insignia tattoos. One of his many tattoos stood out against the others. At least to me. The US Marine Corps’ Eagle, Globe, and Anchor provided me with hope that he would at least have enough courage to challenge the men for what they had been doing.

  “Come here.” He extended his left hand and helped me from the booth. “Get in your car and go. I’ll take care of this,” he assured me.

  I had no idea who he was, but of everyone in the bar, I felt he was the only man I could trust. I straightened my panties, buttoned my shorts, and stepped to his side. “My car’s broke down on the highway,” I said. “I walked here.”

  He reached for his wrist, removed a hair tie, and quickly twisted his hair away from his face. “Go stand by the black Harley in the parking lot.”

  “Just havin’ a little fun,” the one who was trying to pull off my panties said.

  “You’re a fucking liar,” I snapped. “You were ripping my clothes off.”

  The other two men spread out, stepping to the side of the idiot who was fondling me. I wasn’t about to go to the parking lot and leave my would-be savior alone. I was madder than I was scared, and I wanted to see someone pay for what happened to me. I walked to the edge of the bar and waited.

  “Hey, hair tree. There’s no fightin’ in this bar. The boys was just havin’ fun,” the bartender said.

  “Busting my lip and trying to gang fuck me isn’t having fun, you asshole,” I snarled.

  One of the idiots turned his hat around backward and raised his fists. Apparently he was ready to fight.

  Or, so he thought.

  The man with the ponytail kicked his right foot into the chin of the asshole standing in front of him, knocking him to the floor. Before the other two men could react, he spun in a circle, hitting one of them with the back side of his fist. His free hand then shot toward the third man’s throat.

  In a matter of five seconds, all three men were on the floor, moaning. The distinct sound of a pump shotgun being pumped shifted my attention toward the bar.

  The bartender pointed the barrel directly at my Ponytail donning friend.

  Where the fuck was that when I was being raped, asshole?

  “It’s over. Get your long-haired ass out of here before you get yourself shot, stranger.”

  Ponytail turned toward the bartender. “You might want to put that away before I take it from you.” he scoffed.

  “I’m not playin’,” the bartender said.

  Ponytail coughed a dry laugh. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking?”

  Slowly and methodically, Ponytail walked toward the bar. Pete’s drunken eyes widened with each step he took. By the time the he reached the bar, Pete was off his stool and against the far wall. The bartender stood with the shotgun leveled, the shaking barrel a clear expression of his underlying fear.

  Now standing within arm’s reach of the bartender with the barrel of the shotgun just a few inches from his face, Ponytail gave his demand. “I’ve killed more men than I can count, and adding you to the list wouldn’t bother me one fucking bit. You should have pulled that shotgun on the three pricks who were raping the poor girl, you worthless motherfucker. Now, put it down before you piss me off.”

  The bartender lowered the shotgun slightly. As the barrel reached the height of the bar, Ponytail pulled it from the bartender’s hands with lightning-fast speed.

  Holy shit.

  With his eyes fixed on the bartender, he disassembled the shogun, tossed half of it on the floor, and turned toward me with the barrel in his hand. He nodded toward the row of empty booths.

  “Is that your purse?” he asked.

  Shit.

  I stared for a few seconds before I responded. I couldn’t help it. Despite what had happened, my mind was thirty seconds into a daydream about my savior lathering himself up in a shower while I sucked his cock and drank champagne.

  I shook my head in an effort to clear it of my lustful visions. “Yes,” I responded. “Thank you.”

  He bent down and picked it up. “Ever ridden on a bike?”

  He was intimidating. Not the scary kind. The holy shit this guy is hot kind. I swallowed hard and gave an affirmative nod.

  “Yeah,” I lied.

  He pushed the door open and gestured toward a black Harley sitting beside the door. “Guess we’ll get a beer somewhere else, huh?”

  He’d just saved me from being gang raped and possibly killed, and acted like it was nothing. I admired the black and chrome motorcycle and feigned indifference. “Guess so.”

  He tossed the barrel of the shotgun toward the far end of the parking lot. It bounced across the gravel with hollow clanking sound, eventually coming to rest in the weeds of an adjoining field.

  Without expression, he tilted his head toward the motorcycle. “Saddle up.”

  I had no idea who he was, where he was from, or why he stumbled into the bar when he did. I really didn’t care. I did know that he saved me from being gang raped by no less than three sickening pigs, and I was beyond grateful for that.

  I got my sunglasses out of my purse and raised my leg over the seat. “I’m Anna.” I lowered my tone to a whisper. “Anna Marie Mc Cay.”

  “Knox,” he said. “Fisher Knox. And you better hold on, I ride hard.”

  I never would have guessed.

  TWO

  Fisher

  I expected to fix Anna’s car and send her on her way, but the piece of shit was beyond repair. As a result, the amber-eyed would-be rape victim became a permanent passenger on the back of my bike – at least for the day.

  After riding all afternoon and evening in the hot Texas sun, we stopped for the night at a seedy motel outside El Paso.

  “It’s not that bad.” She pressed her hand against the corner of the bed. “It thought it was going to be awful.”

  “It’s better than what I’m used to, that’s for sure.”

  She stretched, arching her back as she did so, and then smiled. Her dirty blond hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and the glow of her deeply tanned skin gave hint that she’d spent the day in the sun.

  I was physically exhausted from spending ten hours on the bike, but my male anatomy didn’t seem to realize it. At least not when I looked at her for any length of time. As I promptly changed from flaccid to stiff, I turned toward the far wall.

  I peered beyond the sun-bleached drapes. My eyes came to focus on the dilapidated office situated at the end of the ‘L’ shaped row of run-down motel rooms.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I was simply trying to regain control of my stiff cock. I knew if I spent any time looking at her, I’d never win the struggle.

  “Just tired.” I glanced in her direction. “If you want to shower first, I’ll get my bedroll situated.”

  She cocked her hip and gave me a look. “Bedroll?”

  “Sleeping bag.” I gestured toward my pile of belongings situated just inside the door. “Or whatever you want to call it.”

  “The bed’s big enough for both of us,” she said.

  When I combined the three years I’d been in the Marine Corps to the seven-year sentence I served in federal prison, I came up with ten years.

  In short, it had been a decade since I’d been with a woman. Despite my cock’s desires, I needed to do what was right. Fucking a girl who was nearly gang raped eight hours prior wasn’t going to earn me a pass through the pearly gates, I knew that much.

  My gaze fell to my boots. “Probably not a good idea.”

  She pulled the hair tie from her ponytail, and then began to rake the tangles from her hair with the tips of her fingers. “Why?”

 
I took another quick look at her, admiring her silky-smooth legs as I did so. I shifted my eyes to the parking lot. “Did a three-year tour in the Marines. Got shipped from Afghanistan to prison for shooting an unarmed man, and did a seven-year bit in federal prison for manslaughter.”

  “Been out for...” I glanced at my watch. “About twelve hours. Bought that bike and this gear, and then ran into you.”

  “Oh. Wow,” she said. “You just got out.”

  “I sure did.”

  “Did you learn your lesson, or whatever?”

  I laughed. I’d learned a lesson or two, but it had nothing to do with being locked up. All I had to do was take an honest look at the sequence of events that got me to prison.

  “My life’s black and white, and I always do what’s right. At least that’s my intention. There wasn’t really a lesson for me to learn while I was locked up. It’s not what you’re probably thinking.”

  “Okay. Well, at least it’s over.”

  My time in prison was over, but my experiences in combat were going to live with me forever.

  I let out a breath. “After what happened over there, I figure I’ve got a lot of making up to do with the man.”

  Her eyes thinned slightly. “The man?”

  I pointed my index finger toward the ceiling.

  “Oh.” She grinned. “Him.”

  “Yeah, Him.”

  “I don’t think he’ll care if we sleep in the same bed.”

  “If we sleep? I’m guessing not. If we…” I cocked my head to the side and gave her a look. “Considering what happened at the bar, if we, you know, I’d feel like I took advantage of you.”

  “You mean, if we boned?”

  I chuckled a dry laugh. “Yeah.”

  “I just started my lady days,” she said with an awkward smile. “So, there’ll be none of that.”

  “Alright, then.”

  “Not that I’m not interested. It’s just…”

  “Understood,” I said.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she asked, her tone innocent and soft.

  “Sure.”

  “If you were a Marine, why were you charged with killing someone when you were at war?”

  “It was a strange series of circumstances. I’ve always said everything happens for a reason. I’m sure there was one. I suppose I’ll figure it out one of these days.”

  “You’re not mad that it happened to you?”

  “Mad?” I shook my head. “I’m not mad. Disappointed, maybe.”

  She grinned. “I like your attitude.”

  I dragged the rubber band out of my hair and shook my head. “I like your eyes.”

  “They feel like they’ve got sand in them. I’ll take a shower, and then we can relax.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She took a few steps toward the bathroom, and then peered over her shoulder. “You haven’t been with a woman in ten years?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Not even…”

  “Other than watch one walk past, no.”

  She looked me up and down, and then met my gaze. “Do you want to shower together?”

  I gawked at her in disbelief of what she’d asked. The look on my face prompted her to continue.

  “Just a shower, nothing else,” she said. “Since you saved me from those monsters, I’ve spent eight hours hugging you. I know we’ve been on the motorcycle and all, but I haven’t let you go all day. I feel like we’ve known each other for longer than a day.” She turned to face me. “Can you do that? Just take a shower?”

  My cock was hard enough that it could cut diamonds, but she didn’t seem to care – or notice. The thought of showering with her excited me and filled me with apprehension.

  I’d been out of prison for all of twelve hours. I had no idea where my life was headed, but for the time being, it really didn’t matter.

  What mattered was standing in front of me in cut-off jean shorts and a pair of worn sneakers. Her hair was a matted mess, she was sunburned, and her once white tee shirt was stained from sweat and the blowing West Texas dirt.

  Yet.

  She looked beautiful.

  In the end, it was my responsibility to not only recognize her as being so, but to make her feel that way. Taking a shower with her wasn’t the answer.

  “I’m sure I could, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m fresh out of prison, and you’re fresh out of a sexual assault. Neither of us are going to be able to make our best decisions right now. Let’s keep things simple between us, at least for now.”

  “Okay.” With a content soft smile, she turned toward the bathroom. “That’s probably what’s best.”

  As I watched her walk to the shower, I was amazed at how she could achieve the impossible. Somehow, Anna Marie Mc Cay raised the bar on just how hard my cock could get.

  Keeping my hands to myself wasn’t going to be easy by any means.

  But, then again, my life had never been easy.

  THREE

  Anna

  My original goal was simply to separate myself from my boyfriend. It wasn’t one of those the farther away the better scenarios, all I needed to do was escape his abusive behavior. Despite my plan to go to San Antonio or Austin, I stood 900 miles in the opposite direction at a gas station parking lot in Tucson, Arizona, wondering at what point my impromptu road trip was going to end.

  Not that I wanted it to.

  Fisher Knox fascinated me. He was a walking contradiction of everything I’d grown to believe about men, society, and the military.

  He was a former Marine, but he sure didn’t look like it. His brown hair wasn’t cut in the traditional high-and-tight – it draped over his shoulders, and was longer than mine. He was an attractive man, but he didn’t make sexual advances toward me. Lastly, according to society, he was a murderer. Yet, he was kind, considerate, and caring.

  As he walked from inside the gas station toward where I was standing, I studied him. Dressed in a new pair of tight-fitting jeans, a wife beater, and black leather lace-up boots, he exemplified the type of man I’d spent my adult years lusting after.

  The shirt clung to him like a stark white layer of skin. His waist was small, and his stomach was flat, like the boys who played basketball in high school. His chest, however, was broad, like a weight lifter or a football player. It took everything within me to maintain even an ounce of ladylike behavior.

  I tore my eyes away from him and gazed out at the cactus rich horizon. For the past two nights, we’d slept in the same bed. He had yet to make any sexual advances toward me – or even joke about it for that matter. I’d gone from expecting it to desiring it, and the fact he wasn’t so much as trying was driving me insane.

  My sexual tension was at an all-time high.

  He stepped in front of me and raised his right hand between us. A plastic bag dangled from his clenched fist. “Didn’t have much, but Mesa’s only two hours away. Figured we’d stop there for the night. Egg rolls or fried burritos. Pick one.”

  I hadn’t eaten for six hours, and was miserably hungry. I playfully snatched the bag from his grasp and peered inside. Two egg rolls and two burritos were in the bottom of the bag, along with a handful of napkins.

  “I’ll have one of each,” I announced. “And you can have one of each.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve got to pick one or the other.”

  “One or the other?” I looked at him. “Seriously? Why?”

  “Life’s about making decisions and living with the consequences.” He gestured toward the bag. “Pick one.”

  There weren’t any consequences associated with eating a fried burrito that I knew of. I coughed out a laugh. “What consequences are there with gas station foodstuffs?”

  “The burrito’s pork. It has more protein than the egg roll – so it’ll stick with you longer – but it has a shorter shelf life. Impossible to say how long it’s been under that heat lamp, so it might be the
carrier of a few strains of bacteria. The eggrolls, on the other hand, won’t fill you up as much, but they’re less apt to make you sick.” He gestured toward the sack. “That bag’s filled with consequences.”

  His theory was batshit crazy. I looked in the bag and then at him. “You’re nuts. Where do you get your information?”

  He shrugged. “It’s common knowledge.”

  I’d eaten my fair share of meals that were cooked by questionable gas station attendants and left beneath flickering heat lamps, and I’d never had any adverse effects. I wanted the burritos, even if they were going to make me sick, but I figured he needed the protein more than me. He outweighed me by a hundred pounds, and he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

  “I’ll go with the eggrolls,” I said.

  He folded his arms over his chest and grinned a little. “Scared of the burrito?”

  I was a risk taker, but I was also a nurturer, and he needed to eat more than I did. “I’m just going with the eggrolls. No real reason.”

  He reached into the bag and pulled out one eggroll and one burrito.

  I gave him a look. “Hey, you said one or the other.”

  “It was a test. I was seeing if you were a risk taker.”

  “Why?”

  “It’d let me know how to plan the rest of the trip.”

  I wondered what he meant, and further wondered if I was in for an adventure. I reached into the bag and pulled out a burrito. “Assume I picked the burritos.”

  He bit the eggroll in two. “But you didn’t.”

  “I did. I mean, kind of. They’re what I wanted, but I figured you needed them more than me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You’re bigger than me, so you need more food. I gave up what I wanted to satisfy your hunger.” I cocked an eyebrow. “So, I’m a risk taker and a nurturer.”

  “A nurturer, huh?” He poked the remaining eggroll in his mouth and then looked me over. “Yeah. You look pretty motherly.”

  I was wearing cut-off shorts, ten-year-old Chucks, and a tee shirt I’d torn the sleeves from. I looked far from motherly. “I’m looking pretty Whiskey Tango right now.”

  “It was sarcasm.” He gave me a quick look and then grinned. “You look cute.”