I moved over her, and she reached between us, guiding my cock to her entrance. I slipped in slowly, spreading her lathered walls, the base of my cock buried. I stared into her eyes as we made love, the woman I’d sworn to protect, love, and cherish. The woman I’d lasso the moon for. In the van, it had been a fuck. This was different. It was two people connecting their souls. Drained, I made love to her until she came again, swift and wet like a raging river. It felt deliciously satisfying around my throbbing cock. The universe could not deny that it would be broken without our love for one another.

  With both thoroughly satisfied, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, one hand behind my head. There was a lot of shit that needed straightening out. That was okay. It’s why I’d been voted as the club’s prez. I knew how to get things done. I’d protect the club with my last bit of strength and breath.

  Skittles had her head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat. I knew she was because she told me she did it whenever she put her head there. Her fingers roamed across the Brothers of Chaos tattoo on my right pec. I lowered my free hand to her plump ass and squeezed. Her ass looked and tasted delicious. Few men on planet Earth were lucky enough to have the kind of woman I did.

  “You’ve got something on your mind,” she said. “Can you share it?”

  I shook my head and kissed her forehead. “Gotta pass it to the officers first. I’ll let you know what comes of it.”

  As much as I loved Skittles, there were still club rules to follow. She understood and pretty much never gave me shit over it. She also understood her role in the club. She had since the day we met.

  “You know I’ll help you with whatever,” she said. “I’m not just good in bed.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re fucking great in bed. And I do think I’ve got some shit you can do.” I opened the nightstand next to the bed and grabbed a pack of Skittles. Skittles smiled. “When I became club president, I told Kickstand I would watch over the girls. Make sure they were treated right and make sure everyone, including them, got what they were supposed to. Happy companions equal happy customers.”

  “You want me to go undercover?” Skittles asked.

  “Not when you put it like that.” I slapped her ass hard enough to leave behind a handprint and hard enough to make her yelp.

  Skittles rubbed her ass and cracked a mocking smile. “My ass is a lot tougher than that.”

  “We’ll see about that.” I nodded at the door. “Go lock the door.”

  Skittles crawled over me and my hard again cock, stopping momentarily to trap the Beast between her thighs. She kissed me and continued to the door. By the time she locked it and was ready to turn, I was on her, pressing her and her large tits against the door.

  “Guess we’re gonna see just how tough that ass is.”

  Skittles bit her lower lip. “Wendy, Carmen, and Gigi are coming in tomorrow. I need to be able to walk.”

  “There’s a wheelchair in the basement.” I placed her hands against the door and spread her ass cheeks. Fuck, it was good to be on the outside!

  ***

  “Beast,” Cinder called when he entered church. “You look like shit. How many times did the old lady nail ya?” Cinder was voted V.P. shortly after I was made president. He’d made his interest in the club known while he was doing time in Varner. He did the club favors while he was inside. When he got out, the old V.P. conveniently retired. And since he rarely brushed his hair, he had no business telling someone else they looked like shit.

  “She turns twenty-six next week. I didn’t think a woman was in her prime until she hit forty. Wants to fuck all the time. Not that I’m bitching.” I grabbed another beer from the fridge in the corner, a part of my breakfast of champions, and took a protein bar from the basket on the counter. I needed to get to the club’s weight room in building three. Varner had done two things. It gave me plenty of time to think and work out. I stopped to look at the pictures hanging on the wall of past dead members. Men who gave their blood, sweat, and tears for the club. Men who knew what loyalty meant. This generation was sorely missing that loyalty. “Where is everyone?”

  “Recovering.” Cinder chugged a beer and grabbed another. “Brainiac’s the only one who didn’t get smashed. Spent all night on his computer looking at the books.”

  “He’s the one I need.” I looked through the notebook on the table. “Official church this afternoon. Everyone should be at least half-assed by then. We’ll get a line on what needs to happen next with the club’s income. That’s what I’m most concerned about.”

  “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Cinder lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. He tugged at his crotch.

  “Awful Ashley give you the clap?” I knew it wouldn’t be the first or last time some old lady gave Cinder a disease. That was one of the problems with so many women liking biker dick. A biker never knew where that pussy had been.

  “The bitch told me she was on antibiotics. Turns out she was on them two years ago. Probably why she went north.”

  “You need to cut that shit off,” I said. “Before it kills you.”

  “My dick?”

  “Her, dumbass.”

  Cinder laughed. “No can do. Rides me like a cowgirl at the rodeo.” He rubbed his back. “Think I blew a disc with the girl behind the bar last night.” He moved behind the counter and leaned against the bar. “So what’re you thinking?”

  “Some shit I heard at Varner. We may have other clubs moving in on our territory. We’ll get that shit straight here and then fill in the chapters. There’s a war coming our way, and we need to fucking be prepared.” I finished the beer and grabbed another protein bar from the basket on the counter. Skittles had run my appetite right up the pole. “Hell’s Messenger is going to strike and strike hard.”

  “Beast. Cinder,” Brainiac said and sat at the table. He put down his water bottle and laptop, opened the screen, and turned it on. He was the only MC member Beast had ever seen wear tape in the middle of his glasses. The pussy around the club found him adorable. Although not as big as the other officers, he fit right into the biker's life when he removed his glasses.

  “Dipshit looks younger than he did yesterday,” Cinder said. “You find the fountain of youth?”

  At twenty-one, Ethan “Braniac” Towles was the youngest officer ever to hold a position in the club. His degree from Standford led to a unanimous vote. His accounting and computer skills were top-notch. Lucky for the club, he couldn’t find a job after the feds busted his money laundering side gig the day after he graduated. Prosecutors had fucked up in the trial by releasing sealed information. Brainiac walked out a free man, and the prosecutor lost his job. The club only recruited useful men who brought something unique to the brotherhood.

  “Fuck you, Cinder.” Brainiac shoved his glasses up his nose. It looked like he was trying to grow a beard, but the shit was so patchy on his face that it looked like a yard with grubworm problems.

  “You’re not my type, Brains.”

  “You two done flirting?” I asked. “I need to see the financials on Chaos Mods. I wanna see the cash flow from the guns, weed, and the girls.” Brainiac frowned. “Don’t sweat it, Brainiac. I know you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re logging what’s brought to you, assuming what’s brought to you is right in the first place. I can’t see how the need for pussy has slowed.”

  “It’s the millennials,” Brainiac said. “They need their phones more than they need pussy or dick. Sex is way down on the needs list.

  “You think somebody’s skimming?” Cinder asked, scratching his crotch again. “We’ve been tight with the accounting and keeping good books.”

  “I think someone’s interrupting business,” I said. The other club officers came in and took their places around the table. It was the first time we sat around the table together in five years. There was going to be hell to pay for whoever set me up. I’d knocked those guys out in Sturgis, but they were alive when I returned to my room. As far as I figured, and my lawyer made this argument in court, someone else killed two of the guys I hit. I looked around the table. “Fuck me sideways to Friday. Thought you guys were recovering?”

  “We all agreed to drag ass in here this morning no matter how we felt, looked, or smelled,” Big Kentucky said. His zipper was down, and today was commando day.

  “I could do without the smelly part,” I said. “Got tired of the way fuckers in Varner smelled.” I turned to Cinder. “Would someone tell BK to zip his fucking pants?”

  Everyone laughed, and then the room fell silent. I took a moment to take in the room. These were good men around the table—Brothers who cared about each other.

  “Only missing Kickstand,” Cinder said. Kickstand’s seat at the end of the table had stayed empty since the day he was murdered. On Mondays, since the day Kickstand died, a Prospect was responsible for shining the chair, so Kickstand’s memory continued.

  “That’s business number one,” I said. “I couldn’t get shit on the hit while I was at Varner. Nobody knew anything. Word from the streets?”

  Big Kentucky shook his head. “Not a damn thing. Had to be the Messengers. Nobody would have a reason to kill Kickstand. The old man was always at the club. Never did shit to anyone.”

  “It was meant to cause a crack in the club,” Slash said. “Didn’t work, and now we’re all ready for bloody retribution.”

  “Another mod shop?” I had gone over every scenario while lying in my cell, staring at the ceiling. “When he first opened Chaos Mods, I know a lot of shit went down. At least two chop shops went belly up.”

  “Only two others in the area we’d be competing with,” Watcher said. “Giant Machines and Chester’s Harley. Be a fucked up move on their part to kill Kickstand. Fuck, Kickstand helped get them parts they couldn’t find. He never saw them as competition.” Johnny “Watcher” Walker was a Canadian transplant who’d come south to escape a warrant. The club took him in and kept the locals off his ass. As the Sgt. at Arms, he took care of shit others didn’t want to. Honestly, he never really allowed anyone else to do the bad stuff. He enjoyed it too much.

  I glanced at Cinder, and Cinder nodded.

  “We’ll leave when finished here. Pay them both a friendly visit.” Cinder scratched his crotch.

  “Get some fucking medicine for that while you’re out.” I stood and peered through the window, looking toward the front gate. “The girls need a manager. Skittles needs something to do. I want to vote on her managing and Brainiac doing the books. We need Prospects out drumming up business.” I turned to my brothers. “Any oppose?” None did. “Let’s talk weed.”

  Brainiac turned his screen around so everyone could see it. He’d created a sales graph. “We’ve been trending down the last few years and saw a dramatic decrease last month.”

  I shook my head in confusion. “What the hell happened last month?”

  Slash, the club’s Enforcer, said, “I’ll take this one. The locals,” referring to Pine Bluff’s police department, “made an unexpected raid. Our guy on the inside had no idea it was going down.”

  Pine Bluff having a Sheriff’s Office and Police Department had always been a problem. “I’ll visit the sheriff and see what’s up his ass,” I said. “Gentlemen, we need to be thinking outside the box on income. We need ideas.”

  Big Kentucky started to speak up but stopped when the door opened. A Prospect named Stimpy stuck his head in.

  “Beast, we got shit going down at Hot Rod Willie’s.” Stimpy rubbed the sweat from his forehead. The bad news was next. “After we delivered, someone entered the lot last night and totaled every mod. Willie’s fucking pissed. Said we should have known someone was looking to hurt our business.”

  “Fucker is supposed to have security at night.” I got up from the table.

  “Both security guards were murdered.” Stimpy swallowed hard. “Willie wants us to start providing security. Wants us to figure out who did it and visit them. He wants to see two dead bodies.”

  “Looks like someone’s been waiting for me to get out of Varner,” I said. “Big Kentucky, Brainiac, you’re with me. The rest of you hit the streets and see what you can find out.”

  I ended church, and everyone went on their way. I stayed at the table alone. Someone was sending a message. A message from the Messengers made sense, but they seemed to have their hands in too many things. Regardless, that shit would have to be taken care of.

  2

  Skittles

  It’s always the first question asked. “What’s it like being an outlaw biker’s wife?” The first thing I do is correct the question. I’m an old lady first, a wife second. I have rules to follow and do things wives don’t usually do or enjoy. I like the life. It suits me. Marcus provides everything I want and need. In return, I meet his needs. Imagine having a man who’d take a bullet for you instead of running from one.

  The clubhouse is nearly empty when I’m showered, dressed, and ready to start my day. Stimpy is at the bar talking to the woman with the stretched snatch.

  “Mornin’,” Stimpy said. He pushed his beer away as if he couldn’t drink this early. The girl placed it behind the bar. She watched me with subtle interest but also with an air of caution. I wasn’t sure what her game was, but I’d find out soon enough.

  “Trixie, right?” I said.

  Stimpy had a jumpy, nervous tic that flared when he was scared. He was nervous today. “I’m gonna go out to the garage and find something to do.”

  I nodded. “Good idea.”

  I waited for Stimpy to shut the door and asked Trixie for a bottle of water. “How do you like the club?”

  Trixie placed the water on the bar. She crossed her arms and fixed her eyes on me. I’d seen the look before. One biker chick trying to figure out another. Could she trust me? How much should she say to the prez’s old lady?

  “I’m your friend, baby. No need to overthink it.” I opened the water and took a drink. “I’ve seen enough of your kind come and go that I could write a book on the subject.” I really could. I’d majored in English at the University of Arkansas, focusing on literature. I’d told Marcus several times I wanted to write a book about the Brothers of Chaos. Most men would have laughed at the idea. He encouraged it and wanted Russell Crowe to play him if the book ever made it into the theaters.

  Trixie laid a bar towel over her shoulder. “It’s a life I think I’d enjoy as someone’s old lady.”

  “Got your eye on anyone?” Every chick that came into the club came in knowing who they wanted to hook up with permanently. Being passed around was part of the boys being boys. You accepted that or got the hell out.

  “Watcher if I get a choice.” A smile worked across her lips. “I like his Canadian accent.” Her smile grew. I didn’t wanna tell her he had been married five times and had eight kids. Watcher had a way of attracting old ladies who couldn’t survive the old lady life.

  A monitor on the back of the bar showed the front gate opening. A black Mercedes pulled in, making me smile. It was time for the fun to start.

  “You let me know if you need anything.” I capped the water and stood. “Watcher’s a good guy. A little on the strange side, but that makes him good for the club.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  I got outside as the cat calls from the garage and parking lot began. Three young, hot women climbed out of Gigi’s car, and the calls grew louder. Wendy and Carmen were good sports about it, showing their asses in short shorts and tank tops that struggled to hold their boobs. Gigi rolled her eyes and ignored the calls for her to show her ass. I wouldn’t say she walked around with a stick up her ass, but, well, I would say that because she did. I flipped the guys off, and they returned to what they were doing.

  “Shouldn’t these animals be changing oil or something,” Gigi said. She stayed close to the car just in case she had to escape. I’d discussed the biker life with all three several times, so they knew what they were getting into when they pulled in.

  Wendy and Carmen walked to the garage, where two Prospects were finishing up mods on a Dodge Charger.

  Mario “TexMex” Sanchez stopped what he was doing and turned to Wendy. Before I knew it, she had her arm draped over TexMex’s shoulder, and he had his hand stuck down her back pocket. Bikers had no problem getting pussy. On the other hand, a girl who knew how to do things the right way had no trouble getting biker dick. When I met Beast, first it was his eyes, then his size, and finally the ink on his body when he removed his shirt. It all hooked me in five minutes.

  “If you whores are done, we should get going,” I said. I climbed in the front passenger seat, and Gigi followed, waving off an approaching Prospect. “His name is Diesel.”

  Gigi watched the guy walk away. “Why that name?” She turned and rolled her eyes when I winked. Biker nicknames always carried a good backstory.

  “He fucks like a diesel engine powers a truck. Everyone within three blocks knows when he’s fucking a girl.”

  Wendy and Carmen climbed in the backseat, and I noticed Gigi taking another gander at the Prospect. He’d take care of that stick up her ass real quick, except he’d replace it with his dick.

  “You should give him a try, Gigi,” I said. “I hear he’ll be a member next month. The club loves him, and he doesn’t have a permanent old lady yet.”

  Gigi cringed. She was more into guys who wore white slacks, a polo, and a sweater wrapped around their necks. She wanted to ride on a yacht, not a bike. The truth was, that plain, stick-up-his-ass type of guy would fuck her over faster than most bikers. “I’m not going to be called an old lady. Daddy would have a fit if I dated a man like him.” She pulled from the club, taking one last lustful look at Diesel. I was going to make that happen.

  “Where are we headed today?” Carmen leaned forward and stuck her face between the two front seats like a child. Unlike Gigi, who came from money, Carmen grew up dirt poor. She put herself through college by way of academic scholarships. She was smart but also had a lot of dirty girl in her.