Six: Company of Sinners MC #2

by Lisa J. Hobman

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Lisa J Hobman

  SIX. Lisa J Hobman

  Copyright Lissa Jay/Lisa J Hobman 2016

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  Cover Design: The Graphics Shed

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles. For any other permission please contact Lisa J Hobman

  * * *

  First Edition 2016

  PRIVATE MOMENTS PUBLISHING AND BOOKS, LLC.

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  Second Edition 2018

  LISA J HOBMAN

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  This is a fictional work. The names, characters, incidents, places, and locations are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real.

  For my awesome readers.

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  Your continued support means the world to me

  Chapter One

  Chloe

  “Nina, you're up.”

  The voice I dreaded hearing every Friday night sent the usual unwelcome chills down my spine and nausea swirling around the pit of my stomach. At twenty-one years old I should've been in college. I should've been mapping out my life and deciding where I wanted to be. Who I wanted to be. But instead there I was in The Fox Hub wearing a silver bikini top that left very little to the imagination and a matching lace edged thong as thin as cheese wire up my ass, virtually cutting me in two. Oh, in case you're not aware, body glitter is a bitch. No matter how many times I showered after my gigs, I could guarantee that I’d be finding the stuff in every crevice for days on end.

  I checked my make-up one last time and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. “Come on, Chloe. You can do this. Just grit your teeth and think of something else. Anything else. It's time to let Nina out to play.” Giving my real self a firm talking to was a regular occurrence. The other girls would roll their eyes and snicker at me as I talked to myself in the mirror, but I didn't care. I had to switch into auto-pilot to have the guts to go out there—into the lion's den.

  The other girls would do shots for Dutch courage, but I liked to have a clear head in case any of the clients got handsy. And I'd seen how ugly alcohol made people behave. Many of my so-called friends had wound up with unwanted pregnancies or STDs on account of the amount of alcohol they consumed, which lowered inhibitions and morals.

  I wasn't prepared to go that way.

  Not me.

  I had been waitressing in town at a little round-the-clock coffee shop called Hank's Place, which was okay. It had contributed to the rent for a while but dancing—and I use that term loosely—was the thing that had brought in the tips and the big bucks. And it was the thing that meant I could stay in Utah. Going ‘home’ was simply not an option. So the coffee shop had been given up and replaced by more hours at The Fox Hub.

  You're probably wondering why I couldn't just up and return to my 'real' home. Am I right? Well, let's just say that my upbringing was...unhealthy to say the least. I hadn't exactly had a great role model to look up to. My mom spent most of my childhood switching between two men. One who could've been considered father material—and who I presume was my real dad—and one had seen me as an inconvenience. Anyway, father material, Terry, died of a heart attack when I was twelve. Inconvenience guy, can't even remember his damn name, got sick of my mom and left when I was fifteen.

  Unfortunately, when I was sixteen, a guy called Brett came into our lives. For a while everything was great. But, as with most things that appear too good to be true, Brett was.

  Anyway, I digress.

  Most of the patrons of The Fox Hub were great. There were always the ones who tried to cop a feel though. That made me feel physically sick. Especially when they were older guys who you could see had the shadow of a wedding band visible on their left hand. What the hell must their wives think they were up to while they were there drooling over scantily clad women? Having said all that, I was no one to judge. I wasn't exactly squeaky clean.

  I stood and took a final long look in the mirror. Staring back at me was the almost unrecognizable woman I'd had to transform myself into. My naturally chocolate brown hair was mostly bleached blonde, except for a couple streaks in front. I wore thick make-up rather like a mask. I liked the fact that if Brett or my mom walked into the club they wouldn't recognize me easily. I didn't exactly blend into the background, but I looked nothing like the girl who had run away from home aged just eighteen.

  I took a deep, calming breath and made my way out on to the stage. The opening bars to “I Appear Missing” by Queens of the Stone Age—the aptly titled song chosen for the night’s dance—began to play and I slunk sexily out into the spotlight.

  Gripping the pole and glancing out with a deliberate air of haughty nonchalance, I exuded an external confidence that hadn't quite reached my inner self. I wrapped one of my long, lean legs around the chrome pole. The chill of the metal startled me at first, as it always did, but I carried on regardless. It was fairly reminiscent of the chill seeping into my heart as I stared out at the nameless faces with their lascivious grins and beady eyes fixed on my barely-there bikini. The fact that Hogi—the club’s owner—kept the air conditioning on freezing all the freaking time, meant that all the girls’ nipples were forever poking through the minuscule slips of fabric they wore. No accident, believe me. Most girls just took their clothes off completely, but not me. I was clinging to my last shred of dignity.

  No matter how small it was.

  One guy in particular sat in the same spot every single week. He was one of the Company of Sinners bikers, that much I knew. But in spite of his gaze being fixed on me week after week, he never attempted to make any other type of contact with me. When I came off stage to collect empty glasses, he never once tried to touch me.

  It was strange. It may sound pretty crazy, but the way he looked at me was somehow different. Okay, so there was a certain amount of lust in his eyes, but there was more. The way he periodically glanced around at the other men surrounding him, told of some misplaced desire to protect me from them. It was as though he was waiting for one of them to step out of line. Make a wrong move. I don't know. Whatever it was, I felt so much safer when he was there.

  I'd never had a guy in my life who had wanted to prote
ct me. Terry, father material guy, had tried, but Mom made it too difficult for him. She pushed him away so much that he never had the chance to really get to know me. But hey, I don't have daddy issues or anything like that so don't go feeling sorry for me. It was just nice to feel someone was looking out for me, you know?

  The biker had this dirty-blonde, shaggy hair and a beard. He was definitely older than me, but I couldn't figure out his age. Maybe twenty-six or so, I don't know. His eyes were dark, but then again the lighting in the club wouldn't let me see their color. He wore the CoSMiC leather cut and a T-shirt that showed off muscular tattooed biceps. The way his clothes fit to his body told me he was sculpted and worked out a hell of a lot. His hand rested on his thick, denim clad thigh while the other gripped a beer bottle that he would lift to his lips every so often. His eyes mostly remained fixed on me.

  Every performance was for him. It was just a shame he didn't know it.

  As I hung upside down, with my stilettos pointed to the ceiling and the pole between my ass cheeks, I fixed my gaze on him. My dirty-blonde biker. I wondered if I was imagining the protective edge to his stare.

  I hoped not.

  Josh Homme sang about the pain of loss and about disappearing, as the lyrics seeped into my psyche ringing a little too true. I glanced to my left and spotted another lecherous pair of eyes fixed on me. They belonged to a greasy looking, dark-haired man, and clearly in need of a shower. He undressed me with his seedy stare and I felt violated. It was a feeling I was too familiar with thanks to Brett, my mom's boyfriend.

  A cold shiver traveled the full length of my spine and I had to look away when I realized where his hand was. The dirty bastard was playing with himself in full view of everyone, but he clearly didn't care. The CoSMiC guys were way over the other side of the stage and I was relieved about that. Imagining how my dirty-blonde haired biker would react if he saw this man getting off right there scared the shit out of me. Luckily, his gaze was still firmly trained on my body.

  As the song finished, I lowered myself into the splits and arched my back, thrusting my breasts forward as a cheer and catcalls erupted from the CoSMiC biker’s side of the stage. I felt heat rise in my cheeks and was thankful for the dim lighting as I snuck a glance at Dirty-Blonde. He was standing there banging his hands together like I'd just performed Beethoven's Fifth or something. Way to boost a shy girl’s ego, biker man. I pulled my lips in to stifle a smile and rushed off stage.

  Chapter Two

  Six

  My beer bottle hovered just in front of my lips, but went no further as my eyes were transfixed on the curvaceous beauty before me.

  My God she could fucking move.

  And I don't just mean the incredible way she wrapped her toned legs around the pole and hung her lacy thong-covered ass upside down. There was something so graceful about the way she held herself. I mean that in the general sense of the word if you get me? Kind of like a butterfly...all beautiful and delicate. As poised as a ballerina. All long legs and tiny waist. Slender neck and delicate fingers.

  Nina.

  Even her name got me hard.

  She couldn't have been a ballerina though. Nah...her gravity-defying tits would've stopped that career from the get go. Maybe that's what had happened? Who knew? All I knew was she was the main reason I came into The Fox Hub as it was. And yeah, okay I'm a hot blooded guy. Of course I get a kick out of watching pretty, half naked girls gyrate with their asses and tits on display, but there was more to it.

  Much more.

  She was amazing to watch.

  Her long, wavy, bleached blonde hair with its darker streaks, cascaded down her lightly tanned, perfect skin as she tossed herself around with the most outstanding amount of strength for such a little thing. She wore too much make-up, but I could forgive that seeing as she was up there on stage. The triangles of fabric covering the peaks of her tits made my mouth water and I longed to see what was underneath. She was one of the only girls at the Hub who didn't go full frontal. She left a little to the imagination. And boy my imagination was good, but I was sure it was nothing compared to seeing her beautiful pink nipples in all their glory.

  What I wouldn't give just to see...just to taste.

  But that didn't change anything. I literally could—and did—watch her for hours both on and off stage. She was a real life, walking hard on. Fucking sexy as hell. Beautiful and graceful all tied up in one hell of a hard to reach, outta-my-league package that oozed a don't-you-fucking-dare-touch-what-you-can't-afford air of confidence.

  I was becoming obsessed.

  Who the fuck was I kidding? I was already there.

  Friday nights at The Fox Hub were the main event for me. After the shit of the week, and the politics of the MC, it was good to let loose and chill with the guys in a place where we all fucking agreed for once. Our charter of Company of Sinners MC had been going through some major changes and we all agreed that the best way to spend the night was drinking ourselves sick and watching naked women dance.

  Fuck yeah. We agreed all right.

  This Friday was no different apart from the fact it was my birthday. Twenty-seven and I felt like an old man. Birthdays meant shit to me and it had been the same pretty much my whole life. The guys were planning something, I could just tell. But all I was bothered about was what was coming next.

  Or should I say who.

  I was sitting there, beer bottle in hand, waiting for Nina to make her first appearance of the night. She always came on at eleven. It was my favorite time of the whole damned week. Friday night...eleven p.m. My dick was already flinching in readiness.

  Ever since I'd first laid eyes on her she'd played the focal part in my fantasies. Whether I was gripping my cock in the shower and imagining her on her knees before me, greedy and willing to suck me in between those ruby red lips, or whether I was laid in my bed picturing her straddling me—she was there. In my mind I visualized her perfectly rounded, pert tits bouncing when I lifted her, and slammed her down onto my dick as she screamed my name in sheer ecstasy.

  Every. Single. Fantasy.

  But of course the guys took great pleasure in poking fun at me. Fuck, I was always half expecting the “Six and Nina sitting in a tree” shit. Those fucking pricks were so goddamn immature. And of course the school-yard humor always kicked in when it came to our names.

  Six and Nina.

  You know how those celebrity couples get kinda merged when they get together? Brangelina, TomKat, etc? Yeah well the guys referred to us as SixtyNiner. Like I said...real fucking mature.

  There wasn't even an 'us' to think about.

  The other thing was, I knew that she didn't go by her real name.

  Sadly, the same couldn't be said for me.

  I'm gonna digress. Now this may become a pain in the ass, but I'll have to tell you things as they come to me. So if you wanna know my shit, then you'll just shut the fuck up and stick with me. Okay?

  Okay.

  So...I should probably explain my name, huh? I can warn you that it's not pretty. But I won't bore you with all the gory details. Let's face it, there are more exciting things I could talk about than my sorry-ass excuse for an upbringing.

  My mom was an MC fuck buddy down in Florida where I was born. Oh boy, does it make me proud to say that. Note the fucking sarcasm please.

  Anyways...she had six kids to six different guys. My siblings range in normality of name from Kyle...the oldest...to Star-Unicorn...my older sister who thankfully now goes by the name of Una. We were all taken into care at various stages as Sherry's—my mom's—drugs habit got the better of her.

  By the time I came along I think Sherry had totally given up on thinking of actual names for her kids. That or she just couldn't be bothered. Either way I was named Six. Six Navarro if you want my Sunday name.

  My father was the President of a motorcycle club in Florida—nothing to do with Company of Sinners—or CoSMiC as we're known—but I don't actually know much about the guy. Kind of difficult
to remedy, seeing as I have no fuckin' clue where he is these days. And I don't have much memory of him. Well nothing positive anyways. He walked out of the club house after a charter meeting when I was four, left his bike and just fucked off. Never to be seen again. No one knows why. No one has heard from him since. Talk about a kid growing up with abandonment issues. Although I can't say I had an actual relationship with him as such. The memory that seems to stick with me—well more of a sense that I remember really—was that I was kind of an inconvenience when I was around him. I guess I cramped his style. It's hard to get pussy when you've got a little kid following you around and clinging to your leather cut.

  I can't say I really know my mom all that well either. She's still alive. That much I'm pretty sure of. My brothers and sisters are scattered all over the country in the various places they were sent to get them away from our dear mother and I don't see them either. That kind of makes me sad. I guess when you've all been through the same crap it'd be nice to compare notes every now and again.

  I had a shitty life going from foster home to foster home. Each family trying to convince me to cut my dirty-blonde shaggy hair and become Steve or Simon. But Six was both what and who I was. So I was determined that it would stay that way.