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Chapter Four

Henley

I watch the stage where a performance is being enacted in front of the whole club. Two males take their female submissive from the front and back, using her for their own glory holes. Both guys are wearing their cuts, the Dirty Sinner MC logo embroidered proudly on the leather.

The scene is erotic, but it’s not doing anything for me.

“You havin’ another?” Mal asks from behind me at the bar. Glancing over my shoulder, I shake my head.

“Nah, I think one is enough for me.” She shrugs as she goes to the other end of the bar where more customers are waving her down. The back of her uniform jean ‘cut’ has the Drenched in Sin logo printed on the back of it, sporting the brand proudly. Her full hips sway to the music as she makes the drinks, and I wish I had felt something toward her. There’s nothing. Mal has been trying to make a move for a while, and I give her credit for trying to melt the ice beating in my chest. The only room I have in my body is being disciplined, a Dominant in the widest of forms. Yet, I can’t even do that right now because none of the submissives in the application pool are a good fit. We don’t mesh, one of the girls even started crying when I spanked her, and it wasn’t the good kind either. It was on her application that it was a “Y”, but turns out she has some sort of trauma from it.

My Prez, Hael, comes over to me with a large packet of paper in his hands. “You know what time it is,” he taunts as the thick stack slams into my chest. I automatically reach up to grab it and find another blank contract staring back at me. With a groan, I set it on the bar next to my drink.

“Already? I swear I just did this damn thing,” I grumble as I drop my head in my hands.

“Yeah, about six months ago. You know that this shit has to get updated every six months if you aren’t in a dynamic relationship.” I want to fucking throat-punch him. “Kaemon sent me to give this to you since he knew you would be down here.”

“I don’t know why I keep doing this shit. Each time I fill it out, I get bumped to the top of some stupid list where I get a submissive who is not a perfect match. I get that they want to hook me up with someone, but if it’s not there, then they need to fuck off.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I realize that I really am in a shitty mood.

Hael sits down next to me, waving Mal over before leaning his head in his hands too. “I can’t say that I blame ya. That’s why I haven’t even applied yet. If you’re not feeling it, let your application lapse. You can always reapply later on when you’re feeling better about it.” His words sink into me, and I debate whether he is right. Drenched in Sin paperwork is all the same every six months or so with the occasional add-on to the play and kink list. What’s the point of reapplying?

“We will see.” Another swig of beer and the groans of the guy on stage has me looking over my shoulder. None of the people in the bar catch my eye, and it just reiterates that I don’t want to re-up my contract when it lapses.

“Anyway, let’s go up to the office,” Hael insists as he takes his water to go. Eyeing him up suspiciously, I slide my half-drunk beer to the other side of the bar and nod my head. Mal winks in return. Every cell in my being wants to roll my eyes, but I don’t. She is a sweet girl–spicy when she wants to be according to a couple of the guys–but never a problem.

We walk in near silence to the office, the deep, seductive bass of the music getting quieter as we walk. Fishing out his keys, he peers over his shoulder at me before unlocking the door and swinging it open. A brand new bottle of scotch is sitting on the desktop, and he groans.

“Whoever keeps getting access to my office is going to get their dick chopped off and forced to swallow,” he grumbles under his breath as he hustles to the desk. Snatching the bottle, he squints to read the card.

“Did you not get your prescription redone?” I taunt as his glare goes from the bottle to me. I have to hold in further retorts as he flips me the bird before looking at it again. Two steps and I reach him. Ripping the scotch from his hands, I read. “Thank you for your consideration. Signed, Blood Reapers.” The card is bright red with little droplets coming off of it.

“That’s what I was coming in here to talk about. Shark, the president of Blood Reapers, called and asked for our assistance with some mission they have.” He leans against the desk, his arms and ankles crossing in a fairly relaxed stance. To put him off-kilter, I toss the expensive scotch back to him. He panics, reaching out to cradle the bottle in his arms.

“Just because I want to kill someone for violating my space doesn’t mean I want to waste good liquor.” A look of horror passes his face at me, and I can’t help my laughter. He pops the wax and opens the bottle, the harsh smokey scent wafts quickly as he pours two fingers into our glasses. Walking mine over, he plops down onto the sofa next to me and kicks back.

“So, what’s the mission?” I ask after taking a sip of the sharp liquid. The burn is solid and quick but it’s the perfect balance needed for me to stay grounded.

“Oh, so they apparently work with taking down trafficking rings, unlike us who are into weapons and sex,” he laughs as he lugs back the rest of his drink. “Anyway, they asked if we would be willing to assist them later on. Their people are down in our area and don’t want to impede, also they may need manpower. He wants a quick response about the needing people thing, and I already told him I don’t make decisions without hearing from my VP first.”

Nodding, I swirl the rich amber liquid. If I stare at it hard enough, it might answer all of my life questions. That, or it might convince me to drink away all of my problems then no decisions would need to be made.

“I don’t see why not. Do they have a time frame?”

“Negative,” he shakes his head, standing to grab the bottle. He tips it toward me, and I slide my glass to him. Filling it, I take it back and take another long sip while he gets comfortable again. “All he knows is that their people are working on getting the information. Oh, and they asked for the help of Ruel and his IT team, so I already approved that. I did tell them that any of our stuff comes first, just that he got lucky that we are in a Q-word time.”

“Makes sense,” I mutter before downing the rest of my drink. The tingle is still kind of there, but not so much anymore. “If they do end up needing it, we have them volunteer if they want to do it or not. It’s been a while since shit hit the fan, and I’m sure some of them are chomping at the bit to get into some sort of action.” Head tilting back, he laughs as if I made a joke. Honestly, I don’t get it, but he is laughing and that’s what counts.

The last of his drink goes down his throat, he slaps his hands on his knees and stands. “That’s pretty much all I needed. You looked miserable out there and looked like you could use a cheering-up. If putting yourself into a gunfight won’t do that, then I don’t know what will.”

Hael likes to remind me of the times when we were a lot younger. At the ripe age of thirty-five, I feel like I have lived a lengthy life. If I were to drop dead tomorrow, I would have no regrets about the way I have lived. Back in our early teens, we definitely liked to stir shit up. Pops used to get so mad at me when I would come home with a mangled motorcycle after the joy rides. He refused to buy me anything nice until I learned to respect the beauty. When I turned twenty-five, I gained a newfound appreciation when Pops and I went on our last ride. Now, there was no way to know it would be our last, but the photo still sits in my wallet of Pop and I back to back with our cuts on. I had just been officially patched in, I had never worked so hard for anything. Pop had a smile wider than mine. With his side profile, I could see the pride in his eyes for me.

When he died, I was beside myself. My mama passed when I was younger, so I didn’t have any blood siblings, but Pop made sure that I had brothers who were to die for. I met Hael during a rough period of his life too, neither of us asked questions, we just rallied together and wreaked havoc. Hael’s dad used to call us bullet catchers from how many times we got shot over the years. Now, I sport around ten bullet wound scars, and a few stab wounds here and there. After the tenth time, his dad put us on the sidelines until we got our shit together. It took a while, it took his dad threatening to take the president title away from him and the VP away from me, and we both realized it couldn’t continue.

“Shit, maybe you’re right,” I sigh, running my hands through my hair. I spot one of the bullet wounds on my forearm that has since been covered with ink and shake my head. “Nah, I can’t do that. Pop would roll in his grave if he knew the shit I did. No reason to have him coming back to haunt me.”

“Shit, my dad haunts my ass every day and he isn’t dead,” he laughs. With a smile, I excuse myself from the office and go back to the main area of the BDSM club. Another performance is going on, a crowd of individuals sitting with so many different dynamics at play. It’s interesting to see the difference between masters and slaves versus dominants and submissives. As a Dominant, I can see the power shift between the two different realms, but I learned from my own experiences that a slave isn’t what I need.

While it is great to have a female submit to my every need, and be there for me and I for her, it’s not the sort of codependency I crave. I need a female who can play the soft and demure type, but when the time arises, be able to put her opponent in a headlock or shoot him between the eyes. We both need to be independent in ourselves first, then build a life between us.

Maybe that’s why I’m still single and can’t get a fucking submissive. Being picky hasn’t gotten me very far, but if I lower the bar, I don’t want to be unhappy.

“Fuck.” The stupid contract is still sitting on the bar, right where I left it. Except, this time, there is a contract on top of mine.

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