Pistol was dying. He had a serious case of constant blue balls, and it was only gonna get worse if he kept sharing a house with Katrin. Katrin and her tight skirts and blouses that made her look like a sexy librarian or some shit. Katrin who wore pumps with low heels, even though she wasn’t in some office somewhere – she was just walking around the house. Making dinner or watering the plants or checking her phone… He could hear her coming a mile away just by the sound of those heels on the hardwood floors. And he got hard each time he heard the sound.
Sometimes she went barefoot. She had these small, perfect, elegant feet. Toenail polish that was, like, some kind of light purple. Lavender? Whatever it was, it was flawless, never a chip in it.
And God, sharing a bed with her … it was torture. He’d lie there sometimes after she’d gone to sleep, erection tenting the covers, fantasizing that she’d suddenly wake up reach for him. Tell him she’d been dying to fuck him for weeks. Sometimes he’d get up, go to the downstairs bathroom — so there was no chance of her hearing him — and jerk off to the fantasy.
It didn’t help that the rest of his life was all up in the air too. Every club meeting, there seemed to be more and more tension among the Blackened Souls. Some of Smith’s contacts across the border had proven useful, and the club’s bottom line had increased significantly. But no one was happy. Smith cast a long shadow, and he’d started sending his men on ride-alongs with the Blackened Souls. Ford had been particularly pissed about that, but since Kong hadn’t objected, he’d kept his mouth shut too.
The brotherhood was nervous, and Pistol wasn’t sure what to do for them. At the auto shop, Deion was often quiet, his usual spark gone. There was no more talk of riding up to Three Sisters. The only one who really seemed okay with the whole situation was Mica, who was getting to go on more and more missions despite his inexperience. He was thrilled about the increased profits, and openly sneered at the others when they expressed doubt over whether it was all worth it.
When Pistol stepped into the clubhouse for Thursday night’s meeting, relieved for the chance to get out of the house, where Katrin was walking around in a particularly tight pencil skirt, he nearly did a double take.
Leonard Smith was sitting in Kong’s usually chair, surrounded by goons. A few of the Blackened Souls were hanging around the walls, looking uneasy, not sure where they should sit.
Leonard met Pistol’s gaze and smiled. “Ah, Jax. Good to see you. It’s been a while.”
Pistol glowered at Leonard Smith. He couldn’t stand this fake chummy shit Smith pulled. He continued to stare at Leonard, who finally looked away, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Where is everyone? This is a rather … important meeting.”
Kong leaned against the wall, looking older and more haggard than Pistol had ever seen him. “They’ll be here. We don’t usually have a set time for meetings. Just whenever people can get here.”
Leonard checked his expensive watch. “I don’t have a lot of time this evening,” he said imperiously.”
“Too bad,” Ford muttered.
Leonard ignored him, though Pistol thought he saw the man’s jaw twitch. “I suppose we can get started. Do fill your absentbrothers in later.” He said the word “brothers” with a slight sneer.
Leonard leaned back, hands on his knees. Yeah, this guy had read all the self-help books about how to take up space in a room and assume a “CEO stance” and whatever the fuck. He just looked like a pathetic douche. For the thousandth time, Pistol cursed himself for going along with the guy. For not knowing his own fucking enemy. For not knowing how far Smith’s reach extended, how many men he had at his disposal.
If we cut the head off the beast, does it grow a new one? Or does the body flop around and eventually die?
Smith straightened one pant leg. “I have a large stash coming in. The first part arrives tomorrow. It’s only a fraction of the total goods. Some of you will go pick it up. If all goes well, you’ll accompany my men when they pick up the much larger haul in a couple of weeks.” He glanced around the room, finger under his chin as though giving this deep consideration. “You.” He pointed at Mica. “You’ll go.”
Mica preened little.
You little fucker, Pistol thought.Have you forgotten that he fucking shot you?
“And you two.” Leonard indicated Ford and Hap, another club member.
Ford glared at Smith. “I got club business to take care of here tomorrow. I ain’t going riding.”
“Oh my. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Leonard didn’t sound sorry at all. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to put all that on hold. Any ‘club business’ is now my business, you understand. And this shipment takes precedence.”
Ford’s jaw literally dropped. He turned to Kong. “Boss?” He said the word pointedly, emphasizing to Leonard that he still considered Kong his leader. Or challenging Kong to actuallybe a boss and stand up to the fucker.
Kong’s expression remained stoic.