When I’d had him on the ground, I didn’t waste time. One moment we were fighting, the next I’d broken his neck, feeling no remorse. Suddenly, instead of the cheering, the jeers, the smacking of fists into hands in encouragement, a sudden silence had fallen, almost deafening in the absence of noise.
It was then I realised my predicament, and that there was a good chance this wasn’t the outcome they’d counted on. Me, a new patch, insignia hastily sewn on, had killed a man they’d ridden beside and called brother for years.
Could they switch their allegiance?
They’d patched me in. They’d sworn to have my back, to ride or die with me.
But the murmurings around warned in the eyes of some, at least, what Custer had done hadn’t deserved the death penalty.
On my part, what happened hadn’t brought satisfaction. It hadn’t made up for the loss of the woman I thought was going to be my life. Fi was as culpable as me for the death of the man who’d died at my hands.
It was then I’d realised I hadn’t really known Fi at all. Or, perhaps, I tended to misread women in general, only seeing what I wanted to be there. While I’d gained what I’d been striving for, my patch seemed to come at too high a price for both me and my new brothers.
Chaz, a good president, wasn’t blind to the implications, and he was fair. I’d prospected, earned his trust, and proved I could handle myself. So, while I stayed a member of the Arizona chapter, I was offered a chance to go nomad, at least for a short time until the dust had settled.
That had suited me fine. Without Fi, I had no home and no desire to start a new relationship. It was the best of both worlds—I had my patch and a promise of brothers at my back should I need them, but also the lonesome freedom of the road. If my prez didn’t issue me precise instructions, I could just go where the wind blew. A chance to get my head together.
It should have been months.
Five years later, I’m still travelling alone.
I oomph, feeling the weight of a body sinking onto my lap, the perfume and size letting me know it’s female. Opening my eyes, I raise my bottle to my lips, and glance around, seeing the room has filled while I’ve been lost in the past. Bull’s standing by the bar, raising his glass to me, Beard by his side. They both look pleased to see me.
Custer’s death is water long under the bridge now, and absent or not, I’ve re-earned their trust, and we share mutual loyalty.
Feeling the exhaustion of the ride slip away, I take more notice of my surroundings. Then something, or rather, someone, catches my eye.
I try to sit forward, my progress impeded. “Get off me, sweetheart,” I growl.
“But I’m comfortable.” The girl on my lap moans and wiggles, causing the predictable reaction from my cock, and I stifle a groan.
Lightly smacking her butt, I instruct her again, “Let me up.” When I use my hands to encourage her, she reluctantly stands.
My eyes are set on my target as she breathily asks, “Can I catch up with you later?”
“Sure, Candy.” Casually, I wave her off as I go to greet the man who’s summoned me.
“I’m Brandy,” she corrects indignantly, but she’s talking to my back.
Carrying the refill of beer the prospect had brought me only moments ago, I cross the dingy, but large clubroom, my long legs covering the distance in just a few strides.
“Brother.” At his greeting, I take his offered hand, clasping it firmly, and then allow myself to be pulled in for a hug, my back soon smarting from the hefty slaps landing on it.
Retaliating, I return the greeting. “Prez.”
His eyes sparkle as he glances back at the couch I so recently vacated. “I only heard your bike come in a few moments ago. You didn’t waste time.” His raised eyebrow and smirk give me the clue to what he’s talking about.
“What can I say?” I give a nonchalant shrug. “Girls like fresh meat.”
His hand punches my arm. “Don’t want to hear anything about your meat. Straight from the slaughterhouse or not.”
Barking a laugh, I shake my head while examining the expression on his face. “Wanna talk, Prez?”
“Sure fuckin’ do. Ain’t called you back for nothing.” He gestures toward the room at the back of the clubhouse he uses as an office.
I sincerely doubt he has. When Chaz, the prez for the Arizona chapter of the Wretched Soulz, calls, you don’t wait for a second invitation.
As I follow him back, out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Candy,Brandy,already with her hand on Legend’s crotch. Some things never change, no matter what clubhouse you’re in. Club girls like cock and don’t much care which man it’s attached to.
