Accordingly, the only people that knew where I lived—or, frankly, even knew I owned rather than rented—were Sonny, as he was obviously family, and Spawn, who had served as security detail one night when my wife had died.
But other than that, I kept this place a damn secret. I didn’t even bring girls back here; I either fucked them at the clubhouse, at a hotel, or just in an alley, whichever. I wasn’t picky.
And yet, here I found myself throwing Hailey onto the satin sheets of this bedroom and absolutely destroying her body for my pleasure. What the fuck had I gotten myself into, indeed.
Briefly, I’d considered wearing something that wasn’t the Devil’s Patriots MC clothing, but that idea got dismissed rather fucking fast. Whatever desire I might have wanted for anonymity was replaced by the fact that I fucking loved being the president of this club, and if people were made uneasy by my presence, fuck ‘em. That was their problem, not mine.
I got on my bike and made my way down toward the Livery. The hardest part about tonight, no question about it, was going to be the whole “be a gentleman” thing. I didn’t know how to be a fucking gentleman. I knew how to be a take-no-shit-man. But a “gentle” man?
What kind of pussy shit was that? Even the rest of the world knew nice guys finished last. And yet Hailey wanted me to do this?
I just told myself I wouldn’t grab her ass or tits, but most anything else was fair game. It wasn’t like I had to know anything else; when my life was such that I could take Spawn’s girl at a club party and rail her within a minute, tact and skill were not something I needed.
When I arrived, I was immediately aware of people’s eyes on me, as if I was a novel curiosity for the place. I suppose in their defense, I kind of was. The Livery was where people with six-figure salaries and nicer cars drank; I’d picked it merely because it was between the station and my home. Someone more socially adept than I might have chosen a run-down bar, but I preferred to think of myself as socially didn’t-give-a-fuck.
I stepped inside, and while the music didn’t literally stop, it felt like one of those scenes where the gunslinger stepped into a saloon and the entire place went quiet. Conversation dimmed. Eyes fell upon me. I smirked, made a point to stare at everyone, snorted, and headed up to the bar. Hailey hadn’t yet arrived, which just gave me a chance to further relish in the apparent discomfort everyone else was feeling.
“Hello, sir,” the male bartender said with relative comfort compared to everyone else. “What can I get you?”
“Gimme a dark beer, something heavy and shit.”
“Of course, sir,” he said.
I looked down the bar. Everyone else had a cocktail or a glass of wine in their hand. Bunch of stuffy fuckers. They thought they were the shit and cool, but the instant shit got violent or things went back to human roots, they’d cry like pussies and beg for help from someone like me.
If they ever wanted to know why chicks went to assholes like me, that was it right there. I could fight. I could protect. They might be able to pay, but last I checked, a dollar bill had never blocked a punch.
The bartender came back with a Guinness in a glass. It wasn’t a can or a bottle, but compared to the notion of sniffing my own wine like I was sucking up my own asshole, it would work.
“Cheers,” I grumbled.
The bartender nodded and made his way back over to anyone else.
“You showed up on time!”
I swiveled around to see Hailey standing there, looking so fucking stunning, I wanted to piledrive her right in the middle of this place. She had on a nice little black top that showed the beginning of her cleavage, enough to make my mind run wild. It covered all of her stomach and hips, but when she raised her arms, I saw enough skin that it got me crawling and excited.
I was aware that this made me sound like a teenager, but Hailey either knew exactly what she was doing by giving me the bare minimum to get me going or she was so innocent that it was going to make fucking her brains out that much more rewarding.
“You say that like you’re surprised,” I said with a snort. “Sucks that you mostly hang out with loser boys, but I actually do the shit I say.”
“Not everyone who is late is a loser,” she said, but even she sounded like she wasn’t sure it was true.
She took a seat by me, brushing up against me. How the fuck it was that this little girl, merely by touching me, could make my cock spring forward at attention when I saw naked girls parading around the clubhouse every weekend was a fucking mystery to me. And yet, here I was.
“How’s your week gone?”
“Huh?”
“How has your week gone?”
What was this small talk shit?
“Fine.”
She nodded.
“Yeah, mine’s been good too. Not super busy with work, but rare that I get much time off. So you take what you can get.”
