Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(85)
Same old song and dance. One thing was for sure – sucking and f*cking took the edge off old addictions. The girl was medicine to me, and nothing more, same as all the easy * who swarmed around this clubhouse like moths drawn to big, tattooed, foul mouthed flames.
If the girls realized half the world of shit this club was facing, I didn't think they'd be so bold. Shit was getting serious. I almost dreaded having to throw on my cut and get my ass out there.
Fang's iron fist clenched tighter every day. Hadn't taken me long to figure out how he'd gotten to be national Prez. Brains and brutality were the ticket, but lately, the shit he ordered was beyond the pale. I was damned lucky they'd let me take a ride to Reno a few weeks ago for my sis' wedding.
Technically, the club was on lockdown. We were at war, a savage war we were losing to the Mexican boys pouring across the border, kicking us in the nuts when we least suspected it.
Dunno how I kept it together watching Shelly tie the knot with Blaze, Prez of the Prairie Pussies up in Montana, no less. I would've loved to draw knives and have it out with those *s. Would've loved to slice the throat of any sneak cartel f*ck who came after me too. But I owed sis a hug, a kiss, and my congratulations hissed through clenched teeth.
Celebrating her happiness meant something – even if she found it marrying a total dick from an MC we'd been fighting with not so long ago.
“Brass!” A loud knock at the door followed the booming voice. “Better shake your ass, bro. Crack's rounding up the guys for church and he's gonna be pissed if you're late again.”
Fuck. I told Rabid I'd be out in a minute, soon as the slut was finished pissing behind the door.
Twinkie and the rest of the girls weren't just into riding dick, hoping to land an old man. A couple got caught early this year sneaking cash and valuables outta brothers' rooms. Yeah, they had their asses kicked to the curb – sometimes literally – whenever they were caught. But f*ck if I was taking the chance leaving this girl alone with my meager belongings.
The little blonde came striding out a second later, straightening her thong. I scooped her clothes together and threw them at her.
“Get your shit on and hurry the f*ck up. I need to get outta here, and you better be gone first. Club business.”
She nodded. I folded my arms, watching her cover up her tits and ass. My dick stirred, insatiable as ever. Must've been all this stress.
I gave her one more swat on the way out. She giggled, a high whiny sound that made me wanna swing her around, slam her on the bed, and f*ck her all over again.
The clubhouse smelled like shit when I got outside, locking the door behind me. Damned prospects were slacking on the f*cking job. Too damned distracted with the cartel drama, just like the rest of us. Cans and broken glass crunched underneath my feet, burned joints and bags of chips, needles and used condoms.
Pretty f*cking amazing Fang got anything done at all in this dump. But the Prez barely left his office anymore. He was way too busy screaming at our boys in other states and melting down when the latest disaster came through the phone. Otherwise, he was riding our asses like a maniac, demanding results nobody could deliver.
The cartel was kicking our ass in SoCal. The Mexicans were creeping north, slowly and surely. No sooner than I got back from Reno, the place was crawling with rumors about hit men in town, gunning to cut our throats in our sleep and decapitate our whole f*cking club by taking out its head.
We'd already surrendered Sacramento, home to the original mother charter. Fang had no choice but to retreat north to Redding with his crew. Regroup, scheme, and hit them back – that had to be the plan – except we hadn't quite gotten to the hitting part.
A big hand slapped my shoulder. “Looks like we're gonna beat Serial and Splitter after all. Let's leave those f*cks to get the evil eye.”
I grinned at Rabid and followed him into the big meeting room. The officers were all lined up at the head of the table, and more than a dozen brothers milled around at the other end.
Crack, our VP, looked more pissed off than ever when he was sober, his dark eyes glaring in his bald head. He'd been demoted after wearing the Prez title in Redding for years. Everybody was subordinate to Fang as soon as he came up from Sacramento, including the man who's charter was unlucky enough to host the Grizzlies' biggest bear.
Then there was Blackjack, our Sergeant-at-Arms. His long gray hair sat unevenly on his shoulders, the only other man here except for me and Fang who didn't indulge in anything harder than Jack and old fashioned cigs. He looked like a mean ass wizard and occasionally pulled off black magic like one too. He'd saved my ass more times than I could count when we were outgunned.
Then there was Fang himself. A big, weathered badass with a square head and a drill sergeant's haircut gone gray. The front of his cut had more patches than a four star general.
Rabid and I took the last couple seats and waited for the other brothers to file in. Sure enough, the Prez beamed raw hate at the stragglers, several of our guys plus a few transplants from the defunct Sacramento charter.
Bang! The petrified bear claw he used for a gavel hit the table, putting one more dent in the old cedar wood.
“All right, you lazy f*cks, listen up. I don't have the time and motivation to rip your *s to shreds today for dragging your junkie asses in here ten minutes overdue. I'm feeling generous today. Crack and a couple brothers finally brought us some good news.”