Page 88

Powerhouse

We stand around, watching as our old cuts burn to ash. It’s cathartic in a strange way I never expected to experience in this lifetime, especially after being so loyal to the previous club. I hadn’t imagined I’d feel this was right in any way, but here I am, happy with my decision. We’re beside our new brothers of the Oath Keepers MC, as we’re no longer any part of the RBMC. Prez has talked about patching over for years, and it’s finally happened for all of us; our central Texas charter is not affiliated with RBMC in any way. All it took was shit hitting the fan with Plague and us calling in for backup against the cartel because of it.

Help never arrived, and Prez brought the vote to the table to leave for good. There was no fight over it—hell, not even a mere disagreement. We all knew Ripper had been wanting a break from the RBMC, and the Oath Keepers not only offered to watch our backs with our last run-in with death, but they’ve done so time and again in the past. If there’s any other club patch we want on our backs in Texas, it’s an OKMC patch. To be aligned with an MC that has earned the amount of respect they have, not only in Texas but in other states as well, has all of us standing a little bit taller in our new leather.

My shoulder tingles from blacking out my old club ink, only to be replaced with the deep black and red OKMC brand in one of the few available places on my flesh. Spin from the OG charter has been here tattooing us all damn day, one after another, and I suppose it’ll take a few days for us to all make the change with our flesh. The brother knows his line work, as I’ve grown picky over the years about who permanently marks my skin. I imagine a lot of my old ink will eventually be getting blacked out or covered up as I make time in my life for true art to cover my body versus the old shit I have tattooed everywhere.

Over the years of living in the area, I’ve discovered the OKMC not only carries the admiration of others, but their fear as well. Anyone with two eyes can see how heavy the MC’s presence affects the area. Like Viking and Ares, the OKMC prez’s have said, the bigger we are in Texas, the stronger we are together. The more of a chance we have against fighting the cartel and any other enemies who may stupidly make their way into our state.

The hardest pill to swallow for Ripper is the way we make our money. The Oath Keepers don’t deal in dope, only guns, and we make our money in powder—in selling the never-ending high to junkies and anyone else looking to score. I figure if they’re foolishly willing to make the decision to buy, who am I to stop them? I’m not their parents, and I’m damn sure not the little angel or devil on their shoulder weighing their choices for them. I’m just another biker out here on the road trying to live free. If selling dope or anything else makes that happen a little easier for me, then so be it. I’ve made most of my money fighting and betting, but my brothers can’t claim the same.

“We’ve come to terms with Ripper and Blow,” Ares, the president of the OG charter, rumbles, glancing at each of us. He was once like me in his club, knocking heads when needed; now he’s the highest-ranking president of the entire MC. “They claim you’re all on the same page.” His words leave no room for argument; either you’re in or you’re out, and if you’re not wearing the cut or the tattoo, you’re a biker no longer welcome in Texas. Having an Oath Keeper hunting you down is a scary fucking problem to have, and that’s coming from me, a big, stubborn fucker.

I nod, shifting a quick glance at Prez and VP before landing on Angel, making sure the moody fucker nods his agreement as well. I know everyone else will fall into line, but he’s the type to stir shit up just because he can. Like he did with Blow’s ol’ lady, for instance. Locked her up in a hotel, ready to bury her when he found out she could’ve been a cop, rather than talking through it with our VP. It was such a g-damn mess, and now they still have beef between each other.

“Nothing is sold to minors. No heroin. Period. We’ve worked too fuckin’ hard to get that shit outta our area to ever allow anyone wearing our motherfuckin’ colors to be slinging that shit, you feel me?” Ares rumbles, shooting a glower around our group. I’m rarely intimidated by anyone, but I wouldn’t want to fight him. I went toe to toe with our brother, Cain, back in the day, and I can attest they’re a club of mean motherfuckers.

Viking glares, “Cross us and I’ll chop your fucking head off, then watch Saint bathe in your blood.” He promises, and after hearing many of the crazy-ass stories about the club, I don’t doubt it for a moment.

My gaze flashes to Saint, the light-haired, fair-skinned man who has always appeared harmless. He wears a fucked-up, twisted grin, silently promising that his prez speaks the truth and he’ll enjoy every minute of getting bloody. His partner, Sinner, stands close to his side, smirking with the looming threat, and my gut tells me none of it’s a lie.

Cain from the OG charter speaks up, “And if you ever come across someone wearing an Iron Fist cut, you hit Twist up before putting a bullet in their head and starting a new war. Last we saw them, they were in Oklahoma.” I don’t miss the way Nightmare visibly pales at the mention of them being in Oklahoma. I wonder what the hell that’s all about. More club politics, I’m sure, and I’ll probably never know them since we aren’t in either of their charters. We’re close to both of their clubhouses, but still far enough away, about an hour, to keep our chapter and the location.

“At this rate, I should’ve brought a notepad to take notes. I knew this was going to be a patch-over party, but not a fucking school session,” I mumble but it’s loud enough that the others manage to overhear.

Ripper glares, not amused at my shit-talking when he’s around two other presidents he no doubt wants to remain on the good side of and maybe even impress if possible. He needs to chill, though; the OKMC members have stopped through our club a lot; they wouldn’t do that if they couldn’t stand being around Ripper, nor would they have allowed us to patch over. Obviously, we possess some redeeming qualities to them if they’re welcoming us with new leather.

Rather than making the tension worse, my words make the group of brothers chuckle. Spider, one of the nomads, calls out, “Alright, who’s getting some strippers so we can get this party started? It’s been too long since I’ve been laid, and I’ve been around you broody fuckers long enough.”

Torch, their Death Dealer, huffs, “For fuck’s sake, you know Flame will have my ass over this shit. She’s going to set your fucking crib on fire if she gets wind of you bringing strippers around me, fucker.”

Odin, their VP grins, “And I’m not helping you rebuild your pad, it’ll be your own dumbass fault. Cherry won’t bake you that bread you like; you know how jealous she gets with other chicks around me, especially naked bitches.”

Spider shakes his head, muttering, “You assholes just had to go out and find the craziest set of ol’ ladies to claim, didn’t you. Now the rest of us can’t have any fun without you pussies whining your women are going to castrate you in your sleep. Bethany will always terrify me with the way she’ll cold-cock a chick hitting on Nightmare with such ease. It’s not natural, having women so possessive like that.”

A few chuckle, no doubt the ones with the crazy ol’ ladies.

Blaze cuts in, taunting, “You’ve just got blue balls since you can’t fuck Torch’s daughter. Tell us the truth, Spidey, you’ve got it bad for sweet little Annabelle Teague.”

The space echoes with everyone ‘oh-ing and oh-shitting,’ dropping shocked comments but also at the same time not sounding that surprised with Blaze’s comment.

Torch adamantly promises, “The next motherfucker who speaks my daughter’s name, or better yet, even fucking thinks of her, will no longer have a cock swinging. I will burn that shriveled-up pathetic tiny excuse of a dick off and then kick your teeth in.” His threat makes several of us laugh.

I’m so glad I don’t have a daughter; there’s no way I could handle men, let alone one of my brothers wanting to be with her. Ripper glances at me, “House, you gonna go get the girls from the club? Think they’d want to come party tonight?”

Of course, they want to party. Those women love me, but what will Raven think if I show up asking for them all to come by the clubhouse? Will she even care? Probably not. I’m acting like a chick over this right now, worrying about what she’ll be thinking of me when she’ll most likely not want anything to do with me. We fucked for my birthday; at least I think it was because of my birthday but I could be wrong. Anyway, it’s been a week since then.

Since I saw her.

Not my fault. I promise I was not blowing her off in any way. I’ve never been that sort of guy before, and I damn sure wouldn’t be some type of way with her. I’ve been busy as the SAA of our club; I have responsibilities, especially with this patch over. Okay, and I’ve also sort of been a little bit of a chicken shit about what went down between us. Don’t get me wrong, I want to see her—more than anything—but what if she doesn’t want to see me after the way things went down? We fucked in the strip club, and the other girls have to know about it by now.

The memory hits me of her voodoo pussy sliding up and down my cock and instantly the thoughts have me transfixed all over again. Yeah, I need some more of that for sure. She’s probably missing my cock by now too.

“I’ll go,” I agree with a nod. I’m definitely not going to not go and possibly miss a chance at seeing Raven. Even if she doesn’t want to come with the other dancers, at least I may be able to catch a glimpse of her or something.

“Hey, dipshit, I need you to ride with me,” I mutter, roping in my prospect the moment I see him.

“You got it. Where are we headed?”

“You too,” I mutter to Plague’s prospect. He’s about to get patched in and has no idea, so we’ve been basically making him be stuck up our asses to see how much shit he’ll put up with before finally welcoming him into the fold. My motorcycle is extra shiny thanks to Plague pimping his prospect’s cleaning skills out to the rest of us.

We load up without another word, and then we’re ripping out of the lot, bikes loud enough to know we’re coming long before we arrive. It only takes a few minutes before we’re pulling into the lot, the sign above blinking Girls, Girls, Girls. It’s normally a bright red, but it’s still too light outside for it to do much advertising.

We’re greeted at the door, the ladies always treating me like their favorite person. The moment we pass through the entrance and are inside the dimly lit bar, I’m scanning the room. I haven’t seen her in a week, and I’m so motherfuckin’ thirsty to lay my eyes on her I may as well be in the middle of a desert.

“What’s up, Papi?” Maria interrupts my perusal. She, Vanessa, and Jennifer, all surround me, eager for whatever I’ve got to say. They probably think we’re all going to come in and throw some drinks back like we did for my birthday. They’re down for another wild night with plenty of tips; I have no doubt.

“Got a bunch of brothers chillin’ and letting loose at the clubhouse. You ladies down to party with us tonight?”

Maria rubs her hand over my chest, leaning in to squeeze me. She’s been more handsy lately, and while I typically pay it no mind when any of them touch me, I can’t let it continue. Not if my girl wants me to herself. Who knows, though, she may not give two shits if I keep myself for her or not. I can’t stand the thought of anyone touching her, and if she had an ounce of the same feeling where I’m concerned, I want her knowing she doesn’t have to think twice about where my loyalty lies.

I catch Maria’s hand, my brows raised, and step away from her. “We got a club full of brothers right now, so it’ll be a good time. Raven here?” I finally ask, and three matching wide smiles grace their faces.

“Yeah, Papi, she’s around here somewhere. You gonna ask her to come play with the brothers too?”

It takes everything inside me not to growl at the thought. I’m the only one messing with her; my club will have my back on this. If anyone has an issue with it, I’ll make damn sure every single person knows she’s off limits to them. “She can come too,” I say instead. “Where is Raven?” I flick my stare at the others, but they shrug in response. Leaving them behind, I find Roxy next. “You seen Raven?”

She frowns but nods, “Yeah, she was here. Said she was leaving early since it’s dead, though. Went out the back door right around the time Maria was kissing your cheek and wrapping her arms around you.”

“Fuck my life.”

“Mmhm. You can probably catch her; she walks home through the alley out the back door.”

You have got to be kidding me. She walks home after her shifts? That shit is way too dangerous, especially at the times she’s getting off work and being a tiny little thing. Poking my head out the back door, I find her a bit down the alley already. She’s booking it, her hips swinging like she’s full of sass and seduction. It’s pointless to yell at her and gain any bum’s attention in the vicinity of her presence when she can’t even hear me.

I’m going to prove a point to her, so she’ll stop this walking home bullshit. Especially with us patching over, shit around here could get even more dangerous than usual. If anyone catches wind she’s my girl, they’ll be looking for an easy way to get a chance at her.

I take off in a jog around the strip club, then make my way down the road a bit to where I know a break in the alley is. If I’m aware it’s here, then others certainly do as well. The liquor store, car wash, and a chicken wing shop are next to the strip club before a few older fourplexes and apartment buildings come into view. I’m assuming she lives in one of them, which only makes me want to pack all her shit up and move her in with me and the brothers.

I hate it how she’s so damn unaware of potential dangers; it makes me feel like I have to do this. I would never hurt her or scare her, but I have a feeling she’s the stubborn type of woman who needs me to prove a point so she’ll listen and learn to trust my warnings.

She strolls on by, oblivious to the outside world as she’s looking at the ground. I swoop in before she notices, grabbing her from behind. I spin us until she’s pushed up against the closest building, breathing hard because I shouldn’t enjoy having this much control over her sexy little body, yet I do. She goes limp in my hands, and my heart thrums in my chest, panic overtaking me as I think I somehow hurt her in the process or made her pass out.

G-damn. I’m such an idiot! I shouldn’t have done this. Someone should’ve been here to tell me this was a bad idea. I’m a fuckin’ dumb-dumb sometimes, I swear, and I’m gonna jack shit up before I ever get a fair shot with her at this rate.

“Raven?” I mutter, although she can’t hear me. I give her a little shake, feeling like a fucking gorilla with a tiny perfect princess in my clutches. My hands shift to her waist, trying to carefully turn her to face me as her body’s bent forward, all dead weight. “I swear I will never forgive myself if I somehow hurt you. It wasn’t the plan, I promise; I was just trying to prove a point at how dangerous it is out here for you alone. How easily you could be snatched. Fuck, my baby cakes, please be okay!”

I’m so busy talking to myself and trying not to hurt her even more that when I eventually get her body shifted, facing me, I’m stunned in utter shock as her arm lifts and a gun barrel is firmly pressed to the front of my forehead. My eyes flick up, noting her steady finger resting on the trigger. One wrong twitch and I’m taking a bullet to my brain, then instead of a fucking candy ass, I’ll be a headless dipshit.

Her irises meet mine, a fiery storm blazing in their depths as she glowers. “You thought you could sneak up on me and I would be too weak to react?” I hold my breath a few beats, remaining wide-eyed and silent until she moves her finger to rest on the side of the trigger and not directly on it, ready to blow my ass into the next county and not in the good sort of way.