LOKI

My hands are still fucking shaking when Gunnar and I pull up in front of the club. I climb off my bike before Gunnar even has his turned off and I storm into the club. Slamming the door back as I go.

“Is it done?” Rooster, the President of Roswell’s Chapter of Wicked Angels asks as I enter.

I ignore him and walk up to the bar where the prospect behind the bar slides me a shot of whiskey and I slam it back. I’m so fucking numb right now that I barely even feel the burn. I nod to the prospect again and he produces another shot.

Rooster steps up behind me. “Is it done?”

I glare at him. “It’s fucking done, but you know as well as I do that Tryke had nothing to do with this,” I growl at him. It’s about the hundredth time I’ve used the argument today, and it was a futile. Case in point, where we’re at right now.

Finally, Rooster says nothing. Thank fuck for that.

I know damn well that Tryke had nothing to do with it. In fact, I’m certain this is all Rooster’s doing. He knows Tryke was getting close, getting the right amount of people to stand behind him when he challenged Rooster for Pres. Now I just have to find a way to prove it to the club's President in Tucson. That’s easier said than done. If I could have proved it before now, I would have and Rooster’d be the one going to ground, not Tryke. Tryke was moving in on Rooster’s position and Rooster knew it. He also knew that Tryke has more respect in this club and throughout the entire Wicked Angels MC than Rooster will ever have. Rooster had to do something and he found the perfect excuse to do so. No doubt a similar excuse was found when Tripp, Tryke and Kiwi’s father, was killed four years ago.

Despite the events of the night, I fight the urge to smile at the memory of Lily when she was just three or four years old. Her strawberry blonde hair was in pigtails as she walked through the kitchen. She had two brownish green orbs in her hands. “Unkie Loki, want some?” she’d asked, holding one of the orbs up to me.

I knelt before her with a smile on my face. “What you got there, kiddo?” I asked her.

“Kiwi.” She smiled.

That wasn’t the last time I saw the kid double fisting kiwis in her hands. It was, and still is, one of her favorite fruits. Hence the nickname I gave her. I’m sure I fell in love with her that day. I’ve always felt protective of her, even at fourteen, just like tonight.

Rooster has very few men in this club in his back pocket. Though every member respects Rooster as Pres, it doesn’t mean they like him, but as the chapter Pres, they don’t have much choice unless they’re going to take Rooster down.

There’s one man in particular that’s crawled so far up Rooster’s ass he’s tasting Rooster’s food for him. That would be Gunnar. The dumbass hasn’t a fucking clue what he’s doing. He was supposed to be the one to pull the trigger tonight, but I beat him to it. Kiwi is going to hate me for the rest of my life because of it. I can only hope that one day I get a chance to explain it to her, to explain why it was me who put three in her brother. But for now, I have to comfort myself with the fact that it was a pact Tryke and I made a long time ago. I can only hope that one day Kiwi can forgive me for what I’ve done.

Rooster talked Gunnar into doing his dirty work tonight. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Gunnar was once a notorious hitman for the Angels. He’s a hot-headed, short-tempered motherfucker who will do anything if he feels it’s justified, or if Rooster orders him to do it.

In Gunnar’s eyes, Tryke’s death is justified. Regardless of Rooster’s order, Gunnar was gonna do it anyway. His justification comes because he’s trying to cover someone’s ass. Rooster’s or his own is the mystery of the moment.

The door slams open again and I know it’s Gunnar. I don’t bother looking. I simply slam back my shot and nod to the prospect for another.

“We still got work to do, asshole,” Gunnar grunts behind me. His voice is hoarse; obviously that gunshot to the shoulder is taking a toll on him.

Good.

Bastard.

I purposefully nailed Gunnar in the shoulder right before I shot Tryke. I knew if Gunnar had his chance, he’d have made sure that Tryke was good and dead. I had to take the chance in hopes that maybe he would survive. I may be a biker, but Tryke and Kiwi are my family.

I put my hand on my chest, feeling the cool metal of my father’s dog tags pressing to my skin. I look to the ceiling – toward the sky – silently asking my father for guidance and forgiveness.

My father spent fifteen years in the service before he was wounded and discharged. He and Tripp were good friends. My father loved to ride, and Tripp gave him the golden opportunity to join the Angels. My father was beyond thrilled to be a member of the club, but despite his best efforts, he never earned his 1% patch. He died when I was ten from colon cancer. My mother succumbed to the bottle after that. Tripp and his old lady, Tryke and Kiwi’s mom, took it upon themselves to look after me after dad died. I lived with my aunt, my mother’s sister, but I was rarely ever there. As soon as I was allowed, I pledged to the Angels.

“We should have taken care of it before we left,” I growl back at him. I knew Kiwi would be safe, even if we tore that house apart looking for the money they were looking for. Tryke knew what was coming for him and he had a choice to make- protect her, as he’s done since their parents’ deaths, or run. Tryke wasn’t the running type.

“Fuck that, let him rot for a while. That son-of-a-bitch deserves worse than what he got.”

I turn around and grab Gunnar by his cut and slam him against the wall. “Fuck you,” I growl as I press my right fist into his shoulder. Gunnar doesn’t make a sound but sweat beads on his forehead from the added pain I’m inflicting. Looking into his eyes, I see something I’ve never seen before from him.

Fear.

Good. I push into his shoulder a little harder and his teeth grind together. “Get your fucking ass cleaned up. I’ll handle Tryke’s house.”

“Like hell you will,” Rooster chimes in. “Get off him, now.”

With Tryke dead, Rooster has everything to gain from this. He will have no one pushing for Tryke’s position and more importantly, he thinks he will gain the respect of the club members by killing off Tryke. But the truth is he’s lost what little respect he had earned in the last four years.

The Wicked Angels have a long-standing tradition that the presidency is a handed down position. The club was started by Tryke’s great-grandfather and his two brothers. When he moved on, Tryke’s grandfather took over the club’s operations until Tripp, Tryke’s father, did. When Tripp died, it would have been handed down to Tryke, but he wasn’t old enough and had only had his cut for about a year before Tripp’s death. Big Daddy D – head of all Wicked Angels – suggested Tryke learn the ropes, earn the respect, then take over. Tryke was working hard at earning the respect a true president deserves even though he didn’t have the title. His fight was because he refused to let Rooster take the club down a path none of the Roswell charter members want to go down.

Aside from learning the ropes, at least as much as Rooster was willing to teach him, Tryke and I began investigating what happened to Tripp and his old lady. We did everything we could, including taking out a couple members of Roswell in an attempt to find out the truth. Someone ordered Tripp to be killed. Someone was dumb enough to follow the order and it was just a matter of figuring out who ordered it and who carried it out. Or if that person is one in the same.

The best we could come up with was pointing the finger at Rooster. Without solid proof that Rooster is responsible for it, the other heads won’t act. Come to find out, Rooster is a great-nephew of one of the founding members of the club and the Wicked Angels are a family first organization. Prospecting with the Angels is a given if you have Beaumont blood running through your veins. What you do as a prospect determines whether or not you get your colors and cut.

At the time of Tripp’s death, Rooster was desperately trying to push Tripp in a different direction with the club. Sure, we do our fair share of illegal shit, but there are lines that Tripp, Tryke, myself and several other club members of Roswell won’t cross. Like human trafficking.

I release Gunnar.

“I’ll take care of the house,” I snap at Rooster as I grab my shot off the bar and slam it back.

“I want it leveled,” Rooster says.

“It will be,” I tell him as I nod at the prospect again. One more should be enough to numb the pain.

“I want pictures.”

“Yup,” I tell Rooster as I finally look around the clubhouse. It’s nearly empty. No wonder Rooster is out here running his mouth about shit.

The clubhouse being nearly empty on a Tuesday isn’t unusual. But on a night like this, when everyone knows shit’s going down, they scatter. When Rooster gets on a power trip, no one’s safe and it’s made worse by the fact that the shit is Tryke. No one will go near Gunnar for a least a week. When he’s amped up like this, there’s no telling what he’ll do.

My eyes land on Taz, a fine, albeit well-used piece of ass, cleaning up one of the tables. Her shorts are practically crawling up her ass, her tits are barely concealed beneath the half-shirt she’s wearing. Typical attire for her around here. She’s been a club whore for years, even has a kid that belongs to a lowlife member. Remember the whole – family first rule – well, you knock up a whore, you deal with the fallout. Ignore that fallout and you lose respect.

I walk over to her, grab her arm and drag her down the hall toward one of the rooms. “Hey baby, I’ve missed you,” she coos as we walk down the hall. I’m holding on to her pretty tight but she knows better than to say anything to me about it.

“No talking,” I grunt as I push open a door and push her inside. “Naked, now.”

She doesn’t hesitate. She throws her shirt over her head and unbuttons her shorts, sliding them down her legs before kicking them off along with her heels.

My cock lengthens and hardens behind my jeans as she starts to climb onto the bed.

I shake my head at her. “My cock is going in your mouth. Then if you’re lucky, your ass,” I snap and she smiles wide.

“Anything for you, baby.” She winks as she climbs off the bed. She comes over to me just as I rip open my button fly and pull my cock free.

“Such a big, gorgeous cock,” she coos as she wraps her hand around it.

“Shut the fuck up and suck my dick.”

I watch a pout play on her lips. I’m not in the mood for conversation. I simply want to get off and get on with my life.

Her warm lips wrap around the head of my dick and my blood starts racing and my mind starts wandering. I close my eyes and Taz isn’t who I’m thinking about sucking my cock.

No, I’m thinking about a cute, five foot six inch, seventeen-year-old strawberry blonde.

Taz’s mouth isn’t working me fast enough so I grab hold of her face and start pushing my dick deeper into her mouth, not giving a shit if she chokes.

I finally open my eyes and am disappointed to see Taz and not Kiwi sucking me off. “Play with your tits,” I tell her and she smiles around my cock.

She removes her hand from my dick and cups both tits in her hands. Taz has been around this club for a long fucking time. I’m sure there isn’t a brother in here who hasn’t used her or abused her more than a few times. She’s not one of my favorites but she’ll do in a pinch, like tonight.

“Enough,” I snap. “On the bed, face down,” I tell her and she moves quickly. I don’t even bother removing my shirt, boots or pants. I simple pull a condom from my pocket and tear it open with my teeth before rolling it down my hard length.

I kneel on the bed behind her and to no surprise, she’s soaking wet. I slide my cock up and down her slit before lining up with her entrance and slamming home.

“Oh, yeah, baby, give it to me,” she moans.

I smack her ass, hard. “Shut your fucking mouth, whore,” I tell her before I start pounding relentlessly into her. My goal, come before she does.

I fuck her hard, her body bouncing on the bed. Her ass cheeks wiggle with each thrust in. I take a firm hold of her hips before forcing her up and down my cock. Other than being warm and wet, I’m getting very little pleasure out of this, but given enough time, she will make me come.

That time comes a little faster after I close my eyes and imagine a much tighter, much prettier pussy surrounding my cock. Her reddish blonde hair splayed down her back, her beautiful curves at my disposal.

Three more pumps into the loose cunt at my disposal and my orgasm roars. My cum explodes into the latex barrier.

I grind out my orgasm before pulling out of her.

“That’s it?” she snaps.

“Fuck off,” I growl back as I rip the used condom off my dick, tie it off and toss it in the trash before buttoning up my jeans and storming out of the room.

Walking back into the common room of the clubhouse, the few members that were lingering are gone. All that’s left is Momma Bear, Pitbull’s old lady, who is standing over a heavily breathing Gunnar.

As I get closer I see she’s stitching him up. I walk up and kiss her on the cheek. “Leave a nasty scar,” I tell her.

She laughs, “You know I can’t do that.”

I wink at her just as she slides the needle through Gunnar’s skin again. “Fuck, watch yourself, bitch,” Gunner grunts in pain. I smile in satisfaction as I step out of the club and into the warm night air.

I look up to the sky, hoping I’ve given Kiwi enough time to get out of that house.