Filthy Daddy (Satan's Saints MC #2)

by Bella Love-Wins

  “Whoever did that to you ain’t a man. He’s a fucking coward.” He folds his arms for a moment as he studies me. “You know what, kid? I’ll give you a chance to show me those skills of yours. I’ve got some business to take care of in that hotel across the street. Show me what you find out about me by the time I get back, and maybe I’ll let you work for me. I might even get you a new toy.”

  “Why should I trust you?” I mutter as he turns to leave.

  He pivots around. “You shouldn’t. Trust is earned, kid. Plus, you just said that you know my kind,” he answers, giving me back the spiel I just gave him. He reaches his hand into his leather cut and pulls out a wad of cash. All hundred-dollar bills. I can almost smell the vaguely familiar scent of newly minted bills as he slips off the money clip and pulls four bills from the stack. He holds out the four hundred dollars—more money than I’ve had in ages.

  “Keep your damn money. My ass is not for sale.”

  “I’m not buying you. I’m not a sick fuck.”

  “What’s it for, then?”

  “Go fix your toy. Or buy a new one.”

  “There’s no such thing as free money.”

  “It’s not. This is the justice you asked for.”

  I don’t know if this man is for real, but I can use that cash he’s offering. I grab it from his hand and shove it into my bag, scooping up the fallen letter buttons of my busted keyboard from the ground. “Okay. If you insist.”

  “See you in an hour. I want to know what you can do with that piece of shit laptop and a network connection.”

  “Uh… sure,” I lie. I don’t plan to be here when he gets back. “I’ll get right on that for you.”

  “I hope you do.” As I turn to leave, he says, “Just remember. I’m head of the snake. I’ve got the power to change your life.”

  “I’ve heard that shit before.”

  “Not from me.”

  “Yeah? Tell me how you’d change my life.”

  “Be here when I get back. You’ll find out.”

  I don’t wait for them to leave. I’m halfway down the block before he and his men cross the street. But his message plays on repeat in my head. That piercing stare kept assessing me, appraising me, searching me long after he left. And when I find his name in the DMV database I hacked in the library, something compels me to take notice.

  Less than an hour later, I’m standing beside the row of Harleys and Choppers and custom bikes, squinting to block out the bright reflection of the sun on all that chrome, waiting for the man who’ll change everything.

  Chapter 2

  Tate

  Present day

  “Unsuspecting Los Diablos motherfuckers.”

  I grind out a wicked laugh and throw my turn signal on. Jerking my bike to the left, I temporarily delay my arrival at Littlefield, Arizona, also known as Biker Canyon by those who understand this is motorcycle club territory. I’m supposed to be rushing to make it to my clubhouse, the Satan’s Saints MC headquarters, but this detour is more than worthwhile.

  The sun beats down on all that chrome up ahead, glinting and glittering, catching my eye as though summoning me, tempting me to follow my repeatedly proven poor judgment and get up to no good as usual.

  I eye the line of motorcycles outside the seedy bar. They all belong to Los Diablos MC members, my club’s most recent rivals. We’ve always had history, but after everything went down with the Padrino and our new common enemy, Lorenzo Giovanni, these Los Diablos pricks have a new spot reserved on my shit list. Using the motivation from my umpteenth energy drink of the day, I set my sights on playing a little mischief where it’s warranted.

  “Yes,” I mutter to myself. “We got business.”

  I pull off the deserted highway into the rich red desert dust. The Arizona sun beats down on my bike, hot and intense like a belt hitting my back the way I like it. That wicked heat leaves trails of sweat trickling down my spine. Licking my chapped lips, I run a hand over the top of my bright blue spiked mohawk haircut and pull my sunglasses hallway down my nose. There’s no mistaking what I’m seeing. Yes, it’s time to have some good old-fashioned fun.

  Using the toe of my boot as I’ve done countless times before, I lower my kickstand but keep the motor running as I step off my bike. I crack my knuckles. A fast, clean getaway is on the agenda. Los Diablos insignia and emblems are all over the fuckers’ bikes, anything from custom rims, seat cushions, and flags trailing off the back. It’s a parade of Los Diablos pride begging for a beatdown, considering they’re this damn close to Satan’s Saints territory.

  I’m not here to let these slackers get to me, though. They sure as hell won’t have the chance to ruin my day. Fuck no. This is the one bright spot in a week filled with a whole lot of suck—and not the kind where I can get off, either.

  As the thought crosses my mind, I make a mental note to set up a session with my latest plaything.

  Molly.

  Her name makes her sound so innocent, but she’s far from it. Molly’s a naughty sex kitten inside a good girl. A nursing student with kinky tastes that almost match mine. I make up my mind to go check her out after I report back to the MC at the end of this Los Diablos diversion. The adrenaline rush of raising hell combined with the thought of hooking up with Molly later makes me horny as hell.

  I hop off the bike. Time to remind them that payback’s a bitch and all’s fair in war. I stroll over to the rival bikes as if nothing is out of place about me being here, and then I whip out a switchblade. Within less than a minute I puncture every single bike’s rear tire before shoving the closed blade in the back pocket of my jeans.

  “That was easy.”

  It crosses my mind that it’ll only take a slight jerk of my right hip to catch the first bike on its side and create a domino effect of crumpled, falling motorcycles. I think against it just as quickly as the idea pops into my head. That’s beyond my limit, even if they deserve it for accepting the paid job of blowing half of my MC’s clubhouse sky high. Sure, most of the repairs are complete now. Our headquarters is pretty much good as new. Still, it will be a long time before I can let go of what they did. For now, I’ll make do with the satisfaction that their slashed tires will give them enough grief.

  Damn, does it ever give me a little gallop in my giddy-up. I grin like an idiot as I stroll over to my ride, which still hums as the engine runs.

  Payback’s a bitch, motherfuckers.

  Getting onto my ride, I race out of there, kicking up a cloud of dirt vast enough to obliterate my vision of any reaction I might’ve witnessed through my rearview mirror. No matter how the Los Diablos handle it, my only regret is not being able to see their reactions. I’ll miss out on watching them sputter, swear up a storm, kick up more dirt, and flail their pansy arms like they’re in a fucking tizzy.

  That would’ve been pure gold.

  Unfortunately, I have real-life tasks to keep up with. There’s no time today to keep playing my own version of a primetime prank war. Still, it doesn’t stop me from plastering a shit-eating grin on my face until I finish the fifteen-mile ride to the clubhouse. Once I roll up to the partially paved parking area, I park my chopper and head inside. My eyes adjust to the dim lights. I waste no time. Nodding to some of the members milling about, I walk through the central hangout area, pass the pools tables and stop at the bar.

  I nod to a few of the sweet-looking MC groupies behind the counter. Our club’s sack demons. They all know me well enough to anticipate that I want whiskey and a lot of it. One of them slides a bottle over to me. No shot glass follows. Also good. I give her a nod of thanks and turn to look over at the other members spread out around the club’s common room. They’re taking it easy during their downtime today instead of scraping by with a nine to five like the rest of the human race.

  “Check out all you lucky fuckers,” I shout, and am greeted by a chorus of smiles mixed with the usual cussing and friendly hollering.

  After a few swigs from my whiskey bottle, I stride down
the wide hallway to check the bulletin board. A new roster of security team shifts and assignments have been handed out for the week, and I want to have an idea of how packed my schedule will be for the next few days.

  No matter what, I need to stay busy. Too much free time on my hands is not a good thing where I’m concerned. Thank fuck my MC brothers understand me well enough to keep me on the straight and narrow, especially now that our club’s headed in a new direction. I was against the change at first. That was mostly because I hated the idea of having to tone shit down and put on a front. I don’t enjoy making myself all presentable for security clients instead of getting to kick up my dusty boots, sell weapons for a shit ton of cash, and cause mayhem back alleys, and let it all hang out in my favorite underground sex clubs.

  Over time, I’ve come around. The fact is that some of these gigs are a challenge, and they pay serious coin. Not a bad deal for going legit. Silas, our current President, took his old lady, Sabrina’s advice, and she helped the MC set us up the right way. So far, I’ve only had to wear a business suit a couple of times. In those cases, it was at the request of specific high-profile clients. But Silas has seen to it that I don’t get stuck on most of those jobs, which makes everyone happier in the long run. He understands all too well that I’m not the best at watching what I say or being politically correct. But we’re all doing what we have to do to make it work. I won’t run interference.

  I glide my palm over my spiky mohawk. Taking the bottle with me, I step across the large room and scan the board outside the family meeting room for my name. Sure enough, my name is there, but the first entry on my schedule is highlighted in bright pink. I smile, recalling that I told Sabrina she didn’t need to make the schedule light up as bold as a stripper’s thong in a glow in the dark sex club. She didn’t find it funny. The notation is her way of telling us which assignments require a phone call with her for more information or specific instructions. I don’t have a problem with Sabrina, but I know she thinks I’m a handful. Most women of her pedigree do. In any case, she’s Silas’s old lady, not mine.

  Digging into my jeans pocket, I pull out my phone. Her number’s in my log of missed calls, so I tap it and put the phone to my ear.

  “This is Sabrina,” Silas’s old lady answers after barely half a ring. Her intense focus practically strangles me over the phone.

  “Hey, it’s Tate. You’ve got something for me?”

  “Yes. Give me a second.”

  That’s one thing I appreciate about the nature of our interaction. Neither of us has a problem with cutting through the bullshit of frivolous small talk and getting to the point. I hear her flipping through pages on the other line, so I lean against the wall to wait. I have just enough time to smack the round, sweet backside of one of the redhead sack demon as she moseys on by.

  “That’s a fine piece of ass right there, little lady.”

  “What?” Sabrina asks.

  Right. Boss lady is still on the line.

  “Nothing. Just appreciating the…ambiance over here at the clubhouse.”

  “Hmmm. Okay…”

  “By the way, how’s the poor little kid doing?” I ask about her friend, Jordan Bain. He’s not poor and not a kid, but that’s the way we all refer to the only son of Nevada State Governor Harvey Bain, one of the wealthiest legitimate billionaires west of Chicago. Ever since Silas rescued Jordan from the Los Diablos compound during our last all-out brawl, the kid has shown his gratitude time and time again by referring us to a fuck ton of new uber-rich clients needing protection services.

  “He’s doing fine. And you can ask him yourself in a few weeks when you go to his place for card night.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay here’s the file. I’m assigning you to Molly Davenport for the next few weeks, maybe more.”

  “What? Nice.” I smile. A mandate to be around Molly. My Molly, the sex kitten with a hankering for me. The woman’s been up for anything and everything kinky that I’ve ever thrown her way in the bedroom. And against the wall. And on the floor. And right over there on the counter of the clubhouse bar. Blindfolds, paddles, handcuffs, whips, chains. You name it, she’s been game for playing with me. This is going to be one sweet job assignment.

  “You two know each other a little bit, right?”

  “Yeah.” Real well.

  “Good. Silas suggested that you’d be best for this job. Her intake form points to a medium risk case of stalking, but as always, I wouldn’t rely solely on my notes. Your first meeting should be more of a friendly house call to dig deeper. You know the drill.”

  I’m digging deeper, all right. “Yes. You can count on me, Captain,” I say with a low chuckle. “Thank your boy-toy for me, will you, Sabrina?”

  “How about I pretend you didn’t just call your President a boy-toy, and we’ll call it even?”

  “Isn’t that what he is now?” I ask, but I know her well enough. I don’t wait for her to answer. “Sure, sounds good. I’ll keep you in the loop about Miss Davenport.”

  “Excellent. You do that,” Sabrina says and quickly hangs up. She probably has a bunch of other work to do today. For the moment, her regular job is at a successful law firm, and on top of that, she handles client intake for our MC’s newly launched security firm. It’s one hell of a job, but she does it with poise.

  With my assignment taken care of, I take a second to survey the prime sack demons in the clubhouse, all ready and willing to be licked, sucked, and fucked by any patch-wearing member, especially executive members like me. They’re usually a nice treat after a long day, but not today. Come to think about it, not for a while. Slapping asses is one thing, but ever since I started seeing Molly, I’ve had no desire to be with any other woman. Sure, we’re casual, but there’s something else going on between us that neither of us has taken time to acknowledge. In any case, with this new assignment, I’m sure to have plenty of good times with Molly Davenport. Whoever said it’s a bad idea to mix business with pleasure has no idea what they’re talking about. It’s like killing two birds with one stone. Except there’s no killing, and no stones or birds are harmed in the process.

  “How’s it going, sugar?” The redhead whose ass I just smacked is back. She presses her chest against me as I stand there, edging her fingers down to my belt loops. “Looks like you’ve had a long…hard…day?”

  Real subtle.

  I grimace a bit as she flashes a seductive smile, parting her lips suggestively. Serves me right for touching her a few minutes ago. Except now, she’s riled up. I’ve got my mind elsewhere. Too bad this little firecracker can’t compete with what’s waiting for me at Molly’s. In the not too distant past, I wasn’t above sampling a wide array of flavors. Lately, I only have a craving for one feisty brunette. And today, I like the idea of doubling down with a woman whose kink level kicks mine up a notch. Molly’s damn near perfect when it comes to sex. Which makes the sack demon whose hands are slithering all over my junk a little less appealing.

  I give her a wink, wishing I could remember her name. I did some work for one of her relatives a while back, so her last name is on the tip of my tongue but won’t come to me. “I’m good for now, honey.”

  “Did you get a chance to help my grams the other day?”

  I nod. “It’s all done. Everything went smooth. Her place is set up with a top of the line safe for any expensive or rare items for her auction business. And I installed eight encrypted servers on her bidding website.”

  “That’s great! Thanks for giving her a hand.”

  “Anytime. She’s a feisty one, your grandma. She told me to listen out for a call on Saturday after her neighbor’s monthly book club meeting. They’re reading something naughty. She wanted me to know she’d keep her evening open for me, considering she’d be… inspired.”

  Her jaw drops. “Oh.”

  “Yep. That’s your grandma. It must run in the family.”

  She takes a full step backward, untangling her hands from my belt loop. �
��Well, maybe you and I can have a good time… one of these days.”

  I wink at her. “You bet. Or try your luck with the prospect.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “It’s b-y-o-t at my place,” I add, knowing full well that she’s the vanilla sex type and that I’m sure to throw her for a loop.

  “Sorry, what’s b-y-o-t?”

  “Bring your own toys…as in sex toys.”

  She barely nods, practically running back to her spot behind the bar. I cock my head and sigh, my eyes half-closed. That’s one less upper crust sorority chick turned sack demon wannabe to turn down. Some of these chicks are too fucking tame when they show up at our clubhouse looking for a thrill. They need to know upfront that I’m not just wild, I’m wicked. I’m not just dirty, I’m filthy.

  Besides, I have my hands full with Molly. She can keep up with me. She’s been warming my bed off and on for over six months now. The night I met her, we hit it off in one of the stalls in the women’s bathroom. She rocks my world in ways I hadn’t thought possible, for someone so petite. Since then, Molly has informally made her way into the MC. We’ve been casually knocking boots whenever the fancy strikes us.

  I frown for half a second, vaguely connecting the dots between Sabrina’s call and my plaything. Molly has to be in some trouble if she’s asking for our security service in the first place. I wonder why she didn’t mention it the last time I saw her. She could’ve told me herself. Not that I’m the white knight type. Far from it, but I would’ve helped her out anyway.

  Shrugging, I put it out of my mind and head outside toward the parking area. I’ll find out what it’s all about in due time. I get on my baby again and turn my key in the ignition thinking that it’s probably for the best that she’s officially a client.

  The idea that now I have the opportunity to spend as much time as I want with her, fucking her brains out while making money guarding her sweet ass as a paid client?