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Prologue
Snake – Age 22
I grunt as I take a crate of bottles up the steps out of the basement at our clubhouse in Huntersville, Houston. The place was built from the ground up by my great-great-grandfather. It's built like a warehouse on the outside, while the inside has a rustic feel and is fucking amazing. The common room has a bar, several tables, a pool table, and a dart board with black corner couches near the front door that faces the wide-screen T.V.
It's fucking awesome, and I'm one lucky fucker who got to grow up here.
The couches are where most brothers like to fuck the clubwhores—women who stay in rooms they have to the right down the long corridor near the front door. They clean, cook, and service the brothers. They get paid for household maintenance and chores, but the fucking, well, it's all on them. Some just like to fuck, while others want a patched brother and will do anything for one. A couple of brothers ended up with offspring because of their trappings. Yet, the brothers refused to ban them from the premises, loving the easy pussy.
Fucking idiots.
Shaking my head, I go through the large commercial-like kitchen that's a chef's dream—I fucking love it—with stainless steel everywhere and top-of-the-line equipment. I'm about to be patched over as President from my father, but cooking is my passion; I even went and did a year's culinary in France, all expenses paid.
Thank you, dad.
I walk into the common room; brothers are drinking, and some are even fucking despite old ladies being in the room as well as children; idiots, Momma will have their balls. The offices for the council brothers are to my right, just before the doors to the gardens, while their rooms are to my left, down a long corridor. All the brothers have rooms here, but the council has attached bathrooms downstairs, while the others have to share on the second floor, with a bathroom in between every two rooms. I share mine with one of my best friends, Jonny, who got chosen Smokey as his road name. The fucker smokes like a chimney. On my other side is my other best friend Jude, who got the road name Hairy because, well, he's one hairy mother fucker. His dad, Bullet, is our current VP, and Hairy will take over his father's role when I take over mine, while Smokey will become an enforcer. When my father's ready to hand me the gavel, the council brothers will be moving to the apartments on the top floor of the warehouse when the younger generation takes over. A few, like my dad and his V.P., have houses built a mile from the clubhouse on club property, but most stay here for parties and like to have that safety net.
My Momma is still nagging me to start building mine near theirs. She's hoping I'd settle down if I had one built, but that's not happening anytime soon.
The prospects—men who want to become brothers but have to go through a year of doing what we brothers tell them to—share rooms down the same side as the clubwhores. There are over 80 rooms in this place, so there's plenty of space for when a prospect is patched in.
Our nomads also have shared rooms for when they're in town.
I follow the wooden effect wall and head behind the dark oak bar, giving Suzy, one of our bartenders from Devil's Temptation, our strip club, a nod. We're having a banger tonight, so it's all hands on deck. Dad wouldn't say what we're celebrating, but it's big. Bigger than the one they threw when I returned home after a year away two years ago. Suzy smiles seductively at me, her brown eyes shining with lust, and I just roll my eyes at her. Don't get me wrong, she's hot in her tight red mini-dress that leaves nothing to the imagination, but I don't fuck the women we work with.
Don't shit where you eat and all that.
Fuck, I don't even touch the clubwhores, much to their dismay. There's only a handful of chicks I fuck, and she's not one of them.
She twirls her finger in her dark brown hair and smirks at me as I put the crate on the bar, ready to fill it up, her eyes staying on my tatted arms.
"You're looking good, Snake."
I roll my eyes again at her, trying to be seductive, her raspy voice coming out like she's smoked fifty cigarettes a day for years. I'm not stupid; I have muscles and know I look good despite having no hair. I suffered from thyroid cancer as a kid. I survived, but my hair didn't. I like being bold, much to my mother's dismay. My dark beard is my only hair. I do have a wicked snake tattoo—a cobra—on my neck that hurt like a bitch, so all's well. Suzy looks me up and down like I'm some piece of meat just for her as her eyes go to my cut. She doesn't want me for my looks—they help—but she wants me for my patch, the future President of the Devil's MC.
Not fucking happening.
She walks close to me, leaning up against the bar while pulling her tight dress further down to showcase her fake tits before batting her fake eyelashes. "How come your nickname was Snake then? I mean, I know Hairy because he's hairy but also fucking hot, but what about you? You're a mystery, baby; is it because you love them?"
Nickname? What the fuck?
I roll my eyes again and ignore her, stocking up the fridge. No, I don't like them, despite the tattoo on my neck that my friend Tats dared me to get last year when we were drunk. His work, too. Though our dads and my Momma were not too happy about it, his dad tried to ground him; the fuckers 23!
I shake my head. The reason for my road name is that when I was five, I got bit by a grass snake. My Momma scared out of her mind, dragged me to the E.R. while my dad told her to calm down, causing the brothers to laugh and decide that my road name would be Snake. That's also the day my parents found out I was sick. My blood brother Theodore, whose road name is Sniper because the idiot shot himself in the foot with a rifle I loaded for him when he turned eighteen, was thankfully only three at the time, so he didn't remember anything.
Not that I'd tell this bitch, though. My cancer is a rocky subject for my Momma. She hates to talk about it and thanks the Lord every day that I survived it. There is a chance it could come back, which is why she forces me to go to the doctor twice a year. Dad and I comply to keep her happy.
I clear my throat, "They are road names, Suzy; if a brother heard you calling them nicknames, we both know you'd be kicked to the curb. And stop trying to flirt with me; you know for a fact I won't fuck you."
Her face goes red before she growls, then stomps off to the other end of the bar toward Iron, Tats dad, and I have to bite back my smirk as Emily, Tats stepmom, glares at Suzy as she tries to touch her man.
"If I were you, Suzy, I'd step away before my old lady beats your ass, and I won't pull her back."
Suzy huffs, stepping back as Iron wraps his arm around his old lady with a smirk as she glares at Suzy while Tats, who's playing pool, booms, "NO ONE FUCKS WITH MY MOMMA," making everyone laugh as Suzy's face goes redder with embarrassment. Tats mom is a clubwhore. She tried to trap Iron, but it didn't work; instead, he took full parental responsibility after he'd found out she'd poked holes in the condoms. She didn't have a leg to stand on in court. She's still here, a clubwhore, but only because of Tats, who, let's face it, doesn't give a shit about Luna, aka Snatch; growing up watching her fuck brother after brother makes you detach from that shit. When Iron met Emily, he fell head over heels in love with her. She'd taken on the role of Momma to Tats when he was seven before bringing Scarlett into the world; she's 11 years younger than him and an absolute diamond with her dark black hair and blue eyes, completing their little family. Snatch hates it but doesn't have a say in it. Tats loves Emily as his Momma, and that is just the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. All it will take is one word from his son, and Iron will remove Snatch from the club grounds so she stays in her lane.
I smirked as Suzy pouted, then pretended to look busy before I continued putting the bottles away before Amber, my main squeeze since junior year, slid up against the bar. She's wearing a tiny silver dress, showing off everything. It barely covers her ass, which makes me roll my eyes. It's three in the afternoon, and the kids are about. She's just as bad as some of the brothers who are now getting reprimanded by my mother, the queen bee of the club, for letting the whores suck them off on the couches.
Momma's the main old lady—a woman who, in the eyes of the club, is married to my father. She's his everything. They're also married in the name of the law, but some brothers don't bother going down that route. Once you make your woman an old lady, she's treated like a queen. It's a title most women want because, for most, being an old lady is meant for life.
