“I can tell that you need me, Righteous. Let me get you right. Please,” Thumpiana begs.
I step around her without a word because thirsty women make my dick shrivel like a three-week-old peach.
“What’s good, bro?” Smoke speaks, and I pause to dap him.
“Not shit. Ain’t it almost time for church? Why are the mice still running around? Where’s Diesel?”
Diesel is the president of Baxtown Iron MC, and Gunz is the vice president. Both men run the club with little drama and zero tolerance for bullshit. I can respect how they run the club after I heard what happened with the founder.
“All non-patched people exit right the fuck now or lose future access.” Gunz’s voice echoes around the room like an announcer at a crowded football stadium before Smoke can answer my questions.
The sound of shoes and heels bounces around the room as a chuckle escapes my mouth, because it’s clear nobody wants to lose their entry into our club. My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket as my jaw ticks when I see Nicole’s name with an incoming text. I take a minute to open the message.
Little Pain:
How did the date go? Your location tells me that it’s over. Were you able to scare her?
Hell no. Instead of scaring her away, I fucked around and gave her a reason to be bold.
The statement rings in my mind as a reminder of Jariyah doubling down and practically strong-arming me into adding her number to my phone.
“Alright, bring y’all asses over here so we can call church to order.” The heavy demand in Diesel’s voice brokers no argument as I place my phone back in my pocket without replying to Nicole.
I walk over and take a seat before Deacon and Squeak enter the room, holding hands. The love in Deacon’s eyes causes my chest to tighten as a foreign emotion settles within me. Jariyah’s face flashes in my mind, and I blink rapidly so I can focus on the task at hand.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Isn’t it obvious? You’ve been bitten by Jariyah Owens’ determination.
“Why are you mugging me and my wife, nigga?” Deacon asks, instantly snapping me out of my head.
“Shut up with your lovesick ass. I would never mug Squeak. You’re the fucking weakest link, bitch nigga,” I say.
What’s crazy is that I’m not even mad with Deacon. I’m irritated by my wayward thoughts, the image of Jariyah, and the possibility that I may not be able to shake the woman who should be off-limits to me. Jariyah is the forbidden fruit another strong man let a woman talk him into enjoying. The bang of a gavel alerts me to tune in to the meeting just as my president opens his mouth to speak.
“It has been brought to my attention that we might have some heat coming from Midnight Eagles. The shit is funny because they’re the brotherhood of Satan’s Cobras. I thought for sure that when we cut the head off their snake ass president, we would be good. But it appears that Knight wants smoke with us. For now, all I’m going to say is to be vigilant and mindful of your loved ones,” Diesel says.
“Damn. These fuckers never learn, I see. What are they doing to make you believe our eyes need to be open?” my club brother, Boston, asks.
“Encroaching on our territory to see how we’ll respond. For now, I want to do nothing. If shit continues, then we might have to treat them to a little game of show-and-tell,” Diesel answers.
“Aw, man. Here we go with this shit,” Shadow grumbles.
I rub my hands together at the thought of getting active and the opportunity to let Diva play.
“Oh, I pray shit gets nasty then. Diva has been doing sit-ups and is ready for some action.” I smile.
“Man, how is that little ass dog able to do sit-ups? You know what? Don’t even answer that shit. You’re just as special as that touched ass nigga,” Shadow says before he points to Deacon, who laughs maniacally for a second before he replies.
“It’s alright if you’re more bitch made than the rest of us, bro.” Deacon smirks.
It wasn’t lost on me that most of the club owned some type of animal that they used to torture and kill people. Well, everybody except Shadow and Deacon. In Deacon’s case, his hands speak for him, while Shadow’s patience makes his nine-millimeter his weapon of choice. The first time I brought Diva to the clubhouse, Shadow made the mistake of calling her ugly. My little firecracker almost bit his ankle, and he damn near twisted it to get away from her.
“Fuck you,” Shadow says before he flicks Deacon off.
Squeak giggles, and the sound causes a smile to slide into place. I have no idea how my cousin got lucky with her. But what I will say is that Big Homie was in the blessing business that day.
“Anyway, if no one else has anything to discuss, we can break up this catty ass bickering session.” Gunz interjects.
