Vengeance stared down at the club whore who was sucking on his dick like it was her favorite lollipop. He couldn’t remember her name, and nor did he give a shit about it. All he was interested in was blowing his load right down her throat and watching as she swallowed.

“Now that is a beautiful sight,” Weasel said, entering the room.

“Her mouth is the best.” Vengeance groaned as the bitch swallowed him. He was only thinking about the feeling. As shitty as it was, she was a vessel for him to release in. Even as she was gagging she didn’t try to get away, and he just knew she was trying way too hard to impress him.

He wasn’t impressed.

His rock-hard cock started to deflate, and even Weasel took pity on him.

“Babe, he’s not interested,” Weasel said, slapping her ass. “Go and find another brother to swallow whole.”

She pouted but didn’t argue, which he was relieved about. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a moaning bitch who thought she could get what she wanted.

“Thanks.”

“No biggie. You looked done with it.”

“I was in the zone, and then as quick as fuck, I was out of it. What is it about these females that I cannot stand?” he asked.

“You’ve been spending way too much time with the old ladies, that’s what.”

Vengeance shook his head. “Nah, that’s not it at all. I don’t care what they have to say. I’m not interested in that kind of shit. You know that.”

Weasel sat down on the bed, grabbing an old porn mag and flicking through it. In the meantime, Vengeance pushed his dick back into his pants and sighed. This shit wasn’t working for him.

“I didn’t say you wanted to settle down and have an old lady of your own. The sluts just don’t do it for you. Let’s face it. Half of them want shit that you’re really not interested in giving them,” Weasel said. “We’ve seen what the good women are like.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the bitches.”

“I know, but they’re not the like the old ladies. Face it, Vengeance, that woman will have a cock balls deep inside her pussy in no time. For fuck sake, she’d be begging for the men to train her, banging her until she can’t even feel shit down there anymore.”

“What’s your point?” Vengeance asked.

“Just once wouldn’t you want a woman who you don’t know has been with thousands of other dicks before you? It’s not a big deal, I get it, and a woman is entitled to screw as many men as they want. But, some women like their men to be devoted to them. You know, not to be thinking about another woman they fucked a few years ago.”

Weasel kept on talking.

In the back of Vengeance’s mind, he had been thinking about it a lot lately. More than a lot. It was constantly on his mind. Watching the couples that had gotten together. It meant something to them, or at least, it had meaning to them.

He’d never known a woman who could settle down with him. He was a hard ass who liked living in his own way. He didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. The club was all that mattered, and for the past thirty-plus years, it had always been that way.

Now, however, shit was changing.

He was getting old. It had to be the main reason that life just seemed … dull. Screwing club pussy held no appeal.

“You got a woman or something?” he asked.

“Or something?” Weasel chuckled. “Dude, I don’t have shit but the club and the whores that are willing to suck my dick. I mean, who in their right mind would turn down a woman who would suck cock like she’s afraid it’ll disappear?” Weasel stood up and made his way to the door.

“Why the fuck did you come in here?” Vengeance asked.

“To screw with your head, brother. It’s what I love to do.” Weasel gave him a wink and then left.

Great.

Moving toward the window overlooking the clubhouse parking lot, Vengeance saw several club whores in different stages of undress. There was a bonfire off in the corner, and several of the guys were hanging around. There were the ones that liked to party but brought nothing in the way of fun. They simply turned up for the free booze and free pussy.

There was a time he would have lived for this shit.

When had life stopped being fun?

It was dark out by the bonfire, but the security lights were more than enough to light the grounds. The Soldiers of Wrath Clubhouse. His home, and his very life. He would give everything for his Prez. Even step in front of a bullet for him if he had to. Demon was one hell of a leader, fierce and loyal.

Vengeance’s birthday was tomorrow. He was turning the ripe old age of forty-five, and he was feeling every single one of those years.

What did he have to show for it?

Nothing.

His life had been partying, fucking, fighting, and riding the open road.

There was nothing left in his life now.

Get your head out of your fucking ass, and stop being a moaning bastard.

He turned to the door, needing to get some fresh air. He was tired of the smell of booze, stale cigarette smoke, and sex. It had its unique feel of depression about it. That’s what was wrong with him.

He was depressed. Another year older, and life was the same old shit.

Men around him were risking everything, loving life, relishing the time they spent with the women they loved and the kids they had helped create.

That was another thing. He didn’t have any kids.

Every bitch he slept with, he made sure to bag his dick up. He hadn’t wanted any consequences along the way. The only problem was now his life was completely empty, and he was having a lot of hard revelations right now.

Leaving the clubhouse was easy. Ignoring anyone who wanted to talk to him, he straddled his bike and headed right out of the clubhouse parking lot.

He didn’t care where he was going, only that all of his troubles fade away. The last thing he wanted to be thinking about was life, and what little he actually had of it. Life was not about having regrets. It was about living life to the maximum, and that was exactly what he’d done.

* * *

Constance Belling stared at the gravestone of her dead parents and her dead fiancé. They had been gone for six months now. Putting the roses on each gravestone, she stared at their names, and not for the first time wondered why the hell she had survived. She had been in the car with them when it had overturned and plunged into a lake.

Her father had a heart attack at the wheel; the shock of the accident causing his already fragile organ to fail. She had seen it happen but before any of them could react, the car had gone over the ledge and rolled down the rocky verge, smashing all the windows on the way down. There had been a piece of glass embedded in her eye, and she was now completely blind in that one because of it.

Her fiancé, Brando, had been able to save her. He’d disconnected her belt buckle and pushed her out of the broken back window. She had swum to the surface and collapsed on the edge of the water.

No one else had come up after her.

She had been found a couple of hours later, she had been told when she woke up. They had pulled her father’s car out of the water. Brando hadn’t been able to unhook his own belt. He had drowned, along with her mother.

God, a tragedy of the worst kind.

Horrible. Her engagement dinner turned into the worst night of her life.

What made it worse? She hadn’t cried, not once. Not for her father, mother, her fiancé, or even her eye.

Everything had changed, and yet, she couldn’t bring any tears.

She sat down on the path, staring at the gravestones. It was late at night, and she had a torch, which she used to light up the three people who meant everything to her.

“You’re a strange person, Constance, but I love you.”

Brando would always say that to her.

She couldn’t cry, and she had always struggled in so many situations. From the time she was a kid, she wasn’t like anyone else. They always wanted to fit in, and be like each other. She was happy to run around the school playground playing fairies. There was never a best friend for her, and she didn’t need one either.

Life just seemed so much more fun being alone.

There was no one to judge.

No disappointments.

No expectations.

Life was just what she made it, and that was fun.

Then Brando had come along. Sweet Brando. He was charming and nice. Her first and only crush, and even now she couldn’t be sure if it was so much as a crush, or just because he was the first guy who didn’t strike her as an asshole. Either way, it didn’t matter.

She touched her cheeks, expecting to find some tears, but once again, they were dry.

The sound of the main gate opening had her turning, pointing the flashlight at a dark figure.

“What the fuck? Get that shit out of my eyes.”

She moved the light and shone it on the headstone of her loved ones. “Sorry,” she said. “No one usually comes here late at night.”

“It’s probably a good thing.”

She stared at the headstone and knew it was time to leave. She had to go back home and get prepared for the rest of the weekend. Only she couldn’t bring herself to move.

She stood, the flashlight catching the man again. Constance saw his leather jacket with the logo. He was a biker, an MC member.

“Do you spend a lot of time alone in graveyards?” he asked, moving next to her and rubbing at his eyes.

“Yeah, I do. I have family here.” She pointed the light ahead of her.

“You don’t think to come during the day, when it’s safer?”

I’m standing with a complete stranger right now and it’s not awkward.

“I don’t come during the day.” She loved the darkness. When she came during the day, people watched her. She hated that. The stares. The way they were constantly trying to figure her out, as if they could. None of them had a clue about her. “I like being here at night.”

“It’s creepy.”

“Coming from the strange man who is here with me?” she asked. “That’s not creepy? Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be here. It’s quiet, peaceful even.”

A moment of silence passed.

“Who are they to you?” he asked.

Constance frowned and looked at him. She didn’t answer right away.

“I’m curious, and nosy as hell.”

She smiled. He smelled of oil and leather, and it was a strange scent, yet comforting, pleasant.

“They’re my family.” She pointed the flashlight to the headstones as she spoke. “Mom. Dad. Fiancé.”

“Damn.”

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.