Page 42 of Nicolette

“You scared the little guy,” I teased. “All he wanted was to see how real adults have a good time.”

Nine stood up straight, putting space between us as he wrapped his hand around my throat. “I’ll burn their fucking eyeballs if they even catch a glimpse of how you look with my cock buried deep inside you. No, that moment is for me and the others you chose, no one else.”

“Duly noted,” I quipped. “So are we staying here, or is there some other place you want to go? It’s been well over four hours since I last ate, and the smell of that burger is making me drool.”

With that, we were off. Nine scooped me up and marched off for a set of stairs I hadn’t seen in the shadowed part of the dance floor. Rambler was right on our heels, and I reached out, pointing at the onion ring, then making grabby hands. He chuckled and shook his head, offering me one off the plate. I shoved the whole thing in my mouth and hummed with delight at the taste. It was a damn good onion ring with a slightly sweet coating that was cooked all the way through. There was nothing worse than a soggy onion ring or one where the outer shell crumbled. If that prospect was the one who made them, then he was going to need to be accepted on this skill alone.

I wonder if I could get his biker name to be Onion Ring. Might not be what he hoped for, but it’s absolutely what I’m going to be calling him in my head, regardless.

Nine set me down at the top of the stairs, allowing me to take in the massive open space. The first thing your eyes landed on was a conference table that spanned almost the full length of the room, which was pretty much the depth of the building itself.

Walking up to it, I ran my hand over the top, not believing that it was really made out of metal. Thick metal pedestals held the weight of the top and were bolted together. This fucking thing had to weigh an obscene amount. Short stools ran along both sides, with only one full chair that looked almost like a throne. It was black-stained wood with tufted leather padding that appeared like it had seen a lot of use over the years.

“This is where we hold Church,” Dice informed me.

Proud of myself for not reacting, I met his gaze as he stood next to me. “Church?”

“It’s what we call our meetings for fully patched members only. The topics we cover are to never be spoken of outside this room, and you better have a fucking good reason for not showing up,” Rambler explained. “Church is a sacred time, and only trusted members can know what goes on. It protects us all to keep it that way.”

“Interesting,” I commented as I followed Rambler, who was still holding my burger further into the space. “So, am I allowed to be up here?”

“We hold Church once a week, and when that officially happens, you won’t be allowed, but right now, it’s just our office,” he answered as we rounded a partition to reveal three desks. “Nine, Polo, and myself work up here dealing with all the businesses we run. The apartments and the bar are both legit to the government, so they don’t look too closely at what else we do. Plus, it’s easier to launder money through a bar.”

“Smart, now where can I eat?” I asked, then spotted a table with two chairs in the corner. “Never mind, plate, please.”

Snatching my meal, I hurried to the back corner and wolfed down my food. I didn’t know if it was how hungry I was or if this was one of the best damn burgers I’d ever had, but fuck, was that amazing. Part of me really wanted another one, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to brave going back downstairs. I wasn’t chicken or anything, but the thought of dealing with more bullshit had me groaning.

“That wasn’t enough, was it,” Circus guessed.

I shook my head and let out a sigh. “It’s fine. I’m not nearly as desperate as I was before this, so it can wait. Didn’t he say dinner was at seven?”

Nine turned in his office chair to face me and frowned. “There is no way in hell my ol’ lady is getting served from the meal train. If you want more food, just say so. I’ll call down and make them fucking bring it up.”

None of this was making sense. “Meal train? Okay, someone needs to spell this out for me. I’m not connecting the dots. These sweetbutts come here to ‘entertain’…” I commented using finger quotes, “… and they are provided food and lodging, correct?”

“That’s the basics of it, yes,” Nine agreed.

“Then what am I missing? There’s another piece to this that hasn’t been mentioned yet,” I challenged, looking from Nine to the other five men in the room. “Trust me when I say it’s better for all of us if one of you tells me versus me discovering it on my own.”

Marco groaned and stamped his feet like a little kid but answered, “This is going to sound so bad, I know it. All right, so think of it like the sweetbutts are contestants on The Bachelor. They sign up for the show, they understand what’s expected of them, their basic needs are provided for, and at the end of their time, one woman gets picked.”

“I’m tracking,” I said to keep him moving.

“So in our version, there are as many bachelors as there are single men in the club. Every sweetbutt’s goal is to become an ol’ lady,” Marco explained, yet paused like he was expecting me to be upset. “To make this happen, they drift from man to man until they find one who will claim them. Once claimed by a member, then they are under that person’s protection. Granted, the feline rules still apply so even though they are claimed, it doesn’t restrict them from choosing their sexual partners. Again, that typically only happens during a heat, but they are free to fuck who they want anytime. Some women like the freedom, others stick with the man who claimed them like an average human couple.”

It took me a few minutes to digest what I’d just been told. I wasn’t shocked by the fact women offered themselves up for security and stability. We’d been doing that since the dawn of time. What I didn’t understand was this regimented way they felt they needed to treat them with controlled meals, lodging, and making it clear they were only good for one thing.

“Who started this whole concept?” I asked, feeling it was going to be some archaic-minded man, but I wanted to double-check.

“That would be Doc,” Nine answered. “He was the president before Viking and was, interestingly enough, a doctor before he became a feline shifter. A patient attacked him, and Savage Pride took him in, knowing the value a doctor could make. Then he ended up being voted in as president even though he wasn’t the normal choice. I tell you all that just to explain where this system was started. He wanted the MC to be a refuge, but we weren’t as stable back then as we are now to provide for everyone who needed it.”

“Huh… well, that certainly wasn’t what I expected the answer to be. In a way, I suppose it makes it better that the intentions were pure, but now they are outdated and need to be brought into the current century,” I said, crossing a leg over the other as I leaned back in my chair. “Has this pride ever had an alpha female part of it?”

The guys turned to Rambler, who was looking through papers on his desk, obviously not clued into the conversation.

“Hey, racing stripes,” I called.

Rambler paused, then looked up, an irritated expression on his face. “Seriously?”