Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  “Who had the first?” I snapped back.

  He chuckled. “Some chick in fourth grade.”

  I was playing second fiddle to a fourth-grader with an award-winning ass. I didn’t know if it was meant to be a compliment, but I took it as one. His delivery of it brought out the devil in his eyes.

  Seeing it secured the dinner date. I simply needed to know how to dress. My eyes widened in wonder. “Would we go on the bike?”

  “Yep.”

  “Because cars suck?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’d love to,” I said with a nod of reassurance.

  “Seven sound good?”

  I fought to keep from smiling. “Sounds great.”

  “Alright, then.” He looked at Jennifer. “Nice to meet you.”

  He gave me a quick study, grinned, and turned away. After taking a step toward the door, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Almost forgot. You’ve got cool hair, too. That was the other thing.”

  Then, he left without another word.

  It was ten o’clock on a Saturday morning, and I felt invincible. I had a great ass, cool hair, and I was going on a date with a hard-core biker.

  Cash – 4. Jennifer – 0. Kimberly – 3.

  46

  CASH

  I pressed the tine of my fork through my third enchilada, and hesitated. I searched my mind for any recollection of being on a conventional date with a woman and came up with nothing. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten in a restaurant with anyone other than my brothers in the club.

  I wasn’t relationship material by anyone’s standards. Committing to the MC was the only vow I planned on ever taking. I was considered irreverent by most who met me. Thoughts spewed from my mouth unfiltered, and I offered no apologies for offending the recipients of my opinions.

  Men feared me. Those who didn’t, respected me.

  Women, on the other hand, saw me as a calloused asshole. As fate would have it, I was a take me as I am type, and didn’t care what others thought. The way I was, however, didn’t open many relationship doors.

  Kimberly peered over the salted rim of her margarita glass. “It’s crazy how different everything seems when you’re on a motorcycle. I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve never noticed much about this neighborhood until tonight. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t boxed in. There’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree field of vision on that thing.”

  Sitting across the table from her and maintaining any level of civility wasn’t easy. Every time her pouty lips parted to take a bite of food, I imagined sticking my dick in her mouth. So far, I’d received no less than a dozen imaginary blowjobs from her while watching her nibble on her bowl of chile verde.

  She wore her hair up. Typically, I preferred a woman’s hair to be worn down. Seeing the definition in her jawline, the tanned smooth skin of her neck, and her unobstructed eyes caused me to reconsider my preferences.

  At least with her.

  “Cage.” With the fork still hovering over my plate, I paused and met her gaze. “You weren’t in a ‘cage’. That’s the difference.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Cage?”

  “A Car. Biker lingo for a car is a cage,” I explained. “When you get in one, you’re like a caged animal. The difference between a bike and a car is the difference between being free and being caged in a zoo.”

  “I’ve never looked at it like that.”

  I lifted the chunk of enchilada to my mouth. “I can’t help but look at it like that.”

  She sipped her drink. “How long have you been riding?”

  “Got my first mini bike at six. Been riding ever since.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t have a car?”

  “I’ve got a truck.” I put down my fork and took a drink of beer. “A truck is a tool. It’s a necessity. I don’t have a car, though. Cars suck. Remember?”

  She laughed. “That was a cute shirt.”

  “Cute?” I lowered my bottle and glared at her jokingly. “That wasn’t the look I was going for.”

  “Maybe ‘cute’ wasn’t the perfect choice of words.”

  “If you thought it looked cute, then ‘cute’ was the perfect choice. Hell, it’s the only choice. I always say what comes to mind, not what I think someone wants to hear. You shouldn’t second-guess yourself.”

  She tilted her head to the side and gazed through me. “It was pretty cute.”

  “Cute it is, then.”

  “I like the way you think,” she said.

  In the midst of my fourth enchilada, I looked up. “Be careful saying shit like that.”

  “Shit like what?”

  “That you like ‘what I’m thinking’.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said. “You only know what little I’ve decided to share with you.”

  She looked me over. One corner of her mouth curled into a curious grin. “You’re not sharing all of your thoughts?”

  “Nope.”

  She rested her cheek against her hand and batted her eyes. “Why not?”

  “Because if I told you everything, you’d get up and leave.”

  “Try me.”

  I hoisted my fork. “Can I finish my meal first?”

  “You’re not going to offend me.”

  I took the bite and laughed. “There’s no doubt I’ll offend you. The question is whether or not I’ll offend you so much that you’ll want to leave.”

  “Now you’ve got my interest.” She leaned forward and widened her eyes. “You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Fine. Just remember.” I wagged my finger at her. “You asked for it.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said mockingly. “I’m a big girl.”

  I took a sip of beer and studied her for a moment. I had my doubts that she’d accept everything I had to say without getting pissed off. But, she asked for my thoughts, so I decided to give her exactly what she wanted.

  “Every time you open your mouth, I imagine you wrapping those thick lips around my cock. And, when that truck pulled out in front of us and your big soft titties smashed against my back? All I could think about was sticking my dick between them and titty-fucking you until I came all over that pretty little face of yours.” I pointed at her with the neck of my beer bottle. “And, don’t even get me started talking about that ass of yours. I can’t even look at it without getting hard.”

  “My second-place ass makes your dick hard?” She grinned. “Does that mean it’s a second-rate dick?”

  She didn’t seem mad, which surprised the shit out of me. I held her gaze while I leaned back in my chair. “My cock is first-rate. Your ass is, too.”

  “You said the girl in fourth grade had a better ass. Mine was second best.”

  “That was ten hours ago.” I pointed at her butt with my eyes. “It’s a first-place ass now.”

  She took a moment to absorb the remark, seeming content with my opinion of her ass. While I waited for her to address the other comments, she raised her hand to her face.

  “These pouty little things?” She wiped the tip of her finger along her bottom lip. “You think they’re big?”

  “DSL’s if I’ve ever seen ‘em.”

  “I think they’re thin.”

  She had the best set of lips I’d ever seen. I leaned forward and widened my eyes. “Your lips aren’t thin. They look fucking amazing. Sexy as fuck, too. Why would you say they’re thin?”

  “Have you ever seen the people who are so tan that they look like fools? You know, the ones who spend all day at the beach, and then go to the tanning booth to top it off? They’re so dark that they look ridiculous?”

  Her skin was dark bronze in color, resembling that of Hispanic men who spent all day working in the sun. The tone seemed natural, and I guessed she spent most of her free time at the beach to obtain such a glowing tan. The fake-baked idiots she spoke of were often the amateur actors and actresses who plagued Souther
n California’s gyms, bars, and nightclubs.

  “I’ve seen a few of those idiots,” I said. “Why?”

  “Well, they look that way because when they look in the mirror, they don’t perceive themselves as being tan. I’m that way with my lips. When I look in the mirror, I think I need lip injections.”

  “You getting lip injections would be like Dolly Parton getting a boob job.”

  She laughed. “Another boob job?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Another?”

  She shrugged. “They’re fake.”

  I wrinkled my brow in disbelief. “No shit?”

  “As fake as Ben Affleck’s hair.”

  “The dude from Armageddon? His hair’s fake? He’s got good hair.”

  “He doesn’t have good hair. He’s got a good toupee. His hair is as fake as Dolly’s tits,” she said with a smile. “I love Armageddon, by the way.”

  The movie was one of my all-time favorites. A group of misfit oil drillers sent into space to detonate a bomb at the core of an asteroid that was headed toward earth sounded like a ridiculous plot. The secondary plot of the love story between Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler made the movie well worth watching. I had yet to admit to anyone that it was a guilty pleasure of mine.

  I’d seen the damned thing more times that I could count.

  I reached for my beer, and then realized it was empty. After pushing it aside, I looked at her and grinned. “If they asked you to go out in space and blow up an asteroid – and there was a high probability that you’d die in the process – would you do it?”

  “Would doing so save the world?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Same circumstances as the movie. Would you do it?”

  “I always wanted to blow something up just because I think it would be fun. But, I prefer it be here on earth, not in space. Detonating a bomb is high on my bucket list. To answer your question, ‘yes’. I’d volunteer to blow up the asteroid and save the world.” She tilted her head in my direction. “Same question to you.”

  Being an astronaut was on the top of my career lists as a kid. That, and being a comedian. “Fuck yes,” I responded without a moment’s thought. “I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut. Blowing up an asteroid would be fucking awesome.”

  She took a sip of her margarita and then another. A serious look washed over her. “What satisfaction do guys get out of titty-fucking women, anyway? It seems pretty ridiculous to me. Floppy boobs over a warm tight pussy?”

  “Damn,” I said, choking on a laugh. “That came from left field.”

  She cocked her head and gave me a playful side-eyed look. “You said you wanted to titty-fuck me. I don’t understand the fascination.”

  I shrugged. “It’s fun.”

  “For you.”

  “You don’t like it?” I asked.

  “It’d be hard to say. The only person that’s ever done it was an asshole.” She glanced away and shrugged. “I really didn’t get into it.”

  “That dude from last night?”

  She nodded. “Marvin.”

  “Marvin?” I laughed. “That’s his name?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You should have known he was a turd when he told you his name. I bet there’s not a Marvin on earth that’s a solid dude.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side and seemed to drift off into deep thought. After a moment, she looked at me. “Marvin Gaye’s the only one that comes to mind.”

  “One worthwhile ‘Marvin’, and his dad shot him.”

  Her face went somber. “That was so sad when it happened.”

  “When was it?” I asked.

  “Nineteen eighty-four, I think.”

  “I wasn’t born yet.”

  “I was eleven. The Olympics were here in California, and I fell in love with Jake in Sixteen Candles. Other than that, you didn’t miss much.”

  “I wish I was born earlier.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “You want to be older?”

  “I just wish I could have experienced some of the stuff from the sixties and seventies.”

  Her face glowed with wonder. “Like what?”

  “Woodstock. The Vietnam War. Kennedy being shot. Disco. Protests. Riots. You name it. The sixties and seventies would have been awesome.”

  “If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would you do?” she asked.

  My response was immediate. “I’d toss Lee Harvey Oswald out the sixth-floor window before he took that shot.”

  “Why that, of all things?”

  “Because I think the world would be a better place if Kennedy would have remained president. Everything went to shit after that. Johnson, the war, Watergate, all the lies. Kennedy would have paved the way for a better nation, and a better way of life. That’s my opinion. What would you change?”

  Wearing a slight smile, she gazed blankly at me for some time before responding.

  “I’d do the same thing,” she said. “But with John Wilkes Booth.”

  “The guy that shot Lincoln?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Fuck.” I let out a sigh. “I wish I would have picked that shit hat instead of Oswald.”

  The corners of her mouth curled up just a little. “Why?”

  “That guy was a fucking shit hat. The war was over, and he didn’t even realize it. It still makes me mad when I think about it. One half of the United States believed in slavery so much that they were willing to kill their brothers to convince them they were right. I’ve never been able to understand that. We’re talking about human beings. Who, in their right mind, could think keeping someone as a slave was humane? It’s impossible for me to comprehend.” I pushed my plate to the side. “Still makes me mad to think about it. Yeah, I want to go back in time and choke that prick out.”

  She tilted her head to the side and rested her cheek against her hand. “Did you do well in school?”

  “I hated school. Damned near flunked out. Loved reading, though. I just hated authority.”

  “You’re intelligent. I can’t believe you hated school.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not intelligent. I’m just not stupid.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Do you know when World War I started?”

  “On June twenty-eighth, nineteen fourteen, they assassinated Franz Ferdinand. The war started right after that. Why?”

  “What about World War II?”

  “What about it?”

  “When did it start?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “You don’t know when it started?”

  “I want to know if you know,” she said.

  History was a subject that I knew a lot about. Reading about the past experiences and expectations of our country – and other countries – let me form opinions of what was right and what was wrong based on the mistakes and choices of others. Although no other subjects interested me in school, history fascinated me.

  “Germany attacked Poland on September first for no reason,” I said. “The Prime Minister of Britain declared war against them for it on September third. It was in nineteen thirty-nine.”

  “What’s the speed of sound?” she asked.

  I glared at her. “How the fuck would I know?”

  She laughed. “You fascinate me.”

  “Did you expect me to know the speed of sound?”

  Her eyebrows and her shoulders raised in unison. “What? One thousand and eighty-eight feet per second is hard to remember?”

  I looked her over. “You’re pretty fucking fascinating, too.”

  So far, talking to her was more fun than eating. I found it hard to believe, however, that she hadn’t complained about me revealing my thoughts to her. “I’m surprised you didn’t get mad about what I said earlier. I’m not used to women taking things in stride.”

  “I’m forty-four, not seventeen,” she said with a laugh. “Blowjob talk doesn’t scare me.”

  I expected her to get up and throw her napkin at me when I revealed my thoughts. The fact that
she didn’t caused me to view her differently than the barflies I was used to. I admired her for a moment, recognizing her self-confidence, and how comfortable she was in her own skin.

  My attention quickly went to her full lips and stayed there for a few long seconds. I decided to reveal my immaturity, push the envelope a little, and test her threshold for sexual banter.

  “I want your mouth on my cock,” I said matter-of-factly.

  She rested her big titties against the edge of the table and looked me in the eyes. My mouth fell open as she dragged the tip of her tongue from one side of her upper lip to the other, and back.

  “You’re really wanting me to wrap these puppies around that big dick of yours and suck it, aren’t you?” she asked in a low, sultry tone.

  My cock rose to attention the instant she said suck.

  I cleared my throat. “Uh huh.”

  She made a ‘v’ with her hands, and then rested her chin against her palms. A guilty smile followed. “You wouldn’t close your eyes, would you? You’d watch these thick lips slide up and down your swollen shaft until you got ready to explode. Would you come on my face, or deep in my throat?”

  My dick was testing the tensile strength of the Levi’s denim that kept it hidden from view. Uncomfortably hard, and throbbing against the inside of my jeans, I pushed down on it with the heel of my palm, only to realize it was so stiff that it hurt.

  “I’d uhhm.” I swallowed heavily. “Your throat.”

  She gripped her neck lightly with the web of her hand, and then stroked it slowly. “I’d love it if you pumped my throat full of cum. I’d be soaked when it was over, I can tell you that much.” A light moan escaped her. She shook it off, and then peered into my desire-filled eyes. “Maybe one day we’ll reach that point.”

  What?

  One day?

  I squinted. “Not tonight?”

  “No.” She sat up straight and shook her head. “Not tonight.”

  My cock didn’t take no as an acceptable response. I didn’t, either. “Why not? You got some stupid rule about sucking a cock on day one?”

  “No, it’s not that. If I suck your cock tonight, you’ll get what you’re after,” she explained. “Then, I might not ever see you again. I don’t want to take that chance. I’d like to see you again. I like you. So far, anyway.”