by B. B. Blaque
Copyright © 2020 B.B. BLAQUE
All rights reserved
Cover Designer-Simply Defined Art-Jay Aheer
Photo credit-LJS Photography/Depositphotos
Editor-Proofed Positively
The Royal Bastards MC is a COMPLETELY fictional 1% motorcycle club. The chapter depicted in this book is based out of NYC. They do not represent any MC known to exist. The Malevolent MC is a COMPLETELY fictional 1% club based out of Brooklyn, Indiana, Louisiana, Georgia, and Florida. None of the chapters or characters in this book is meant to depict any known M.C or riding club. None of the scenes portrayed in this book are from any actual events. The logo was conceived and designed solely for this series by Simply Defined Art Jay Aheer. All other artwork and teasers connected to this book were created by the author.
ROYAL BASTARDS CODE
PROTECT: The club and your brothers come before anything else, and must be protected at all costs. CLUB is FAMILY.
RESPECT: Earn it & Give it. Respect club law. Respect the patch. Respect your brothers. Disrespect a member and there will be hell to pay.
HONOR: Being patched in is an honor, not a right. Your colors are sacred, not to be left alone, and NEVER let them touch the ground.
OL’ LADIES: Never disrespect a member’s or brother’s Ol’Lady. PERIOD.
CHURCH is MANDATORY.
LOYALTY: Takes precedence over all, including well-being.
HONESTY: Never LIE, CHEAT, or STEAL from another member or the club.
TERRITORY: You are to respect your brother’s property and follow their Chapter’s club rules.
TRUST: Years to earn it...seconds to lose it.
NEVER RIDE OFF: Brothers do not abandon their family.
1. RATTLESNAKE SHAKE DOWN
2. SLOW RIDE
3. HEAVEN MUST BE MISSIN’ AN ANGEL
4.NAUGHTY NAUGHTY
5. HELL ON HEELS
6. EROTIK CITY
7. NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP
8. LITTLE DREAMER
9. DARLIN’ NIXX-I
10. YOU DON’T OWN ME
11. CRAZY BITCH
12. DANCIN’ ON GLASS
13. FREE FOR ALL
14. FOR THE LOVE OF MONEY
15. SLICE OF YOUR PIE
16. I HATE MYSELF FOR LOVIN’ YOU
17. BAD GIRLFRIEND
18. PRETTY MESS
19. STARRY EYES
20. SNOWBLIND
21. I DON’T NEED NO DOCTOR
22. ROCK CANDY
23. I GET OFF ON YOU
24. PRIMAL SCREAM
25. PORNO STAR
26. DON’T LET MONEY FOOL YA
27. SHE LOVES MY COCK
28. STRANGLEHOLD
29. NOBODY DOES IT BETTER
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE-TRUTHS BEHIND THE FICTION
PLAYLIST
ROYAL BASTARDS’ CROSSOVER LINKS
RATTLESNAKE SHAKE DOWN
When we pulled up to that diner in Brooklyn, the last thing on my mind was pussy. There were a million other more important things. Rattler and I had just come from serious negotiations with the Malevolent MC. Another bitch in the stable, some random piece of ass on my dick, any of that shit could be a real issue. The fact she was in Brooklyn—the only borough we didn’t have sewn up—just made it that much more problematic.
Problematic is exactly what Nixx Barrett was, is, and always will be.
We dropped into a booth at the back of the place. One door on the side, another at the front, and probably one through the kitchen. As the Sergeant at Arms—the enforcer—my job was to size shit like that up. Brooklyn wasn’t exactly hostile territory, but until we got shit put to bed with Redhook, we were guests and had to respect the old man.
The Burg Diner wasn’t our usual. They didn’t come right over with our drinks or food like the Lamplight did when they heard us roll in. We had to wait like every other hipster hillbilly in the place. That gave Rattler enough time to go noticin’ her—trouble disguised as a waitress.
“Brother, man, I betcha that one would look amazing slidin’ around on a pole.” His eyes were slowly glancing up and down every inch of the cute, innocent lookin’ waitress taking an order a couple tables over. “Mmm . . . mmm . . . mmm. She could give me a face dance right here.”
She was adorable, I’ll give her that. Too sweet. That’s exactly why Rattler wanted her. He’d go stealin’ girls outta convents if he could, I shit you not. She was a challenge wrapped up with a cute little bow on her head. It’s not just my job to watch out for all the brothers and protect them from outsiders. Sometimes a man needs protection from himself. Brooklyn was not the place.
Time to play interference.
“Man, I don’t know about this one. Ain’t she kinda gawky lookin’? Ya know, like a foal takin’ its first steps after it drops outta it’s mama’s belly.” It was worth a shot.
Rattler tapped the table and cranked his head back around to look at me. “That’s quite alright, man. I’d be more than happy to help her walk before she starts to crawl all over the stage. How’s that go? Walk, crawl, grind . . . oh, yeah, and we can’t forget spread, suck, swallow.”
So much for tryin’ to convince him to let it go.
It was only two-thirty. The bars had another couple hours until she was rushed. It was a Monday and the wave of amateurs would probably be smaller. Still, it was two hours for Rattler to do his worst. I’d seen him spend five hours workin’ on some girl. He usually got ‘em too. He could be a charming prick when he wants—like any other pimp.
Oh, like you aren’t the fuckin’ same, ya lyin’ piece of Irish shit!
She walked over to take our order and I let out the breath I’d been holdin’. That kid needed to do her job and get as far away from us as she could.
One of us is gonna getcha, girl.
“Hi, I’m Nixx. I’ll be your waitress. Have you had a chance to look over the menu and decide what you want?”
It was diner fare. We got the same shit every time. Rattler wasn’t gonna let it go though.
“Yeah, I’ve been lookin’ over somethin’ alright.” His accent is just as New York as mine is straight outta the hills of Tennessee. “Funny thing . . . I looked all over the menu and didn’t see you on it anywhere. Ya gotta be one of the daily specials or somethin’.”
Nixx smiled and giggled, but did a little huh under her breath. She already thought he was full of shit. She turned her face to me and talked to him without eye contact.
“When you learn to read what’s actually on the menu, lemme know. Maybe your friend can help you out.” Her slight New York accent was even cute, not as abrasive as Rattler’s. She glanced over and threw me a look that was tough as nails and her mouth was about twice as sharp. “How about you? Do you want somethin’ that’s on the menu, or what? I can get an interpreter if I need to.”
Full of piss and vinegar! Goddamn! I like that in a woman.
“Naw, I know how to read English, unlike my brother here.” Fuck if hers weren’t some of the coolest lookin’ eyes I’d ever seen—almost like a wolf. “Y’all don’t have biscuits and gravy, do ya? Our usual place started makin’ ‘em for me.”
She threw her head back and laughed, “Where are you from? Clearly not from the city, and no, we don’t have whatever that is.”
Against everything I knew was right, I couldn’t help playin’ right into Rattler’s game. Maybe it was the wolf eyes.
“Girl, I can’t figure out why . . . maybe the fire of your personality or the ice-blue of your eyes . . . I like you. Why don’t you pick somethin’ for me, darlin’.”
Nixx shoved her pen and little pa
d into the black apron pocket. She was checkin’ me out and I could feel Rattler starin’ a hole right through me.
Girl, I see you lookin’ at my finger. You won’t find a ring there, I’ll guarantee that!
“Okay, country boy. I’ll have the cook make my favorite.”
As soon as she shook that little ass away, Rattler kicked me under the table. “Bro, look at you doin’ that whole Southern charm thing. You think you can turn her?”
Of course I could. We were a good team like that. If one of us couldn’t get ‘em, the other could.
“Boy, I know she can be turned, scattered, covered, and flipped upside down! Some girls go for the grit of your sandpaper personality . . . others, well, they need my honey butter charm to lube ‘em up just right.”
Rattler poured some coffee into the cups she’d left and spread out with his legs up on the booth.
“Game on! Let’s see which one gets the job done. A little good cop, bad cop?”
I reached out and shook his hand. “You know it! Challenge accepted, man.”
We hung out until the after-hours bar crowd started to trickle in. The more Rattler tried talkin’ to her, the less she was hearin’ him. Some guys just don’t know when to shut the fuck up. Rattler is some guys. On the other side of the coin, she was takin’ to me like ants to honey. I wasn’t comin’ on hard, but boy oh man, that girl loves a country boy. When we’d paid I walked back over to leave her a really good tip. If she didn’t remember us one way, she’d have another.
“Hey, sweetie . . .” I waved her over. “Put this in your pocket. You don’t want it to grow some legs and walk away on ya.”
Nixx gave me a beautiful smile that really showed her full, pouty lips. She looked down for an extra beat when she stashed the tip in her apron. The whole little tough act was exactly that—an act. I made her shy and bet your ass I’d use it to my advantage.
“Thanks . . . what’s your name anyway?”
I stared deep in her eyes as I zipped my jacket. “Name’s FOCUS. Maybe I’ll come back and see ya. You gotta get some of them biscuits in here though.”
She nodded her head up and curled one of those delicious lips. Keep on tryin’ to be tough.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that, FOCUS. Where’d ya get a name like that anyway? Your mother didn’t name you that.”
I slid a hand into the pocket of my vest and pulled out a card. “Girl, if you wanna make some real money waitressin’, gimme a call. We can get ya right in. Maybe then I’ll tell ya why they call me FOCUS.”
Nixx held the card between a couple fingers and brought it to her mouth to cover a giggle and snort. “Are you serious? The Mounds Bar? Yeah, okay. I’ll give you a call . . . sure thing.”
Not gonna happen. Not yet. More honey.
She was still laughin’ as I called over my shoulder on the way to the door, “I’ll be back. Get me some biscuits and gravy and maybe we’ll talk.”
SLOW RIDE
I couldn’t help thinkin’ about those two bikers for the rest of my shift. The one guy, Snake or whatever, was a total douche-bag. Typical. I’m used to them kinda guys—big shots who think they’re all that and a bag of chips. Ya learn a thing or two living in Queens, hell, probably anywhere in the city—a guy with a mouth that big eventually finds somethin’ he’s not lookin’ for in it. Fist, baseball bat, bullet. Some of them guys disappear like magic tricks—poof.
The other guy, FOCUS—yeah, I remembered that name for sure. He wasn’t like guys from my neighborhood. Neither of ‘em was, but FOCUS seemed sweet. They always say the girls in the South are better than New York girls because they’re sweeter and don’t bust chops so much. Well, it could be the same for some of the guys too. Lookin’ at them that night, I woulda gone to the OTB or Atlantic City and placed a bet on it. I woulda totally lost my ass on that one.
It was about a week after they came in that first night. I was countin’ my tips alone at the back booth and felt someone starin’ at me. No one was in the diner, but it was a feelin’ I couldn’t shake. There was always a container of mace in my pocket for when I took the subway. Ya just couldn’t tell where some whacked out jack-off was gonna be. Girl can’t be too cautious if she knows what’s good for her. I clocked out and took the kitchen exit to avoid whatever was creepin’ me out. I’d barely closed the door and turned into the alley when I saw him.
“Can I help you with somethin’? The entrance is up there in case you don’t remember.”
Keep that snark and snarl.
It was that FOCUS guy. He was sittin’ on a black motorcycle painted with shamrocks and bright green swirls.
Nice Irish boy. Yeah, right.
You got this.
“Whoa, girl! You musta had a bad night, or are you always so high-strung?”
He didn’t budge, just sat there smokin’ a cigar in a leather jacket with a vest on top. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, but I remembered them being blue or green.
“Naw, I didn’t have a bad night . . . it’s called bein’ a New Yorker. Stick around, you’ll get used to it.” I lit a cigarette and sat down on the back stoop of the diner. He could think the whole city is full of assholes for all I cared. “Hey, did you forget how to dress or what? Ain’t a vest supposed to go under your jacket?”
He started laughin’ his ass off. It was an honest question. I didn’t know what was supposed to be so funny.
“Girl, you are silly. That kinda shit is for some weddings, maybe, and idiots who go to work in those office buildings over there.” He pointed toward Manhattan. “I’m in a motorcycle club, I don’t expect you to know or anything, but it’s still kinda cute. We wear our vests on the outside. Always. People can tell who we are by our patches.”
I walked over and looked at his patches. The night we met, my job was to take their orders and bring the food. I wasn’t payin’ attention to the decorations on their leather vests.
“Oh . . . yeah . . . I see. You’ve got one with your name on it. My mom used to do that to my clothes when I was a kid, ya know, so no one would steal them. Does your mother do that to your stuff, or is this so you don’t forget your name when you’re drunk?”
He’s got a pretty smile for a douche.
“I never thought of that, but who knows, it could come in handy sometime.” He took a deep draw of his cigar, smiled again, and turned so I could see the back of his vest. “Ya see, this is my club. I’m the Sergeant at Arms . . . it means I take care of idiots if they fuck up. Kinda like a bouncer.”
He’d turned his back away from me so I circled around and checked the skull and crown on his patch.
I’ve seen those before.
“Well, how do ya like that? You guys don’t even try to hide it. My mistake. I thought you were a bunch of douche-bags, but right here in big letters it says Bastards. Not only Bastards, but you’re even royalty.”
I did a deep curtsy and wished I could’ve seen his eyes when I stood back up. My brass balls were knock-offs. No brass. No balls. All attitude, no aptitude, my father used to say.
“Yeah, I’m definitely not the dang court jester, I’ll tell ya that much. I’m not just a Royal Bastard. I’m also a devilish douche, a maniac Marine, and your ride home.”
FOCUS is funny, no way to deny it. I was practically doin’ a dance—my feet hurt, I was exhausted, and I’ll be honest, his comical confidence was doin’ it for me.
I do not want to do the whole subway thing.
“What makes you think I’d let you take me home, your highn-ass?”
Ooo, I like your laugh. Deep and full—like a man, but real. Those guys who come in with the suits or some of those hipsters try to do that serious “manly-man” laugh—such bullshit. Not FOCUS.
“That’s your majesty, and I’m takin’ you home because I’m safer than the subway. I’m also a sweet country boy and you like me.” His smile faded and he looked serious. “And because I said so. Get on.”
That ride was the beginning of the en
d of Nicolette “Nixx” Barrett, Brooklyn waitress.
HEAVEN MUST BE MISSIN’ AN ANGEL
So much for Brooklyn not bein’ the place.
After takin’ her to and from work for a few weeks, she was eatin’ outta my hand. My manners were somethin’ my mama woulda been proud of, and I haven’t done a whole lot of the “makin’ her proud stuff.” It wasn’t an easy feat either. Every time I looked into those icy eyes, my dick got the message and started to thump. She was gawky, I wasn’t lyin’ about that—all legs and arms, a little taller than average, and looked like she wouldn’t be able to manage heels with any sorta grace. Her hair was always tightly braided down the side and then the helmet topped off the look. She woulda been nothin’ to look at if it weren’t for those bee-stung lips and incredible eyes. Waiting for her to walk out of the diner night after night had given me time to imagine a lot about her—what she’d look like naked and wrappin’ those arms and legs around me was my favorite. I also couldn’t wait to see her in something other than the black pants and white blouse. It all came back to seein’ her naked, though.
You bet your ass I’m gonna win the challenge with Rattler. She’ll be wrappin’ all of that around a pole soon.
One morning when she got off the bike, I lifted my sunglasses and looked her up and down. The attitude had chilled out over the weeks and she quickly looked away.
Bashful.
Sweet.
“Hey,” I grabbed a hand and pulled her toward me. “Don’t look away from me. It’s only fair, I mean, I’ve been your personal taxi. I should at least get to see you with your hair down.”
My hand slid up to the elastic at the end of the long braid and she jumped.
“Naw, it’s okay. I can do it.”
Her long fingers started to rake through her hair until it was loose. With the morning sun shinin’ across her face, she looked like an angel.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” I reached out and fluffed it down over a shoulder and around her face. It was sexy and messy for an angel. “Dang, you’re kinda like the librarian takin’ off the glasses and pullin’ her hair down. You look like a totally different girl.”