Page 124 of The Forgotten

As it is, I’m going to be sore as fuck later.

“You good?” Storm asks me.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Let’s get the little omega out of there so we can have some fun.”

“You smell her too?” he snorts.

“Fuck, I think it’s impossible not to,” Prez chuckles. “Come on, Princess. Out you go!”

Together, we rock the car back and forth, and the crazy omega attempts to put the car in reverse but can’t get any traction since the wheels aren’t on the ground for long enough.

“I don’t think so,” Ace grunts, breaking the door clean off and pulling the girl out of the car while she kicks and screams. In his defense, the vehicle is a rust bucket, and I have no idea how it’s moving.

Another club member shoves the car into park as it threatens to roll back and turns it off while looking pissed. If I wasn’t so distracted, I’d feel the same.

As it is, I would swear that her leggings look like they’re painted on.

“I think you need to apologize,” he grunts, shoving her head toward my shoes. Prez sweeps the girl’s feet out from under her, smirking as her knees hit the asphalt with a grunt. Ace grabs her wrists to hold her tightly in place, and the prez grinds her face against my boot.

We all ignore her shrieks of indignity on the outside, but I notice a few of the club members have to adjust their dicks in their pants.

“Lick my boot and say you’re sorry,” I growl, gazing down at her brilliant red hair that’s beginning to come out of its braid.

Goddamnit, why does she smell so fucking good?

“Eat shit and die!” she screams, though the words are a bit muffled as her lips are pressed against my shoe now.

“Couldn’t hear you,” I chuckle. Honestly, unless she has a degradation kink, I don’t expect her to do what we’re telling her. The vehement tone is surprising though.

Does she have a death wish?

“It’s the least he deserves,” Prez growls, making her shiver.

Interesting.We have a pretty little kink whore on our hands. This should be fun.

MARIE

This is not how I thought my day was going to go. Screaming in anger and a fair amount of fear, I try to pull away from the men holding me. The guy I tried to run over pulls his bandana off his lower face, leaning down until I can see him better. He’s over six feet tall, has dark scruff on his cheeks, and his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

Breathing in deeply, I struggle not to whine as the scent of caramel and salt flows over me. He should smell like shit, not dessert.

“We deserve reparations, little whore,” he growls. “Someone find out who she is.”

“Let me go!” I growl, struggling against the man’s hand holding me. I remember vaguely seeing a patch that said Prez on his vest, and I don’t know what that means in motorcycle club culture.

Is he their boss? Shouldn’t he be working on controlling them, or is he just as bad as his men? I think I can answer that question based on who my brother is.

“Lick his boot or it’ll be his cock next,” the president growls back at me.

“I’ll bite it off!” I threaten, finding the rest of my body pressed down onto the ground.

“Lick the boot,” another man insists. There’s too many alpha scents surrounding me, and it makes me dizzy as I shake my head from side to side against a steel toe boot.

Leather and burned tires fill my senses, and I find myself feeling overstimulated and angrier by the second. I’ve been polite, crawled on my stomach in the face of stupidity, and put up with too much bullshit to continue doing it.

“Be a good girl and do what’s good for you,” a voice whispers in my ear.

Unable to hold back, I whimper as I perfume in the circle that I’m the center of. I never thought my kink was praise and degradation. I feel like this is a very odd place to realize this.