by M. N. Forgy
If this altercation taught me anything, it’s that I’m not as tough as I thought I was ‘cause Zeek Deluca, scares the shit out of me.
“You bitch!” the woman we arrested earlier screams from the back of the car. She must’ve woken up during the episode with the Outlaws.
“What was that?” Lieutenant Oaks asks me, his tone angry as I get in.
“Everyone pussyfoots around them, letting them get away with everything. His tone was wrong, and his respect was lacking. He’s about to learn a lesson, because I won’t tolerate any of it,” I reply, my voice laced with promise.
“You do that and you’re as good as dead. You come to the scene, make sure everything is stable and you leave, Jillian! You leave! We cannot take them down, and those who have tried have been killed. And even if you do manage to take one down, the club will avenge their brother and come after you. Just… just listen to me on this one, and don’t try and play the hero, goddamn it.” My eyes snap to his, wide with surprise at his language. He’s hardly ever cusses, especially at me.
“Seriously, listen to him,” the woman from the back chimes in. “Those men are a scary breed.”
“Shut up and sit back!” I holler, not caring to hear her lecture.
I get it, they’re dangerous. But if Zeek wanted to hurt me, he would have.
So, why didn’t he?
TWO
ZEEK
Watching the sheriff’s car drive away, I rub at the back of my neck. That little bitch has a mouth on her, disrespecting me the way she did. However, my dick finds it sexy as hell. She reminds me of a wet kitten—feisty as can be.
“What the fuck was that?” Taking a deep breath, I look over my shoulder at Felix. He’s my vice president, and a pain in my ass. “You going to answer me, or just stand there with a love-struck look in your eyes?” Strands of his hair fall from his man bun as he slides his hands along the sides of his beard.
“Just shocked that bitch didn’t seem afraid, or even concerned with who the hell she was talking to,” I state. Everyone is afraid of us. Every pig who wears a badge stays out of our way, because most of them are in our pocket.
“You should have put her in her place, ‘cause that woman will be back. Mark my words, brother.”
I tilt my head back and take a deep breath, the smell of blood from my shirt filling my lungs. I love the smell of violence. The look of terror on someone’s face after they’ve realized they crossed the wrong motherfucker. The way the crimson paints the perfect picture of life right across my knuckles. It’s a rush.
“You let me deal with her, got it?” Lowering my head, I glare at him, waiting for him to respond.
He rubs at his chin and nods. “You’re the boss.”
Cheap perfume wafts past me, and an arm slides along my mid-section.
“Baby, you should have punched that ho in the face,” Dolly coos, looking up at me like I am her fucking king. The boys call her Dolly ‘cause she looks like a doll—thick black hair, rosy cheeks, and thick eyelashes. I call her Dolly cause that’s what she is to me—a doll I fuck with when I want to play, and when I’m done, I toss her ass to the side. “Now, you look weak. You let a pig talk to you like—”
I grab her by the back of her hair, yanking her head back roughly. I’m sick of her mouth. Because I’ve fucked her a few times, she thinks she’s important enough to tell me what I should have done? She’s forgetting where she stands in the Sin City Outlaws—the bottom, with the rest of the whores I slam into from time to time. I never did find Rachel. So I went on with my life, as I hope she did hers. Only this time, I won’t make the same mistake of becoming attached to a woman who can’t stick around. I don’t have time for a chick anyway, I got a club to run.
Dolly’s arm leaves my waist, trying to grab at my hand that’s tangled in her hair, her ridiculous heels tripping on themselves as she loses her balance.
“Why don’t you worry about yourself, and remember who the fuck you’re talking to,” I seethe into her ear.
I push her away, and she falls into one of the other girls—fuck if I can remember who, though. These boys are always bringing new pussy into the club. Sometimes I think it’s a sorority with all the drunk chicks I have in my face.
“We’ve delivered the message Uncle Frank wanted, let’s head back to the club!” I holler, heading toward my bike.
Uncle Frank wanted us to give a warm welcome to the new casino. Let them know if their business starts to interfere with his casino, we’d be back, and the owner will endure more than a broken nose and rib. Frank’s bullshit orders get on my nerves. His casino and my MC are separate, but he seems to forget that… or not care, I’m not sure.
Only reason I follow through with it is because shit seems to go missing or gets broken when I don’t.
Climbing on my bike, Dolly tries to slide in behind me. I grit my teeth and shake my head. I don’t let any woman ride bitch, ‘cause I don’t have a bitch.
“No, you ride with someone else.”
She pulls her blue jean skirt down, her black shirt showing off her belly button.
“Why do you have to be such an ass?”
Narrowing my eyes, I snap my fingers, pointing anywhere but where the fuck I am. I’m not an ass; this is just how I am. It’s no surprise I don’t want her ass on the back of my bike, so why the fuck would she try to pull that bullshit?
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the fuck out of my face right now.”
She frowns as she rolls her eyes, walking away.
***
Riding up behind the casino, we park our bikes and head into the clubhouse. It sits right behind Uncle’s casino, with a small street separating the two. It keeps tourist’s wandering eyes away.
It’s made of tan stucco, three stories high.
Big Mike stands guard as I approach the red door, our logo painted on it. Mike is big and fat and is wearing a white suit, one of his hands dipped in a bag of chips, as usual. I hired him a year ago; he watches the place in case a tourist does happen to stumble across the club. Had a couple of guys heading back here thinking it would be a perfect alley to piss in, only to come inside and take pictures. Cameras got shattered. Hands got broken. Last thing I need is someone taking photos of what goes on behind these doors.
“Zeek,” he greets, and I nod in reply.
“Mike.”
Pushing the distressed wooden door open, my boots thud against the tiled floor. The lights are low, and music is blaring. Some of the usual hang-arounds are seated around the bar, random bitches sitting on their laps. The bar is the first thing you see when you walk in, set up at the opposite end of the entry. Wooden barstools take up the front of it, with two cute bitches we picked up working behind the bar. One is a blonde little thing we call Tinker because she looks like Tinker Bell. The other is a punk-looking chick with short black hair and piercings all over her face; we call her Emo. Tinker started hanging around here a couple months ago then just kind of migrated into working here. But Emo was a prostitute the boys constantly had here. One night, she was sitting at the bar eating food from the kitchen, and I told her to get her ass behind the bar and pull her weight. She’s been doing so ever since.
Walking further into the club, there’s a pool table to the left and some red leather couches to the right. Behind the couches is a hallway for the boys when they have company. I have a room in the back for when I’m with chicks, or too damn drunk to ride home. Both happen a lot.
This is a place where men can be men, a refuge from old ladies and the nagging burden of life itself.
Rules are simple.
Don’t touch another man’s property. That goes for women, guns, drugs, and bikes.
No killing another biker, unless voted by the club. Regardless if he’s in our chapter or not.
Don’t talk about shit you think you saw.
No talking to law enforcement of any kind. You get pulled over, you get the fuck out of there with as little said as possible.
“Zeek, you want a beer, baby?” Tinker asks, popping the top off one before I answer.
Sliding onto a stool, I wink at her, taking the beer. “Thanks, babe.”
My eyes sweep along my boys who followed me in. Trapped cigarette smoke hangs above in a thick fog, as everyone starts to light up.
“You all right, Prez?” Machete asks, sitting on the stool next to me. Machete is a member I found a few years back. I was in a hardware store looking for some shit to fix a door that I tore off in a fit of rage, when I came across his lumberjack ass pacing back and forth in front of the machetes. After watching him go back and forth for the seventh time, I finally asked him what the fuck he was doing. He wasted no time in telling me he was about to hack up a lawyer who had been having an affair with his high school sweetheart.
The man’s heart was broken.
I’ve never been in love. Got close one time, and that loss alone hurt like a bitch. So I invited him back to the club for some drinks and easy pussy. I also made him help me with the door I broke, and he’s been one to count on ever since.
He’s gotten in some shit from time to time, ‘cause he gets way too rough with the bitches. The more they scream, the more he likes it. To be honest, I think he just fucks his heartache out on random women.
“How’s that cell phone working for you?” Mac asks, jutting his chin out. Mac is our techie, and after he saw my phone from the Stone Age last week, I thought he was going to have a stroke. He made me get a new one.
He doesn’t look like the typical geek with his Hollywood-looking hair. It’s short on the sides, with just a little bit more length on the top. Dirty blond, and gelled like hell. He stands out in this place with his uppity-looking ass. But that’s where people underestimate him. He looks like the boy who is here to trim your hedges, or clean your pool. Next thing you know, he’s offing whoever screwed us over, then making a sandwich in their kitchen.
I know ‘cause he made me one, too.
“Dunno, haven’t really messed with it.” I shrug.
Shaking his head, he walks away, with some little brunette hanging off his side. She has on a skimpy teal dress and purple heels, tattoos up her legs and arms. Typical girl for the club. The girls who roll through here are one of two options. One, they are slut candy. Short clothes, hair perfect, tits perfect, and they think their shit don’t stink. They also have a pussy that could fit a soda can with ease; I’ve seen it done.
Then there’s option two, bad-ass tarts. They’re tattooed, pierced, and occasionally wearing leather of some sort. They are a pain in the ass, and mattress hop frequently.
My eyes catch Dolly and her crew of hoes walking into the club. Full of slut candy and whore tarts. Dolly’s heels click against the tiles as she makes her way toward me.
“Who got you the drink?” Her eyes slide from my beer to me. Taking a long sip, I stare into her, knowing she’s jealous. Her eyes are caked with makeup, and her perfume is strong as fuck. That rookie didn’t have any makeup on, or at least not like this, and her smell was subtle and attractive, unlike Dolly’s. I lower my bottle and shake my head, curious why my mind drifted to a prudish law enforcement officer while Dolly is standing at my feet dressed for easy access. Well, she seemed like a prude anyway. The way her cheeks turned red when I talked dirty to her, and the way she averted her eyes when I looked right at her.
“Tinker get that for you?” she continues, but I ignore her. Her voice is grating on my nerves. Seems to be a pattern with her. She’s not bad to look at, but when she opens her mouth, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard.
“You like to work that mouth so much, why don’t I put it to use?” I set my empty beer bottle on the counter. Her eyes light up, as if I hadn’t just given her my dick yesterday. Something’s wrong with this bitch; she’s either trying to sleep her way to the top, or she just doesn’t have any self-respect. Or maybe she’s a sex addict, which is fine by me.
She reaches for my hand, but I pull away. I ain’t about that; fucking and running the club that’s what I am about, what I am programmed to do. I don’t have feelings, and I don’t deserve them, not after the shit I’ve done.
Heading down the hall, the music quiets. Opening a door at the far end, a queen-size bed sits with a black bedframe, a matching dresser, and black chair sitting in the corner.
“Zeek, how come you never take me to your place?” she pouts, following me into the room. “I know your uncle babies your ass with the finest amenities the hotel has to offer, yet you fuck me in this dump.” Uncle offered me a penthouse on the very top floor that looks over Las Vegas. I declined. I’m sure it’s nicer than the shit hole I stay at across the city, but the last thing I need is to owe him anything.
I haven’t taken anyone to my place, and I don’t plan to.
“You and that mouth again. I’d put a gag in it but then how would you suck my dick?” I cock my head to the side.
Dolly’s eyes widen.
Scratching the scruff on my chin, my eyes sweep over her legs that fall into red heels effortlessly. Dolly is a looker, but she tries really hard to look as good as she does.
“Regardless of what you tell your friends, you and I are not an item. We fuck, that’s it.” I wave my finger in between us, my tone serious. Apparently, I need to remind her where we stand. She crosses her arms and looks out the window that faces the back alley.
“If you can’t handle that, then get out and send Tinker in.” I plop on the bed, watching for her reaction. If she leaves, I might actually have a little more respect for her, but I know she won’t. She’s desperate, a stage five clinger. I can ask her to do anything and she’ll do it, and that’s a fact. I almost feel sorry for her.
“No, that’s okay with me.” She blinks quickly as she nods. See, no fight.
She sashays toward me, her hands moving to my knees as she lowers herself to the floor.
Resting my arms behind me, I loll my head back and close my eyes. Her hands fish down my jeans in search of my cock, her fingers wrapping around it like a vise as she slowly slides them up and down.
“Get a condom,” I mutter, my eyes still closed. The dresser drawer opens and closes, and I hear the sound of foil ripping before the thin latex suffocates my dick. Dolly is a slut, and I don’t trust a drop of her fluid near me without a barrier. She acts like she’s loyal, but I hear the guys talk about her, the way she can suck cock like no other girl in the club. However, I don’t expect her to be exclusive, ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t. She’s just convenient.
Lowering my head, my eyes slowly open, her face looking up at me with flushed cheeks. I thumb the apple of her cheek before sliding my hand to the back of her head, pushing her mouth toward my cock roughly. She opens up and swallows the head of my dick, the suction making me hiss with satisfaction. Her teeth scrape my cock, my dick flinching from the sharp sting. My fingers dig into her scalp. “Easy, damn it.”
She bobs, gags, and bobs some more. With each thrust of my hips, my cock pulses with the urge to come. Reaching down, I grab at her tit, my thumb pinching her nipple. She moans and the vibration on my shaft makes me finally come. I drive my hips up hard, chasing the last of my release, and she chokes.
She pulls off me, eyes watery.
“I swear,” she coughs, “your dick gets bigger and bigger every time.”
I smirk, pulling the condom off and tying the end into a knot before sticking it in my pocket. I don’t trust the girls around here, and the last thing I need is someone digging in the trash then trying to claim she’s pregnant with my child.
As I pull up my jeans, Dolly fingers her hair, trying to right herself.
“You know, you might not realize it, Zeek, but you and I are a match in the devil’s game.” I give a wry laugh in response. “Think about it. You killed your dad, tried to kill your brother. I killed both my parents. We’re alone, and nobody trusts us.” She turns around, applying lipstick to her swollen mouth.
My chest brea
thes fire with her talking as if she knows me. “Get out.” I point at the door, my nostrils flaring.
“I’m just saying that you can try and bounce between these girls, but you and I—”
“Get. The. Fuck. OUT!” I shout, my biceps flexing with anger. Her eyes narrow as she jerks the door open, slamming it behind her.
I gotta stop fucking with these common bitches.
Sitting back on the bed, trying to calm myself, I run my hands through my hair swiftly. I killed my father, yes. Over the years, the thought has become unsettling. I don’t like to talk about it.
Years went by, and I felt as if Uncle started to slowly take over my club. I needed family here I could trust, someone I could rely on, someone who reminded me I was human and not the fucking animal my uncle and father raised me to be. So I tried to bring my brother Lip into the Sin City Outlaws. He hated me, but would give it to me straight. I could trust him.
He refused.
When he left here, he got with another motorcycle club and was happy there. He told me my club was savage and didn’t know the meaning of brotherhood. I may have reacted harshly. Bullets went flying, and I ended up killing one of their members. He disrespected me and my colors.
In return, my brother Lip went nuts, shooting me to the point I nearly died. If it weren’t for Felix and Machete getting me out of there, I would have. I know where I stand with Lip now—six feet under. Fuck him.
If I see him again, I’ll be emptying my clip in him.
If my altercation with my brother taught me anything, it proved as clear as day that I am a sinner, and that family, trust, and love are something I will never be capable of or deserve. I’m a killer.
I stand, inhaling deeply. “You’re an outlaw. Fuck ‘em.”
JILLIAN
Sliding into the booth of The Big Blue, I grab a menu. It’s a little dive restaurant that the local law enforcement head to after their shifts to relax. The lighting is dim, the tables tall with high stools, and the food is decent. I’ve been coming here since I started at the academy, and my best friend Alessandra meets me here after our shifts. I met Alessandra at the academy. After graduation, she decided to go to the local police department, and I went to the sheriff’s.