“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I croon. “No running. Take my cock like a big girl.”
The monster in me sings a dark lullaby at the panic brimming in her jade-green irises. I pound into her throat, almost shooting my load just from watching her struggle. Alas, I’m not done having fun yet.
I pull my dick from her mouth and climb onto the bed. Cherry pushes to her knees, bending that perfect ass in my direction.
“Good twinkie,” I praise and slam deep inside her heated depths.
She lets out a sharp cry, her body going rigid at the sudden intrusion.
“Eat,” I growl, shoving her face back into Riley’s cunt.
I dig hard fingers into her tiny waist and jackhammer into her pussy, zero fucks given that her snug walls barely accommodate my cock.
I’m not the gentle type, but my partners are never left unsatisfied. For them, a chafed pussy is worth the mind-blowing orgasms. Cherry’s impassioned moans reverberate through the room as her creamy passage chokes my length. I join her in release moments later, spilling my seed into the condom.
“My turn,” Riley announces, snagging a magnum. “Need to rest, big boy? Or are you ready for round two?”
I smirk. Bitch doubting me, but she about to learn—I’m not new to this, I’m true to this.
I amble into the bar, freshly showered and content after curbing my sexual appetite. It’s filled to capacity. “Livin’ on a Prayer” comes on over the sound system, prompting more people to flaunt their dance skills. Others entertain themselves playing pool, foosball, or darts. There’s even axe throwing.
Saturday nights are always crankin’.
A vintage jukebox sits in the corner, lending an old-time feel to the atmosphere. It’s rarely shown any love, though.
There’s a full-service kitchen too, and man, the grub is top-notch. The kind that causes heartburn and clogs the arteries, but the greasy deliciousness is worth going to an early grave. The garlic parmesan chicken wings with extra sauce… that’s my poison. I can demolish a dozen in ten minutes flat. Add some loaded curly fries, and I’m in glutton heaven.
Zeus didn’t just build a clubhouse—he built a legacy. After his rise to power, he brought in an architect like some hotshot Hollywood director, sketching out his empire in blueprints andconcrete. The hulking structure has two main entrances: the bar and The Sanctuary.
We call it The Sanctuary for a reason—the first floor alone boasts a rec room, kitchen, dining area, gym, laundromat, and even a movie theater. There’s also an office for Zeus. Twelve motel-style rooms span the second and third floors. Each club officer has their own private room. The others bunk out back in two barracks-style buildings.
Then there’s the rooftop—complete with pools, jacuzzis, and grills. A space created for celebrations or escape, depending on the day. Below it all, the basement holds an auditorium. Two hundred patched brothers and counting gather there once a month, and every time, I still feel the weight of that number.
The bar is open to club affiliates—family, friends, anyone loyal to the Gods. They’re welcome to eat, drink, and use one of the five bedrooms in the back—for a little adult fun or just to sleep it off. But that’s where their access ends, unless Zeus says otherwise. Breaking this rule will result in a swift ass whooping.
People learn real quick why disrespecting the Gods is a bad idea. More often than not, we don’t need to make an example out of anyone. Word gets around. Nobody crosses the brotherhood and lives. Still, despite what outsiders think, it’s not all blood and mayhem. Some days are downright boring as fuck. We watch over the neighborhood, attend local events, and even cut checks to charity. Not exactly the Wild West fantasy people like to whisper about.
Earning a place in the brotherhood takes time, and for good reason. One rat could wreck everything. Recruitment’s no joke—truth serum, lie detector tests, extensive background checks. Zeus doesn’t cut corners when it comes to protecting the MC.
Civilians who show real interest get invited to hang around for a year. During that time, loyalty isn’t requested; it’s expected. Absolute obedience or you’re out. Only a unanimous vote from the executive board earns you the right to prospect. Make itthrough two more years, and if you’re still standing, you earn your patch.
The board answers to no one but Zeus. He handpicked each board member, and our voices are the only ones with any weight. The rest of the brothers hear the final word at meetings—simple as that.
The MC is doing better than ever. Zeus owns a trucking company, a gentleman’s club (aka a prostitution ring), a crematorium, and a string of houses, apartment buildings, and gas stations. All solid earners, but nothing touches the real money—guns and heroin. The weapons come from shady dealers right here in the States. The H rolls in from Mexico.
Everyone gets a cut based on rank and time served. The businesses help clean the cash. The crematorium? That was bought with one purpose in mind—getting rid of bodies. No evidence, no investigation. Around here, the cops don’t chase ghosts, especially not the kind with rap sheets.
On paper, the crematorium belongs to Kirk, Zeus’s old marine buddy. Most people don’t even know they served together. That’s by design. Zeus nearly died taking a bullet for him, and Kirk’s loyalty is ironclad. He plays the part, keeps his head down, and never asks questions.
“Sandman.” The familiar timbre of Jiminy, aka Cricket, catches my attention above the din.
He hops off the stool at my approach, sporting a shit-eating grin on his lean face. We recently got our colors. I’m officially unofficially the club’s hitman, and I have to admit, I fucking love coming to work every day. Killing motherfuckers is my passion.
Of course, Cricket wasn’t going to let me leave Texas without him. According to him, his guidance was essential for my survival. Zeus, being financially well-off, didn’t mind adding another mouth to feed to his household. Cricket’s uncle has three small children at home to provide for and was happy to get rid of him.
“What the fuck are you smiling for?” I grumble.
His name should be Smiley since his teeth are showing half the damn time.
