Saint growls. “Same goes for me. You want to tell me how Pippa’s got a hold of mine as well?” His menacing scowl manages to get Rattler shrugging, but shutting his mouth.
“Nah, Rat’s gonna keep quiet, because he’d know you’d let Pippa loose on him if he keeps the fuck on,” Stalker observes. “I reckon it would be Rat left with empty sacs after that.” After creasing his brow for a moment, he adds, “He’d be lucky if she leaves him with a dick.” His comment creates a few pained looks and some nervous laughs.
I glance at the VP who’s sitting by my side. He doesn’t look at all upset. Instead he looks…proud. Well, we all know Pippa’s at least as badass as the rest of us.
It’s not unusual for Genie to stay quiet for the whole meeting. So when he clears his throat, it comes as a surprise. “Let’s think about this mathematically. There’s thirteen of us and four club girls, so that’s three and a quarter of us to each girl. But, if Saint and Short are out of the picture, and if we grant Freak’s wishes, then that’s three between ten, which comes to three and a third.” I think all our eyes have glazed over, but Genie almost dances in his seat. “So, there are better odds for those of us who haven’t succumbed to a ball and chain.”
“Better odds?” Rattler’s purses his lips. “A quarter is bigger than a third. Four’s the larger number.” Twelve pairs of eyes stare at him. He frowns. Then the penny drops, and his mouth forms an O.
Words kicks his foot up onto the table. “The ratio’s even better than that. Stalker, Paint and Rat,” he pauses, leans from the waist so he can look past the other brothers to me, “assuming Freak is out of the equation now, get their dicks wet at Royals. And,” his brows meet together, “is there a stripper who might want to live at the club?”
Stalker’s eyes go large. “Well, fuck, Words. You might have come up with an answer. That new girl you hired, Freak, I reckon she’d be more than willing. Got a mouth like a hoover and an appetite for dick.” No one bothers to ask him how he knows.
Unwilling to count my chickens just yet, I tentatively try out the water. “So, you’ve no objection to releasing Trixie as club property?”
“Fuck yes.” Paint plants a fist on the table. “She’s one of the best. The way her tight cunt hugs your dick. And that mouth…?”
“Too right, Brother,” Piston agrees. “Hey, Freak. Take one of the others. Trixie’s going to be missed. What about Sweetie? She’s got a whiny voice, but it’s okay if you put something in her mouth to shut her up.”
Not to be left out, Tempest lets a slow grin come to his face, he stares into the distance dreamily. “Now Trix does this thing…
“Watch it,” I vaguely hear, the voice sounding like it’s coming from a distance.
“Oh fuck,” someone says.
My muscles bunch in my arms, and I start to rise from my seat. My mind begins to blank, going somewhere distant, turning me into a killing machine.
“Fuckin’ get hold of him!”
Faintly I hear Prez’s voice coming from somewhere as I launch myself up and over the table, aiming at the sergeant-at-arms, but he’s already moving, and damn him, he’s rolled underneath, scrabbling to get out the other side. With my eyes set firmly on my target I drop to my knees, only to feel several bodies landing on me, preventing me from getting close to my quarry who’s now scurried out the opposite side of the table.
My hands are wrenched behind me, I shoot back my head, feeling my skull hitting flesh, and hearing a satisfying exclamation of pain. But it doesn’t stop the zip ties being fastened around my wrists, then, I’m pushed off balance, and a heavy weight lands on my chest. Through the red mist I see Short, and though I twist and turn, I can’t shift him off. What the fuck is he doing? He’s got his hand on my jean covered dick and he’s…
“Get off!” I screech, my voice at least two octaves louder as he places his fist straight into my crotch.
At least he has the grace to move off me, not that I can do shit, I bend double, my chest heaving as wheezing sounds leave my mouth. I’m vaguely aware of my feet being pulled together. Then, ankles obviously bound, I’m unceremoniously picked up by Short and Piston, dragged back around the table to my chair, where I’m dumped down so hard my tail bone stings.
The cacophony of instructions being shouted around me die down, as I glare, loudly swearing revenge on all the motherfuckers, and fight against my bindings. Slowly I become aware that Bullseye is banging his gavel, and one by one, my senses return to me. Only to see Tempest is doubled up laughing in his seat.
Fuck, he was only goading me. And I fucking lost it.
Bowing my head in shame, I glance up from under my eyelashes, checking nobody’s been hurt. There doesn’t seem tobe anyone else, only me, though Winchester is ruefully rubbing at his head.
“You listening, Freak?” Bullseye barks in that voice the commands attention. Assuming I am, he continues, “The brothers are yanking your chain. Haven‘t you noticed Trixie’s rarely been going with anyone, or not for months? Saint’s ol’ lady has got her doing other duties, and feeding us seems to be as good as her servicing other needs.” What he’s saying is sinking in.
Tempest is staring at me, remorse in his face. “Got to be honest, Freak. I prefer the younger pussy.”
“Fuckin’ right,” states Piston.
“I agree with the sergeant-at-arms. Trixie’s done her time,” Words pronounces. Then, he grows serious, and in his professional voice, he states somberly, “We all know Trixie can’t leave the club. And while she’s not a senior citizen, she’s no spring chicken. I, for one, am fuckin’ glad to have her staying here, she’s become a damn fine cook under Pippa’s tutelage. I’ve got no argument with him claiming her.”
Not quite so eloquently, his sentiment is echoed around the table.
It’s only Rattler who doesn’t seem happy. He places both hands on the table. “So why didn’t we start with that? What was all the math about? Equations, percentages, ratios and fuckin’ fractions. Fuck me.”
“You offering yourself as an alternative to Trix?” Paint grins widely.
Rattler palms his dick, and looks at his brother. “Why, you interested?”
