My phone pings telling me I’ve got a new email and I grab for it like a little bitch. I seriously never thought I’d be this fucking excited to get an email. I quickly devour her words and when I see the last line, ‘I like you too’, I smile like I just found a winning lottery ticket.
Flopping back down onto my pillow, I think about what to write her back. It’s not even 7am, and with my blinds closed, my room is dark and quiet. I live at the Sinners clubhouse and have done since I started prospecting eighteen months ago. I fucking love the Sinners, they’re my family, and this is the first place I’ve ever actually called home.
I’ll be a Sinner until the day I die. We look after each other and until I joined the club, I’d never felt the lifelong camaraderie of family before. Honestly, until I met my Sinner brothers, I’d never given a fuck about anyone else. I grew up in foster care and that doesn’t exactly promote healthy relationships.
For four fucking days, Angel has been all I can think about. I care about her. I’ve been worried about her. Fuck I’ve been going out of my mind for the last few days waiting for her to email me back. I was so close to driving over to her house yesterday just to check she was okay. I probably would have, if Anders’ hadn’t sent me over to work security at Beavers, the titty bar a few towns over.
Normally a day surrounded by strippers would end with my cock buried deep inside one of them, but yesterday my dick never even twitched in the direction of their bouncing tits. I’d probably be freaking the fuck out that my dick was broken, if it didn’t stand to attention every time I pictured Angel’s petite body with those perky breasts and gorgeous legs.
Immediately, images of her flash into my mind and I drop my cell onto my bedside table and push the sheets down my legs. I always sleep naked, so my cock is already hard as a rock and resting against my stomach. Fisting it, I start to stroke up and down, pre-cum already leaking from the swollen head. I close my eyes and picture Angel. I try to imagine her naked, but my mind always goes back to the way she looked and felt sitting in my lap.
My hand moves quicker, and I groan. Fuck this feels good. Her soft curves nestled against my chest, her hair pushed behind her ears, so her face is fully on display. Angel’s huge eyes full of desire and her chest panting after I kissed her. I imagine the feel of her full lips and try to visualize what they would look like wrapped around my cock. My hips start to twitch, and I jerk, hot streams of cum spurting over my hand onto my stomach.
Panting, I open my eyes to stare at the ceiling above my head. My cock’s still twitching in my hand and I reluctantly release it and reach for the towel I dropped onto the floor the night before, cleaning my hands and wiping the cum off my skin.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Angel’s got me jacking off to the feel of her sitting, fully dressed in my lap. I feel like a fucking teenager with his first boner.
My breathing evens out and I grab my phone and type out a quick reply to her email. I want to wait for her reply but instead I force myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I wait for the water to heat up and then step under the warm spray. My cock’s hard again and I jack off again, Angel’s face my inspiration for a second time this morning.
I dry myself off and get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, pulling my cut on over the top. Grabbing my phone, I check for a new email and feel myself scowl when there isn’t one. At least I know she’s okay, and as much as I want to storm over to her house to see her, I know I can’t. I don’t know what’s going on with her dad, but something isn’t right there. I hope the mayor’s just a fucking douchebag, but I have a gut feeling that he’s worse than that.
A couple of the club girls live in the clubhouse. They cook and clean and are always up for a fuck if any of the guys are feeling horny. The moment I walk into the main room, Ali stops what she’s doing and makes a beeline straight for me.
“Daisy,” she purrs as she plasters her barely contained tits against my chest.
“Ali,” I say and move her off me while I continue toward the bar where a pot of coffee is bubbling away enticingly. I pour myself a cup and carry it across the room, sinking down into a sofa opposite the silently playing TV.
Ali crawls into my lap and kisses up my neck.
“Daisy, I need you to fuck me with that big cock of yours. You’re the only one who stretches me out so good I can feel it for days afterwards.”
I bring my cup to my lips and take a sip of my coffee. “Ali, I know you got fucked more than once yesterday. In fact, didn’t you have a cock in every one of your wet holes all at the same time last night? You put on quite a show on the pool table with Flip in your pussy, Erickson in your ass, and K.C. fucking your face. Bitch, you must still have cum leaking out of you with the amount of cock you took, you damn sure don’t need my dick in you this morning.”
“I always want your dick in me, Daisy. I only put on a show, so you’d watch me. You like to watch, baby. If you made me your old lady, I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me again; my pussy would be just for you. I know how much you like my pussy, it always gets so wet, just for you.”
I take another sip of my coffee and spread my legs, so Ali falls to the ground.
“What the fuck?” She screams.
I laugh dryly. “Listen up, Ali. I am never gonna make you my old lady. Ever. I fucked you once when I was so drunk I was impressed I could even get it up. Your used-up pussy is of no interest to me at all and never has been. If I ever make someone my old lady, she definitely won’t be a whore whose pussy’s been used as a cum bucket by every biker in the club. Now get your fucking skanky ass away from me, it’s too fucking early to deal with you.”
Ali scrambles up off the floor and stomps away. She looks back over her shoulder and shouts, “Asshole,” at me before she disappears into the kitchen.
I sigh and take another sip of my coffee. My phone buzzes and I quickly pull it out of my pocket, hopeful that it will be an email from Angel. It isn’t. I dismiss the stupid Facebook notification and force my phone back into my pocket.
Blade slumps down next to me on the sofa, his eyes barely open. Harper, the other live-in club girl places a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of Blade.
“Here you go, honey,” she says sweetly and taps Blade’s leg before she walks away.
“Thank you,” Blade groans, as he sits up and blindly gropes with his hands until he finds the coffee and brings the cup up to his mouth. We sit in companionable silence, both drinking our coffees for a few moments. Blade’s voice breaks the silence. “Fuck, I was on it last night. God knows how many whiskeys I had, but my mouth feels as dry as a nun’s cunt this morning.”
I chuckle lightly. “Happens to the best of us, brother.”
Blade gradually blinks his eyes open and turns to face me. “What happened to you last night, you disappeared pretty early?”
I shrug. “I wasn’t feeling it. A day dealing with all those fucking, shrieking strippers at Beavers wore me out. I crashed.”
Blade sniggers. “Haven’t you figured out the best way to shut those women up is to put something in their mouths?”
I deadpan, “Yeah, but then I end up with a sparkly dick. Those bitches wear so much fucking glitter.”
Echo and Sleaze drop down onto the sofa to the left of us and both Blade and I nod acknowledgments at them.
“Prez called church in thirty minutes. Blade, you got any idea what’s up? I hope it’s not this shit about running guns again,” Echo growls, obviously annoyed.
Blade shakes his head and scowls. “What’s crawled up your ass, Echo? I only woke up thirty minutes ago. I didn’t even know there was church.”
Echo grunts and runs his hand through his hair. “I just got dragged out of bed, where my wife is lying naked as the day she was born. My balls are fucking hurting. I wanna know there’s a damn good reason why I’m here with you ugly bastards and not at home reminding my old lady who she belongs to.”
A quick laugh bursts from me, and Echo instantly turns pissed off eyes in my direction. I hold up my hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture and sit back in my seat, grabbing my coffee cup and lifting it to my lips.
I grab my cell from my pocket and check my email again, but there’s still nothing from Angel. The clubhouse gradually starts to fill as my brothers enter and wait for Prez to appear. Park, Puck, and Slow, drop down into the sofa in front of us. Park and Puck nod greetings, but Slow glowers at me. Until recently we had both been prospects together, but I’d earned my top rocker and was now a fully patched in member of the Sinners. Slow hadn’t and the fact that he still remained a prospect had seriously pissed him off.
For the past couple of weeks, he’d stomped around the clubhouse, grumbling to anyone that would listen that he deserved his patch more than I did because he had been a prospect longer than me. Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck what he thinks, the kid was slow in name and fucking nature. He was a lazy, entitled bastard, who thought he should have been an automatic full member because his daddy and granddaddy were Sinners.
That isn’t how the club works. It doesn’t matter if you’re sixth generation legacy, everyone prospects. It’s a rite of passage that teaches you the hierarchy of the club and how to respect the traditions that the Sinners value. Sure, being a prospect is shitty—you’re the lowest of the low and generally have to do all the crap none of the other members want to do. But when you finally earn your full patch, it’s all worth it.
I eyeball Slow and dare him to say something. I’ll fucking kick his ass if he tries it and we both know it. His narrowed eyes shine with barely held anger and I really want to fucking smirk at him, but I hold it in. Barely.
“Brothers.” Anders deep voice booms through the room and a respectful silence falls through the group of guys. “Time for church, we got business to discuss.”
Pushing off the sofa, I stand up and join the other guys slowly walking toward the meeting room. Prospects aren’t allowed into church, and as I glance over my shoulder, I see Slow’s angry face glaring at me. I can’t fucking help myself, I wink, then follow my brothers into church, and find my chair at the end of the room.
There are about thirty-five active members of the Sinners, with a couple of brothers in lock up and a few retired guys who don’t often make it to the club. Shuffling around the huge table that sits at the center of the room, I make my way to my seat at the end of the worn wooden slab that proudly displays the Doomsday Sinner’s emblem painted across the middle. The walls are covered in photos of club members from all the way back in the sixties when the Archer’s Creek Chapter started, right through to present day.
The longstanding members move around the room at ease, but I’m still awed by the way it feels to finally be allowed entry into the hallowed room. The Sinners church is sacred and only ever seen by the men that have created the legacy I look up to. It makes my breath catch in my throat every fucking time.
Anders slams the gavel down onto the table and the loud noise silences the chatter. We all turn, giving our president our full attention.
“Brothers, it’s been brought to my attention that Eric Carduccio is coming to Archer’s Creek today. As you all know, the illustrious Senator Carduccio is as dirty as they come. Normally he stays in New Mexico and runs his drugs through his own state, so I want to know exactly what the fuck has brought him to our town.”
A murmur of chatter rumbles through the men surrounding the table until the bang of Prez’s gavel pulls our attention again.
“Echo and Puck, I want you to do your thing and see what you can find out. Park, go lock down the weed grows and take enough guys with you to keep them secure. Sleaze, get word out to the Arizona and New Mexico Chapters and see if they know what Carduccio’s up to. Blade, take some guys and get eyes on him the moment he gets to town. I wanna know where he goes and who he sees,” Anders orders.
Nods of agreement and murmurs of discontent pass through the group. We all know Carduccio’s reputation. He runs all the distribution of heroin and cocaine along the south coast of America and his links to the cartels are well known. Fuck knows how he got into office, but he’s seriously influential and a dangerous fucking bastard.
“We don’t have class A running through this town and that’s not going to change. I don’t know what the fuck Carduccio’s doing here but until he’s gone, everyone stay alert and let’s find out what this fucker is up to. Any questions?” Anders asks.
The room falls quiet, so I quickly scan my eyes across my brothers focused, determined faces. Anders bangs the gavel again and then stands from the table and moves to speak to Blade, our vice president. Dismissed I rise from my chair and follow the guys as we file out of church and head toward the bar.
The club owns several businesses in Archer’s Creek and the surrounding towns, including several bars, a tattoo shop, a garage, and a few shops. The club is one hundred percent self-supporting and the profit from the businesses is split between the members in a monthly stipend so we all work hard and are happy to do so. I’m a big guy so I tend to work security, but as a prospect, you kind of just do as you’re told. The bar slowly empties as some guys leave for their regular jobs and others to start the recon Anders ordered.
A heavy hand slaps down on my shoulder. “You’re with me, brother,” Blade says, and I nod and follow him to the exit doors.
Smoke, Flip, Erickson, and K.C., leave with us and we all walk to our bikes, stored on the right-hand side of the compound. Smoke is a few years older than me and at least six feet six with a skinhead and pretty boy features that make the ladies fall at his feet. Flip is in his thirties: blond, clean shaven, and rocking a fifties-inspired slicked back hairstyle. Erickson is mid-forties: pot-bellied with greasy hair and beady eyes—he looks like a fucking perv, but he’s harmless and funny as hell.
K.C. is huge—as wide as he is tall—with shocking ginger hair that stands straight up in angry carrot-colored spikes. I’m not sure how old he is, but I’d say thirties, maybe older. K.C. stands for King Carrot, but in my time with the Sinners I’ve only ever heard one person call him that. K.C. broke three of his ribs and one of his legs. I’ve never heard of anyone stupid enough to try calling him anything but K.C. since.
Blade, our V.P., is only in his forties, but his hair is almost completely gray and lines pull at his eyes. His silver beard is cut short to his face and meets the tattoos that cover his neck. “Smoke and K.C., you guys head out to the Iron Tire and watch for Carduccio. He’ll be easy to spot, we don’t get many senators in these parts. Call in once you see him, then follow at a distance. Flip, Erickson, you guys head to the other side of town and make sure that he doesn’t come in from Creek side. Daisy, you’re with me,” Blade says, throwing his leg over his bike and turning the key.
The engine bursts to life and one by one we all jump onto our bikes and start them. As a unit, we ride through the gates of the compound and onto the road. We convoy in three groups of two, until we reach an intersection and the others split off, headed for their respective destinations. When it’s just me and Blade left, we cruise through the town and stop at Al’s diner. Parking our bikes out front, I follow him into the diner and slide into a booth opposite him.
The waitress comes straight over. “Good mornin’, my name is Christie and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you some drinks to start you off?”
“Coffee,” Blade groans.
Christie turns to me and I nod. She flips over the cups in front of us and grabs the coffee pot from the counter, filling them with steaming, black coffee.
“Eggs over easy, bacon and toast please,” Blade says with his head in a menu.
I don’t even bother looking at my menu before I turn to Christie. “I’ll have the same please.” She nods, takes our menus and leaves to get our food.
Blade groans and I laugh. “You suffering, brother?”
He pulls some Tylenol from his pocket and pops out two tablets, washing them down with his coffee. “I feel like ass.” The waitress places our food in front of us and Blade grabs for the toast, biting it then moaning in pleasure.
My phone buzzes. Pulling it from my pocket, I’m filled with hope that it’s an email from Angel, but it’s just a text from a random girl I fucked a few weeks back. I delete the message without reading it and slam my phone down onto the table in frustration.
“What the fuck’s up with you?” Blade asks, his hungover eyes slightly more open than before.
“I’m waiting for someone to message me.”
Blade pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Who?”
I shrug and pick up my fork, spearing a piece of bacon from my plate. “No-one, don’t worry about it.”
“Bullshit,” Blade says. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
I scowl at him, ignoring his question and shoving bacon into my mouth and chewing.
Blade barks out an obnoxious laugh. “Well fuck. I never thought I’d see the day when you were waiting for a woman to message you. Hell, there’s normally a line of bitches waiting to drop their panties for you. So, who is she?”
My cell beeps again and I drop my fork and snatch it up off the table. It’s another stupid, fucking Facebook notification and snarling, I jam my cell back into my pocket. I look up at Blade, his eyebrow is raised in question and his mouth is twisted into a smirk. “You don’t know her,” I say and grab my fork again.
“She must be one hell of a fuck, if she’s got you strung this tight.”
My fingers clench into fists. “It’s not like that,” I say through gritted teeth.
“It’s always like that with you, Daisy. You’re a walking hard on, fucking every bit of pussy that takes your fancy. You’ve had more threesomes in the last six months than I’ve had in my entire life and those girls come out of your room purring and wrung dry ‘cause you’ve given them so many orgasms.”
“Well, this time it’s different,” I say quietly, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
Blade looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed together, then he carries on eating. We finish our breakfast in silence, pay the bill and leave. “Where to?” I ask.
The shrill ring of Blade’s cell phone interrupts him before he can speak. “Smoke,” Blade says brusquely.
I can’t hear what Smoke’s saying, so I walk over to my bike and climb on, ready to go if we need to.
“No worries, brother. Yep,” Blade says and ends the call. He moves to his bike and swings his leg across the saddle. “Carduccio and his goons just drove into town. They’re in two black Range Rovers and heading onto Elm Street. Let’s go head them off on 2nd and see where they’re going.”
I nod to Blade and start my bike, pushing it off the kick stand and following him onto the road. Archer’s Creek has been an MC town for decades, so the sight of bikers isn’t unusual, and no one notices when we drive through town and meet up with Smoke and K.C. We all ride together for a few blocks, then Blade signals to Smoke, and he and K.C. drift off down a side street.
The shiny black paintwork on Carduccio’s car glistens in the Texas sun and we follow at a discreet distance, occasionally diverting down side roads only to catch up with them again a block later. The two SUV’s take a right off Maple and a prickle of unease pulses through me.
We follow the cars along the suburban streets until they slow to a stop outside a familiar house. My heart starts to pound in my chest. Blade and I ride straight past the cars, not slowing or showing any indication that we aren’t simply heading in the same direction. We park around the corner and Blade turns to me, confusion etched across his face. “Whose house is that?”
I scrub my hand over my face before I reply. “The Mayor’s.”