Page 2 of Rider Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #6)

ASH

Tonight is the monthly party at the Venom Vultures clubhouse. As bar manager here, I really should be restraining myself, but the goal is to get absolutely shit-faced. It’s the bikers’ version of going on a wellness retreat. Drinking is how we take care of our mental health.

“This place is fucking off the charts tonight.”

“I know,” I say, taking a sip of beer. “You can thank Saint for that. He has a good ear.”

Every month, he develops a new mix. This one is a combination of Bon Jovi, Motorhead, Judas Priest and Guns N’ Roses. Music that really penetrates deep into the soul.

I get back on the job, pouring beer and hard rum. I have Ryder helping me tonight. He works at security, manning the door in case we encounter any surprise visitors. Tonight, everything seems to be quiet.

The Venom Vultures clubhouse is my pride and joy, home to all kinds of men. To Ryder, Saint and me, it’s a business, ever since Grizzly hired me and my brothers to take care of the club’s entertainment.

It wasn’t really the life I wanted for myself at first. My plan was to join the military.

I was in the process of joining at seventeen years old, signing paperwork and whatnot, when life did a three-sixty.

The world decided to take our parents from us.

It was ironic, because our mom and dad used to tell us that things always happen for a reason.

It was a bit of a mindfuck when we found out that they’d both died in the car accident—what was the reason for their death?

Now, I think that it was to bring the three of us closer. Saint used to be a fucking pain in my ass, playing music all night and singing. Ryder was just as much of an asshole. He used to be considered “popular” in his grade, so he took that label everywhere with him.

Looking back, I feel bad for my parents. They were breaking up fights all the time, physical or verbal. There was always something going on, so I wonder now if they watch us from the afterlife and smile when they see that we live in harmony now—most of the time.

“You know what I want?” Ryder says between taking orders.

“What?”

“I want a girl?—”

“You have many of those.”

“Let me finish.” He huffs a sigh. “I was going to say, I want a foreign girl. You know, like a European beauty with attitude. American girls are great, but after a while, everything starts to feel the same. The accents…the names…”

Ryder does have a point. The clubhouse whores here are beautiful, but they’re all copies of one another.

Being so far away from the city cuts you off from the rest of the world.

Aside from the fact that I wanted to fight for my country, joining the military was also about getting to go to foreign war zones.

I’ve always found it thrilling to switch things up and jump into the unknown.

I don’t expect a sex addict like Ryder to understand that.

He only wants a European girl because he’s played the field and done his laps.

That’s the downside of Ryder; he’s always searching for the next best thing.

When he doesn’t get his way, he gets physical.

It’s how he got the crooked nose—I punched him right in the face when I was fourteen years old.

He knows how to wind people up. Knows how to get under your skin, nagging until he gets his way, like most younger brothers.

If it wasn’t for his physical strength, I think he would do well in sales.

There’s a lull in the crowd, so I take the opportunity to clean things up. We’ve had a few employees working at the bar, some full patch members wanting to earn a bit more cash. The trouble is, I run a very tight ship. If things aren’t done my way, the employees have to go.

I like my life here. It’s simple. When I’m not working, I go for rides through the desert and feel the wind on my face. When I am working, I serve drinks, make sure things are under control, and go to bed with a woman if I’m feeling up to it.

I used to think about the whole marriage and kids setup, falling in love with a woman and taking her out for dinner, but those dreams ended with my parents’ lives.

The pain in my chest was unbearable. I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemy.

I don’t think I could go through that pain again and come out whole.

I pour beer into a glass for Saint and take it over to him in the DJ booth. He wears a pair of soundproof headphones, bopping to the beat. When he sees me, he lowers the headphones and thanks me.

“Some good selections tonight, bro.”

“Thanks.”

Ryder, Saint, and I are all two years apart in age.

Saint was thirteen when our parents died.

He didn’t take it well, but I think the music got him through it okay.

He’s the guy a lot of the clubhouse girls go to when they want to be held and showered with affection.

I think that has something to do with his brown doe eyes, and the charismatic way he presents himself.

It’s all an act that he does to get laid, but I’ll give it to him—it works.

“Typical,” Saint says, gesturing out into the crowd to Ryder.

“The only reason he works as security is so he can use it as a chat-up line on the girls.” Saint rolls his eyes, body moving in time to the beat.

“I was flirting with Felicity earlier tonight, and now he’s fucking gone and stole her from me. ”

We watch together as Ryder maneuvers through the crowd, holding her hand.

Although we do generally get along, being brothers does cause conflict when it comes to the ladies.

At the end of the day, there’s only so many clubhouse whores, only so many women to choose from.

There’ve been a few clashes in the past. It normally leads to one of us punching the other, and then Grizzly getting involved.

He understands that we’re brothers, but at the end of the day, he says that if the arguing starts to reflect badly on the club, getting us into trouble, he might have to start taking badges.

Which is what none of us want.

“The fucking cheek of him.” Saint has stopped moving now, body frozen.

“You know what he’s like. Just leave him to it.”

“You sound like fucking Mom, Ash.”

Sometimes, I have to assign myself as parent to get these two reckless youngsters in check.

“He needs to be manning the door. Molester Manual is still on the loose, don’t forget.”

Ah yes, Molester Manual. The sex trafficking crime lord who has reportedly been on the prowl around Vegas, sweeping up women and girls to throw them into his sex ring. There was some trouble with him six months back that we’ve been trying to stamp out, but everything has been quiet since then.

“The cops must have found the bastard.”

“You think?” Saint says.

“Yep. His name was getting too big. It must have made its way over to law enforcement.”

“I hope,” Saint says, eyes returning to Ryder. “But I still want Ryder back on that door. He’s testing my last nerve.”

I’m about to head back to the bar when the front door bursts open.

Saint looks up. “See. This is exactly the kind of thing I’m talking…” The words dissolve on his tongue.

I frown. It’s not like Saint to leave a sentence unfinished. Sometimes, he can be even mouthier than Ryder.

“Saint?” I prod him in the side. “Are you alright, bud?”

He looks tranced, jaw wide open as he stares at the person who has just entered. His hands fumble over the mixer, turning off the music. The room turns silent, chatter fading away.

I turn and see a bride.

Saint switches on a white spotlight, making the woman the center of the room.

“Saint?” I hiss in his ear. “Stop fucking around.”

“I want to see her better.”

I go to look at her but end up watching Ryder, instead.

The girl he’s been entertaining tonight disconnects their hands and walks off in a huff.

I laugh a little, watching as he stands still, in just as much of a trance as Saint.

I don’t even think Ryder knows the girl has walked away in a sulk.

He probably doesn’t even know she exits anymore, since the woman in the wedding dress seems to be the only person existing in Ryder’s world at the moment.

And when I finally take a good look at her, I can see why.

Oh my god. It looks like she’s been dragged through a hedge backward, but that doesn’t take away from her beauty.

Her dark hair falls around her face. It comes down to her shoulders, which are sun-kissed and bronzed like the rest of her body.

Unlike most of the clubhouse whores, she doesn’t have any tan lines from bikini straps, which makes me think that the bronzed glow is her natural skin color.

Her eyes are a rich brown, staring out into the room, wide. She looks like a deer in headlights, literally , with her slender frame and dark features.

Upon closer inspection, I notice that her dress is ripped. What happened? Did she run away from her own wedding?

Conversations start to emerge. There’s staggered laughter. I catch some of the bikers turning to one another and exchanging keen looks. I know those looks all too well. Ryder and Saint have that same look in their eye when they’re getting to know a woman.

And for some reason, it’s getting under my skin, making me want to do something drastic, like punch everybody down so I can get there first.

I turn to Ryder. Surprisingly, he doesn’t share the same look as the other patch members. A different kind of expression has settled on his face. He looks more mesmerized, speechless that the universe has granted him his wish.

She doesn’t look American, that’s for sure.

I turn back to the woman, studying her face some more. She looks concerned, eyes even wider than before as she flicks them around the main room, probably trying to figure out what this place is.

Her lips are dry. How long has she been without water? Her cheeks have a powdering of black on them. Car fumes? Smoke? Some parts of the dress are stained black too.

She’s wearing a silver necklace. I make the mistake of following the chain down to her breasts, so now I’m fixated on her chest. The dusting of smoke has gotten to her cleavage too.

For some reason, that turns me on, balls tightening as all of the blood drains south.

I have never gotten fully hard from just looking at a woman before; this is the first time.

I don’t even realize that the music has started back up again, that the spotlight has been replaced by other, flashing neon lights, until Saint elbows me in the side. “You’re supposed to be at the bar, bro. The money isn’t gonna make itself.”

I almost walk over there, but I can’t even fucking move. I have an additional leg.

And I’m about to make it worse by going over to talk to her.