Page 3 of Scarred Sacrifice (Savage Sisters MC #1)

“Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Might catch you at the defence class later.

” I wave over my shoulder and walk outside towards my baby, a Yamaha R6 racer.

She was in tech black and built for speed.

I pull my fitted biker jacket and black helmet on, along with my gloves.

I swing my leg over her and press the ignition, feeling and hearing her engine roar to life.

A thrill radiates through me every time.

I kick back the kickstand and pull away.

As soon as I hit the open road, I let her rip, speeding down the open road as the warm summer sun beats down on me.

I ride for an hour, just losing myself in the thrill of the freedom riding gives me.

Needing a drink, I pull up to a coffeehouse.

It has small tables out the front with people sitting there enjoying their coffees in the sun.

I cut the engine and get off the bike, removing my helmet before I shake my hair out.

My dark hair is wavy from letting it dry naturally, and as I go to make my way into the coffeehouse, a man comments.

“I got something here you might want to ride later, sweetheart,” he drawls.

I look at him and see a balding man with a potbelly. I curl my lip in disgust. “Thanks, but I think I will pass.” I brush him off as I walk in to order my coffee.

I also grab a brownie to have with my coffee.

Bernie often comments on my weakness for sweet treats, especially cakes and pastries.

I’d happily just live off my coffee and cake every day for the rest of my life.

I take a seat outside, a little away from the pervy man, and eat my brownie and drink my coffee, just enjoying the sun on my face.

“I bet she sucks like a demon,” I hear one of the guys mutter.

“Yeah, bro. I’d be having her gagging and begging me to stop,” another states.

I inhale a deep breath and close my eyes. They’re not worth it, they’re not worth it, I mentally repeat to myself.

“She’d only be good for fucking, though. She ain’t wife material,” the first guy adds.

I grit my teeth and attempt to drink my coffee and not throw it at them.

“Yeah, you’re right. She doesn’t look like she knows how to even cook. Fuck, I don’t want my steaks being overcooked.”

“True, although if she fucks as good as she looks, I might be able to forgive the overcooked steak,” the other snorts.

All my self-resolve snaps. I stand and walk past two women, who give me a sympathetic look. I almost want to tell them they’re aiming their sympathy at the wrong person, because in a minute both of those men will be on the floor crying out for their mommies.

Their snickering dies as I get closer. The balding one with a potbelly leans back in his chair with a smirk on his face.

“Well, well, well. What can I do for you, gorgeous?” he asks, his eyes sweeping over my body, and I immediately want to shove my fingers in his eyes and yank them from his head for looking at me in such a way.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your comments,” I state.

He arches his brow, his gaze full of intrigue. Like those comments would just turn me on, and I would throw myself at him and his friend. Fucking morons. “Oh?” he quips, the corners of his mouth twitching in an arrogant smile. Prick.

I seductively bend down, my face inches from his.

He adjusts himself and spreads his legs further apart.

Does he honestly think I would just drop to my knees and suck him off?

Since when did men become so delusional?

I rest my hands on either side of the armrests, running my tongue across my bottom lip. His eyes follow the movement.

“Your words did something to me. They made me feel things,” I whisper.

He glances a look at his mate, as if to say I’m in with a chance here. “I’ve often been told I’m good with words,” he says with a proud look on his face.

Tired of this game, I bring up my knee, keeping a tight grip on the arms of the chair before I slam my stiletto-booted foot down on his dick. He lets out a high-pitched scream in pain as I press the heel in further.

“You need to change the way you speak and treat women,” I seethe. His mate shifts from his chair, and I look and glare at him. “You come any nearer, and I will drive my stiletto through his pathetic little testicle,” I threaten.

His friend soon sits back down. “What the fuck do you want, you crazy bitch?” he pants through gritted teeth, his face red in pain.

“Now, that isn’t how you speak to a woman, is it?” I growl in warning.

“You’re playing with fire. I will fucking have you, bitch,” he sneers the threat, but I don’t miss the hint of fear in his eyes as I shift my boot slightly.

“Now, we both know that isn’t true, because if you lunge forward now, my pretty little stiletto heel will drive right into your precious little testicles.

What is going to happen is you will behave, you will show all women the respect they deserve, and you will not speak of them like they are objects for your enjoyment, and you will not touch a woman without permission.

All are very simple rules to live by, and you may even find a lady liking you in the future.

But you know what no woman likes? A misogynistic prick with a tiny dick and one testicle,” I say with a grin. He swallows.

“Do we have an understanding?” I ask.

He gives me a brief nod, his face looking like a scolded child.

“Oh, and don’t call women crazy for standing up for themselves and for what they believe in.

You wouldn’t do it to a man. Do yourself a favour; go and read a book on feminism and female rights.

In fact, add that to our understanding. Educate yourself and your little chums here,” I add before slowly removing my boot from his crotch.

He groans and immediately cups his dick.

I smile brightly, the encounter lifting my spirits. The ladies sitting on the other side stare at me in awe. I pull out a card and hand it to them. “Women’s self-defence classes. You should come along.”