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Can’t get enough of the Brothers of the Wild Hawks? Next is Viper and Naomi’s story, and a sneak peek is available here!
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Chapter 1
VIPER
The Wild Hawks Clubhouse smells like home. Whiskey, smoke, sex, and home. My daddy was a Hawk. One of my oldest memories is sitting in front of the framed picture of him that Mom had on the mantle, looking up at him sitting proudly on his rig, wearing his Wild Hawks cut.
He died in jail when I was little – weapons offenses – and Mom never really moved on, which was a pity because he moved on from her at their wedding reception with one of the bridesmaids.
When he died, he was still a Hawk, so I was a legacy prospect. It took me forever to earn my stripes. I had to prove to every-fucking-one that I was here because of my own merit, not because my daddy wore the patches.
I have finally arrived. At thirty-two, I’m the club secretary, an officer, higher than my daddy ever rose. It’s all I ever wanted, and you know when they say that you should be careful what you wish for? They are fucking right.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I’m good at it. There isn’t a single thing about being secretary I would change…except for the groupies.
I’m one of only two single officers of the club, and it’s a fucking chore sometimes. I can’t sit in the clubhouse for a quiet drink. One of them is always there, draping themselves over me. I was digging it in the beginning, but now I’m starting to want to avoid the clubhouse some nights. Sometimes a man wants to nurse a whiskey without a woman putting her hand on his cock. Is that too much to ask?
Tonight is no different. Fucking groupies everywhere. It’s like playing dodgeball but with groping hands. I finally make it to the bar, sliding onto a barstool and growling at Lila and Paige as they approach me. They beat a hasty retreat, and I grin at Trent, the hang around behind the bar.
He slides a large whiskey in front of me and nods. “Heads up.”
The kid is worth his weight in gold. The second his name is put forward to prospect, he’s got my vote. Sure enough, Joey White drops onto the barstool next to me.
Joey has been a groupie here for almost ten years. She’d only be a few years younger than me. About four years ago, she took the mantle of the queen bee of the groupies and has worn it proudly ever since.
Unlike a lot of the other groupies, Joey never looked twice at me before I made secretary. Everyone knows Joey only fucks officers. Now there are only two of us, so ever since my elevation, she’s been all over me like a bad rash.
She’s a good-looking woman. Tight body, dark hair, full, luscious lips, eyes that promise a fucking good time. It’s also an open secret that she has a hankering to be an old lady. I have no desire for an old lady or a commitment of any kind, so I’ve been avoiding her. It’s been annoying the fuck out of her.
I brace for her usual seduction techniques, but none are forthcoming. She raps her tattooed knuckles on the bar, her eyes on Trent.
“Vodka. Neat,” she snaps.
Trent’s eyebrows shoot up, but he duly serves her a glass. Glaring, Joey reaches over, snatches it up, and pounds it back. Slamming the empty glass down on the bar, she winces, gags, and turns her eyes back to Trent.
“Keep ‘em coming.”
This is different.
Leaning my elbow on the bar, I look her over, intrigued. I can’t believe I’m going to start a conversation with Joey White. Either hell just froze over, or there’s a first time for everything.
“What’s up?”
Joey pounds back another vodka, waving for Trent to keep pouring. Maybe he should leave the bottle. Joey’s eyes slide over to me, and she shrugs one of her shoulders.
“Burying my mama tomorrow,” she sighs. Nodding, I rap my knuckles on the bar. That fucking sucks. I’d be a mess if I were burying my mom. I can definitely cut her some slack tonight.
She shoots the third glass, turning back to me as Trent pours another. Her hand lands on my dick, stroking as I watch her.
“Cheer me up?” she simpers. My eyebrows shoot up. This is definitely a technique she hasn’t tried before.
I almost cave and give her a pity fuck, but one thing pulls me up short. Joey is a ten on the hotness scale and a corresponding hundred on the crazy scale. I don’t want to wake up chained naked to my bed and tortured until I make her my old lady. A pity fuck isn’t worth it.
Standing, I knock her hand away from my dick and pound back my whiskey. Looks like I’m in for an early night tonight.
“Sorry about your mama.”
