“Nothing to see here,” Big replies dryly.

  I’m still too much of a coward to open my eyes. So I zip my lip and stand still, allowing Big to manage the interruption. He is the club President after all.

  “Looks like somethin’ to me,” Runner assertively blurts. “Hope you know what you’re doin’, Prez. Steel’s going to find out when he gets back next weekend, and we both know that ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  “Runner…” Big Dick warns. “This is none of your fucking business.”

  “No, but I’m sure Bink would—”

  “Don’t,” Big ruthlessly growls over Runner.

  “What? You don’t think she’d be curious to know who you banged last night after your little power trip in the yard?”

  That admission opens my eyes, both literally and figuratively. Who he banged?

  “What’s he talking about?” I innocently gaze up at Big’s unshaven face.

  “Nothing,” he brushes off my question, like he’s annoyed, and takes a step back, allowing me some space. Which for some odd reason, aches. I don’t like it one bit. I am definitely starting to feel like a head case.

  “Oh, come on,” Runner sarcastically chides, rolling his eyes, and pulling a pack of smokes from his cut. “After that display last night…which I must say was quite convincing, I don’t think you’ll have Viper or Slade barking up Bink’s tree any time soon.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Big grumbles, growing agitated. His jaw locks, face reddening. The sinewy muscles in his biceps harden to stone under smooth, tanned, and tattooed flesh. Flesh that smells of cologne-scented soap…leather…Awe shit I gotta stop this now, my mind is fucked up.

  “Sure she will.” Runner lights his cigarette and takes a drag, tucking the lighter back into his cut. “I’m sure her highly educated brain has been trying to decipher last night since she woke up. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Big pivots training his eyes on me, crossing his arms across his broad t-shirt clad chest.

  How did he know?

  “Well, yeah,” I admit.

  “Marvelous.” Runner claps once, leaving his burning cigarette to hang from his fat bottom lip. “Then you will be interested to know that Big left your room and had a four-way with the triplets. I saw those just-fucked sluts clamoring outta his room ‘bout twenty minutes ‘go. I must say, Prez, four women in one night at your age is—”

  With a demented growl, Big lunges at Runner and all hell breaks loose. Runner is tossed like a sack of potatoes onto the ground. Big towers over him, and his fists fly. A loud crack echoes in the room followed by a pain-laden yelp. Big’s fist connects with Runner’s nose. Blood surges, coating Big’s hands, and he swings, landing another punch. Desperately, Runner attempts to dodge and block his President’s swift and deadly assault.

  “You stupid fucker!” Big yells, straddling Runner, unleashing his boiling aggression, leaving Runner no room for retaliation, only a terribly sloppy offense.

  Frozen in shock, I stand and watch the unmatched fight occur, like a spectator to a merciless death match. The next weighted strike forcefully slams into Runner’s chest, a rapid gust of air expelling from his body.

  The front door opens.

  “Oh hell!” Gunz enters, springing into action, with Viper right on his tail.

  Subduing the beast that Big has unleashed is difficult. Big’s left fist flies to impact Runner for the eighth or ninth hit except Gunz barrels into Big Dick. Wrapping his arms around his chest, Gunz slams Big’s back into the tile floor. It doesn’t seem to deter Big, as his fury stricken eyes aim on another target—Gunz. He swings, and Gunz dodges his massive fist at the last second.

  “Stop it. Calm down, asshole,” Gunz orders, ducking to the left to avoid the next blow Big is wielding.

  Viper, crouching down next to Runner, talks with him. “We need a medic,” Viper explains, patting the bloodied mess of a man on the shoulder.

  “Bink,” Gunz yells over the chaos, and I jump, startled, breaking away from my foggy trance. Another swing of Big’s fist toward Gunz and the frantic reality clicks deep inside of me.

  “Stop it!” I scream, retrieving my voice. Stepping forward, away from the edge of the pool table, I stride toward the mangled mess of Big’s flailing limbs, while Gunz still has him flat on his back attempting to subdue him, unsuccessfully.

  I glance down. “Stop,” I gently order, and Big instantly disengages his next attack before it impacts Gunz’s face. “Stop fighting.” I stare into the monster’s intense ice-blue eyes and kneel next to his head. Planting my palm on his moist cheek, never breaking eye contact, I whisper, “Go, Gunz,” while pouring all of my concentration into the beast, who is sweating profusely and breathing heavily, struggling to catch his breath.

  Now, I’m sure you are wondering how I hold this much control, essentially being Big’s kill switch. The answer is I have no idea. I just do. And this isn’t the first time or even the fifth or sixth. I’ve lost count over the years.

  The first time it happened, I was thirteen, living at the clubhouse. It was summer, and I had been out of school for about a month. There was a running dispute amongst the brothers, I never found out what, but it was kind of a big deal. During a heated discussion, a former member became enraged and poked Big in the chest with his finger. Now, I know I did that yesterday. However, I am fairly certain I am probably the only person on the face of the planet that could get away with that and not get into some deep shit. Anyhow, the guy technically struck first, even if it was a finger, which set Big Dick off. I was just leaving my bedroom, headed to grab an Italian ice from the kitchen when I heard the madness ensue. Walking down the hall, I entered the common room where I found Big with a cracked and heavily swollen fat lip. His handgun was out and pressed to the brother’s temple.

  “Stop it,” I yelled.

  Instantaneously, Big lowered his gun, tucking it into the back of his leathers. And his murderous glare softened just enough for him to reel in his inner beast.

  You may have thought I was joking about Big Dick’s beast. But it’s no laughing matter. It’s real, it’s sly, and it’s ruthlessly deadly. And I know for certain that Big almost always carries a gun and pulls it more than he swings his fist. That may sound strange, but I’ve learned that Big will ‘hardly’ (and I emphasize that ‘hardly’ rather strongly) ever pull the trigger. However, if he engages you with his fists, his brain doesn’t register a damn thing. It goes into full attack mode, and it makes things ten times worse for everyone. The adrenaline floods his system, his eyes become demented, and the Big we all know is gone, replaced by a cunning beast out for blood.

  “Bink,” Gunz pleadingly expresses, grabbing my attention.

  “Go. You know he won’t hurt me.” I’m firm, and I’m not leaving him like this. Even if I don’t know what I’m feeling, my sense of family is wound tighter, and my need to make sure he’s alright is way more important than my measly emotions.

  Out of my peripheral, I see Gunz stand and go to Runner. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.” Together, Viper and Gunz escort a battered and bruised Runner from the room, and I hold firm eye contact with Big as he gathers his own bearings back.

  Shifting myself but keeping close, I lift my left leg and slide it across Big’s stomach so I can straddle him, my butt resting on his hips. My knees are bent and touching the floor on either side of him.

  “And here I thought that I didn’t think before I acted,” I tease with a gentle smile, caressing his prickly cheek with the tips of my fingers. The roughness of his unshaven face sparks little jolts of electricity to shoot up my arm. Yet another odd sensation I’m unaccustomed to.

  He grins and grasps my palm, pressing it to his face and holding it in place. A softness that wasn’t there moments ago replaces the hardness of his animalistic appearance. “I had to think of something to get you to straddle me.”

  Playfully, I smack at his chest and chuckle. “Not funny, asshole. You hurt Runner.”

  As sad as this may sound, I don’t really care that Runner got hurt because he is my least favorite brother. He’s a male whore, he’s nosy, and worst of all he gossips like a prissy school girl. Today is case and point on that little fact. Even if he did enlighten me in a painful, I-don’t-want-to-hear-it sort of way. Brothers aren’t supposed to tattle on each other to any female. It’s code. I know this. So does Runner. I sure hope his busted nose taught him a lesson.

  “Yeah, well. His Prez told him to shut it, and he didn’t. So we’re taking this shit to a vote. My fist won’t be the only action he’s gonna face. I’m gettin’ the club involved in some serious disciplinary ramifications.”

  I grimace, tucking my hands across my chest, watching Big. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

  “My personal business is not for him to discuss with you or anyone that isn’t a brother. Especially you. Think if all the old ladies knew who their man was plowin’. Think of what kinda head-fuckin-ache that would cause.”

  I shake my head defiantly. “Maybe if the women knew, the men would be too scared to bang the club whores.” This has always been my opinion. One I’ve never voiced. It’s not my place, I know. But I can’t help myself.

  Big tsks me, shaking his head, lips pulled into a taut line. “Do you really think that’d change that?” he questions gruffly.

  “Well… I don’t know.” I shrug, unsure. “But I never understood why they gotta do it anyhow. It seems pretty gross, to fuck a bunch of different women, when you’ve got a wife sittin’ at home with your kids.”

  “Yeah, a wife who nags, who wants this fuckin thing or that stupid shit. Who withholds fuckin’ because you don’t do some shit she wants. I respect the hell outta most of the old ladies. But I get why the men fuck the whores. They’re easy, they don’t complain, they are here to service them, and that’s it. They don’t want them to change their kid’s diaper or take out the trash. They spread their legs to get plowed into, plain and simple.”

  Not sure on how to accurately argue my reply, I roll my eyes instead. “Seems like an excuse to be unfaithful.”

  “Why are we discussing this anyhow? You’ve known and lived this shit for years. And now that you turned thirty you’re wising up and questioning how we run things?” His stomach muscles contract beneath me, his body turning hard, eyes intense. I’m pissing him off. Go figure.

  “I’m not questioning how you run things.” Breaking eye contact, I glance at the ceiling and shrug. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. “I get it. Is that why you never claimed an old lady? To keep away from that drama?”

  “No.” His hands hold onto my hips, his body softening below me. Nice to know he doesn’t stay agitated with me for long. “I don’t have an old lady because I never wanted one. Most old ladies put up with their men in the club. They participate in family shit, but their old man could never tell them what they go through. They wouldn’t understand. The men have to hide their bumps and bruises, and they lie. I hate to lie. That’s why I never wanted an old lady. I didn’t want to have to lie to her. And I couldn’t find one who I could trust enough not to freak the fuck out when I told ‘em shit that’s goin’ down. There are very few quality old ladies nowadays. Back when my dad was king of this castle, he didn’t want an old lady, but the women back then were of better stock then they are now.”

  He pauses briefly gathering his thoughts. “Now, women fantasize about being with bikers. They think because they’ve seen some dumb fuckin’ shit on TV that they can hang with the big boys. Handle the lifestyle. It’s rare for them to last even a year. We’ve lost more brothers in the past ten years from that than anything else.” He sighs, and it’s drawn out and sad.

  “Men gotta choose between their bitch and their club when the old lady can’t hang. The more society changes, the weaker men become. Lettin’ women rule their lives instead of men being the king, ya know…men bein’ men.” He lowly growls under his breath, “So the pussies up and leave the club. Another reason why I vet all brothers and their old ladies, more so now than ever. I can’t handle those prissy fuckin’ cunts tearing the brothers away. If I can’t trust ‘em to stay, I might as well throw in the whole fuckin’ towel.”

  “Then you better keep that one brother out,” I intercede.

  “Chelsea ain’t cuttin’ it?”

  Not surprisingly he is able to pick out the problem child of the bunch. It’s nice to know I’m not the only person to see her being an issue.

  I glance back at Big’s face. “No.” My expression morphs into seriousness. “No way. I will not put up with her being here. Ever. I mean, I know I’m not allowed to have a say in this. But seriously, she is not equipped to handle our… I mean your lifestyle.”

  Big smirks. “Your lifestyle too.” He briefly tickles my side and I squeal, smacking his hand away.

  Still chuckling, I reply, “Yeah…it’s different for me. But if you value my opinion—”

  “I do.” He cuts me off. “No Chelsea,” Big states decisively, squeezing my hips, to accentuate his decision. “What about the other two? Bulk and Axel seem like pretty solid candidates for transfer.”

  “You’re actually talking to me about this?” I perk up a brow. I’ve never talked club business with Big before. This is kind of cool, strange but cool.

  “After what I just told you about old ladies, yeah, I’m gonna to talk to ya ‘bout this. I need to know if these women are going to cause trouble. Our chapter has less old ladies than any of our others because our laws are stricter, and I run the men harder. I need to know they are going to be able to handle the tough shit,” Big explains.

  I adjust myself to keep my legs from falling asleep, and momentarily glance around. I realize that not only are we strangely alone on a Sunday morning in the clubhouse, which doesn’t seem possible, but I’m still sitting on him and he seems okay with it. Plus, I’m in my PJ’s with my hair lookin’ like God knows what. He’s fully dressed in clothes for the day, his hair’s tied back in a ponytail with a blue bandana wrapped around his head. The stubble on his face is slightly rougher than usual. Upon closer inspection, I wonder if it’s purposely kept to hide the fading mark of a hickey that I see. The sly dog.

  “I think they’ll be fine. But I can’t get a full read on them after just a day.”

  We sit like this another half an hour discussing old ladies and what qualities I need to keep an eye out for. Even though Big Dick just beat one of his brothers to a near pulp, knuckles still bloodied, he’s back to his normal, pig headed, control freak self. His views are insightful and tips are valuable. Just as he finishes speaking to me, the door to the hall that leads into the common room opens.

  “Are ya ‘bout done?” Tripper asks, entering the room wearing an impish grin.

  Both Big and I turn our gazes to him. “What do you mean are we ‘bout done?” Big presidentially inquires. “The last time I knew this was the clubhouse that I’m the President of.”

  “You are.” Tripper hesitates. “But we’ve been patching up Runner, and Candy Cane needs Bink to help since she’s done this before. And we’ve got two brothers out front and two in the hall, keepin’ anyone from comin’ in. Figured you two needed a moment, but it’s been over an hour. The brothers wanna drink and eat. And they wanted me to ask if the whores could come early today? Guess some old ladies are piss…” he stops talking, rocking back on his heels. “I’ll tell ya about that later.”

  Big lifts me off of his lap to stand and joins me, positioning himself so close that our bodies are mere inches from one another. “Don’t do that. Fuckin’ tell me. Bink is a big girl.” He winks at me, and I grin. I hate that my feelings are always so hot and cold with him. One minute I despise him, and the next he winks and we talk like old friends, and then all is forgotten. Even the foursome last night or that…oh you know…little thing, like him eating me out in the backyard, which we haven’t discussed yet. Not that I want to. If he slept with those women, that means what happened was a fluke, a carnal action taken in the midst of a drunken, horny, stupor. Totally fine with me. I will move on with my life, a little more sexually satisfied, having had my itch magnificently scratched by a biker sex magician.

  “Some of the old ladies are pissed. The boys want some whores to make up for the lack of sex they’re gonna get for a while,” Tripper evenly explains, hands tucked into his pockets, purposely avoiding eye contact with me.

  “What old ladies? The ones from other chapters, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah…there are six old ladies that rode in with their men yesterday, aside from the three transfers. Guess they heard about their men getting their dicks sucked last night, and I think one of ‘em fucked Bunny.”

  All of us scowl in disgust at that thought. Bunny’s a gross, freakishly vampiric pale, mid-40’s club whore, with gangly arms and legs, a full head of poufy gray hair, heavily bagged under eye, and the kicker of it all is she’s missing half of her teeth. I know it’s not very nice to be judgmental over a woman’s misfortunes; however, Bunny is a greedy, rude, bitchy, old hag that I can’t stand. She doesn’t hang around often with the normal brothers here because they won’t touch her with a hundred foot pole. Although the outsiders always seem to take a walk on the smelly, old hag side, and she somehow gets thoroughly fucked. I imagine the man would have to be heavily intoxicated for that to even happen. Two years ago, three stupid men had some sick foursome with her on one of the picnic tables at three in the morning after a club wide party. Bunny got DP’d by two dudes and sucked the other’s cock. I didn’t see it. Thank the Lord Almighty. But it was a widespread gossip that lasted for weeks and is still brought up whenever she comes traipsing around, always sporting a short 1980s pleather miniskirt, blue eye shadow, and overly teased hair.

  Big seems to contemplate the whore idea for a moment before speaking. “Yeah, they can come about seven. Not the triplets though. Tell the prospect not to let them through the gate, if they show up.”