by Cheri Marie
My hand smacks her gorgeous ass, and she giggles. My tip finds her entrance at once, and I speed fuck her, one hand on her back and the other is a guide for her hips. Not that I think she couldn’t find her way, because the woman can fuck, but it’s just where my hand lands. My cock throbs, and I know I’m about to get mine, so I pull out and she flips around and takes me into her mouth.
“Fuck me,” I grunt out of sheer shock and release into her mouth.
Chapter Nine
Scarlette
Things often are out of a person’s control. The weather, death, who you love—all of those are an expectation. They come with acquisition or loss, depending on where your opinion lands in that particular moment. Glas is something in my life I have always kept control with, afraid if I didn’t, I would lose myself. Seeing him last night isn’t something I could have ever been prepared for. As for fucking him, well, that definitely wasn’t a planned occurrence.
I paced the floors for a solid hour after Sam went to sleep, hoping Memphis would return, unveiling such a wild predicament that kept him from coming back to our son’s birthday party. I prayed he was okay. I can’t remember the last time I prayed, with the exception of last night, that is. Although we aren’t together, I needed Memphis to be this family’s knight in shining armor. Instead, I screwed Glas on his Harley, and now there’s no going back. Afterward, we were both different. I know I was at least. I think he was, too, but with him, it’s hard to say.
I roll over in my bed, my muscles reminding me of the ways my body was bent over a motorcycle. The ways I gave myself to Glas. There are no illusions swimming around in my head of love. I know what happened between us was straight fucking, but there was a little more to it. Even though I’ll never admit that to another soul. Ever.
It’s not an easy task to see your life in clarity, but my iron anchors in this life have been clear for some time now. Until last night, that is. It’s always been Sam and Memphis ever since I was made aware of being pregnant. Exactly in that order. Sam is and will continue to be my number one until death.
“You’re up early,” a familiar voice echoes through the halls of our house, and I instantly know it’s Memphis. He’s the only other person who has a key to the locks, other than me, of course.
“Daddy,” Sam squeals, and his excited footsteps quicken as he runs down the hallway to Memphis. The anger I have for Memphis bubbles over and wants nothing more than to steal this moment from them. He should have called, or at the very least texted.
Calmly, I climb out of bed and walk down the hall to the living room, where they are comfortably sitting beside one another on the couch.
“Memphis,” I say, my voice breaking and giving away the annoyance I have for him.
“Scar, hey. I was just telling our guy I couldn’t get back yesterday, had an emergency case.” He purses his lips and clicks his tongue, using his palm to move the top of Sam’s hair around.
“I was wondering. Well, we were wondering if you’d be okay with us going on a father-son hiking trip.” Sam’s eyes are the first to find my face and then Memphis’, which are identical to Sam’s baby blues. They’ve just been a little more worn with time. He has lines at the corners when he squints or smiles.
The audacity of him marching into our house after straight up neglecting his son on his birthday brings heat to my face. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but with Sam’s beautiful pleading eyes searching my face for approval, I can’t.
“Don’t make me regret this. Promise to check in and keep your phone on at all times, Memphis. And I do mean all times,” I repeat myself to make sure he understands he isn’t off the hook for being the asshole he was yesterday. I understand medical emergencies happen, I’m not stupid. What digs at my nerves is the fact he didn’t consider us. I know he could have taken two minutes out of his day or after the procedure was over to call and check in with us. Hell, I didn’t even care if he explained it to me as long as he told Sam why his dad left and didn’t return.
“Definitely, Scar. This is me we’re talking about. If it hadn’t been a medical emergency, I would have told the patient they were out of luck, but I was the only person she would let touch her and she needed surgery. It wasn’t a procedure that could have waited another minute. We had a few complications along the way, almost lost her, but we got her taken care of. Afterward, I was just exhausted and fell asleep at my office. Notice I’m wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday?”
After gasping at the near miss, Sam smells Memphis’ suit. “It’s true, Mommy. He kind of stinks.”
I laugh, but my smile doesn’t reach my eyes. Doubt still surges within my body, but I don’t understand the reason it remains. Memphis has a point. Typically, he isn’t just an average father. He’s one of the miraculous few who astounds the rest of the world. He is always here when we need him, so other than my habit of holding a grudge, I have no other reason to say no to the hiking trip.
“Okay,” I agree with a huff, against my gut churning in protest. I’m not sure why I all of a sudden don’t trust Memphis. Other than yesterday, his track record as a parent is probably better than mine if I’m being honest with myself.
“Okay? You hear that, buddy? We’re going to conquer the big one today,” he reassures Sam, and they both smile, letting their excitement overpower them. “Go get your gear on.”
“Yes!” Sam exclaims, hopping off the couch cushion and running to his room to change out of his pajamas. “Daddy, you might want to change, too.” He pokes his head out of his bedroom door and yells at Memphis.
“The trails don’t care what I smell like, buddy.”
“Thank you, Scar,” Memphis says, turning his attention back to me as he stands and joins me in the kitchen, hugging me tightly.
“Don’t give me a reason to lose my trust in you,” I warn him in a cold tone, instantly feeling like a bitch for saying it, but regardless, it makes me feel better. Memphis may be my best friend, but Sam is my life.
I don’t trust anyone easily. On a normal note, if you break my trust, you don’t get a second chance, but this is Memphis. The man who stood in the Build-A-Bear line for five hours last Christmas to get Sam a limited edition stuffed animal and paid my bills through the winter so we could keep the lights on.
As a parent, you want to protect your child. Their age doesn’t matter in any scenario. They are still your baby. Whether they’re a newborn or they’re sixty, as long as you live, they are your priority. It’s instinctual.
Chapter Ten
Glas
To an MC, church is our sanctuary. Our Vegas. No one other than members is welcome in the clubhouse whenever our weekly meeting is being conducted.
Bad starts the meeting with a crack of his beer, and so we all do the same. As the President and Vice-President, only he or King can start church. I don’t know how any other clubs start their meetings, but for us, this is the opening. Some brothers take shots and others open a beer. Either way, we all commit to open the discussion of topics in one way or another.
Typically, I’m all in. We all are. The club is our life; it’s not a lifestyle. Tonight, though, anxiety has my mind darting in so many different directions.
“Glas, are we fucking bothering your daydream? Do you have something to weigh in on this damn conversation? I mean, I’m sorry your motherfucking brothers have wasted your time by all of us being here,” Bad spits out and gets a little louder, putting more emphasis on his words each time he says “your.”
“I’m sorry, Bad. Family stuff has my mind fucked.” I’m honest with him and immediately regret my choice of words. Family is first, always, but we are brothers, so they’re my family, too.
“I’m sorry. I think I heard you wrong.” He glares at me and kills the remainder of his beer. “I thought you said that family stuff has your mind fucked, and here I thought we were your family. Either that or you’re saying we’re fucking your mind. Which is it, Glas?”
“Boss.” I pause, addressing hi
m as most of us do when we don’t use his name, since he’s the President of our chapter. “Rebel Forever, Forever Rebel,” I say, and by the time I reach the end of my declaration, all of the brothers join in and help me finish saying what the abbreviated RFFR patch stands for that’s located on the right side of our cuts. Being in an MC isn’t for the weak or kindhearted. I hear the words Bad is saying, but underneath all the cussing and degrading, there is true concern. We’re all bastards, but a family of them.
He holds his beer up, looking at the light through his empty bottle. “Probate, get me a beer,” he says as he brushes me off, his eyes landing on Mad Dog, and a mischievous smirk pulls at his upper lip. Mad Dog’s probationary period is almost over. It’s the reason Bad picked him out of the other probates in attendance tonight. It’s the reason all of us will pick him tonight. The next church held is when we’ll vote if he has what it takes to be an official brother or not and is worthy of the top rocker on the back of his cut. The vote must be unanimous, or to the CRMC, he isn’t a brother.
Hatter chimes in, “Yeah, fucking Dog. My hand seems to be getting pretty empty down here, too. You’re slacking. Maybe you should switch places with Screen. He’d give his left nut to get off bar duty right now.” Hatter refuses to put the word “Mad” in front of Dog’s name, because they share that portion of their road name and Hatter had his first. Hatter is one of the oldest members of our chapter and almost nationwide, so he is set in his ways. The fucker is ancient, but hell, if he can’t tell some great stories. He’s been through it all. He’s a retired engineer and bona fide genius who spent some time in the old prison before the state of Louisiana bailed him out and used him to off a bigger problem.
Soon Mad Dog has the list of drinks we all want and he opens the door and closes it behind him, going to retrieve our libations.
“Matter at hand. Memphis. How are we going to handle him?” Bad spits out, holding back nothing and refusing to make eye contact with me.
I take the cellophane off and hold the tip of the cigar between my teeth as I start puffing. I saved it, knowing this would be the main order of business of tonight’s meeting. King had warned me, and I knew to act cool right now. I couldn’t let anyone know I have any prior knowledge of this current topic, which it really doesn’t matter if I did or didn’t. Being a reaper of the club means I’m the one who gets the call from Bad or King when shit needs taken care of. I think King just wants to keep it kind of under wraps because Cobra tends to be a pussy when things don’t include him. He really likes inflicting pain upon others.
I tip my glass of whiskey in everyone’s general direction and give them my usual don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, swallowing the last two fingers of liquid left in the glass. No one seems to notice anything is up, so I think I handle the situation well, all considering we’re about to vote on Memphis’ future.
I zone out through most of the deliberation, not wanting to bear witness to what may be my brother’s death. He might be an asshole, but we’ve always kind of had one another’s back.
“All in favor of letting Memphis keep his fucking waste of a pitiful life and just scaring the mortal shit out of him?” Bad says, picking up his beer and removing the cap to mark the occasion. His words shock me as they leave his lips. I was certain without a doubt Memphis would be under much more scrutinization than getting a scare.
It’s unanimous. My brother gets to live. Although after the table opens up for discussion of his punishment and a few ideas are tossed around, I think he may choose death if he had a say-so in the matter. He doesn’t.
“Let’s let Molly have a go with him. The dick cold will work wonders on a man. It’s a very enlightening experience. Or so I’ve heard. Right, Panhead?” King laughs to himself, letting a big horn of Jack fall down his throat. Panhead just shakes his head at our VP and then shrugs his shoulders.
All the brothers laugh.
“Old Dick Cold Molly isn’t severe enough.” Hatter laughs in his raspy voice and jabs King in the side. “Give me a cigarette.”
King opens his pack and Hatter helps himself to one, lighting it, and then puffs as he thinks. “You know, back in my day, when bikers were bikers, we tended to stick to the eye for an eye theory. Which in this case, it’d be a vein for a vein.” He blows out a cloud of smoke and smiles to himself. “Did the law follow him here?”
“No. But they could have,” Skillet chimes in, moving a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Still could,” he clarifies, giving us his expertise opinion. He’s one of the few brothers in the history of the CRMC who has a law enforcement background. Typically, if you have anything to do with the law, you don’t have a hand in an MC. We have bylaws. I have no clue what makes him an exception. I’ve never asked and don’t plan to. I might make a ton of stupid decisions, but questioning someone that has been in the brotherhood that long will not be one of them.
Soon Hatter is convincing all of us how the plan should go down and that it has to be executed just right. I have to hand it to the motherfucker. If it wasn’t Memphis we were talking about, this is a fucking phenomenal idea.
“So, he used syringes. We’ll use darts. What’s a few more holes in a junkie’s body?” Cobra chimes in for the first time of the night, licking his lips and really getting into the idea being laid before us.
“Okay. It’s settled. Cobra, you’ll take lead, but Glas, you’re going to have to bring him here. You good with that?” Bad asks after we vote on the decision.
“Yes, Boss,” I say without hesitation, knowing this is a far better choice than my brother dying.
Chapter Eleven
Scarlette
“Mommy, it was so much fun!” Sam yawns as I help him into his PJs and get him to bed. Memphis picks Sam up as soon as his body touches the mattress and holds him above his head. I step out of the bedroom and let them have this time. It’s a rare occasion anymore. I know Sam needs this.
“Son, Daddy has paved a road for you, so you can follow in my footsteps. You all will want for nothing.” I peek into the room, watching Memphis swing Sam around and then gently laying him onto the bed.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?” Memphis answers, pulling the sheet and cover up to Sam’s chin and Sam snuggles against the fabric.
“What if I want to be like Uncle Glas? He does whatever he wants.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be in charge like Daddy?” Memphis questions as he tries to mask the obvious pain our son’s words bring him. He fails terribly as his voice cracks toward the end of his statement.
Sam shrugs, giving a typical answer for a seven-year-old. “I don’t know.”
“Sleep now. You’ll have your whole life to decide,” Memphis assures Sam and kisses his forehead.
The Marvelous Madam Mim
Chasity Gaines
“Twins born to a mortal woman of magical powers and the God, Bran. One born to protect the old gods and ways during the dark times while the other guides the boy king prophesied to bring Wales into a golden era. They will be at odds, but their destinies will bring them together.”
Prologue
I am sure you, the reader, are familiar with my brother, the famous Merlin, from the tales of King Arthur. I would say this tale is not about my well-known twin but his story and mine are intertwined by the stars of our birth. You probably have never heard of me, but if you have, you probably were told that I was a villainous evil witch who sought to deter my brother, but this is false. I, Madam Mim, was written out of history for being powerful, stubborn, proud, and determined.
I inflamed hearts and entranced powerful Lords to do my biddings. I fought off Christian soldiers who raped and pillaged small villages like mine. I walked with Morgana, still revered today. She taught me how to survive and how to fight. Most of the time my actions helped Merlin in his endeavors. As I have said, we were tied together by the stars which we were born under, no matter the circumstances. Sure, I dueled with my brother on several occasions, but you tell me, who h
asn’t fought their siblings?
I start my tale at the beginning as Merlin and I take our first gasp of air outside our mother’s womb. As I write this memoir, the memories come to me as if they happened yesterday, so overlook an old woman’s usage of present and past tense as she flits and flutters through the hall of memories.
Chapter One
Born on a late autumn night, the wind cried as loud as banshees as it swept past my family’s humble cottage threatening to snuff out the fire crackling in the hearth. Our cottage lay on the outskirts of Brynbuga, a small village in South Wales, near the flowing waters of the River Usk. Mother cries out with the wailing she-devils of the stormy nights in search of fresh babes to steal away. The midwife, a hunchbacked elderly woman, had seen many a’ babes brought into the world on dangerous nights like these and was ready with her bag of instruments and herbs.
Father waited outside listening to the goat's bellows and horses snorting. A simple man, my father, a hardworking man who fell in love with a woman, whom many feared as a witch because of her dedication to the old gods and goddesses. My mother didn’t like the strange Christian priests with their strange incense and wrathful god.
“Push,” the wizened old woman encouraged as she held mother’s legs apart, revealing her nether regions bulging with a head full of black hair. Mother bears down growling like an injured beast, her chin digging into her chest bone, snot running down her face. In her hand, an onyx stone bites into her palm drawing a tiny drop of blood. The onyx belonged to my mother’s mother who had died several years ago, drowned as a witch.