Beast

  Brothers of Chaos

  Quinn Slater

  Copyright © 2023 by Quinn Slater

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Contents

  1. Beast

  2. Skittles

  3. Beast

  4. Skittles

  5. Beast

  6. Skittles

  7. Trixie

  8. Beast

  9. Skittles

  10. Beast

  11. Trixie

  12. Skittles

  13. Beast

  14. Skittles

  15. Beast

  16. Skittles

  17. Beast

  About the Author

  Chapter

  1

  Beast

  I walked out of the Arkansas Varner Supermax Prison, an orange and red sky painting the western horizon, and climbed into the back of a black van. It wasn’t exactly the welcoming committee I deserved after a five-year stint in the pen, but it would do. “You two,” I said to the Prospects sitting in the front seats. “Get out.”

  “Yeah, Beast, okay,” Stimpy, the driver, said. He was what we called a forever prospect. He told us he enjoyed being a Prospect and wanted to stay that way if we didn’t mind. We didn’t. Beast was my club nickname. My old lady called me Marcus.

  I grabbed the woman in the van and turned her away, lifting her skirt to reveal a wet, close-shaven brunette pussy, and puckered ass. I’d nail that delicious ass later. She glanced back and smiled, teeth white and perfectly aligned—something her father paid for way back when. I didn’t smile back. It’d been five fucking years since I’d had my dick in a woman. Five . . . long . . . fucking . . . years.

  “This is gonna hurt, babe.” On my knees, I dropped my pants and shoved my cock to the hilt inside the woman’s tight pussy. She screamed and covered her mouth, her seductive blue eyes telling me it didn’t matter how much it hurt.

  I rammed her ten good times, almost sending her into the seats, and came like a rocket taking off for the moon. I moved her silky brunette hair back, noticing the blonde highlights that had not been there five years ago. She’d stayed both fit and beautiful while I was away. Damn, pussy felt good. It’s one of the things you learned to appreciate when you were locked up.

  “That was quite the deposit,” the woman said. “Hope you saved some for later. There’s always a later.” She’d not lost the teasing in her voice. I could always count on her for a dirty whisper, naughty text, or the occasional titty pic. She was playful both in and out of bed.

  “Definitely more to come, and next time, I won’t be so gentle.” I kissed the butterfly tattoo on her left ass cheek and smacked her right ass cheek before pulling up my pants, catching a glimpse of the come dripping from my old lady, Melissa. “Tell those two idiots it’s time to get the fuck outta here.”

  Melissa did as told, like a good old lady should, while I slipped on the kutte I’d not worn since the day before entering prison. I sat on the bench, and Melissa sat across from me. She pulled her hair back, exposing the small birthmark below her right ear, a favorite place for my lips.

  There was a lot to do. A lot of things to make up for. Fucking Melissa was one. The other was taking care of the asshole who ratted me out. I suspected it was the rival club, but that didn’t really make sense because MCs don’t usually work with locals or the feds.

  The Prospects pulled away from Varner and headed west to Pine Bluff, where the entire club waited for us to arrive by dinner. It would be a night to remember. Drunk with club members and more fucking. I’d wake up tomorrow with one hell of a headache, and once that wore off, it would be time to get down to club business. Revenge was on the menu. Looking at the club’s business dealings over the past five years was also on the menu. The books didn’t sound right based on the information the club provided during my stay at Varner.

  As we passed through Pine Bluff, I remembered the fight in Sturgis seven years ago. Three large men jumped me late one night outside the motel. I’d just finished banging a chick I met a few nights earlier in a bar and only had half my usual strength. One lucky punch caught my chin. I wobbled but managed to stay on my feet. After that one punch, putting the men down took only three swings. I stepped over the men, entered my room, and returned to banging the young piece who came to my room and threw herself at me an hour earlier. It turned out to be another outlaw night.

  Unfortunately, two of the men I hit died in the parking lot. It took the local D.A. two years to make the murder charges stick. Luckily, the D.A. could only get a five-year sentence past the jury. The D.A. assured me we would see each other again once released. I was determined not to let that happen.

  The people of Pine Bluff accepted the club as a necessary evil. The club, in return, kept the town straight. For the five years I was at Varner, Pine Bluff had seen a significant rise in crime. It was time to revert back to the old ways.

  Varner was no cake. I put hardened lifers in their place when I had to. Some wanted to challenge me, but, for the most part, I ran things in my block. Made contacts and made deals that would finish when I was on the outside. While I was on the inside, I married the chick I’d met a few months before entering Varner. The twenty-year age difference didn’t bother either of us. She was now twenty-five and sitting across from me.

  “I fucking missed that body and face, babe,” I said, and I meant it. A lot of bikers treated their women like pieces of meat. I didn’t do that. Sometimes, I had to put her in her place, but I knew that a happy old lady meant a happy club president. She knew when to get out of the way and let me do my thing.

  I became President of the Brothers of Chaos five years before the fight in Sturgis. While in prison, I lost my mentor and founder of Chaos, Charlie “Kickstand” Reynolds. Figuring out who murdered the man was also on the menu. Usually, that information was easy to get in prison, but people were doing a damn good job of keeping quiet about Kickstand’s death. Nobody was talking, no matter how many men I beat to a pulp in Varner.

  “Club been treating you right?” I reached across the van and held Melissa’s chin. Fuck, she was beautiful. Fuck, I wanted another piece of her.

  Melissa touched my forearm, unintentionally covering the naked woman inked between my elbow and wrist. It was ink I got when I first joined the club. She was nobody important—just tits and ass on my arm. “Big Kentucky took me under his wing. He and his old lady, Raisin. But the entire club made missing you manageable. It was hell lying in bed, thinking about you every night. I thought my fingers were going to fall off. I may not let you out of bed.”

  “That’s over, babe. No more lying in bed waiting. His old lady is named Raisin?” I sat back and rubbed my chin. “Son of a bitch is the best Road Captain the club has ever had, but changes women more than he changes underwear.” I stretched out my legs, dick already hard again.

  Skittles noticed the bulge and smiled. I’d named her Skittles the first night we fucked. Melissa had been with three college friends on their way to Dallas from Fayetteville to party after graduation. They walked into Ashcan, the bar where I and other club members hung out. The four young women knew they’d entered the wrong establishment before the door even closed. I made sure the women stayed safe. The club didn’t need the P.R. for harassing young women from the University of Arkansas. Although, that didn’t stop me from buying Melissa a drink and fucking her an hour later outside the bar. When we finished, she grabbed a pack of Skittles from her purse. She ate the entire pack before she had her panties pulled up.

  “Want me to take care of that?” Skittles pointed at my cock beneath my jeans. I’d never been with a woman with so much energy and an unsatiable need to please. She knelt, not waiting for an answer, and gave me the best blowjob of my life. I held the back of her head and felt her curls against my balls. She swallowed, zipped, and returned to her seat. The Prospects never looked back.

  I was always impressed with how well Skittles accepted the MC life. College degree be damned. “What’s up with the latest mods shipment?” I asked. “Cinder said he’d send some info with you.” Cinder was the club’s V.P.

  “Everything is a go. He thought the mods may even be gone by the time you got there,” Skittles said. I liked that she kept up with club business. It meant I wasn’t constantly having to explain things. It allowed me to move on to more important issues. “The latest mods had a shine that made Cinder consider keeping them.”

  “Cinder’s worried the Hell’s Messengers are going to hit the shipment,” one of the Prospects said. “He’s been sending Prospects to help make sure the mods get to where they’re going.”

  I nodded. It felt good to be out of Varner, and getting into the club business would feel even better. I would kill the man who ratted and kept me away from the life I enjoyed living.

  We pulled into the club parking lot, and I watched the gates close through the van’s back windows. The two Prospects at the entrance held AKs and wore Glocks on their hips. Security was tighter than before I went away. Why? There was a lot to dig into.

  I climbed out of the van just as a load of mods approached the gate. Big Kentucky greeted me first, and we hugged for several minutes. It was good to be this close to another Brother.

  “Good to see you, Beast,” Big Kentucky said. He’d put on a few pounds in the five years I was gone and barely fit into hi
s kutte. His beard had a few sprinkles of gray, also a new edition. “Everyone’s waiting inside. I tried to get the fuckers to cool it, but you can’t take rowdy out of a biker. ”

  “Let them have their fun tonight. Tomorrow, we get down to business.” I watched the Prospects open the gate and watched the transport trailer drive away. “Good looking mods.” Fuck, I missed working on cars and bikes.

  “Tough watching ‘em go, Prez,” Big Kentucky said. “We work on ‘em, build ‘em, and then send ‘em off to buyers we got no idea will take care of ‘em.”

  “That’s why I don’t get attached to them. That’s a sharp-looking group, though.” I patted Big Kentucky on the shoulder and turned away from the transport truck leaving Chaos Mods, the club’s money maker. “Have the Prospects pull the two Dodge Chargers in over there. The Harley, too. We’ll get a start on those in the morning. And make sure the designs are in the garage for me to review. Fuck, it feels good to be back.”

  “Somethin’ naggin’ you, Beast? You got that look.” Big Kentucky followed me toward the club’s main building. Altogether, the club had a two-story building, two one-story buildings, and an eight-car mechanic’s garage. We had other property outside the city limits that we used sparingly, usually to hide guns and or weed.

  I rubbed my beard and adjusted my kutte. The place looked good, and I was proud of my brothers for maintaining the club while I was gone. “We’ll have church first thing in the morning. Make sure we’re all on the same page and figure out what’s next.” I thought a little more about the transport that just left. “Have a couple of Prospects tail the transport and the other Prospects following it.”

  “You thinkin’ the Messengers are gonna hit it? Cinder thinks so.” Big Kentucky was well aware of Hell’s Messengers, the club’s rivals across town. They’d recruited Big Kentucky ten years ago when he first arrived in Pine Bluff. I stole him right out from under them.

  “The fact they’ve been so quiet lately concerns me. They don’t do anything out in the open. I expect them to wait until our backs are turned.” I entered the club’s main building to applause and drunk club members, some of them fucking their old ladies out in the open. “You assholes started without me!”

  I made a short speech, saving the more important things for church. I told the club how proud I was. I praised the club’s officers for keeping the club in the right direction. When I finished speaking, I told them to go back to fucking.

  “You see the latest shipment?” Cinder asked.

  “The mods looked fucking fantastic.” I grabbed a beer from a young woman I didn’t recognize behind the bar. We walked away, and I motioned over my shoulder. “Who’s the pussy at the bar?” She was thinner than most women around the club and looked rich like this was the last place she would hang.

  “Name’s Trixie.” Cinder laughed and drank half his beer. “No, shit, man, it’s her real name. Half the officers have been inside that not-so-tight snatch. She’s good, though. Expect one of the guys to grab her soon. She’s got a fucking snake inked on her inner thigh. A fucking viper. It’s badass.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Skittles said. “I got the only snatch you need, and you got the only snake that counts.”

  “Go on to the back. I’ll be there shortly. And don’t start without me.” I slapped Skittles on the ass and watched her walk down the hall to the officers’ rooms. “How’s the pussy business treating us?”

  “A little slow the last six months.” Cinder finished his beer and grabbed the ass of the next girl who passed by.

  “Awful Ashley is gonna cut your dick off for that,” I said. “How is the old lady?”

  “Spends too much fucking time up north at her parents’ house. Fucking daddy is rolling in money. Giving her what I can’t.”

  “You can’t get it up,” I joked.

  “Fuck you.”

  “What about weed?”

  Cinder shook his head. “It’s been slow ever since states started legalizing the shit. It’s probably less than a quarter of the club’s income.”

  I watched my brothers around the room. “We need another income stream. Weed’s going to dry up. Mods will always be strong. We’ll figure out the downturn in pussy and make sure we get it up.”

  “You okay, Beast?”

  “Yeah. I need some time, brother.”

  I walked into church alone and closed the door. The room was darker than I remembered. Kickstand appeared at the other end of the table.

  “Miss you being here, old man,” I said. Of course, Kickstand said nothing. When I saw him at night in prison, he didn’t say a word. “I’m going after them. Whoever did that to you. I’m not going to sit around and do nothing.” I raised the gavel and hit the table. I grabbed a beer from the fridge in the corner of the room and left through a different door.

  I took a left down a long hallway, away from where others had gathered, and stopped at the end and paused before opening the last door. A picture of Kickstand hung on the wall. I touched the picture and reiterated my intent to kill the man who killed him. Kickstand began grooming me to be club president when my parents died in that car accident. Why did I touch the picture? It was a reminder that the murderer was still out there.

  I opened the door and stared at the naked body lying on the bed. Goddamn, she was the hottest piece of ass I’d ever grabbed. She spread her legs and motioned me forward.

  “That snatch for me?” Damn, everything about her drew me in like a fucking bug drawn to light.

  “You just gonna stand there or give it to me again?” Skittles asked. “I’m waiting to do nasty things to you.”

  “That’s not very ladylike.” I stepped forward and closed the door. The room was exactly as I had left it. A Brothers of Chaos banner hung above the bed’s headboard. The gun safe still sat in the far corner. The same biker magazine from five years ago sat on the nightstand. A picture of Skittles and me in Antelope Canyon sat on the dresser.

  Skittles giggled. “If you want a lady, you need to go hang out at First Baptist on Sunday morning. Until then, I want you to show me another reason why they call you Beast.”

  I removed my kutte and tee shirt. “I bet you’ve been working on that joke all day.” I kicked off my boots and walked to the bed, waiting for her to unbuckle my belt, unbutton my jeans, lower the zipper, and put my cock in her mouth. She didn’t disappoint.

  “I missed this.” Skittles opened her mouth and lapped at the head of my cock, still tasting herself from our earlier banging. I was the warrior lover she dreamed about, the one who would protect her when the world went to shit, or the one who would give her a shoulder to cry on.

  “I missed my favorite addiction, you babe.” I ran my fingers through her hair. As much of a brute as I was, I was gentle with her when needed. Just because I was rough around the edges and beat the shit out of people for a living didn’t mean I didn’t know how to treat a woman properly. I watched my cock move in and out of her mouth, her lips wet. She’d told me she enjoyed doing it and enjoyed pleasing me. Not because it was her duty as an old lady but because she loved me. My love for her ran so deep that no woman had come between us since that night fucking outside the bar.

  Skittles finished pleasing me for the third time that day and slid back onto the bed. She knew what was next. I was never shy about eating her pussy and ass. I’d told her the best sexual pleasure a man could give a woman was eating her like an expensive meal. I lifted her ass and kissed her puckered little hole. She gave me a pleasing, animal-like moan.

  I slid my hands up her legs, spread them apart, and eyed the wet, juicy lips. There was nothing in the world like good pussy. Treat it right, and it’s always there for the tasting and taking.

  Her thighs were soft like I remembered, silky against my lips, her slit warm. She moaned again, the gentle vibrations working through her body, making it to my lips. I buried my tongue deep, pressing her legs further apart, the tip of my tongue finding the cushiony flesh that drove her crazy when played with. It didn’t take long . . . a few thrusts with my tongue, the tip poking teasingly at her flesh. She came, the juices tart at first and then sweet, my dick growing again as she fed my libido.