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Chapter 1
MERCH
I’m surrounded by mostly naked, tattooed flesh, and I'm not that interested for the first time in my life.
Dahlia catches my eye, flirting with Bullseye and Justice across the room. She’s a good, fun fuck, and unlike the rest of the groupies, has no intention of staying around the club for the rest of her life. But I’ve already fucked her twice in the last week. Breaking my own rules.
Ever since Buster made Lacey Clyde his old lady, I don’t touch the same groupie more than twice in three months. Can’t have them getting their hopes up of being elevated.
I was on the shitlist of the groupie “queen bees”, Joey, Shanna, and Nance for a while. They gatekeep the groupies to an extent – giving girls the nod when they can approach officers. But that limited my sex pool severely, so I went and fucked anyone and everyone anyway.
It was a fun existence. I was helping a brother out when Viper needed a break from Lila and Paige’s insatiable threesome needs, but they got pissy when I wouldn’t let them tie me up and drip hot wax all over me, so I’m not invited to that pussy party anymore.
Come to think of it, I don’t think Viper is either because they’ve been all over Aaron and Rooster lately – branching out to the road crew.
Brushing past the girls, I aim for the bar. Viper is there, booted foot resting on the base of his bar stool as he shoots the shit with Archer, the club secretary.
I leave a sea of pouting, plumped-up lips in my wake as I lean against the bar on the other side of Archer.
“Turning down pussy left and right, huh?” he smirks. I flip the old-timer off, but he laughs.
“How are the treatments going?” Viper asks. I look over with interest as Archer sighs, shaking his head. He holds out his right hand, palm down, and we all watch the slight tremor.
“Not great.”
Viper claps Archer on the shoulder, shooting back his whiskey.
“Sorry to hear that, man.”
Archer nods, smirking as Viper slides off his stool, striding across the room to chase Bullseye and Justice away from Dahlia. I drop onto the barstool he vacates, clapping Archer on the back as well.
“Fuck Parkinsons,” I say, accepting the glass of whiskey from Rattler, the hang around behind the bar.
“Fuck my life,” Archer drawls, still smirking. We clink our glasses as he sighs, his eyes drafting across the room to fix on Viper, who is now making out with Dahlia.
“I’m thinking of putting his name to Holton. What do you think?”
Turning my head to follow Archer’s gaze, I squint at Viper. He has his hand down Dahlia’s denim shorts now.
“Yeah, I think he’s ready for some more responsibilities.”
“You think he’d make a good secretary? He’s something of a party animal.”
“The man knows his way around a whiskey and a bedroom,” I agree with a smirk. “But he’s a fantastic road maintenance officer, runs that shit like a Navy ship.” I pause, tapping the bar with my fingernail. “You talk to Buster about it yet?”
Archer nods slowly, still eyeing Viper as he sips his drink.
“Buster’s been expecting it. He’s earmarked Rooster as his new road maintenance officer when Viper is eventually elevated.”
Buster’s astute like that. The man has a decent head on his shoulders for all his swagger and brawn. It’s probably why he’s head of the road crew at only thirty-three.
“The groupies are swarming,” Archer warns me, throwing a glance over his shoulder. I frown at the bar.
“They’re always swarming,” I grumble. “Comes with the territory of being the only club officer under forty who doesn’t have an old lady.”
“No wonder you like Viper for the job. He’s a lothario. He’d take some pussy heat off you.”
Laughing, I clink glasses with Archer again.
