Sin & Suffer

by Pepper Winters

  Arthur snorted. “You mean Fight Club?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Cupping my elbow, Arthur guided me toward the back of the large room. “I learned a lot from your father, Cleo. Let me know how I do when compared to Thorn.”

  I wanted to scream that he should stop comparing himself to anyone. He was Arthur. He was perfect. He’s mine.

  Instead, I asked, “You’re taking me to Church?”

  Arthur didn’t reply as Grasshopper opened the door in invitation. He bowed in my direction. “After you, Butterbean.”

  “Quit it with that fucking nickname.” Arthur cuffed him around the back of his head.

  Nervousness tickled my insides with effervescent bubbles as I entered the large oblong room where I’d been taken the day I’d almost been sold. Instead of pizza boxes and beer littering the large table, now it was empty with neatly clasped hands of groomed and gnarly bikers.

  I wanted to ask Arthur again if there was some mistake. Surely, I wasn’t allowed here.

  “Kill!”

  “Hey, Prez.”

  Men shouted out greetings, friendship, and respect.

  Oh, God, what am I doing here?

  It wasn’t that I was afraid of being in a room full of men. It wasn’t even that I had no urge to listen to plans about vengeance and mayhem. It was the fact meetings were never done in the presence of women—I was out of place, an infiltrator.

  This is a man’s domain.

  Holding up his hand, Arthur waited until gentle murmurs and sporadic laughter died down. “I’ll discuss every facet and answer every question, but prepare yourselves for hard work over the next few days.” His green eyes pinned each brother into his seat, glowing with authority. “I want riders sent out to all the Clubs who have agreed to back us. I want memos and emails sent to the Clubs overseas to arrange additional support if required. And I want gossip to spread how fucking raging I am. How unstoppable I’ll be. How disastrous things will become for those standing in our way.”

  The twenty or so Pure Corruption brothers nodded, their fists clenching in preparation. “We’ll shout far and wide, Prez. By the end of next week, we’ll own this fucking country and everyone who ever betrayed us will be alligator chum.”

  A shiver shot down my spine.

  Arthur suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. “As you know, this is Cleo Price. Her father was Thorn Price of Dagger Rose. She’s mine. And I want you to welcome her into our family with open fucking arms.”

  Smiles split leathered faces. Laughs bubbled from mouths.

  “I take it your name was never Sarah, then.”

  My eyes fell on the biker who’d joked and pried for personal information between Art and I the first time I’d been in this room.

  I shook my head. “It’s a long story.”

  “Too long, and it’s time to begin.” Arthur moved away from me, stomping in large black boots to take his appointed throne at the head of the table.

  Grasshopper moved, too, yanking out a chair before throwing himself onto the hard seat and tossing his phone onto the table.

  Lost, I stood like an out-of-place toy.

  Men bowed their heads together, conversation sprouting from all corners in one loud hum.

  My ears rang with their masculine deepness, revealing innermost secrets and tales of Pure Corruption.

  I wasn’t a patched in member. Prospects weren’t allowed and definitely not women.

  I wasn’t even Arthur’s officially.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  Inching toward the door, I pressed on the handle and cracked it open.

  No one paused in their river of conversation, and I prepared to slip silently through.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Arthur asked, planting his palms on the table. Even from here the color of his eyes was muddy and pain-riddled.

  I shrugged. I thought it was obvious and what was expected of me. After all, I owned a vagina, not a penis. “Um, giving you guys time to talk.”

  Men laughed as if I’d quipped the funniest joke in history.

  Mo came into the room, striding past me with a smirk. His blond shaggy hair was windswept and sunshine compared to Arthur’s brooding darkness. “You’re too cute.”

  I scowled. “Cute? Why am I cute?”

  Mo laughed. “Because you’re still hung up on old Club rules. Haven’t you learned anything these past few weeks?”

  No, because Arthur refuses to share anything!

  Arthur crooked his finger. “There’s a seat over there. Take it.”

  “But I thought you’re going to discuss Club—”

  “Business—exactly.” Arthur pursed his lips. “You have as much right to contribute as every other member here.”

  My eyes popped wide. “Even though I’m a girl?”

  Grasshopper laughed. “After everything you’ve seen of Pure Corruption and the weirdo that runs it, you still believe meetings are just for guys?” Looking around, he added, “That’s a point, where are those two-bit hussies?”

  “Don’t you fucking talk trash about my old lady, man.” A biker curled his fist, waving it dramatically at Hopper. He laughed, showing a grill of gold teeth and softening his threat to a joke. “Wait till you have your own ball and chain—then you’ll watch your fucking mouth.”

  “Can’t tie me down, boys.” Grasshopper chuckled.

  What on earth is going on here?

  The joking between these men was so refreshing—so different to the anger and hierarchy of Dagger Rose.

  “They’ve been dealing with the books. Melanie’s also been working on befriending more reporters for when Kill decides to make the final move,” a biker with a bald head and long beard said, looking at his wristwatch. “I reckon they’re only minutes away.”

  “Oh, and Jane’s been typing up that report you asked for, Kill. On the leaked files you handed to the local gossip column last month,” another middle-aged biker said.

  “Did it get traction?” Arthur asked.

  The biker nodded. “Turns out, it did pretty good. Might be a good avenue. Enlighten the housewives first and they can badger their husbands. Then when they hear it mainstream—least the seed’s already been planted, if ya know what I mean.”

  I have no idea what you mean.

  My concussion headache had disappeared but listening to this code brought it right back.

  When the bikers spoke of these unknown women—working side by side in Club business—my blood blistered with pride. However, my mind couldn’t comprehend this fundamental change. What had Arthur created here? Equality for men and women? A true family rather than women simpering to every whim of their men?

  “That’s a good angle.” Arthur nodded. “Let’s do more of that. Mo, whatever else we have low-key, leak it to one of the cheap rags. Let’s see what sort of unrest we can begin by low-balling it. If we can unseat the current democrat, all the better.”

  What on earth is he up to?

  I’d expected conversations about war and massacres but here they were talking about media, housewives, and God knew what else.

  I looked with fresh eyes at the Club. I’d been brought up in a lifestyle that held no bearing to this new existence. I was lost … but also strangely liberated.

  Arthur’s eyes landed on mine. He smiled softly. “You’re jumping in when we’ve been juggling these things forever. You’ll catch on.”

  I shook my head in amazement. “What are you doing here?”

  “Making the world a better fucking place, that’s what,” a biker with a topknot replied.

  Arthur grinned. “That’s about the gist of it.” His eyes were bright and reminiscent of the intelligence I was so used to. “I learned everything of what not to do in a Club, thanks to our upbringing. I fashioned Pure Corruption on things that didn’t work in theirs. And made it my oath to create something unbreakable.” He waved once again at the vacant chair. “Sit. Take your place. Time to get to know your new fami
ly and learn all our secrets.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kill

  I wished I was lucky enough to have a father like Thorn Price.

  He’d taken me to get my exam results. He’d sat outside the school without any argument, then taken me out for a beer to celebrate earning the highest scores the school had ever seen.

  He didn’t pry about my fresh bruises. He didn’t tease me about how I felt about his daughter.

  He was a class fucking act and I was jealous that he wasn’t my father.

  But then again, I was glad he wasn’t mine. If he had been, Cleo never could be. —Arthur, age seventeen

  I hid my smile as Cleo edged away from the exit and made her way to the empty chair.

  Her features couldn’t hide the confusion or questions. She looked amazed and also slightly awed.

  I hadn’t stopped to think how strange this would be for her. How lost she’d be in our long-term goals. How scrambled she’d feel when she finally learned the truth.

  What she saw was still so small. She wasn’t ready yet to understand the big picture. Shit, I’d worked on this for four years and still had moments where doubt stuck a gun in my gut. We weren’t just taking on cartels or rivals. We weren’t just bloodthirsty and violent. We were working for the greater good—only nobody but us knew it yet.

  The rule-makers—the stinking government—looked down upon us as lowlife scum on the fringes of society.

  They had no idea what was coming.

  I mean to change everything.

  Once again, I’d dragged Cleo into my world without taking her feelings into consideration. She might not want the level of commitment and lofty aspirations shared by my men. She might not like the goal of reform we’d all been working toward. Shit, for all I knew, she might prefer the way things had always been done—just like the idiots who’d tried to steal my leadership the night Cleo came back to me.

  All my worries could’ve been extinguished with a simple question. But once again, I’d barreled forward with no time to think.

  I have to stop doing that.

  She had to be first in my life—that was the way love was supposed to be—but in order to do that, I had to finish what I’d started.

  We’d lived separate lives and now we needed to find common ground—to learn to coexist.

  “It’s okay, Cleo. Sit. Stay.”

  Her eyes flickered to mine.

  Our entire childhood, we’d been taught that only full-fledged members were allowed in Church. No wives. No prospects. No children.

  Yet here I was ripping up the fucking rule book and treating the meetings like family get-togethers where everyone had a voice. And I did mean everyone. Kids were allowed to join if they’d had an issue with school. Parents of members were welcomed if they needed a favor or loan.

  We turned no one away and that was why we all fought together. Because we fought for each other first and foremost.

  Fisting the gavel resting on the table, I rapped it once. “Matchsticks, you’re taking notes.” I looked over at the potbellied biker. Another thing I’d abolished was set duties. The only three positions were president, VP, and master at arms. I had no time for secretaries or treasurer. We worked better if we were all equal with the barest authority overseeing.

  “Sure thing, Prez.” Matchsticks pulled the large binder that sat in the center of the table toward him and turned to a fresh page. His stubby fingers curled around a pencil, ready to begin.

  I sighed. My head was a motherfucking pickax, but being here … putting things into action helped my temper and soothed the overwhelming helplessness I’d suffered sitting at home.

  “Everyone know what happened the past few days?” I glanced around the table. The jokes and gossip halted, everyone ready for business.

  “Yes. Details have all been shared,” Mo muttered.

  The door suddenly swung open, spewing forth the female equivalent of my motorbike-riding soldiers. There was no hint of sequins or perfume. They were business. They were ruthless. They were Pure Corruption.

  “Nice of you to join us, woman.” Dodge, an excellent mechanic with only nine fingers from a bad factory accident, eyed up Molly as she sashayed into the room. Molly had been with us from the beginning, running the many businesses our Club owned.

  More females entered behind her.

  They were soft and sexy—but there was an undeniable hardness about them. Something no amount of working in an office or climbing the corporate ladder could achieve. They’d seen evil. They’d married men on the fringes of society. And they helped run our empire with utmost loyalty.

  They were also the perfect weapons in spying and covert operations. Secrets were rarely divulged when pried by a gun-slinging biker. But deliver a pretty smile and feminine charms … answers flowed like fucking candy.

  “Nice to be here, husband.” Tossing her blonde curls, Molly held her head high as she made her way to the chairs ringing the edge of the room. “Did you miss me so much? Or was it because I left you passed out from that thing I did last night and went to work without saying goodbye?”

  Men chuckled.

  These women were different from ordinary gigglers or whores. These women had been rigorously questioned, chosen, and tested to become patched members as much as their men. And they provided invaluable feedback on certain missions and trades.

  However, just because they lived and breathed this place, it didn’t mean they knew everything. They weren’t privy to the recent trafficking or the greyish areas of our life. I protected them from things they wouldn’t understand.

  The back of my neck throbbed as the room swarmed with members.

  There was no space with the new arrivals; the air turned claustrophobic. The entire fucking Clubhouse needed an overhaul—we’d outgrown the building—but until we secured our future goals, we couldn’t move or renovate. Wallstreet’s orders.

  The four women threaded around the room, smiling at their husbands and nodding respectfully in my direction. They all knew the rules: If you swear allegiance, you behave accordingly.

  In a few moments, the women sat in their designated chairs and trained a menagerie of green, brown, and blue eyes on me.

  “Sorry we’re late, Prez.” Jane, a mousy brown–haired woman, who, according to Muffet was a fucking dynamo in the bedroom, smiled.

  Cleo never took her eyes off the newcomers, looking as if she’d never seen a woman before.

  Silly Buttercup.

  Didn’t she know me by now? Of course I would run my Club differently. How many nights had we stayed up late, switching the rules and brainstorming ways to improve this livelihood we’d been born into? Ultimately, I’d designed this Club in her memory. I’d created a place of peace for others, all while I lived a life of torment without her.

  “Right, back to the meeting. You all know what we’ve been working toward. None of what we’re about to discuss will be new. However, we do have a new member and it’s up to us to inform her.”

  The wives all turned their attention to Cleo. Interest and friendship sparkled in their gaze. Jealousy and pettiness was not allowed—they knew that. It was the one thing I was fucking strict on.

  “Cleo.” I looked at my woman. My heart fucking swelled until it thrummed against my ribs. “What you’re about to hear is everything we’ve been working toward for four years. Not only was it put into effect to avenge your life, but also to save the lives of so many others.”

  “Damn straight,” Mo said, tense with retribution.

  “Eh, Kill?” Piebald’s wife, Melanie, piped up.

  I cocked my head. “Yes?”

  Her blue eyes landed on Cleo, her eyebrow raised. “You can’t honestly expect us not to focus on the first woman you’ve ever brought to a meeting. Who is she?”

  The other women nodded. “It would be handy to know.”

  Molly flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Kill doesn’t have to answer, girls. That is Cleo Price. Dagger Rose princess. Amnesiac su
rvivor. Long-time lover of our president.”

  Cleo’s jaw hung open.

  I wasn’t surprised. Molly had an IQ to rival mine.

  Not that that’s hard with how fucked up my brain currently is.

  She was also sharp and quick-witted and kept the small business owners in line with just one stare.

  “And now you’re one of us.” Feifei smiled. Her dusky skin and Chinese origins made her look like a perfect doll. She’d been an ultimate temptress, stealing Dodge’s heart and joining our family.

  “Eh …” Cleo glanced at me, seeking help.

  Our eyes locked.

  I couldn’t hide my desire that Cleo would find happiness within this group. If she was to become completely immersed in my world, she had to become accepted and loved by the Club.

  She was it for me. She needed to realize that—along with everyone else in this room.

  I smiled. “This is our brotherhood, sisterhood … family. The sooner you get to know them, the better.” It was up to her to set rules and boundaries. I wouldn’t do it for her. I was her lover, not her fucking jailer.

  Looking around the room, I knew some of us might not survive the upcoming war. Death wouldn’t take us easily, but nothing was guaranteed in our world. We all knew the risks. We all accepted them in order to do what must be done.

  The room was packed with leather and humans—the sooner this meeting was over, the sooner I could get some fresh air. The pounding in my skull only grew worse the stuffier the air became.

  Rapping the gavel on the table again, I cleared my throat. “Now that we’re all here. Let’s begin.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cleo

  He loved it.

  It was worth the excessive price tag. The moment I’d given Art the Libra-shaped eraser, something had changed between us. It was as if his eyes were opened, like he’d finally noticed me after all this time. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. I knew that now, and I wouldn’t stop until he was mine completely. —Cleo, diary entry, age thirteen