Speaker Knockerz Rico Story Novels & Stories

I spit. A sneer rose from the corner of his lip, and he backhanded me. I hit the mattress, stars danced along the corner of my vision, my breath caught in my throat. I needed to be strong, so I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. “You’ll shut your stupid mouth. Rage might like that shit, but I like my women obedient and silent.” The doorbell sounded and Denver cursed. “Come on guys, I bet that’s the pizza. I’m getting hungry, anyway.”

Morales was waiting for me inside. ‎I found him sitting on a metal chair in the middle of the empty warehouse, surrounded by four silent, heavily armed men. Rico was in his late forties, stocky, with a thick neck covered in tattoos and a scar running down the left side of his face. His eyes were cold and dead...the eyes of a man who had killed before and would kill again without blinking. ‎“Marcus Richardson,” Rico said slowly, his voice deep and raspy. He didn’t stand up. “You’ve got some balls coming here again man. Sit.”

The ride back feels charged with purpose, revenge within reach after so many years of waiting. But as we approach the compound gates, something settles over me. The yard lights blaze bright, and a cluster of the crew gathers around one of the bikes, heads bowed, expressions grim. Knox shuts off his engine first and lets out a low curse at the sight. Rico, one of our younger members, lies on the ground beside his motorcycle, throat slashed deep, blood pooled dark beneath him. His eyes remain open, staring blankly upward, and his cut has been deliberately sliced through in mockery.

Betty giggled, wrapping her arm around Martin like a vine, clearly trying to wedge herself into the conversation. "About that…" Ricochet shifted his weight—well, our weight—onto his other leg and let out a low hum. "She won’t be able to go to work today. You see… she’s a little off and needs rest. Don’t worry though… I’ll take very good care of my ‘wife’." Every word came out with emphasis in each syllable, and I could tell he did it just to needle Martin. Right in his face. "What? Who said I’m sick?" I grunted, trying to wriggle free again, but before I could, his other hand clamped around my lower leg and gave a teasing pinch.

How fast can Rico get here? ******************************************

"So lots of stuff happened; Clara and I became close, and she rubbed off on me in a really good way, so I was like, F*ck, Rico and the others, they're a**hole and I don't want to be an a**hole anymore. And there was no f*cking way I was going to let a piece of sh*t have precious Clara, so I told her the truth, and let's just say sh*t got real. Rico was pissed, so he tried to kill her, but I—" "He what!" Lorenzo snarled, hitting the brake, and I lunged forward.

Alex knelt beside her, his expression unreadable. “She’s not just a reporter,” Alex murmured, his gaze cutting through Rico like a blade. “She’s a problem. And problems don’t last long around here.” “Was this you?” Rico asked A smile appeared on Alex face, “I would have done a better job” as Rico gaze intently at Alex, they heard a loud explosion outside.

I knew they had installed trackers in our phones and could hear everything we were talking while attending a call. I closed my laptop and stood, smoothing down my clothes before walking towards the door. The knock came again, more insistent this time. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to find Riccardo standing there, his hand mid-air, ready to knock again. He dropped it as soon as he saw me.

“You gonna punch me now? Ruin your little princely image?” I shoved him. “Answer the damn question!” “He wanted to feel nothing. So I gave him nothing. The game’s called Kiss or Kill, sweetheart. He chose the kill.” I froze. My chest tightened. “What did you just say?” “Kiss. Or. Kill.” He said it slow, like it tasted sweet. I kept staring, my heart sinking. That name wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. It had died with Lior. How did Ricco know about it?

“Stupid, looking back.” “You’re not stupid,” Jax said quietly. His voice was low, husky,It did something to my insides. “You trusted him. That’s different.” We talked longer than I expected. Rico told me about growing up riding with his dad, how he patched into the club five years ago. He made me laugh describing the worst wreck he’d ever seen,his own, sliding under a truck and walking away with just a broken arm and a story. Jax was the quiet one, but when he spoke it mattered. He’d been in the club longer, handled “club business” that he didn’t go into detail about. Enforcer. I could see it in the way he carried himself, protective, watchful.