Bounce Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Bounce

  Kailee Reese Samuels

  BOUNCE

  Copyright © 2017 by Kailee Reese Samuels

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including, but not limited to, photocopying or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of author credited, brief quotations in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely and purely coincidental.

  All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  E-Book Edition: September 12, 2017

  ISBN 978-1-947362-13-0

  J. Dickerson

  Nerdy Girl Editing & Co.

  Contents

  Warning

  1. Recoil

  One Week Earlier

  2. Pep

  3. Bound

  4. Elasticity

  5. Go

  Here and Now

  6. Ricochet

  7. Vault

  8. Rebound

  9. Vivacity

  10. fly back

  Ms. Samuels Notes

  Also by Kailee Reese Samuels

  Juliet

  Kinky Sex Magic

  The Initiation

  Tea for Two

  Grunt

  Hopechest

  Fluff

  W A R N I N G S

  are like cups of tea.

  This warning is here for a reason.

  This book is a work of fiction containing explicit, graphic, and violent material.

  If you’re not 18+, put it the fuck down.

  Please practice safe sex.

  Safe, Sane, and Consensual (SSC)

  and

  Risk-Awareness Consensual Kink (RACK)

  practices in BDSM.

  Communication is key and I do not believe anything should be swept under the rug - sexuality, gender orientation, race, age, or religion. If I help stir the cauldron of conversation and provide an escape for a few hours, I have done my job.

  Play hard and have fun. Be good and love one another.

  Enjoy the ride!

  Without further ado, here we go…

  For the Masters who taught me the joy of trust.

  I am humbly and respectfully indebted.

  Chapter One

  Recoil

  THE LASHES KEEP COMING with increasing intensity. Biting the thick fabric in my teeth, I pray that my body forgives the perilous catch of violence it is enduring. His swing is ruthless and heavy. It’s clear he doesn’t give a shit about me. I have no idea how bad the lacerations are, but my shirt sticks to my skin like I have bled.

  Tears water down my cheeks, but they aren't emotional. They aren't the kind to reek of giving up, giving in, and breaking. The fire burns my skin hot like a flame. The leather becomes a torch, singing welts and bringing the silent cry of my ache.

  My eyes glance up at the ropes holding my wrists high in the air. They connect to an enormous chain that runs up to the ceiling, I would guess twenty or more feet above the ground. I count the metal ceiling joists hoping this torture will be over soon. The man approaches and squeezes my nipple tight. The pinch rips through my soul, and I know the worst is yet to come.

  His cronies laugh at my flinch as I try to squirm away. He smiles, showing his chipped, stained teeth. The other four move in closer, arcing around my bruised and battered body. We’ve been at this for days. As far as I can remember, this is day four.

  I won't show fear; I will fight––the words loop on repeat through my soul.

  “Why don’t you just give us what we are after?” one man mumbles, hiding in the shadows.

  “Fuck you,” I say low and calm.

  “Dammit, Amber… Don’t make us do this,” the snarl tooth says as his hand whips across my cheek. “You have less than 72 hours before your worst nightmare becomes reality. I suggest you think about that and give us what we want.

  His hand stings my cheek and the tears continue, but I don’t whimper. I don’t give in. More than anything they want me to give up and play their game, but they don’t understand this is my game and my rules.

  The five leave out a side door which seems to connect to another building. I am only guessing because I cannot see day light or even the brightness of the moon. Even if I could get down from the chains, I would also have to get out. While I have learned a few things from eavesdropping and assessing the boys, I don’t have the faith that I can make it to freedom. And the thought of them finding and punishing me sends a shiver through my core.

  I haven’t been hanging continuously. The bandwagon of thugs comes and pokes and prods several times a day. Another man—a very good looking man—is my caregiver, if you can call him that. He releases my arms, brings food and water, and takes me over to the bathroom. I keep the heavy three-inch thick steel collar on at all times and when Looker comes, I am leashed to his hand via a braided leather rope.

  Blinking over my surroundings, I take mental snapshots so I won’t forget. The warehouse is dank and dark with a stench of must and mildew. I have no idea of my exact location. I made the mistake in my dealings with the Rampage club, dropping into their pit of snakes without my own personal duo of bodyguards, Dale and Sal.

  The metal of the chain clanks, rubbing and making an irritating squealing noise every time I pivot. I spin full circle and stare at the concrete block wall. The industrial overhead lights are dim enough for me to take note of a stain—likely blood. I close my eyes and wonder how in the hell I ever got myself into this mess.

  I should be at home in Sugargrove, safe in my bed and in the arms of the man who loves me. I am reckless and wild, still believing I can change the Rampage MC Club and thinking the boys will listen to me because I am female. I brought nothing but anxiety within our halls. They didn’t know me; they didn’t trust me. It would be like asking me to trust a new Dom… just because someone said to.

  I was the foolish bitch.

  The door cracks open, and I feel the hairs rise up on my arms. I am thirsty, and I need to pee. The sound of boot heels hit the cement floor and makes an ominous and foreboding noise. I know he is coming—the looker to take me down. I wish I couldn’t smell him. His manly scent sends a wanton desire through me that I try and ignore. His masculinity causes me to miss D even more, and that is an emotion I do not need right now. As he approaches I am overcome with a wave of longing and desperation. I push it down—no more tears, no more tears.

  “How are you doing, Amber?”

  His warm voice wraps my broken body in a comforting blanket. “I am alright.”

  Reaching above my arms, he flashes a smirk, almost impressed by my resolve. He is close, too close. “Still didn’t give up, heh?”

  I blink up and catch his deep blue eyes. They are the color of the ocean under the moon at midnight, and briefly I think about drowning in his assurance. “I can’t,” I whisper, biting my lip in thought, “I don’t know what they want.”

  “It’s really simple,” he informs, unscrewing the clips, keeping my ropes in place. “Answer the question.”

  “I really don’t know the answer though…” I plead, dropping my hands in front
of me with a thud. My shoulders sting at first like a bass drum in the distance getting closer and closer until finally the pounding is all I can think about. “I don’t know.”

  His hands drop to my shoulders and rub. His fingers soothe the pain, searing through my skin. I feel like the lashes I took to my back have worked their way up. The burn hurts. While I really don’t want him touching me, I can’t tell him no. Something tells me I don’t want to tell Looker no. “You are telling me you have no idea where your biological mother is….”

  “I don’t,” I argue in no mood to be pushed. “Do you know where Pock is?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” he snarls, attaching the leash to my collar and his cuff. “You don’t know what your mother did, do you?”

  My perturbed expression says it all, but I let my words fire off rapidly. “If I knew anything, I would tell you because I certainly don’t want to be trapped in a warehouse with a bunch of goons and one good looking schmuck.”

  He laughs loud, knowingly.

  And his arrogance pisses me off.

  He is that kind of Dom. That kind of man.

  “I am glad to hear you think I am good looking, Amber, but compliments will not be your salvation. I need to know where your mother is….”

  I follow his tight ass packed in jeans. I imagine under his clothes he’s beautiful and muscular. That ass is probably hard. It might not be the only thing. Stepping into the small makeshift closet serving as a bathroom, I glance at him, undoing my pants and pulling them down. As I squat over the camping toilet, I ask, “Is Pock dead?”

  “No,” he states matter-of-fact, polite enough to look away. He has manners. “We don’t have him. I know you won’t believe me, but we don’t have any more idea of his whereabouts now than you. We do not have your daddy.”

  It feels amazing to relieve myself as I close my eyes and mumble, “Why do you think I know where my mother is?”

  “Because I figured as soon as you found out she traded you for a son with your drugged-up whore of a fake mother, that you would go on an all out search,” he says, cocking his head towards me, “Especially considering who you sleep with.”

  “Then you don’t know me,” I say, finishing up, “I really don’t care.”

  “You can lie to yourself if you would like, sweetheart, but you clearly do care somewhat,” he says, approaching me with a wad of toilet paper. He is kind enough to blot me—a gesture I won’t soon forget—having another man’s hand between my legs feels weird and disorienting. “You came home to Arkansas to run Rampage.”

  “Doesn’t mean I care about my mom or even my dad…” I argue as he yanks my pants up.

  “Why bother coming here at all?” he asks, taking a damp washcloth and patting my face, neck, and thoroughly roped up hands. “Do you really need the power trip?”

  “No, I came with the intention of assigning the lead duties to a member who proved worthy, but thanks to you and your goons I never got around to that.”

  He laughs again, this time darker and more menacing than the last. “There is something you must understand about being involved with a MC club. It gets mud on your boots, stains on your skin, and infiltrates its way to your veins—those boys become you and you become them.”

  I am not sure why Looker is choosing now to give me the finer points of leading Rampage. “Like a family, I got that…”

  “More so,” he contends as we exit the space and walk towards a small table holding a white plastic bag. He pulls out my chair. Again, this man’s manners stump me. If he is so proper and charming, why the fuck is he keeping me hostage? “What all would you do for Mr. Archer…”

  “Don’t you dare mess with him,” I fire off quick as he unwraps the burger and dumps the fries.

  “Ketchup?” he asks, and I nod, pissed off. “This is my point exactly. You are clearly capable of leaving him, but I guarantee once these boys’ stories get into your heart and soul, you won’t be able to walk away from them as easily as you can Dale Archer.”

  Understanding I cannot win the conversation with Looker, I steer us back to our original point. Maybe now he will answer me and give me what I want. “What did my mother do?”

  “She stole 5.3 million dollars,” he says, feeding me a couple fries. The taste of everything he brings is amazing, and I know mentally he is breaking me down.

  “If I knew where she was, you would kill her?”

  “No,” he says, picking up the burger and giving me a deviant grin. “I would keep her locked up, deep in a cell where she would never, ever see the light of day. I would give her vermin to eat and dirty water to drink and at night, I would let my flock have at her. After one night, she would wish she were dead.”

  He shoves the burger to my face, but I tilt my head away and stare solemnly at his eyes. They are a steel gray now, mesmerizing and difficult to look away from. “Is that what you are going to do with me?”

  “Nah…” he says as his eyes flicker with an excitement. “I am going to feed you good and keep you clean because… I want you to last.”

  The warehouse is slightly cold and damp as I lay on the cot near the table. Maybe I am the bait to get my birth mother to surface. Although I have known the truth for the past month, I didn’t really care to find the woman. She gave me up in a twisted, fucked up game before. What is to say she wouldn’t do it again?

  Dale assured me several times that he had Rachel, Dana, and Aimee working on the whereabouts of Pock and trying to find the birth bitch. I felt jilted, betrayed, and part of a grand scheme. I could never imagine letting that happen to one of my children.

  “Are you chilled?” he whispers, sitting in a chair beside the head of the bed. “I can get you a blanket.”

  I don’t want to give in to his decency. I want to believe I am tough enough to endure whatever my captors throw, but if I catch a cold or worse yet, pneumonia—I am sunk—whether I like it or not. “Please.”

  He undoes the leash from his cuff and attaches it to the cot frame. Disappearing from view, he goes through the mysterious exit and returns shortly with a blanket and pillow. I am seriously starting to hate this man because of his grand courtesies.

  Sliding his large hand underneath my head, Looker places the pillow down and smiles. He covers my body, pulling the heavy blanket up over my shoulders. In a strange move, he kisses my forehead as if to tuck me in.

  A few minutes later, I whisper, “Are you married?”

  “Nah, I don’t have time. My job is too risky to chance that,” he says as his words seem to accept his fate. He’s not elusive about who he is or what he does. It is clear he is the muscle behind this MC club.

  My mind wanders off to a place where I am marrying Dale and having the life I always dreamed of… at least, I think I did.

  With lightning speed, my memories rush back to childhood. I see my older sister, Evie, and I playing on the floor. She’s always been there for me. At least, until she went to jail. She’s out now, but the relationship is tainted, awkward, and strange.

  I have few good memories with the woman who claimed to be my mother. I believed Evie was my full sister, but as it turns out, she isn’t my blood at all. I am the product of a hunted thief and a missing man—how lovely. Meanwhile, a boy named Jimmy Rosen endured the swap just as much as me. He had been Jimmy Allen until four years ago. He discovered the truth and changed his last name. His father served as nothing more than a sperm donor, yet he carried his name. His mother proved to be unscrupulous and horribly, horribly misguided. Even in terms of her own children. Who would just give up their blood because someone asked them to?

  The woman who raised me, that’s who. Her lying and conniving ways didn’t stop at her addictions, but took hold in ways most people would deem unimaginable. I had to wonder why she agreed to it. She didn’t care, that much was clear, but there had to be something in it for her. There had to be a reward. My pseudo, psychotic mother did nothing for free. This much I learned in eighteen years.

&nbsp
; On the flip side, my biological mother let me go. Who was she? What did she get out of it? Was she an addict like the woman I grew up with? Did she need to give her husband a son so much that she would relinquish her rights over her daughter? Or did he keep something over her head?

  Supposedly, Jimmy wanted nothing to do with any of it. He should have been the heir to the club. Pock’s club—Rampage—had chapters all over the South. Now, all the work to insure the club was inherited by a son flew out the window. I am very much present and aware if Pock is dead, the club rightfully belongs to me. The boys might not see it that way, but that didn’t make it any less real. I never planned on leading a MC club. This isn’t the kind of thing you prepare for, but now that Pock is missing and I am being held hostage, I do not know what will happen.

  Why this club seemed to have it in for me, I have no idea. Something to do with my biological mom, assuming I can believe Looker. I have no reason not to trust him, but considering they kidnapped me against my wishes, it makes it harder to trust anyone. I snicker quietly under the blanket; I can hear handsome, breathing rhythmically and heavy, sitting propped against the wall.

  I cannot sleep. Too many problems exist. Too many answers go unknown. One leads to a question and another in an endless trail of perplexing dilemmas. In my search for the truth, I understand that I may not like what I find. And I can’t put the answers back once I know.

  Aimee and Rachel were always very forthright concerning these matters. Are you sure you want to know? You might not like it when you do. I understand the truth will set you free, but it can also bind and tether. When they asked if I wanted to find my birthmother, I said no because whatever her reasons for giving me up couldn’t erase thirty-three years of absence.