Page 137 of Devil’s Disciples

Reno was the explosives expert, Ghost was the mechanic and getaway driver, Tito was in charge of alarms, computer hacking, and irritating the fuck out of me. Goose was the weapons expert and resident cook. I was the muscle, and Baker was the brains of the operation.

As far as outsiders were concerned, we all worked for Baker, who owned several car washes. He filtered as much of our stolen funds through the carwashes as he could, returning the laundered money to us partially in cash, and partially in legitimate wages.

We normally robbed the underbelly of the city, focusing on the shit hats, drug dealers, and those who presented a problem to the city’s inhabitants who yearned for nothing more than to live each day free of worry.

We did, however, infrequently rob those who had no more common sense than to put their money where it was easy to access. Federally insured investments were always a target, and we viewed the victim not as the target, but as the government.

Planning a robbery required a unanimous vote. Now that we had one, our next step would be meticulously organizing the robbery of his home, office, or anywhere else that he kept his funds.

“Any new business we need to discuss?” Baker asked.

“I say we make a rule about whacking your junk in the bathroom. If a club brother can’t wait to stroke his stiffy until he gets home, he needs to go see a doctor or a shrink,” Goose said.

“Sounds like he’s on the wagon,” Ghost said. “As long as he’s pounding this chick’s throat.”

Reno barked out a laugh. “It won’t last longer than a fart in a whirlwind. Never does with him.”

Baker looked at me and shook his head. “Do I need to make a rule, or are you preoccupied enough with this chick that we don’t need to worry about it?”

I was torn. At present, my thoughts didn’t drift far from her gorgeous face, ability to cook, or her oral skills. Statistically speaking, as Tito often said, I’d be somewhere else doing something else to someone else within a week.

I knew me well enough to know she’d eventually be where every other woman ended up.

On my bad side.

My best advice to myself would be to stay away from her. I liked her enough that I knew I didn’t want to hurt her. Sooner or later, I’d do just that. Hurt her.

I looked at Baker. “You better make that rule.”

He looked me over. “A blowjob like that, and you’re telling me you’re done? You’re back to beating off in the bathroom?”

I gazed at the toes of my boots and gave his question some serious thought. I enjoyed my time with Kimberly, but when she sucked my cock, she took possession of me. I didn’t want to stop seeing her but being owned by a woman wasn’t something I could make sense of. It left me feeling weak, and incapable of walking away. If I went back for more, I’d only become weaker.

Then, if I continued, I’d eventually become dependent upon her. No woman was going to make me weak for her, no matter how good she sucked a dick. The answer I needed to give was evident.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m done.”

51

Kimberly

Jennifer stepped out of the dressing room and turned to face me. She tugged against the hem of the dress and wiggled her hips from side to side. For giving birth to two children and living on a planet where gravity worked against them, her boobs looked great.

The little black dress she wore was just that, little. Her breasts heaved out of the plunging neckline, leaving nothing but her nipples to the imagination. In fact, the areola of her left breast was one breath away from bursting from its confines.

“Well?” she asked.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Tell me why you think you need this?”

She turned a quarter of the way around and gave me a side-eyed look. “Because it’s sexy.”

“And, you need a sexy dress…why?”

She shrugged. “Because I want one.”

“You have some.”

“I don’t have any like this.”