by Avelyn Paige
Sure, the club dabbled in dealing for a while, but California legalizing weed medically killed our business overnight. You may need to have a medical reason to get it, but every Dick or Jane with a dirty doctor or a pain problem could get it now so it’s not exactly hard to come by anymore. Cocaine and running guns were offered to us after the weed business tanked, but the club decided unless we trafficked it ourselves, we didn’t want to deal with fucking cartel bullshit. The club might have jumped at the chance in the rougher days of the club, but we’re as legit as we can be now. Heaven’s Rejects has seen just about as much blood and chaos as I did serving overseas in the military in its early years, but shit is finally starting to settle down to a low boiling chaos. We work hard to keep our noses clean as possible, but every once in a great while, the law will be breathing down our necks for some fucking stupid thing one of the prospects pulled.
I zone back into the conversation at our Church table when I hear yelling coming from outside.
Ratchet, our Sergeant at Arms, busts through the room doors with a bloody cut in his hands. Raze sees the cut before anyone else and moves across the room in long strides before I even realize what’s going on. Fuck, I shouldn’t have shot tequila last night. My brain is slow on the uptake today, and I need it to function to process what the fuck just happened. Raze rips the leather cut from his hands, flipping it to the front to see the name patch. His eyes harden as the name comes into his view. His head hangs as he throws the cut to the table. “It’s Jagger. Fuck! Where did you find this, Ratchet?”
Ratchet hangs his head. “Prez, the cut isn’t all that I found. You need to come out back to the storage shed.” The entire room empties out the back doorway of the clubhouse to avoid alarming the old ladies and kids in the main room. If this as bad as I think it is, they don’t need to know about this until we get whatever’s in that shed out of here. We all walk across the dirt parking lot of the clubhouse to the small shed where we store spare Harley parts from our repair shop in town. Rounding the corner of the building, I can smell Jagger before I see him. The heat of the day didn’t waste any time cooking his body. When he finally comes into view, he’s been strung up by his arms from the rafters.
His face is nearly unrecognizable from the blood and bruises that mar his flesh. His body is covered in bloody cuts, but it’s his stomach where I notice the calling card left by his murderers. Two T’s are gouged into his stomach just above his navel. The only word I can manage is, “Fuck,” since the gruesome sight of his mangled body is enough to completely kill the buzz from last night’s party. Thugs and rival clubs know not to fuck with our MC’s territory, but apparently there are some days even I am wrong.
Our brotherhood stands in silence for what seems like an eternity as we silently take in the bloody scene. “Prez, we have to do something about this!” Ratchet says with heated words. “They killed Jagger, Raze. We have to hit them back.” Raze turns to Ratchet and charges toward him.
He comes inches from Ratchet’s face before he speaks. “Ratchet, calm the fuck down. We all lost a brother today. Twisted Tribe will be dealt with in time. You know as well as the rest of us that they expect us to avenge Jagger’s murder immediately. I know how you feel, Ratchet, because every man standing around you feels the same damn way. The Tribe fuckers will pay with their life for spilling the blood of one of our own but today, we need to mourn his loss. Darcy and the kids aren’t going to handle the news well. We need to make sure they are taken care of, and then the fuckers who did this will go down in a blaze of gunfire and flames. “
I move beside Raze to show the men I stand with his decision. “Raze is right. Today, we mourn, but tomorrow, we will burn the Twisted Tribe to the fucking ground.” Looking at the men standing around me, I can see the rage and sorrow within their eyes= “Ratchet, grab Slider and get Jagger down from there. Clean him up the best you can and call Morton’s Mortuary; they owe us a favor. Have him prepare Jagger’s body so Darcy and the kids can see him like he was before these bastards destroyed him.” Ratchet nods and stalks back to the clubhouse to retrieve our newest prospect. If taking down Jagger’s body doesn’t break him into the potential club life, I don’t know what will. Slider’s a good kid, but he needs to build up more of a backbone if he even thinks he’ll be patched in as one of us.
Slider and Ratchet return to the shed as the rest of us move back into our meeting room, which is now blanketed in sobered silence. Raze cuts through the silence long enough to make a quick vote to offer to pay for Jagger’s funeral expenses as well as set up a fund for his young boys. The vote passes unanimously as expected and we file out of Church in the the main room, which is littered with the old ladies and club mamas. Maj, Raze’s old lady, is behind the bar inventorying the damage we did at the party last night when her eyes lock onto Raze. Even I can tell that she knows that something is wrong... She drops the pad of paper she was carrying and immediately leaves from behind the bar. Maj wraps her arms around Raze as the the King and Queen of Heaven’s Rejects head back to their suite in the clubhouse. Raze needs her and Maj will make sure that Darcy and the boys will get what they need.
Just like I will once I find who I am looking for. My coping methods may not be what you would consider to be traditional, but it fucking works for me. I need to cut the edge off of the news of the shit storm our rival club, Twisted Tribe, sent our way. They dumped his bloody body right on our doorstep unnoticed and that’s the kind of of shit that shouldn’t happen if we were the kind of club we are known to be. I thank fuck that it wasn’t a family party night... The old ladies and kids didn’t need to see that kind of shit, it would scar the kids for life. Being VP of this club is far from an easy job, but it does have its perks. There are days it’s so good to fucking be me. Is today one of them? Fuck no, but all I need in this life is the club, my brothers, and the hot piece of club mama ass that’s about to suck my cock.
A pair of warm lips will help free my mind of what I just saw. I see Ruby, one of the club mamas lounging on the couch with a couple of the other girls. Grabbing her by the wrist, I drag her back to my room in the clubhouse. Shoving her to her knees as soon as the door closes, I unzip my jeans and force my cock into her pretty painted mouth. My mind needs a distraction and Ruby is just what the doctor ordered with her perfect lips and beautiful bouncing tits. Grabbing onto the back of her head to increase the force of my thrusts, Ruby moans at my touch as the top of her tits brush against my balls. Her tongue swirls around the tip of my cock as I pound into her waiting mouth.
As I continue to thrust, her eyes lock onto mine. I don’t know why that shit turns me on, but a woman watching me while I fuck her mouth is just about one of the hottest things on the planet to me. Her green eyes continue to watch me as I increase my speed. She moves one of her hands from my hip and grasps my balls. Rolling them between her fingers, she starts the firing sequence as she lightly grazes her teeth against the head of my dick, sending cum shooting down her throat. A smile grows across her face when I pull my softening cock from her mouth with my cum sticking to her swollen lips.
I’d planned on coming on those tits of hers, but I was gone as soon as she used her teeth on me. Ruby knows what I like; she’s the only club mama who has warms my bed regularly, and it will likely stay that way. She knows and understands that I have no intention of settling down with a nagging old lady and brat kids, so I live by the philosophy of love ’em once, and leave ’em forever. Ruby isn’t looking to settle down, either, so she’s the only one I’ve allowed to stick around after the first fuck. Well, that reason and that heavenly mouth of hers. I’m not sure where she learned how to suck a cock, but I want to shake the hand of the person who taught her.
I shove my dick back into my pants as Ruby gets off of her knees and straightens her short skirt back into its normal position. Sliding past me, she walks into my bathroom and turns on the faucet. . While she cleans up, I walk over to my bed and plop down when Ruby walks back into the room... Ruby may be a club
mama to everyone else, but to me she’s more like a friend with benefits. I can fuck her anytime I want, but she knows me better than anyone else. “Who was it out in the shed?” she asks, keeping her eyes on the ground. Her question shocks me.
“How in the fuck did you know someone was out in the shed?”
“I could tell from the way Slider looked at Ratchet when he came to get him that something was wrong. Plus, I was watching out the back window after they left the clubhouse again.”
Her admission rattles me knowing that she’s openly admitting to defying the rules for her position in the club. Club mamas are nothing but “at-will” pussy for the men and are supposed to stay out of club business just like the old ladies. She can’t even look at me when she’s telling me about sticking her damn nose where it doesn’t belong so she knows she’s in trouble.
“Ruby, you know you need to stay out of club business. Had you said that to any other patched member, your ass would have been out on the street or dead. These guys like their wives submissive and their whores quiet. You know I’m not entirely like that, but I won’t fucking break club rules to protect you just because we’re good in bed together.”
She still refuses to look at me, which shows me that she has to realize she fucked up admitting that kind of shit to me. Ruby knows I won’t punish her, but she needs to understand how serious I really am. I pull her chin back up to my eyes and make her look at me. “Ruby, I want to take care of you the best I can, but you can’t keep digging into the club’s business. One of these days the wrong brother is going to catch you, and I won’t be able to save your ass. “She nods her head in agreement heading to the door.
Before she walks out, I know I need to tell her about Jagger. I just don’t know how to tell her. She seemed to like him more than most of the other brothers. Just before she reaches the door, I stand up and push my hand against the wood to stop her from opening the door.
“Ruby, it was Jagger out in the shed. Raze is getting him cleaned up before he tells Darcy. Do not say a word until Raze announces it to the club.” She turns to me and nods in agreement before shoving my hand out of the way and walking out of my bedroom door.
Closing the door behind her, I lock it and return to my bed. Stretching out on top of the blankets, I think back to my memories of Jagger. He was my sponsor when I was a prospect. He turned me into the man behind the VP patch that’s on my cut today. He managed to tame the wild beast that I was when I walked into this clubhouse like I owned the place at twenty-two years old. I had no idea what the life of a member of a motorcycle club meant, but I was lost after leaving the Army. An MC seemed like the right place for me and after Jagger had educated me, I knew I was right.
Seven years later, I moved through the ranks and became VP, succeeding Jagger when his health started to decline and he needed to step away from his leadership duties. Raze wasn’t happy he was stepping down, but he understood his need to live the rest of the years he had with less stress. I always thought it would be his heart to take him, but never did I ever fucking think it would be a knife from a Twisted Tribe member who snuffed out his life. The thought of Jagger’s last fucking memory being that fucker’s face sends rage rocketing through me. I’ve got to keep my anger in check over the next few days because Jagger wouldn’t want me or any of the guys to ruin his funeral for Darcy and the boys. Once we’ve laid him to rest, I can’t guarantee that I won’t set the Twisted Tribe’s world on fire in plain sight. These fuckers need to pay, and I’ll be the one to send them all back to hell. I may be a Heaven’s Reject, but they’ll be the devil’s whores by the time I’m finished with them. I just need to make it through the next couple of days, and revenge will be mine.
Two weeks after moving in with Ricca, we’re finally starting to settle into living together. I knew that living with a complete stranger would be difficult, but her bubbly personality helped me settle into our new domestic life easily. She and I spent much of the first week I lived here running around to local thrift shops. I needed clothes badly, and Goodwill was all I could afford. Ironically enough, I managed to bulk up my wardrobe with just fifty dollars; you don’t get nice quality clothes like that at a thrift store in Ohio.
The longer we live together, the more I learn about her. The biggest thing that surprised me was how old she is. I’d assumed she was a lot younger than me, but I was shocked to find out she’s actually thirty years old—five years my senior. She doesn’t look a day over twenty-two, but who knows if that could be because of good genes or a good doctor. One major thing I have noticed is that she is a bit of a slob. Most days I end up spending a few hours cleaning up the place after she wakes up at the crack of noon. Ricca works six nights a week at a local bar, so I get evenings to myself watching television.
The only bad part about being her roommate is that she comes home nearly every night drunk as shit and passes out wherever she lands in the house. I have no clue how she can live like that night after night, but every single morning she wakes up perky and ready to take on the day. The few times I’ve drank in my life I was so sick that I vowed off drinking for months. I sure as shit never woke up blissfully happy after an appearance by Jack Daniels; that bastard ruins everything. I’m grateful that Ricca at least has a steady boyfriend so I don’t have to deal with the walk of shame from some random guy she picked up at work the night before. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Enrico yet, but she thinks I’ll like him. Yeah, we’ll see about that.
Tonight’s her night off and, as usual, she’s back on my case about applying for a waitress position at the bar with her. She started on this topic the second day I was living here. It’s not that I don’t want to work with her, but it’s the exposure I’ll get working in a bar. I really don’t want to work in a public place but after six days of California living, I’m down to $200 after going ahead and paying next month’s rent. The bar is the only job that I’ve been close to finding that will pay me under the table, other than topless house cleaning, and that’s a fuck no in my book.
“Come on, Dani,” Ricca pleas. “Just come with me! I promise it will be fun! We can even ask my boss if he has a job for you. He won’t be able to say no once he sees your sexy ass. I bet he'll drop to his knees and beg you to come work at the bar.” Rolling my eyes at her, she crosses her arms and tries to give me the sad puppy eyes. Like that will work.
“I said no, Ricca. Bars aren’t my scene. Why the fuck would a bar called Red Rockets be the kind of place I would want to work? It sounds like a fucking strip club,” I yell from the kitchen. No way in holy hell am I going to work there, let alone drink there. I’ve noticed she isn’t one for giving up her arguments and frankly, running this low on cash is starting to cloud my decision-making process. There’s no mistaking that I am strapped for cash and nearing the point of desperation, but I’m not that desperate to work in a shitty bar.
“Dani, you need a job and Red’s offering to give you a shot plus pay you under the table. What's the harm in coming in with me on my day off and just checking the place out?” Ricca stands her ground as I try to bypass her in the kitchen door.
“Let me by, Ricca. I’m not going!” She doesn’t budge. God dammit! “Move, Ricca, or I’ll move you.” Her eyes narrow and she plants her feet against each side of the door frame.
“Admit it, you’re curious, Dani. It’s just one night out. Stop being such a fucking baby and just come with me. I’ll get you all dolled up to make Red and all the boys in the bar purr and we’ll have fun! You do know what fun is, right?” I forcibly shove against her blockading body again. She’s keeping me from the couch and the DVD I picked from her collection—I’ve seen Hunger Games before, but it’s the only good movie she has that isn’t porn or a cheesy B-grade slasher movie. Yet, Ricca isn’t moving. I really don’t want to give up trying to get out of this, but she’s bound and determined my mac n’ cheese date with Peeta and Gale is going to be cancelled.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ricca. If it lets me out of thi
s kitchen, fine! I’ll go.” She jumps up and down screaming before bolting down the hall into her room, no doubt picking out the skankiest clothes she owns. “But, I will not go looking like a hooker!” I scream down the hall at her. What the hell did I just agree to? I guess the worst that could happen is that I find a shitty job and get felt up by low-life drunks. Oh, that’s not bad at all, I think sarcastically. Just as I sit down to take a bite of the gooey delicious mac n’ cheese I made during Ricca’s staged protest, she walks in the room and jerks the spoon out of my hand.
“No time to eat! It’s time to get you looking bootylicious!” she shrieks. Fuck my life.
Three hours later, I emerge from Ricca’s room painted and stuffed into a flimsy silver and black mini dress that barely covers my ass. I feel so uncomfortable in this outfit, but she got pissed at me earlier for saying I should just go naked because what she forced me into couldn’t be classified as clothes by their lack of coverage so I have to deal with the outfit she gave me. My hair was another battle with her since I wanted to leave it down, but the fashion police vetoed that idea. Instead, she braided my long, unruly hair into a side braid that ends over my left shoulder. After declaring me fit for public display, Ricca shoves me in front of the full-length mirror in our shared bathroom and I barely recognize myself. The makeup on my face highlights the olive undertones of my skin and accentuates my deep brown eyes. Since Ricca and I are so different complexion wise, she could only plaster my skin with a Cher amount of silvery glitter eye shadow and lipstick. I look like a cross between a stage-ready drag queen and a clown, but I can’t tell Ricca that without hurting her feelings. At least she was right about the dress; it does hug my curves tightly while accentuating my chest. My boobs are pushed up so high I feel like Wilson peering over the fence on the Home Improvement reruns I used to watch with my mom growing up.
