by Snow, Nicole
Thinking about those fucks butchering an old lady only fed the shit running through my head. It wasn't just about the dead chick – it was the ultimate slap in the face, the ultimate way for those cocksuckers to squat on us and take a steaming dump on the entire club.
For a split second, it made me think about her, before I shoved Sally outta my skull for the dozenth time that day.
“Christ.” Blackjack's lips twitched angrily, taking a few seconds to collect his words. “All the more reason to end this thing before Christmas.”
“I hope it's that easy, Prez,” Rabid said, breaking in. “Shit, I'd give up Jack all winter if we didn't have to worry about those fucks breathing down our throats.”
“Quit bullshitting, brother. I'd settle just for the Mexicans breathing down our threats, instead of fucking cutting them.” Brass stared at his friend across the table.
“Enough. You know why we're here.” Blackjack peered out at all of us, one by one, stopping on me dead last. “We need manpower. The two brothers we've just patched in are just the beginning. Roman, you're going to choose three new hangarounds by the end of the week. Make them prospects. Make sure they're ready to face hell for this brotherhood.”
A few guys exchanged icy glances. The club's power structure was too damned new for a lot of 'em to openly grumble to the Prez. Not me.
I couldn't slack off when the stakes were this high – even if the Prez was wrong.
“Prez, I told you last week we can't be flipping through these strangers like a revolving door. Hell, this isn't the army where we can snap our fingers and draft a bunch of bastards from Redding just looking for a little action and some mean tattoos. We can't pick up every motherfucking kid fresh outta high school who likes Harleys and thinks wearing this patch'll show all the ladies his balls have dropped.”
A few guys snickered. Brass gave me a nod, then looked at the Prez.
“Roman's right. Look, Prez, I do all the background checks I can on these guys, but I can't catch everything. One of them could be some plant wearing a badge, trying to get into our operation, or even some fucker working for one of the cartels.”
Several guys stared at the Veep in disbelief. “It happens. Believe it, or don't. Better you hear it from me than find out the fucking hard way.”
Thank fuck. Maybe hearing it from the VP would make the Prez see the light. Then Asphalt piped up, his bald head shining, reminding everybody the asshole's the biggest hothead at this table.
“Yeah? Excuse me, Veep, but what fucking good's that gonna do if we're all dead? The cartel's picking guys off one by one. Sure, we've made progress, but just wait 'til they call for reinforcements in the spring. These bastards are huge. They've got shit stretching all the way down to Colombia, and if they think we're a big enough problem, they'll bring in reinforcements.”
Damn if I didn't want to grab his head and bounce it off the table like a goddamned basketball. “You're thinking short term, Asphalt. And that's being pretty fucking generous. How bad do you think we'll have it if this club gets caught between some DEA mole and the cartel's shit? We can barely keep the bribes flowing now to make sure the Feds look the other way with all the blood turning this state red. Shit, next year, we've got an election coming up, and all the money in the world might not save us if those peacocks in their suits latch onto it.” I let my fists hit the table. “Think harder, brother.”
Yeah, that last part was an afterthought. I didn't give a shit when he started eyeballing me neither. Too bad the Prez started doing the same thing.
“You know we're in a desperate situation, son,” Blackjack said. “If we hadn't spent so much time and effort sorting out our own problems in this club, the cartel wouldn't be tightening its hold at all. The stakes have never been this high.”
Several guys coughed. I was the only man in the room who could take the Prez head on, while everybody else just wilted underneath his sorcerer's gaze. I never had trouble seeing why Blackjack held the Enforcer spot before me under Fang. Shit, he'd been cracking skulls for this club since most of us were kids.
“Imagine it's you. Your families, brothers. I know there's nobody wearing this patch who'd hesitate to shed sweat and blood for the bear, but no man ought to risk his lifeblood, his woman, his kids. We protect our old ladies and our children as viciously as we backup any man with our patch. If that means we've got to bring in a few more good, eager soldiers faster than we'd like, then you'd better believe I'll fucking do it.” His fist came down hard.
The old table was probably gonna take a lot more punches before the meeting ended.
“You know what the revised charter says. It's every full patch member's right to call for a vote, and we'll go by majority rule.” Furrowing his brow, he folded his arms. “Do it. I can't have dissent when we're fighting for our goddamned lives. If anyone here disagrees, call the vote. We'll sort out your objections without any hard feelings.”
My hand twitched. I wanted to fucking do it bad. Of course, I didn't. Gauging club politics came easy to me. I'd been through enough tense church sessions like this one to know I'd be on the losing side.
That's the thing about democracy. It only fucking works when the votes go your way.
“Well? Nobody?” Blackjack paused. “Good. Then we've aired our objections and we can move forward like men. Roman, you have your orders.”
My hands balled into fists. All I could do not to give the Prez the world's most sarcastic-as-fuck salute.
“I'll make sure the new recruits are up to speed,” I said. And I meant it too.
I'd been in the life long enough to know Prezes and Veeps don't always make perfect decisions. But brothers like Blackjack and Brass deserved my respect, and I was damned sure going to give it to them – even at the cost of bringing down more shit for this club we'd all have to clean up.
* * * *
Church ended on a high note. Several brothers hit the bar with our newest full patch members, laughing and serving them shots. I kept my distance like always.
Evening rolled in, and the guys with old ladies invited them to join the celebration. The whores and club sluts began to show up too.
I needed to keep my ass glued to the bottle. So, I sat, watching Rabid and Brass hug their women close. Every time they kissed their girls, there was love in those lips, the only kind that comes from a man putting his brand on his old lady.
I couldn't decide what the fuck was worse – the lovey-dovey shit with the old ladies, or watching dudes like Asphalt, Stryker, and Beam slobbering all over tonight's easy pussy.
Even old Southpaw was getting in on the action at the edge of the bar. The big, gray haired blockhead looked up and grinned at me over the shoulder of some nameless bitch straddling his lap.
My dick jerked hard. I'd been clean for too fucking long, stuffed away in prison, a desert without tits and ass if there ever was one.
Fuck. My hand tightened on my glass, thinking about Sally. I reached for the bottle, adding another big splash of Jack to my beer. I downed the shit in one big gulp and started all over again.
Back when I was behind bars, I told myself getting fucked up was first on the list as a free man. As it turned out, there hadn't been time for that crap since I got to the clubhouse.
Rabid and his new old lady, that bouncy redhead on his lap named Christa, caused us a world of shit just a few weeks ago. She'd hidden her blood debts to our brothers up in Oregon 'til it all came screaming outta the closet – and the crew in Klamath Falls was rotten to the core. We found out real fast who our brothers really were in that group. The rest were dead and buried, rotting underneath ten feet of thick concrete.
Of course, Sally picked the worst time in the world to show up during that fuckery. Seeing her after two damned years of silence blew my brains out my skull.
Did she really expect to just pick up where we'd left off after I'd given her more than any other woman that summer? Did she think I'd forget she hadn't said boo for two fucking years while I lived in
that pit?
When she whipped that bottle at my boots and cursed me for walking away, she tore my heart in half.
One part wanted to march right back, throw her over my shoulder, and fuck her goddamned brains out. That chick warmed my blood like nobody before.
The other half wanted me to spit in her face, tell her what a bitch she was for walking away, leaving me high and dry like a goddamned chump.
No, it wasn't just the dry spell in prison driving me up the wall. Even when I touched her a couple weeks ago, it was like a fucking jolt. Sandpaper scratched my veins, and molten blood pooled straight in my dick, turning it into a hammer ready and willing to bust holes in the walls.
I couldn't deal with that shit, that firestorm in my blood leaving me in a stupor.
I took another swig, feeling relief from bad memories when it hit my guts and burned. Every glance around the clubhouse hurt my eyes. Too bad there was no relief as long as I was stuck here.
A few minutes more, watching brothers on the verge of getting their dicks wet, and I couldn't fucking take it. I jumped off my seat, carrying my new beer and whiskey cocktail with me, wandering toward the room in the back where I always crashed for the night.
I just wanted to pass the fuck out and find some peace for a few hours. Soon as I flicked on the lights and kicked the door shut behind me, I got an eyeful that lit my dick up like a fucking bottle rocket.
Twinkie was on the floor next to my bed, naked from the waist down. Her arms sprawled out above her blonde pigtails, a half-burnt joint between her fingers. She twisted her head, staring at me with those bright hooded eyes – dangerously similar to Sally's.
Do it, do it, do it, motherfucker.
My cock's lightning hit my brain, and I heard its pleas crystal clear. At first, she looked scared, startled. She knew damned well she wasn't supposed to be in a brother's room without his permission.
Normally, that shit got these whores an ass tanning or an angry shove back where they belonged That night, I had something different on my mind, and there was no fucking way I was shutting my sex starved dick up.
“Oh, Christ. Hold up, Roman, I'm on my way out!” she moaned, staggering to her feet, her eyes going wide and alert when she saw me coming toward her. “I didn't take anything, honest. I just wanted a spot to relax by myself, and I know there's never anybody in your –“
I didn't let her finish.
Five seconds later, she was up against the wall, my lips covering her mouth. I couldn't wait to start humping her bare cunt before I snapped off my belt and pushed down my pants.
“Roman!” she groaned, soon as I brushed her clit, breaking the kiss. “Holy shit.”
Yeah. Holy shit.
I barely had time to stoop down to my pocket for a condom. I had to get the fuck inside this chick, before my balls exploded, before the booze in my system stopped clouding my brain long enough to think.
I couldn't fuck her if I felt the guilt tugging at my heart. And just thinking about the guilt at all pissed me the fuck off.
Sally and me weren't shit. Fuck, she didn't even write me once while I was in the pen, and seeing her show up without telling me what the hell she really wanted poured salt in the gashes she'd left behind.
No woman's got any business doing that shit to me. And the only way they'd get away with it was if I let 'em.
I had to put a stop to it by fucking myself blind. I had to get back in the game, get my cock good and wet, pump my loads into a pussy or two that didn't mean shit to me, and never would.
Thank fuck for Twinkie.
Snarling, I grabbed her pig tails, jerking her head up over my shoulder while I slid inside her. My hips hit auto-pilot as soon as her hot cunt swallowed me up.
Surprisingly tight for a whore. It would do, and I'd do her, use her pussy to medicate myself for the night with a little help from Doctor Jack.
I pistoned hard and fast, feeling the fire building in my balls. It took her a minute to fully process the fact that I was fucking her. Yeah, me, the six foot five, totally silent asshole who never had one night with a whore in this clubhouse in all the weeks he'd been home.
Her fingernails wrapped around my shoulders, just below the blades, digging in little by little. These girls were used to getting fucked. Showing them new tricks wasn't easy.
Fuck if I didn't make her come, though. Maybe she blew her gasket on the novelty of fucking me, or maybe it was because I was just that goddamned good.
She moaned my name a couple more times, sucked at my throat, making me growl like a demon in her ear while my hips went berserk. Her ass slapped the wall over and over, and I seriously wondered if I'd put her butt through the goddamned sheetrock.
Didn't stop me. Didn't make me give up a single second. It'd take a raging bull to stop me after this, buried balls deep, the first cunt I'd had in almost two fucking years. The first one I had since...
Sally.
Her name crackled into my fucked up brain like a phantom, ruining it just as Twinkie's pussy tightened like a rubber band around my cock.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She convulsed. I couldn't hold back. I pinned her down, straining the wall worse than ever, listening to her breath hitch while my balls throbbed, ready for release.
I came into the condom, trying like hell to squeeze the rage outta my body. But it wouldn't fucking leave. She'd buried it too fucking deep, and emptying my nuts in this whore wasn't doing shit except scratching a temporary itch.
Damn if I didn't scratch it raw. My body slapped hers against the wall 'til I couldn't see, couldn't feel anything except the wave of fire, hate, and frustration rippling through me, but never leaving me as easy as the seed flowing into that sheath wrapped around my length.
Fuck me.
Her hips were still trembling against mine when I pulled out. I let go, watching her sink to the floor, knocked into a sex coma.
Okay, maybe there was a little pride in that. Just not enough to scrub the dirt from my skull.
“Get up,” I growled. “Clean up in the bathroom and get the fuck out. I need to sleep.”
“Wait, what? You don't want me spending the night?” Those big blue eyes made me wanna punch the wall.
Cruel fucking reminders. That was exactly what they were, dark gems telling me she'd never be the chick I really wanted wrapped around my dick, even if they had a few things in common.
“You heard me. Go.” Grabbing her pants off the floor, I threw them at her, and pointed to the small bathroom attached to my room.
She pouted. I watched her turn around and pull up her panties, then the torn jeans she always wore around the clubhouse.
That hollow feeling hit me as I eyeballed her all the way to the door. Before closing it, she shot me one last pitiful look, as if to say asshole and is this it? all at once.
“Yeah, it's fucking it,” I growled back quietly, once the door clicked shut. “That's all I've got to give. You're just another fuck. Everything she should've been too.”
I walked to my bathroom and ripped the small door underneath the sink open. There was a third of amber whiskey left in the bottle there. I popped the cap and guzzled it, relived there was still some sweet fire in this world that could numb the bullshit.
Maybe I fucked up giving Sally the cold shoulder. She definitely did keeping her distance for two goddamned years, when every fucking day was a struggle to watch my back and stay breathing.
Prison doesn't give a man do-overs. You either play it careful, work the gangs inside, and avoid the bloodthirsty fucks who wanna shank your guts in the shower, or you leave in a body bag.
I walked out without a scratch. I'd never had much use for all that touchy-feely bullshit about emotional trauma, but damn if I couldn't feel the damage underneath my skin. Prickly, savage, and relentless.
I had to let go. I needed to get the fuck on with my own life. I understood crazy, and being obsessed with Sally was fucking it.
Staying wrapped up in some chick I had a mess
y fling with almost two years ago was nothing short of downright loco. I didn't give a shit how many empty whores I'd fuck, how many bottles of Jack I'd suck down, or how many times I'd feel my dick twitching with a hunger that wouldn't be satisfied by anything less than Sally's hot cunt tucked around it.
I'd screw my head on straight and serve this club. The Grizzlies MC marked the beginning and the end of my entire life, and pouring all my focus into it hadn't failed me yet.
The show had to go on. I'd fight like hell for my brothers before I fought for her after she stabbed me in the back.
And if spilling more cartel blood wouldn't silence the stir crazy ache in my veins, then I'd sure as shit find something that would. Crawling back to the woman I was dead set on walking away from forever wasn't an option.
III: Corralled (Sally)
“Sally! Turn that damned thing off!” I barely heard Norman shouting over the tractor's rumble.
It wasn't until he ran right in front of me that I slammed on the breaks.
Jesus. The machine snorted, jerking to a stop less than a foot away from him – too damned close for comfort.
My cousin just grinned like we were playing a game of bumper cars and waved. “Come on. Get off that thing. We need to talk.”
I hoped to God he wasn't going to ride me about coming out here an hour late again – especially when I'd been up with Caleb half the night. My rambunctious baby still woke up at the craziest times. This past year, I'd forgotten what it was like to sleep through a solid eight hours, much less a whole night.
We didn't have time for petty arguments. Harvest was just around the corner, and soon we'd be prepping, packaging everything we could for the market, and then winterizing the place.
“What's up?”
The smile on my cousin's face melted. Crap, now I knew something was wrong. He was rarely this serious, and whatever had him ruffled probably didn't involve me dragging my feet on too little sleep.
“Norm? Is something going on?” I prodded him when he didn't answer.
