Getting out of the shower, I dress in a pair of pink pajama pants, and a pink and black Harley tank, forgoing both the panties and bra. Before I return to the ladies in the living room, I apply more medicine to my abrasions. Then I’m all set. Glancing in the mirror, before exiting the bath, I assess my appearance, and I look positively ghastly. Depressed, sullen, bruised, abused, and hurt. My blue eyes don’t even hold their natural spark. They’re void, desolate, and lifeless. Just like their owner.

  “Bitch, you best give me that bottle.” I laugh, tugging the Jack from a drunken Pixie’s claws.

  “Fuck you. I need Jack too.” She fakes her anger and begins to laugh, holding her stomach, sitting on the edge of the chair next to the couch where I’m seated.

  “No you don’t, hooker. I thought we just agreed that my life is utterly fucked.” I take a giant swig from the bottle and do what I’ve been doing for the past hour, flipping off every corner in the room just in case the asshole himself is watching. “Yep, Big, if you see or hear me. Fuck you, you stick backstabbing bastard!” I yell, whilst chuckling. “Whoops, I mean sick!”

  All the girls giggle.

  “Yeah, Big. Why can’t you just be a real man and fuck her and leave her. Oh the romance of it all, I can see it now.” Jezebel colorfully chimes in, waving over the top hand gestures in the air.

  “Oooo, ooooo, let me start.” Candy Cane’s drunken ass butts in.

  “Ok, but it better be good. Or no more nookie for you,” Jezebel says.

  “It is. So hush.” Candy Cane swishes her hand through the air with attitude toward Jezebel. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl—”

  “No way,” Jezebel cuts in, “Bless your heart for tryin’, but sweetie, you suck.”

  Clearing her throat and moving to the middle of the floor, front and center, Jezebel places her hands on her hips and tosses her hair over her shoulder, readying herself for what I assume is going to be one helluva reenactment.

  “None of this once upon a time, bullshit… So…” She clears her throat once more and sways her hips. “It’s a normal day in the land of the Sacred Sinners and in walks the big titted hot blonde named Bink, who’s lookin’ mighty fine in her tight leather pants and sequenced crop top.”

  “Sequenced crop top?” I intercede with a drunken scoff. “Who are we talkin’ ‘bout? You or me?”

  “Fine…a black tank with bitch across your boobs. That good?” she enunciates, pursing her lips with faked annoyance.

  I nod, relaxing into the couch and tucking my legs under me. Bring on the show.

  “Alright then. Bink, who’s lookin’ mighty fine in her tight leather pants and a black tank top with bitch across her super luscious tata’s.” Jezebel reenacts, grabbing and hoisting up her own sizable boobs. I snort a laugh. This is some crazy shit.

  “Strolling into the compound, struttin’ her stuff.” Jezebel mimics what I’d look like doing the ‘strutting’ she’s referring to, by wiggling her hips in a ridiculous, over-exaggerated fashion. “The club’s President whistles at Bink to grab her attention.” She whistles, in an awful man’s voice. We all chuckle. “Of course she doesn’t give him the time of day. But what she doesn’t know is this super sexy.” She rolls her hands along her curves. I snort.

  “Big dicked giant.” She pretends to stroke a massive cock between her legs. Now I have tears streaming from my silent laughter, and my chest is bouncing from her hilarity and the fact she can do all of it with the most serious face imaginable.

  “Wants to wine and dine his dreamy motorcycle queen. Whisk her away to fancy restaurants on the back of his big fat Harley and choke her every night by shoving his dick down her throat,” she finished by humping her hips forward. I lose it. My laughs are boisterous as they echo in the room, mingling with the sounds of the other old ladies, lost in their own stream of amusing tears.

  Oh my God, she did not just go there. I can’t believe she said that. I shake my head, lost in her quirky display of whatever the hell that was, and I hold up my hand for her to stop. This is ridiculous and stupid. Stupidly ridiculous. I can’t take it anymore, my stomach is in knots from laughing too hard. “No more.” I try to make out.

  “What? Was the dick down her throat too much?” she asks, boiling over with sarcasm.

  Chuckling and swiping tears from my eyes, I reply, “Yeah, just a bit.”

  Four fun-filled hours fly by, and dinner approaches. We joke and carry on about stupid nonsensical crap that does nothing but make me laugh, and we all get drunk. Well, all of us, except the witty pregnant lady. Debbie’s sons were taken somewhere by Dallas this morning. K-9 duty, I suspect. So it’s just us with Jack, Jose, and Jim keeping us warm and cozy.

  “You might find a big cock appealing to look at. But let me tell ya, sister, if you aren’t ready for it, it will bring tears to your eyes.” Pixie explains in complete seriousness. We’ve been gushing about dicks and their appeal for the past twenty minutes. Whether trimmed pubes are a must. If we want it curved or straight, thick and short, or thin and long. We’re women. We get to gab about this. We’re just that cool.

  “Are you talking about Axel? Or someone before him?” Debbie inquires.

  “Axel.” Pixie blushes, biting her lip. “He’s like eight inches long and thick.” Holding up her hand, she shows us how thick we’re talkin’ and collectively we whistle, impressed.

  “Hot damn, girlfriend. Bulk is thick, but he ain’t hung like no stallion,” Jezebel declares. She’s since taken a seat at one of the three matching chairs that decorate this small seating area in the basement. Alongside the two end tables is a small gas fireplace with a small flat screen TV mounted above. Iron sconces with candles trim the sides of the TV for a polished, romantic feel. It suits all of us ladies down here in our own private little cave, hidden from the world and prying eyes.

  “Did I hear something about a stallion?” Axel says, pushing open the steel basement door. Pixie curls into herself, legs to her chest, embarrassed as hell.

  “Yes, your old lady was just explaining how lucky she is to have you.” Candy Cane covers for us. God love that woman.

  “Awe, right back atcha, Sweetheart,” Axel winks at his wife, and the turtle peeks back out of her shell with a cutesy smile. They are such an adorable couple. Tattoos, his southern charm, her meekness. It blends well. They’re lucky.

  “What can we do you for?” Debbie asks, her legs tucked under her on the black lounge chair, a fleece blanket strewn over her legs, hair bunched into a messy bun atop her head.

  “Dinner at the clubhouse tonight,” Axel explains, standing behind the back of the couch.

  “Who’s cooking?” I ask.

  “The club whores.”

  My nose bunches up in disgust. “Can you be more specific? Only a few of them know how to cook.”

  “No, sorry, I can’t. I just got a text to come down and tell y’all dinner’s ‘bout ready. The rain’s stopped so you can walk up whenever you’re done with this.” He gestures to our group bitch session. “You know, talkin’ about us stallions and all.” Axel snickers as he leans over the back of the couch to peck his old lady on the forehead and waves us a friendly goodbye before he ascends the stairs.

  “I’m not goin’.” I decisively declare once he’s out of earshot.

  “You have to go. You’re our entertainment.” Debbie stands, draping the blanket over the back of her chair.

  “I am not. And you all aren’t even supposed to be around the whores anyhow. That’s against club protocol.” There is no way on God’s green earth you could drag me back into that clubhouse without me kicking and screaming. Not after the B.S. that Big spouted off today. It hasn’t even been twelve hours. I need some distance.

  My phone buzzes on the end table next to me. Sitting up straight, I check the screen. It’s from Dixie, the club whore’s den mother. So I snatch up my phone.

  Dixie: We’ve got two problems. Gunz, Big, and Tripper are all drunk off their asses. And somebody just told Big about Gunz hurting you last night. They are stupidly circling each other around the pool table. I don’t know what to do. The brothers said to let them fight it out. But I wanted you to know.

  “Motherfucker!” I shout. “One fucking day. Can’t I ever get one fucking day when these stupid grown ass men don’t need a mommy to handle their business for them? I swear to Jesus himself I am going to beat both of their asses raw.” I can’t believe this crap!

  Shoving up from the couch, buzzed and utterly pissed off, I stalk angrily toward my bedroom and retrieve my shit-kickers before returning to the living area. “Last night as you all know Gunz tackled me. I didn’t tell Big about it because…” I pause, tugging on my socks and boots. “Well, I didn’t want him to know. I knew he’d go all gorilla beast man on Gunz for no reason. Dixie just texted saying both men are hammered and somebody - my guess would be Runner - opened his big fat mouth and told Big. And like I thought, he’s going beast man psycho on Gunz right now. So much for not going to the clubhouse tonight.”

  “We’ve got your back.” Pixie flanks my left side.

  “Let’s go kick some honey buns.” Jezebel claims my right, and we take to the stairs.

  “You know, Jez, you should really stop watching so many Disney movies,” I tease her.

  “The fact that you know that is from a Disney movie tells me you should do the same.”

  I chuckle as we approach the front door and Axel, who’s perched on one of the porch’s rocking chairs, is reading a book.

  “Fight at the clubhouse, you wanna come? It’s gonna be one helluva show.” I tell him, walking down the front steps. Axel joins our growing posse, and three minutes later, we are entering the clubhouse’s backdoor.

  Taking the lead, I escort our five-man party down the hall and into the common room, where all of the chaos is currently unfolding. The hoots and hollers could be heard as soon as we entered the building. And there, strutting around the pool table like carnal lions on the prowl, decked out in bandanas, their cuts, and jeans, are both of the dumbasses themselves. Just like Dixie had described.

  No more dicking around. This shit has got to stop.

  I leave my group to fend for themselves and throw myself head first out of the frying pan and into the blistering fire.

  “Hey, assholes, what do you think you’re doing?” I stop at the far edge of the pool table. Leaning forward, my palms rest on the felt. Big’s death glare is pinned on Gunz as he rolls two pool balls around each other in one hand. Gunz is concentrating on his President’s every move. They are implicitly ignoring me, or they just didn’t hear me. Not sure because it’s deafening in this testosterone trap in here. Between the majority of brothers cheering them on, a few of them demanding they cut it out, and, the music blaring at eardrum bursting levels, this place would be considered a bit unnerving.

  “So, you put your hands on my old lady and ya don’t even have the decency to tell me?” Big curls his lips over his teeth, snarling above the roar of the room.

  Not this old lady shit again. I’ve already had about enough of this aggravating nonsense. The question at hand is this. Do I address them both? Or do I isolate my efforts into distracting one of them? I’ll be readdressing the old lady stuff when I can really knock some sense into Big. Now is not the time. Obviously.

  Both inebriated fools continue to deliberately pace around the pool table, like the calm before the perfect storm. Big stops at a corner, and I feel the hostility pour off him in bouts of spine-chilling tidal waves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this enraged. The worst thing is he shouldn’t even be up drinking or engaging in any sort of violence. The man was just shot through the shoulder last night for cryin’ out loud.

  “Are you going to tell me?” Big Dick thunderously booms, a bestial glaze casting over his features, clouding his blue eyes, into an unearthly craze. I catch it all unfurling. Each muscle that swells. Every vein that protrudes from his arms and neck. The tick of his uneasy, ever calculating jaw. The deep inhale and slow exhale of each adrenaline-coursing breath. He’s ready, and at any second the malicious beast will savagely strike.

  I react and attack him head on, the only way I know how without allowing him to enact violence. Grabbing the hem of my tank top, I pull it over my head, exposing my breasts in all of their bare mountainous glory. And as I anticipated, the room, without delay, erupts into raucous catcalls and applause.

  Big’s eye’s shift from his target to my breasts. With one swift motion, he tosses the balls back onto the table and races toward me. Flipping me over his uninjured shoulder in haste, he carries me from the room. Down the hall, he strolls inexpressively until we enter his bedroom, and he throws me down onto the bed with a pain-laden grunt and a curse.

  “What the hell were you thinkin’?” he demands, tirelessly pacing his room in long lusty strides while his hands scrub the smoothness of his freshly shaven skin.

  Scooting back onto the bed, and pulling my knees up to cover my chest, I reply, “What was I thinking? What were you thinking? You were just about to attack one of your best friends.”

  “No…no… I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, yes, you were. I know that look you get when your mind races, and you are about to lose your shit. Don’t act like I don’t.”

  Big stops pacing, and stares straight through me. Into my very soul. I quiver. “You notice this about me? And you still think I’m crazy for wantin’ to claim you as my old lady?”

  “We are not discussing that.” I’m dismissively stern. “I only came because Dixie said that someone had spilled the beans about Gunz tackling me last night. I didn’t think it was right leaving him to get his ass handed to him by his President over dinner. Or at all for that matter.”

  Big resumes pacing, “That is not your place to decide. If I had done that to Debbie or Candy Cane, do you think I’d get off? Do you think I wouldn’t be served club justice for touching a member’s old lady? Whether it be with the intent to harm or not is of no importance. Your arms are torn up because of Gunz, and for that Gunz will suffer the club’s consequences. He knows it, that’s why he didn’t run when I faced him head on. All you did was bide his time. Gunz’s time will come, Sugar Tits, and there ain’t a damn thing your mouthy ass can do about it. Ya got me?”

  I have zero ounce of strength left in me to argue. To be honest, it’s getting old fast. I hate this whole lockdown shit. I just want to go back to my tiny apartment and live by myself until Pretzel comes home. Then it’ll be back to normal. Just me, my pups, and the peace and quiet. I miss those days.

  “When is the lockdown going to be over?” Untucking my legs, I sprawl out across the bed. I really should have stayed back at Big’s house. I thought I was protecting Gunz, but I guess that was wishful thinking on my part. This was a big fat waste of time, and I hate being stuck in the presence of this self-righteous jerk when he’s like this. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, is going to sink into his thick head when he’s like this. The one attached to his shoulders. You know…not the other one I know you’re thinking about. You pervert. Or maybe I’m the pervert. I’m thinking about that head too. Damn me. Just thinking of it has my clit buzzing.

  Nope, I will not allow myself to think about that. He’s an asshole, Bink. Get your shit together. You don’t like him. You think he’s a jerk. A hot one and an old one. Nevertheless, he’s a controlling jerk head. Yup—that works. No more wet pussy. Thank you, pep talk.

  I reel myself out of my deceptive thoughts and into the moment.

  “I don’t know,” he huffs, tirelessly. “I was hoping it would be over by now. Your brothers and Steel are takin’ care of it. So when they come home, the lockdown will be over. Talked to ‘em today, guessin’ it’ll be a week more. Lots of bad blood bein’ stirred. I offered to ride out and meet them to deal with this shit head on, but my VP says he’s got it covered. And I trust him to do the club proud, or he wouldn’t be my VP.” Big jerks his chin in my direction. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I morosely mutter. “Then I suppose I need to put a shirt on and get back to dinner.” I scamper out of the bed and head toward Big’s closet. He doesn’t let me get far when he wraps his massive arms around my shoulders, smashing my face to his heady scented chest. My jittery nerves instantly calm, and a sense of peace claims me. I often wonder if this tranquility in Big’s close presence will ever cease, and if he knows that his chest, his smell, and his delectable warmth, is my only kryptonite. I sure hope not.

  “I know you don’t know everything that’s goin’ on. I know you’re pissed at me, which is your right. I’m not going to try and make this sound any less important than it is. Soon enough, you will know everything. But let me tell ya, Bink.” Big withdraws me from his chest, holding me at arm’s length, eyes on mine. “You will not like it. You might even resist the truth. But…you will know it, and you will live it. You won’t have a choice.”

  Big releases me and departs his room without saying another word. I steal another one of his T-shirts and head back in to join the party. The rest of the night is a whirlwind of drunken bikers groping my ass, complimenting me on how hot my tits are, and me getting even more sloshed than I was before I arrived. The thing about me is I can be drunk, but I am still within my right mind. I may let my guard down a bit. I might be hornier and more social. But I’m not a fall down, need-picked-back-up, blackout, kinda gal. Except that one time, at my local bar, when I woke up at my boss’s with the hangover from hell. I might have gotten micked that night by the sleazeball seated next to me. That was the worst hangover of my life, and I definitely blacked the hell out. Yep, now that I think about it, I was micked for sure. That’s the only logical explanation. I guess now I know how it feels for all of Mickey’s dates, if you can truly call them that.

  Mickey is one of the brothers that is on the run with my daddy. He’s also the most fucked up of the bunch. Besides our President, of course. Big has demons in his closet, everyone knows it. And well…so does Mickey. He confided in me one drunken night at the clubhouse bar, spewing a decade’s worth of rape horror stories of his stepdad forcing him to suck his dick. When he was ten, his stepdad even went to the disturbing lengths of tying him to the bed, gagging and raping him.