Money Shot: Selected Sinners MC Romance

by Hildreth, Scott

  And each time he did so, my heart stopped for a few beats.

  “So tell me about today’s reviews,” he said as he leaned back in his seat.

  “Uhhm. Well, I’ve got one stepbrother book I finished earlier in the week that was a good solid three and a half, and a werewolf shapeshifter deal that was actually pretty good. I’m back and forth between four and four and a half. We’ll see how I feel after lunch,” I said.

  He leaned forward, pressing his forearms into the edge of the table, and cocked an eyebrow in what had become his signature gesture of concern. “But you only read romance, right?”

  I took a drink of water and nodded my head. “Yep.”

  “Don’t tell me a stepbrother book is…”

  Before he had a chance to continue, I interrupted. “Sure is.”

  “Do they…”

  “Sure do.”

  “The brother and sister?”

  “Uh huh, but they’re ‘steps’ so it’s okay,” I said as I raised my glass.

  He pushed himself away from the table and shook his head. “It’s wrong as fuck. And you’re telling me people like that shit?”

  “Sure seem to,” I responded.

  “And a werewolf what did you say? Shapeshifter? It is a romance, right?” he asked as he leaned onto the edge of the table again.

  “Yeah. He shifts back and forth between being a werewolf and a man. He falls in love with a woman from Massachusetts, but he’s originally from Canada. A long way from the pack, you know,” I said with a laugh.

  He scrunched his nose and shook his head again. “A chick fucking a dog?”

  “Well, they only bone when he’s a man, but in a sense, kind of, yeah,” I said.

  “I fucking swear. And people wonder why I’m a loner. The world’s full of fucking weirdos. Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Midsummer Night’s Dream…” he shoved himself away from the table in clear frustration, grabbed the edge of it with his fingertips and pulled himself close to the edge again.

  After shaking his head in disgust, he rested his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned into the center, pressing his palms against his jawline. After a few seconds of staring blankly at me, he cleared his throat.

  “Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion,” he said. “Have you read that book?”

  “Pride and Prejuduce? Yeah, several times,” I said.

  “Can I interest you in our buffet?” the Rastafarian girl asked.

  “Come back in ten, we’re in a heated discussion,” Vince said with a wave of his hand without so much as shifting his eyes away from me.

  “You notice there weren’t any werewolves or shapeshifters or fucking stepbrothers in it?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I noticed,” I responded.

  “Here’s what I think. I think the world is so full of people that have lost hope in conventional love – all because no one is willing to give it unconditionally anymore – that they read to be shocked, thrilled, or disgusted. They no longer read to be filled with promise or hope, because they no longer believe. A modern love story has become the most unbelievable fairy tale ever. And now, people read those BDSM books like they’re going out of style because it makes them wet. That sure as fuck doesn’t make it a good novel. A porno movie will make them wet too, but it sure doesn’t mean it’s a good movie. I fucking swear,” he said.

  I shrugged and tried to force myself not to smile. He was right. The book world had changed drastically just in the amount of time I had been out of school. It seemed the erotica genre was not only based on sex, but most of the books lacked the base ingredients to give them even a hint of romantic element.

  “You know, in a romance novel, it’s the first kiss. That, Sienna, is the money shot,” he said.

  I coughed out a laugh and tried to keep from spitting my ice cube out. “I thought the money shot was when, you know. When the guy shot his load on a chick’s face.”

  He shook his head and waved his hand in my direction. “See? That’s your perception, based on modern day bullshit books. A money shot, by definition, is the essential element that causes a book, movie, or magazine to succeed. The selling point. In a romance novel, it should be that kiss. Not a face full of cum. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and a place for a cum shot, but the money shot? It should be the kiss. The first one.”

  I was really, really starting to like this guy. Before I could give my opinion, he continued.

  “People need to learn to believe in love again. They need to desire that feeling that happens deep down in their inner being that only love can give. And true love sure as fuck isn’t something that causes your crotch to ache, either. That’s where all the confusion lies,” he said as he reached for his glass of water.

  “My heart aches,” he said as he raised his glass and held it in the air.

  I did the same.

  “Here’s to the lost art of loving,” he said as he clanked his glass against mine.

  “Hear, hear!” I said.

  My heart swelled a little as I took a drink of my glass of water. If I was reading a book about a romance novel reading biker who was a debt collecting ass kicking member of a MC, I’d probably laugh until I peed myself. But, he sat before me in the flesh, talking about Pride and Prejudice as if it was sacred and something he held dear to his heart.

  “So, are you ready to order?” Dreadlocks asked.

  Vince turned to face her and grinned, exposing his shiny white teeth. As she smiled in return, he widened his eyes, took a shallow breath, and all but came unraveled.

  “Sure, I’ll have a plate of devotion, a side order of commitment, and a thick slice of I promise not to break your heart. Be sure to make it untoasted and hold the butter, so I don’t choke on it. Oh, and a shot of your best bourbon to wash it all down with,” he said without so much as taking a breath.

  “Huh?” she said as she tossed her dreadlocks over her shoulder.

  “Exactly,” he said as he wagged his eyebrows at me. “See?”

  It was that day. On the Sunday at the buffet place on Webb Road. That was the day that a large part of me fell for Vince.

  And fell hard.

  VINCE

  September 11th, 2014

  There were very few men I respected as much as my father. Axton Bishop was one of those men. I didn’t respect him because he demanded it or because he wore the “President” patch. I respected him because his actions, his words, and where his heart was required that I do so. To not respect him for who he was would do nothing but provide support of me being incapable of seeing just what it was he offered me as a man and as a member of the club.

  “Got a minute, boss?” I asked as I leaned inside the office door.

  “I’ve always got time for you, Vince,” Axton said as he closed the ledger.

  “Headed to the bar with Toad,” Otis said as he stood from his seat.

  “Otis,” I said as he began to walk toward the door.

  “Vince,” he said with a nod of his head as he walked past.

  “So what’s on your mind?” Axton asked.

  “Just wondering about a few things,” I said.

  “Flunked mind reading in school, Brother. You’re going to have to enlighten me,” he said as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Got a question about a woman,” I said as I sat down across from him.

  He snapped the rubber band he wore around his wrist a few times, more than likely subconsciously, inhaled a long slow breath through his nose, and then exhaled out his mouth. The process, for Axton, had become somewhat of a ritual.

  “My thoughts on women have been made pretty clear. Don’t have much use for them, they can’t be trusted,” he said. “So what’s your question?”

  “You think a man can be friends with a woman, or does it always turn to shit?” I asked.

  He popped his rubber band once and leaned forward in his chair. “You got a woman friend, have ya, Vince?”

  “Sure do.
Just don’t want to hurt her, or have her expecting things of me. You know, things I’m not willing to give,” I said.

  “So this is some girl who’s a friend, and you’re not throwing her any of that cock, right?” he asked.

  “Right,” I said.

  “And you’re not planning on changing that?” he asked.

  “Not planning on it, no. It’ll just fuck things up. She’s cool as a fan, Boss. Drives a ‘65 Continental, she’s pretty as fuck, and kind of a mouthy little bitch, but not in a disrespectful way,” I said.

  “Sounds interesting,” he said as he leaned back in his seat. “Well, you and her can be friends no doubt, and I wouldn’t tell all of the fellas this, believe me. You’re a weird fucker, Vince, and we both know it. I’m sure if you say you’re not going to give her any dick, you sure won’t. But I can tell you one thing for fucking sure…”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  He rubbed his jaw between his thumb and his forefinger and lowered his chin as he locked his eyes on mine.

  “There’ll come a day when she wants that dick. And it’ll be a deal breaker. Then you’ll have to decide for sure,” he said.

  “Always comes to that, doesn’t it?” I asked blankly.

  “Sure does,” he responded. “Damned sure does.”

  “So how’s business?” he asked.

  “Pretty good, thanks,” I responded.

  “Face looks better now that it’s good and healed. Scars make you look more like a one percenter and less like a book reading hermit,” he said with a laugh.

  “You’re one to talk. You read as much as I do,” I said as I stood.

  “I read a lot, that’s a fact. Now don’t leave mad. You still need to talk?” he asked as he stood.

  “Ain’t mad,” I said. “Just thinking.”

  “You wanting to start fucking this girl? Just between you and me?” he asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Fuck I don’t know, kind of.”

  “So what you’re really wanting to know is if you can fuck her without fucking up the friendship, right?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. It’s just. Fuck, I don’t know. I’ve never been around a woman as cool as she is. She reads books. Reviews them online and stuff. We meet every Sunday for lunch, and have been for three or four months now. We sit and talk about books, cars, bikes, people, politics…” I paused and shrugged my shoulders before I continued. “Shit, you name it, and we’ve discussed it. God damned woman is drop dead gorgeous, but that ain’t what I like about her. I like it that she’s so down to earth. No fucking drama. No bullshit. No whining, bitching, or acting like a little girl.”

  “Believe me, that’ll all change,” he said.

  I turned to face him and nodded my head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Listen, I’ll never shack up with a woman. Every motherfucker in this club knows that. They’re good for one thing and one thing only, and that’s shovin’ ‘em full of dick. That’s it. Beyond that, I don’t have much use for ‘em. But my opinion on women shouldn’t be your opinion on women. There’s sure plenty of men on this earth who are happily married, in solid relationships, or shovin’ the single neighbor gal next door full of cock, and doing it successfully. Does it mean this girl’s for you? Only you can answer that question, Vince. Only you,” he said.

  “I think I’ll probably keep doing what I’m doing and see what happens,” I said.

  “Sounds like a good move,” he said.

  “Devil looks after his own,” I said as I clenched my fist and held it at arm’s length.

  He pounded his fist against mine and grinned. “He damned sure does.”

  As I walked out of his office and into the shop, I didn’t feel any better about the situation I was in. Axton was right, the only one who knew what was best for me was me, and no one else.

  What it came down to was whether or not I was ready to take the risk of being hurt again.

  And I didn’t know much, but I knew the answer to that question.

  I wasn’t.

  SIENNA

  October 5th, 2014

  I stared blankly at the monitor. The book was a disaster, the wine was aplenty, and the night was yet another spent at home alone. I wondered if I died in my sleep some night or fell into a wine induced coma and was unplugged from life support by some nurse who hated cool bitches just who would write and read my eulogy. I considered what it might say, based on them somehow finding someone who knew me well enough to write something.

  She drove a cool car and her hair was awesome.

  She had a nice butt when she wore those jeans from The Limited.

  Her nail beds were nice, but she rarely chose a good color of polish.

  Her eyebrows needed work.

  Thinking about it, I came close to crying. I had no one, was falling for a man that would probably never fall for me, yet I couldn’t fathom ever wanting any other man. My life had become a disaster. I was twenty-six, single, and had spent a lifetime in and out of relationships with losers. My father was probably turning over in his grave at the thought of his precious daughter withering away as an unmarried woman now pushing thirty years old.

  My father, not unlike me, was constantly reading something. Everything from cookbooks to old folklore could be found beside his bed on any given day. He was a sponge willing to soak up anything he could gather from reading. Me? I became a dreamer while he was away in prison, and began reading romance novels as fast as I could flip the pages. As soon as I got a Kindle and learned of the one-click option, my savings account began to dwindle, and my TBR list grew into the thousands.

  Romance novels were my weakness, and living the life depicted in them had become my dream.

  Before my father went to prison, he told me persistence is rewarded in a manner indifference will never know. I applied it all through high school, and my grades were a reflection of his wise words and my desire to make him proud of his little girl.

  I considered the advice of my father, and decided unless I applied it to my life, I would simply fall back into a proven pattern of slipping further and further away from what it was I deserved.

  I deserved to be loved as much as I was able to love.

  My eyes eventually focused on the monitor, and I realized I had spent an immeasurable amount of time wallowing in my sorrows. Spiraling into a state of self-pity wasn’t something I needed to do, and I knew focusing on my review should resolve the issue.

  I grabbed the bottle of wine, raised it to my lips, and took a long drink. Much to my surprise, the flow of the sweet substance abruptly stopped, leaving me holding a useless glass paperweight over my bobbing head.

  How in the fuck did that happen?

  I blinked my eyes and stared at the bottle. It was definitely empty, even though I had opened it only a few minutes prior.

  I swear, they’re making these bottles smaller. Maybe the glass is thicker and they hold less...

  I shook the bottle, gazed blankly at the bottom, and shoved it onto the desk beside my monitor. After teetering back and forth for a few seconds, it stopped quivering and came to rest upright and…

  Empty.

  The bottle’s ability to hold itself upright after I tossed it across my desk was all the proof I needed that the wineries were making the glass thicker, and providing me with much less of the nerve soothing potion I required to complete my Sunday night ritual.

  Fuckers.

  I glared at the screen, angry about the wine situation. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by The Pretenders calmed my nerves as I began to read my glorious review.

  You’re probably reading this review wondering just what book I read. Well, don’t let all the five star reviews fool you. I’m drunk enough, experienced enough, and lack fear of retribution enough to give an honest opinion.

  And here it is.

  This book was awful.

  And regardless of how many tens of thousands of followers the author has, I’m not afraid to ad
mit it.

  I refuse to fall in line with every other reader or reviewer who states this book is a “great read” or “fabulous” just because the author is a well-recognized figure in the industry.

  Newsflash.

  Five star reads are NOT books that have unbelievable characters doing unbelievable things.

  This book read like an episode of the Jerry fucking Springer Show.

  I fell in love with the guy who raped me as a teen, and used to come to my house as a babysitter and tie me up in the basement and stick broom handles in my twat. He beat me unconscious when I was twenty, and my family moved away, but I decided to stay because I truly loved him.

  Then, after a few years of suggesting and me willingly complying with his requests to have threesomes with him and his brother, I woke up and decided to break it off.

  After six months of sulking and smoking meth, I decided to give his other brother a try, only to fall in love with the stepfather.

  Are you fucking kidding me right now?

  As I read this worthless piece of shit, I held my breath in wait of the trip to Tijuana and the Shetland pony show. That’s really all this book was missing.

  Great read?

  I think not.

  Hot sex scenes?

  No.

  Well written?

  Yes.

  But I don’t care to read another hot sex scene when the h is mentally challenged and incapable of standing up for herself against an H who is overbearing, has a thirteen inch cock, and can fuck for twelve hours straight without the aid of a Viagra.

  “Fuck me and my brother, okay?”

  “I don’t want to, it’s not right…”

  “How can it be wrong if I want it and you love me, Aphilia?”

  “I guess it can’t. Okay, I’ll do it, but only because I love you…”

  That, ladies and gentlemen, is a direct quote from this five star read. I’m sorry, but I about barfed.

  And who in the absolute fuck names their kid Aphilia, anyway?

  Nobody.

  Want a five star review?

  Write me a book about a girl named Sienna who gets her brains fucked out buy a bearded biker.