Stocks
MONICA JOHNSON WAS a force of nature.
I met her at a housewarming party for my motorcycle club’s secretary, Eagle, and his ol’ lady, Naomi. Yep. A fucking housewarming party; talk about a far sight from the parties we used to have when I first became a prospect. Over the past several months, the club has been changing. Granted, we hadn’t gone completely soft and still knew how to tear it up, but lately we’d been frequenting a lot more domestic shit like housewarming parties and baby showers.
Apparently that’s what happens when a club’s members start getting married and having babies and stuff. Still, it’s surreal as hell to witness.
Tonight, big, burly, tattooed veterans have clustered around the two newest club additions, making deals and promising favors for a chance to hold Jameson and Maya. Jake—the club’s founder and grandfather of both infants—had barricaded himself in a corner with his ol’ lady, Margo, and the duo were swatting away the advances of anyone who thought they were badass enough to cuddle the newborns. The babies appeared to be sleeping through the whole ordeal, clueless as to the chaos their existence was creating.
I’d seen a lot of weird shit in my time, but I’d never seen anything like that before.
Not far from the baby-crazed bikers, Tap’s toddler daughter, Hailey, and Wasp’s six-year-old son, Trent, flew plastic dragons and dolls between the oil-stained, jean clad legs of the mechanic crew. Beer in hand, Buddha leaned forward to talk shop with Wasp. Buddha was a big dude who weighed about 300 pounds and had a scar running down the left side of his face before disappearing behind a barcode tattoo on his neck. His bushy beard hung past his chest, and tats covered every visible inch of his arms and hands. He was a decent guy, but I’d seen people take one look at him then cross the road to avoid his path. The kids must not have gotten the memo to fear him, though. As he talked, Hailey climbed up into his lap and hid a half-naked Barbie in his beard so only her blonde head could be seen. Buddha patted Hailey on the back and kept rattling on about some car.
A practically albino looking brother named Zombie picked Trent up and flew him around the room, Superman style, with his plastic dragon held out in front of him. Grown ass men cowered in fear and faked their deaths as Trent roared and pretended to spew fire at them.
A grizzled old biker named Tank held court at the back of the living room, spinning stories and reminiscing about the good ole’ days, occasionally calling on Jake to agree or fill in a blank. Sage, Flint, and Frog kept bringing him beers and encouraging him to keep sharing.
Eyes bloodshot from sleep deprivation I hear comes with a newborn, Link, our club president, had a beer in his hand and a sway in his gait as he toasted Naomi’s new car. Yes, her new car. He’d already toasted to the house, the baby, her marriage to Eagle, and the giant walk-in closet in her bedroom. This was probably the tenth toast our club president had made to his sister and her husband tonight, and he was running out of shit to drink to. Despite the exhaustion, fatherhood looked good on Link. He seemed happy. He tucked his wife, Emily, under his arm and planted a kiss on her lips. The longing looks they gave each other afterward made the entire room erupt with calls for them to “get a room.”
As I said, surreal. But the Dead Presidents weren’t just a club, they were a family, and I was honored to be wearing their colors.
The doorbell rang. Naomi answered, and the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen strutted in.
Whoever she was, her body was a work of art, complete with a nice rack, a round ass, and long toned legs. She had the face of a supermodel with flawless brown skin and thick curly hair. Her tight shorts outfit and strappy high heeled sandals looked expensive and far too high-class for the likes of a motorcycle club gathering, even if it was a housewarming.
Banging body, beautiful face, she held her head high as she stepped into the room of bikers like she owned the place. Any police officer in the city would have taken one look at our group and reached for their gun, but she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by us. She caught me staring, and her gaze drifted up and down my body before settling on my face. Dark eyebrows rose in a silent challenge as her plump, glossy lips spread into an appreciative smile.
I didn’t know what the hell she was challenging me to, but I was intrigued.
Every single brother in the place clocked her as she cut in line to hold Naomi’s daughter, Maya. They closed in, like locusts that had just spotted the last blade of living grass on an otherwise dead planet. Even Buddha stood, tugged the half-naked Barbie free from his beard and ambled over toward the babies’ corner as if pulled by some sort of magnetic field.
Regardless of the attraction I felt toward the stunner, I was a newly patched member who wanted no part of that trouble. But as she spoke to the men surrounding her, she watched me. The broad wasn’t even shy about it; she flat out stared me down like I was the doughnut she was finishing her workout for. When she finally gave Maya back to Jake, she kept one eye on me as she followed Naomi around the room, meeting everyone. Back to the wall, I watched her, wondering if I should wait for her to make it over to me or bolt.
Since coming home, I’d avoided women. Not that I couldn’t use a good fuck, but the last time I tried didn’t go so well. Once we undressed and the broad saw my prosthetic leg, she flipped out and said I should have warned her that I only had one leg. Like it was a fucking STD that I could have passed on to her or something. I bailed on her ass.
The next time a broad showed interest in me, I made sure to tell her right away. Her eyes filled with pity and she wanted to spend the night talking about what had happened to me. That reaction killed my erection almost as fast as the time my grandpa caught me watching porn and didn’t want me to turn it off. Pity is no aphrodisiac.
After those two stellar experiences, I’ve been finding comfort in my hand rather than the opposite sex. The old me would have jumped at the invitation in this woman’s eyes, but now…
“Monie, this is Stocks. Stocks, Monica Johnson,” Naomi said, giving her friend a coded smile as she took a step back to give us the illusion of privacy in a crowded house.
“Stocks, huh?” Monica’s gaze drifted over my body as heat ignited in her dark eyes. “Interesting road name. You into bondage or something?”
Not expecting that at all, I choked on my beer. Once my throat was finally clear, I answered, “I worked in financial planning. And Havoc recruited me while I was in jail.” Probably should have left out that bit about the slammer, but honesty was important to me. Besides, Monica was obviously trouble, and I didn’t know what the hell to do with her attention.
I don’t know how I expected her to react to my record, but she surprised me by nodding and sticking her hand out. “Interesting. But you still didn’t answer my question.”
She legitimately wanted to know if I was into bondage. “Um. Blue,” I replied, throwing out a random answer. No way in hell was I talking about bondage with the club princess’ best friend. Especially not here in front of everyone.
“As in balls? Tragic.” Eyeing me like I was a puzzle, she chuckled. Her cleavage game was strong, and I had to force my gaze from dropping down to check out her bouncing tits as I shook her hand. The woman had curves for days, and I wanted to inspect each and every one of them, but my parents had taught me better than to gawk rudely. Thankfully, she had a face that could easily keep my attention. Lush lips, high cheekbones, mischief dancing in her big, dark eyes, she was the kind of woman who could make a man do stupid shit like rob a bank, steal priceless jewels, or tie cement blocks to her ex’s ankles and toss him in The Sound to sleep with the fishes. Since one brief stint in jail was more than enough to scare me straight, I needed to stay away from that sort of influence. Still, my manners kicked in and kept me glued to the floor when I should have run my ass away from her. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Soft skin, firm handshake, she closed the small distance between us until our bodies touched like we were about to slow dance or fuck. She smelled spicy and exotic, edible. Meeting my gaze, she replied, “Play your cards right, and itcouldbe.”
Goddamn.If her words and curves weren’t inviting enough, the gleam in her eyes sure as hell was. My body responded instantly, and all the blood rushed from my brain to my cock. It had been a while, but a beautiful woman could still light me up like a Christmas tree. Desperate to put a little space between us so I could get myself under control I asked, “Can I get you a beer?”
“Aren’t you sweet?” Her predatory smile only widened as she looked me up and down again. “Now that you mention it, I am feeling a bit thirsty.”
Naomi, who had stepped aside and was speaking to Wasp’s ol’ lady, Carly, covered her laugh with a cough and looked away.
