Bad to the Bones(72)

“Do it, stud,” I urged. “I want to feel you splash my womb with your sweet, delicious semen. Do it. Let go, babe. You know you want to.”

Oh boy, did he want to. My toes curled inside my boots when his whole body stiffened. Only his eyelids shivered as his prick erupted against my cervix. Now I sat heavily on him, my boots behind me in the air, the better to feel his glans spurting.

I loved this part more than anything. I had tried to look on the bright side of being infertile. For one, I never had to use birth control ever again. We could f*ck without worry. The agencies would never let a biker couple adopt a child from Russia or wherever, but maybe we could find a dog that wasn’t motorcycle-shy. I’d seen them riding in sidecars before, so it had to be possible.

“Whew,” he panted. I speared my fingers through his hair and held his face to my naked tits.

After a while, he looked up at me. He had that weak little boy’s grin that told me he was helpless. Helpless against my feminine forces, the power of my * juices. “I’ve got something else to give you. I’m afraid you’ve smashed it, though.”

I gasped. “What?” Never one to turn down a gift, I instantly jumped to my feet, swirling my skirts around my boots. I stuffed my boobs back into my bra so as not to distract him. “Did I wreck it? Did I wreck it?”

It was like in a romance novel when he pulled a brown velvet jewelry box from his front jeans pocket. We were already engaged to be married, and I sported a diamond ring that was quite hefty, by all reports. His ex-wife loathed me, never having met me, and I was working hard on getting his children to accept me. It was a long tough road, gaining the acceptance of teens.

He said, “I saw these in an ad you had on your old cubicle wall. I figured you stuck it there because you liked them. Well, now I can afford to give you the things you want.”

I noticed my hands really were trembling as I opened the box. Holy Jesus on a stick.

Chocolate diamond earrings.

Yes, I had stuck that ad on my wall, many months ago. I hadn’t thought it would ever impact my real life, to be honest. I didn’t know men noticed shit like that. But Knoxie, being an artist, had an eye for detail. Each stud earring was two horseshoes intertwined, one with white diamonds, the other with chocolate set in rose gold.

Tears came to my eyes. I didn’t trust myself to take one from the box, my hands were shaking so badly. I had gone from someone who didn’t know how to cry to a person who cried at the drop of a hippopotamus. It was ridiculous. Dr. Petrie said this was part of my assimilation of all the aspects of my personality, like some kind of broken Sybil-type split personality. Each tear represented one emotion I now owned fully and completely.

“Knoxie, I don’t know what to say,” I sniffed. I stood between his thighs as he cinched his belt tight. He was pleased as punch, I could tell. I mean, Jesus. In the past hour, he’d just basically gotten me a house and the most kick-ass pair of earrings that were ever created. Yeah. He was on a roll.

He cupped my face in his hand. “Say nothing, babe. I just want to know that you’re mine. That no one is going to lay a f*cking finger on you ever, ever again. Capisce?” He had been incorporating his Italian heritage lately by brushing up on the lingo. He steadfastly refused to look into the Catholic faith again, but he sure liked the lingo.

“Capisce,” I agreed, just as the shed door rattled.

A beam of light hit us full blast. Reflexively, I threw my arm up to protect my face. A female figure told me, “Your dad is here, Asanga—I mean Bellamy. He says he’s taking you somewhere.”

“Yes!” I cried.

Rhetta had come down with us from Bihari, along with Gia and Sunyade. Three more female refugees were picked up on our way out of the canyon. The women were understandably pretty messed up, but the club took them in. Rhetta was the only one who had been in on Operation Eggplant, the sick plot to poison the salad bars of P&E citizens. She sang like a canary, telling all, really helping out the Attorney General, as well as Paul Goodhue, who had levied a one million dollar fine on the cult for illegal wiring.

I had to flip, too, to tell the story of the forced sterilizations. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, give that testimony and relive the operation, but it meant Bodhisattva wouldn’t go scot free, and Virginia wouldn’t have to testify. My testimony was enough. We hadn’t been able to save Ginny from Bodhi’s medieval tools, but I comforted myself that we’d at least saved countless future women from the bath house table. Ginny had been working with June Illuminati up at the Leaves of Grass farm.

Federal prosecutors went on a rampage of relentless investigation. People were pouring out of Bihari by the hundreds, bailing on the sect, especially now that it had no leader. Poona was taking the brunt of the federal charges—assault, bioterrorism, arson, immigration fraud, conspiracy, and attempted murder, if you can f*cking believe that.

What I had overheard in the bunkhouse, Poona telling the nurse about taping Shakti saying ten thousand people had to die? That was her way of getting disciples behind her in her murder plot. She was going to do away with Shakti anyway. Not that she’d make a better leader. Poona was about to strike a deal any moment, but either way, it’d involve prison time.

Rhetta had been bumping uglies with the other Prospect, Mergatroyd. Rhetta and Mergatroyd were theoretically on the same club level as Knoxie and I, but those two were clearly treated as the bottom rung. Poor Mergatroyd had to clean Knoxie’s bathroom, so to speak. “So it’s true? I didn’t want to interrupt you for just any bullshit.”