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1
Storm
Just kill me now.
The first Friday of the month. Karaoke night. I’d rather be on my bike, heading south to my hideaway and wreaking-havoc on my liver with a bottle of Jack. Battling my demons alone sounded spectacular compared to the shit bleeding through the speakers in The Bullet.
I sure as fuck didn’t want to listen to songs about love and cheating. Country music was depressing shit. Gimme classic rock and guitar solos any day of the week.
Millions of other things were better than watching drunk folks singing and stumbling their way through twangy songs. Most of them were tone-deaf, even more couldn’t read the words on the monitor while jacked up, andallof them sucked.
Yeah, I was a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. Like most days. What else was new?
Tucked away at our corner table, my brothers and I observed the crowd. Naturally, I didn’t do menial shit like this. My road captain, Track, convinced me to come out and meet with Lynx. Turning down a request by my treasurer simply wasn’t done. Karaoke it was.
The reason for the outing? Money.
As president of Knight’s Legion MC, I agreed to come because, well, like I said, money. The Bullet was one of several legitimate businesses the club owned in Bastion Township. We took that shit seriously. Not everything conducted under the club was on the up and up, but most were, like The Bullet.
“Karaoke brings them in masses.” Lynx’s hazel eyes darted around the room. He didn’t see people; he saw dollar signs. All he ever thought about was ways to increase the club’s profits, which was why he was my treasure. Lynx was a ruthless and determined, licensed CPA. He made sure KLMC’s coffers overflowed with cash and the numbers checked out.
“I hate karaoke,” I grunted, tossing back a shot of whiskey and welcoming the smooth burn. Too bad the amber liquid didn’t deafen the noise threatening to make my ears bleed.
The locals loved the outdoorsy vibe in the log building. One could say the wooden floors, plank walls and stone hearth made it cozy. It wasn’t the sort of place I’d hang out—but whatever, the patrons liked it.
There was a stage where bands played and drunks sang karaoke in front of a small dance floor. The best part? The big ass bar where we made all our money. We loved the Minnesotans’ hard-earned cash.
The Bullet kept the Knight’s Legion in Bastion Township’s good graces. Along with our gun shop, auto body garage, tattoo parlor, and gym. The latter two were squeaky clean, like the bar. I was working on making the rest legit.
“Shit. Admit it. You wanna get your ass up there to belt out ‘Crazy Train.’” Track guffawed, banging his chest. “You love Ozzy.”
I glared at the fucker. We were friends well before we became prospects and patched in together. The Knight’s Legion sealed our bond, making us brothers forever.
“Piss off!” I mouthed, giving Track the bird.
Lynx tapped the table to get our attention. “Like it or not, karaoke brings in three times the green than any other evening. I propose we add another night or two… or three.” Lynx held my gaze—Mr. All Business. The Bullet was his baby. He managed the shit out of it with top-of-line bartenders and dependable employees who kept the customers happy.
I reclined in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, sweeping my gaze over the joint. On the stage, the old man singing was downright awful. The inebriated crowd cheered as he coughed his way through some song about a barbecue stain on a dude’s shirt. No fuckin’ clue what it was about.
It didn’t take long to consider Lynx’s proposal. I was confident he wouldn’t let me down. “Add another night. We’ll see how it goes.”
A victorious glint flashed in his eyes.
“Hey, Storm. Can I get you anything?” Nancy asked, her big eyes locked on me, nearly swallowing me whole. Damn, could she be any more obvious about what she wanted? Like my cock between her legs. Nancy wasn’t an awful-looking blonde with dark roots. I just wasn’t interested.
“Or do anything for you.” She licked her bottom lip as if the gesture would tempt me. Yup, just as I thought. Women didn’t get it. Some men couldn’t be seduced by offers of sex.
Or maybe it was only me.
I took what I wanted when I wanted it, and where I wanted it. Such was the life of a motorcycle club’s president. Women were eager to please me, and I usually let them.
But not tonight. “We’re good.”
She leaned in and whispered, “I’m off at eleven if you change your mind.”
“Noted.” I had no intention of taking her up on her offer. The pussy around here never did it for me. I had sampled some. But that was years ago. It all had felt the same, right down to the women looking alike. Blondes with dark roots, heavy eyeliner, and very little clothing to hide their assets. A dime a dozen. Okay, for a quick fuck but no substance, no variation.
Substance? Why the fuck did I care about substance? Good, intelligent women didn’t stick around. They wanted more than what the club life offered and couldn’t handle the danger. Of course, if my dad hadn’t screwed every club whore my mom might have stayed.
