One
I rolled over, pushing the woman tangled in my sheets out of the way ‘til I could sit up and reach for my smokes. She sighed, turning her face on the pillow and trying to get back to sleep. I whipped off the sheet, smacking her naked ass. “Cristal, get gone.”
She turned to me with a frown, rubbing her stinging ass cheek. “You don’t want me to stay, Fighter?”
“Not tonight, I got some things to do early.”
She reluctantly got up from the bed, searching for her shorts and tank top before pulling them on. She tried to entice me with an ass-swaying walk to the door, peeking over her shoulder to see if I’d changed my mind. I squinted at her through the smoke, but didn’t say a word. Disappointment clouded her face but she reluctantly left the room.
I sighed, leaning back on my elbows as I finished my smoke. That girl was prime pussy, but she was beginning to get clingy. I had to stop that shit right fuckin’ now. She might be able to suck my dick like a champ, but I don’t allow any woman to have a hold on me. You want to share my bed, ride my dick, sure, but anything long term? No, not for me. The club girls knew not to try for anything more than a good time for a few hours, and that’s as far as it ever went.
I headed for the shower, needing to rid my body of her smell and get my head together for the charity ride today. In the shower, I hung my head, letting my shoulder-length black hair get wet. Soaping up a rag, I quickly washed the smell of smoke, sex, and her perfume off my body. Sure, I liked pussy. Shit, I got as much as I wanted, when I wanted. Not to be conceited, but the women flocked to my 6’4” muscular frame. I stayed in shape because I liked the way it made me feel—not to mention, the ladies liked the end result.
Fisting my cock, I washed away her mouth, letting the encounter swirl down the drain. I never fucked the club girls without a condom no matter what shape I was in. That was my number one rule. I would rather rub one out myself than make the mistake of not using one.
Shaking off my thoughts, I finished showering. Grabbing a towel, I dried off then lay back down, still naked.
“Shit, I’m tired,” I said, scrubbing a hand over my face. Eventually, I drifted off to get a few hours’ shut-eye, thinking about tomorrow’s charity ride.
THE NEXT DAY
A couple times a year, the club held a charity ride for the town we called home. It was usually followed by a festival for the kids, including music, food, rides, and a place where we could mingle with business owners and people we saw every day. The townspeople had a healthy respect for us and we tried to promote goodwill between us and them by doing these rides. At Christmas, we helped the local hospitals gather toys and clothes for the kids who couldn’t go home and for some of the town’s low-income families who needed some help bringing good cheer around this time of year.
The prospects needed to make sure the bikes were clean and the chrome polished, beautiful and ready to ride today. I spent most of the day yesterday making sure they were getting the job done. The prospects the club had now were good guys, but rowdy and without discipline. As enforcer, it was my job to curb that rowdiness and keep them on task.
The line of bikes riding through town was a sight to see. There were people standing three-deep on both sides of the streets waving flags, excited faces shouting encouragement to the guys.
The prospects had been working all night, polishing the bikes so the chrome shined in the sun. The noise of the pipes, the rumble of the bikes could be heard for miles. I smiled as I rode along beside Breech. He lifted his chin at me, smiling back. These were the days I lived for. Riding my bike with my brothers beside me.
The people in this town knew who we were; they respected us but they also thought we were a little rough. None of them wanted their daughters to get involved with “that club.” Little did they know just how many of those daughters ended up at the club parties, their tits and asses on full display.
After I got out of the Marines, I felt lost. My buddy, Paul, from my unit in Iraq, had moved to a little town in Upstate New York, joining the Devil’s Wind MC. We stayed in touch when his tour was up, and when I got out he called me to come hang out for a while, see what he was up to, what the club was all about. My first week there, I knew I’d found a spot to land. These guys were like those in my unit. They treated each other like family. They enjoyed living and working together on a daily basis—and the club girls were an added bonus.
Breech—Paul’s road name—sponsored me to join. With the Devil’s Wind president’s permission, I started prospecting for the club. It took me a year to patch in, and now, five years later, I was the enforcer and all the prospects were my responsibility—one I didn’t take lightly, either.
Busting heads was just one fun perk of my position, though.
Since most of us in the club were ex-military, we had an extensive knowledge of weapons and how to use them. When Dukes, our club president, was honorably discharged from the service, his grandfather passed away, leaving him a large plot of land with several outbuildings. He turned the barn on the property into the Devil’s Wind MC compound, then took over running the gun clubs his family owned.
His dad was a drunk piece of shit, always banging him and his mom around, but his grandfather was a tough old bird. He took them both in, raising Dukes after his dad almost beat his mom to death.
Opry was our gunsmith. He was SART in the Marines. He also taught classes on how to be comfortable with a weapon, gun laws, and safety. Currently, we were converting an old warehouse into a gym called ‘Crunch Time,’ where the guys were going to teach self-defense. It also meant we’d have our own place to train.
Sonny, our VP, took care of the day-to-day operations of the gun clubs, a total computer nerd.
Danko was our Sergeant at Arms and a real ballbuster. He didn’t have an easy life, but he was smart as a whip, a fearless fighter, and one of the few men I trusted at my back.
Breech, the man who took care of club finances, was the other. The man was a wiz with numbers. He kept the club in the black. Most of us came to him for investing advice, since we didn’t know what to do with our money. He helped us stay independent of the nine-to-five life.
The guys were my life, the club my home. I had a job, plenty of pussy, and my brothers at my back. I didn’t need anything else—until Tish came busting back into my life.