Chains (Quarter Kings MC Book 1)

by Iris Sweetwater

  I go to my room at the clubhouse, a knife tucked away just in case anyone starts any shit while I am outside at this time of night, but I make it in just fine.

  My room is pretty lame, and I share it with some other clubwhores like me; the kind without anywhere else they can go. I live here on the club’s dime and repay with the jobs I get from men. I also play the lottery liberally, but I doubt my luck will ever garner a win of the magnitude to pay back all that I owe and get my own little place.

  The truth is, I wasted my youth on those tour buses. Was it fun? Hell yeah. But it didn’t go very far in planning for my future or getting me a legitimate job when I got older. So, when the last band I followed around fell apart, I followed one of the members right into this club.

  And that’s ancient history.

  That man is no longer recognizable, but he does have the generosity to let me stay here. It’s better than a woman like me could hope for.

  One of the three roommates of mine is passed out on her bottom bunk, another is MIA, and yet another can be heard singing very out of turn in the shower, likely just off of a job. Or maybe she was with one of the MC members she has become obsessed with. She really thinks she will be an ol’ lady someday.

  The sooner she gets rid of that delusion, the better.

  I don’t bother to knock as I barge in, needing a little lady time. I begin to remove some of the layers of the makeup mask I paint on each morning, though I can never seem to get it all off in one wash. And then I survey myself in the small mirror, wiping the fog away with my right hand.

  I am not ugly, not a 10, but a solid 8, or at least, I was when I was young. Not that I am old, but the signs of the journey in that direction can be seen if I don’t take pains to cover them up. I am afraid one day it will hurt the amount of money I make because I won’t always be able to cover up my age. No amount of blood red hair dye and cheap cosmetics are going to stop the ticking clock forever. And then what will I do?

  I clutch my stomach, the nerves getting to me like they do sometimes, and know that coming up here alone and tipsy was not the best of ideas. Being left alone in my thoughts at night is just unhealthy. But I can’t bring myself to choke down the cum of one of those men that are still lingering at the bar right now. I don’t even want to step foot back in there.

  Then my tequila drowned mind jumps to an idea it never would otherwise; there is one man who is in this very building that might give me the good fuck I need to shut my brain up. I likely won’t make a dime, but a peaceful sleep is worth a hell of a lot more than that some nights.

  I take my shirt off but leave the mesh one underneath that shows off my pert breasts thanks to a little gift in the form of a lift from a former frequent client, and I walk out into the hallway, heading deeper down into the clubhouse where the men stay.

  The housing in here is somewhere between a cheap motel and a dorm, but even if we all like to fuck, the prez has always kept us separated so that us women can have a nice place that is only ours after we let our bodies be ruled by the men. Another redeemable quality for a man who has grown to love a life he never wanted.

  There is no one else down here to look at me, just a couple of men lingering with some women in the hallway, but I can hear a few people celebrating on the inside of the rooms, which are not the most sound proof or insulated.

  A roar of melodic moans says hello to me as I find the last door on the left and place my ear to the door.

  I am not beyond making him stop with whatever woman he might have in his bed, but I want to be prepared for what I am walking in on. But there is only silence. Though, I know he already left the party because I saw him.

  Who leaves their own party early?

  Mr. fake knight in shining armor Chains, that’s who.

  I don’t knock as I realize the door is not locked, and I see that he is laying on his bed, entirely alone, and staring up at the ceiling like he might be hallucinating stars. There is a smug grin on his face, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me.

  I shut the door loudly behind me to get his attention, and he looks over, and I watch his eyes glaze over as they survey my chest.

  He lets out a whistle long and slow, and I walk over to the bed before climbing over him. “So, do you like it like this,” I ask real smooth, running my hand up and down his body, “or in reverse.”

  Before I can even think or take another breath, he has me flipped onto my back with me hitting the bed with a loud thud. “No, sweetheart, I am in control if you want this to happen. That’s how it works. And you are at my mercy.” He presses himself against me, my skirt all tangled up so that my thong is exposed to his bulge. He and I have never gotten this far before, never even kissed, but I have always suspected there is more to his saving ways than just trying to be a cocky hero.

  I guess if I am going to find out, it’s going to be now.

  I get the feeling I am in for quite a rough night, and I am not going to complain about it either.

  “Okay, then,” I say, giving him the confirmation he wants to get on with it. I don’t even recognize my own voice. I guess I haven’t been turned on like this in a while. Sure, sex feels ok, even good, no matter who it’s with, but a lot of that excitement goes away when you do it for money and not out of pure lust. Which is what this is right here and now as he hangs over me, his new cut sliding across my ribs. “Have it your way.”

  “Oh, I think I will,” he growls. I watch him undress, his eyes looking over every inch of my body, but I swear, it’s like he’s touching me with them. I can feel the heat slide across me as his eyes do.

  Shit. Maybe he has a reason to be cocky.

  My eyes land on his shaft as it’s the last thing he pulls out, and I just about choke. I have seen some big dicks in my time as a clubwhore. I have seen crooked ones, thick, skinny, and everything in between, but this is shaped to perfection like it’s been sculpted, and it is so wide I fear for my own pussy.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper because I just cannot help myself, and he has a cocky smirk on his face.

  Fucking hot asshole.

  He is back on me in a second; pouncing like a wild animal. Nothing is going to be sweet or gentle here. I doubt he is even going to take it slow. That is fine by me as my brain is easy to drown out if I am being slammed into oblivion.

  His tongue comes down on me, lashing across my partially exposed breasts through the fabric, making my nipples stand on end. Then, he moved my thong out of the way, the head of his cock right at my entrance. It is throbbing and aching, wanting this so badly. But he stops and grabs my chin violently in his hand, his fingers digging into the bone. “There is no safe word here. You match me pain for pain if you want me to stop,” he says. My eyes widen. What did I get myself into?

  I don’t think he will hurt me, but I have never experienced any kind of pain or domination in a pleasurable way, and I would be lying if I say I am not at least a little nervous if not scared of what he might do. I have heard rumors about him before, but I know those things get made up and exaggerated around here.

  Apparently, some part of them must be true in this case.

  I nod, still wanting the escape more than I am afraid, and he plunges into me before muffling my scream with his hand. He slams into me, my insides forced to spread for him ready or not, and the pain is overwhelming, though there is pleasure there too as he fucks me so hard. He hits every sensitive part inside of my center, and I wail into his hand with a confused sort of ecstasy.

  His eyes are full of fire, a devilish gleam in them as he watches me, and I dare to call his bluff. He likes pain, does he?

  I bite down on his finger, the one closest to my mouth, and I do it just enough to get his attention. “Harder,” he says in a hiss. “If you’re going to do it, then commit,” he orders. It’s like he has hypnotized me. I do what he says, an I am afraid I will draw blood if I bite any harder.

  Chains roars, and I think he is angry for one second before I feel him inside me, s
o excited, precum already spilling into my warm flesh.

  He grunts and moans, and so do I as he slams mercilessly into my g-spot and my cervix. I gasp, unable to think straight. This is exactly what I wanted and so much more.

  “Fuck,” I say through his hand as I feel myself tightening already. I don’t want it to end. “Oh god!” I just can’t hold back, and suddenly his hand moves, sliding down to my neck, and then he squeezes.

  I can still breathe, but it is difficult, and it hurts my windpipe, the way he is pressing down. I have heard something about this before, that this kind of thing can bring on a stronger orgasm, and so I give him pain for pain. I wrap my legs around him for dear life and thrust into the feeling as my legs begin to quiver, and then my nails, my long, fake, sharp nails, dig into his back.

  He moans so loud I am sure the entire clubhouse knows he is fucking someone in here, and I am certain that I have drawn blood down his back. But I can’t react because that’s when the feeling rushes into my core, pulsating so hard I almost black out from the pleasure.

  Chapter 4

  Chains

  "Fuck!" I sigh to myself, breaking out in a cold sweat. I get up and head straight for the shower with thoughts of two nights ago still playing in my head.

  That night with Nails was a dream night for me. Well, sort of. It’s as close as I have come to being myself in the bedroom with a woman in a long time, and I was so scared she would be pissed or scared, but she fucking liked it. It was the hottest thing to watch her face and feel her body respond to me like that.

  But now I can’t get the image out of my head, and I don’t know if I could or should let something like that happen again with her.

  I am a badass dedicated to my work with a criminal motorcycle gang, don’t get me wrong there, but I am not one to have meaningless sex all the time. I have needs, and I meet them if I have to, but I don’t go running back to the same woman if there is not going to ever be something more there. And I also wouldn’t want to share.

  With a clubwhore, even one like Nails who deserves so much more than she allows herself to have I would always have to share.

  I let the cold water wake me up and soften my hard cock from yet another wet dream starring Nails and myself. I don’t know how or when this is going to fade away, but it’s absolute torture. And it isn’t like she’s come begging my way for more either. Though, I might have torn up her pussy a bit much. She might not be able to come to me yet.

  I smirk and laugh at that before letting the water freeze down my back as well. Then, a pounding comes at the door.

  "Hurry up, Chains. Prez wants to see you in his office."

  Whoever it is, which I can’t tell through the door, walks off before I can say anything in response. I don’t know what the prez wants with me, but there are very few reasons to be called into his office. Many of them are not good reasons, but I can’t possibly think of anything I would have done wrong.

  I think back to what he told me at my initiation party. It is rare to get a job so soon, but from what I do know, I think Karl, the prez, has been making a lot of improvements with the club, and that means more need of men to carry out duties. If this is a job, I am stoked, even if the work sucks. I will prove my worth to him and move up in the ranks.

  I quickly dry off, knowing better than to keep the prez waiting, and then go straight to his office with some jeans, a tee, and my cut on. Because I have to look serious about this. Some men dare to walk around in sweat pants with no shirt on, and I am sure prez can be none too happy about that shit.

  I walk in to see him sitting there, as intimidating as ever. Not that he matches his brother on that, though I have never seen the guy in person.

  Karl Laurent is a big guy, lots of muscles, tats, and a beard that just makes him look like he’s in charge. And it doesn’t hurt that his brother is the head of the Corsica mafia in France. If anything will make you shit your pants, it's Samuel Laurent. He makes the bratva look like a grandma's tea party.

  "You asked to see me, prez?" I say, standing straight until I am asked to be seated. He is the king, after all.

  "Close the door and have a seat. I have some business I would like to discuss with you."

  I nod and do as he instructs, feeling both important and nervous at the same time.

  "It turns out I am in need of your services," he says, sitting up in his chair, his hand absentmindedly in his wiry, black facial hair. "The club has gotten into some newer dealings the past couple of months that have proven to be lucrative, only, they are quite sensitive in nature, if you understand what I mean?" he questions, his eyes boring into me.

  "Yes, prez, I believe I understand," I say, trying not to look away like I so much want to.

  "Then, you will understand that having a snitch is not good for our business." I nod, trying not to react, but who the fuck would be dumb enough to snitch on the Quarter Kings? That’s suicide. "This snitch needs to be dealt with. I will give you all the information you need to meet him. It will be in New York, but I would rather the rest be communicated with a burner phone I will provide. You are to make an example of him in front of the others so they know what happens when they become a snitch and then you will give them the new directions which I will then provide once you confirm the job is done. We can’t keep receiving the heroin the same way now for obvious reasons."

  He slides a phone across the desk to me, which I assume is the burner phone, and then looks at me again. "So, you in?"

  "Of course, prez."

  Chapter 5

  Chains

  We arrive to the dock, and I can’t keep myself from eyeballing Slim. See, Slim is a member of Quarter Kings, though he hasn’t been for too long. Maybe a couple of years. And he is known for his addiction to every drug out there. It turns out, that addiction got him into more than a little bit of trouble a few months back, and in order to save his own damn skin, he has turned mole so he can get off scot free on the outrageous charges he would have had, being a repeat drug felon and all.

  So, he snitched on us. He is the one I am here to get rid of, and I don’t like the fact that I have had to ride here with myself and the other innocents knowing this. I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him.

  I also don’t trust that we aren’t suddenly going to get busted either.

  But Karl assured me this plan is bullet proof and that as long as we play our cards right, we are going to come out unscathed and undetected.

  So, apparently the MC had been picking up the heroin at this shitty dock in a bad part of town this whole time. Today, that will change, but nobody knows that but me.

  We approach the shipping container that I am pretending is for us. It’s an old, rotten thing that looks like it could be abandoned. I certainly hope so because I don’t want any trouble from whoever this truly is for. Luckily, it being in the middle of the night, we are concealed unless we step under the lone light collecting a swarm of bugs to my right.

  I slide it up. “Hey, Slim, can you give me a hand?” I ask the resident traitor. I need to get him over here some way, so I pretend like this shit is heavy. It’s fucking gross but weighs almost nothing for me. He saunters up as if he is a big shot, and that’s when I rip this shit upward and shove him inside. Luckily, it is empty, but the effort it takes to do this quickly has my shoulder catching on the side of the container, the metal ripping through to my skin.

  I grunt through it, adrenaline pumping through me as I corner Slim in the back, pressing my glock to his temple. “Don’t get any fucking ideas, snitch,” I spit in his ear. He is shaking, and I can tell he knows he fucked up.

  “Listen the fuck up!” I holler out to the other men, and they come closer cautiously, looking unsure whether or not they should reach for their guns. But the buzzing of their cells tells me they will know who is wrong and right in just a moment. “Look at your phones and you will see a text from prez.” I wait until they make the right move. “You will all see what this motherfucker has done to us, and he will
pay with his brain splattered all over this container.” I shoot, his body falling to the floor as blood and brain matter spurts everywhere. The sound is loud, so loud I am afraid someone will hear. We have to get out of here.

  I grab the fucker’s cut and wallet, leaving nothing on him for anyone to know who he is. Nothing but his fingerprints when they find him.

  “Get the fuck over here and help me get him in the water,” I order, and a few of the men step up to help. We give him the lame send off, and I take to my bike. “Tonight, we stay at a motel, in the morning, we go to the new drop point. I am in charge for now, boys,” I tell them before kickstarting and hightailing it out of there. I am not in the fucking mood to be caught or to fuck this up.

  *****

  Three of the members and I are hidden in a crowd of loved ones, watching a huge cruise ship make its way into port.

  Yes, a cruise ship is carrying a shipment of heroin for us. How in the actual fuck Karl Laurent managed to score a deal like that, I have no idea, but it is damn brilliant, or fucking sick, depending on how you look at it.

  None of us have our cuts on. We don’t want to be identified. This is some grade A undercover shit, and it feels kinda good.

  We all have glocks and knives and a signal in case things go bad, but other than being kind of big dudes, there is nothing that makes us look like we are here together. For all they know we are waiting for some chick to come in and rock our world.

  It is excruciating, at least for me, waiting for all of this to work out the right way. I have direct instructions on where to go and find the heroin once pretty much everyone is off the ship. All I have to do is show the fake ticket I have been given and say I left something in my room. But then, I have to not get caught hauling it out. On top of that, this shit on my shoulder hurts. I am afraid it’s infected, and I will have to try and make it through until I can get home and get to Doc.

  Finally, I get myself inside the ship and to the most expensive shit I have ever heard of, and two of us are loading it up and taking it out. I am sweating, though it is not at all hot, due to the pain in my shoulder. But I have to soldier on.