Page 6 of Dirty Salvation

TheSoulsPresident got the read of her friend right away. Groupie wannabe, tits out to there, lips glossed within an inch of their life, her skirt riding up her ass, looking for her next fuck, her hungry eyes dancing around each face until she'd taken off with Tiny into one of the back rooms, leaving Blondie all alone.Oh, fuck.He could practically hear his boys licking their wolf chops scenting a lone sheep in their den.

Fresh meat meant only one thing for his brothers who were kicking back for the first time that month with a blowout party; She was gonna get her angelic wings bitten off if she wasn't careful.

And from the worst monster that was within his ranks.

His VP had caught the scent of a new game first, licking his lips and adjusting his jeans before approaching the girl. It had taken three seconds for fear to reach her eyes.

A personal record.

Hawk could sense fear a block away, bloodhound, it was what made his dick hard, or so he claimed. Some called Hawk a sociopath and would be on the money with that description.

Just what twisted sick shit his VP did beneath his sheets was his business, all Rider knew was his friend had a fierce loyalty, would cut a motherfucker soon as look at him to protect his club, and had done many times, he was cold on the inside as well as the out and liked his sex served the way he liked his drinks; straight-up, on the rocks and dark as fuck.

According to Hawk he’d never met a choked woman he didn’t like.

If his VP had wanted to sink his nastiness into the girl, then Rider didn't feel an ounce of guilt ramming the stop sign up for Hawk before his mind games took shape.

He was already drunk and swaying anyway. His brows twitched, his expression silently asking Rider if he was sure…he answered his friend in the same way;Not. For. Fucking. You.

Hawk could get his dick dipped wet anywhere he wanted, for some crazy reason the women flocked to his aloof attitude with breasts out and legs open.

The golden shy girl was not to played with by a freak-in-the-sheets and a demon-in-the-streets.

As it went, Rider eyed Hawk part the crowd with just his menacing presence and his staggered gait, bouncing from side to side like he heard the death march in his head and it was so his jam, people got out of his way fast until he stopped to select one of the panting girls with a crook of his finger, his head back, sniffing the air as though he could scent the sex oozing out of her, a nasty hunter in the dark.

Maybe he could, monsters had a sense of sex and fear.

Hawk growled for her not to touch him and to follow.

In 3..2..1 she would be bent over something and show time.

Rider pitied the poor girl who eventually fell for Hawk, she’d need an iron will and a lot of fucking chains.

A lot of sex happened in his club.

As unrepentant in their sinning, as theSoulswere for their outlaw lives.

The only rule Rider put in place was that if the women were not agreeable to your advances you stayed the fuck away.

He was trying to drag theSoulsout of the gutter without adding rape to their rap sheet. Any of his boys mistreated a woman they were fucking gone, no ifs buts or and's.

The fuck was wrong with a guy who didn't remember he came outta a woman and yet he wanted to plow his fist into her face or force his dick into her?

Fuck as many groupies as you wanted, but if they said no, then you take fucking no as her answer.

He had zero tolerance for anything else.

She wanted it, Prez.Fuck off, Piece of filth. She really meant yes, Prez. Bang. Gone.

Unlike most of the MC's in the area and neighboring cities Rider's boys got this rule, they enforced it, even morally questionable Lawless got a yes before he dove between any woman's thighs and that bastard flew his own freak flag.

The common room was a wide-open plan space after several walls were taken out in the renovation last year, leaving three brick walls and a row of six windows four-foot-high and three-foot-wide each that looked out onto the mountains. Sectional couches and overstuffed functional chairs, coffee tables, hardback chairs, an 82-inch tv up on the far wall and a sound system loaded with enough speaker power to deafen those in the state of Texas. Rugs were scattered on the floor in no particular formation, they were threadbare and scuffed from too much wear and tear from hundreds of boots walking over them daily,

And then there was the wrap around bar Rider had commissioned to be made specially from a carpenter friend he knew. The chrome top gleamed having had a new polish only earlier from one of the hangaround's.

The common room was lived in, usually a mess if one of the hangaround's or prospects hadn’t been through with a vacuum, but it felt like a home away home to Rider and his boys.

Off the common room was several corridors that led to storerooms, crash rooms to flop in, around twenty private rooms most of his brothers kept for fucking if the need struck, then a fork in the hallway down to the wide industrial kitchen, that had several long tables pushed together and custom made benches to fit everyone around when it was grub time, even further back out of sight was the clubs Church, the most sacred private room they held meetings, only those patched in got to step over the threshold.