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Shorty lifted a brow. “What the fuck does that matter?” He liked pussy, but his sexual preferences weren’t her business.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t, but it would explain why no one here with a pussy can get that monster you’re hiding behind your pants up and at attention.”
Shorty didn’t move, just stared at her as he puffed on the joint.
“We all know you haven’t fucked any of us. Makes us wonder if you like dick instead is all.” She shrugged but kept dancing for him.
He was getting tired of this fucking conversation. “Fuck off. Ever think I just can’t get hard for loose twat?”
She stopped dancing and huffed out, but he could have fucking laughed that she was offended. She was a club whore, a woman that had no issues with spreading her legs for any of the MC guys that crooked their finger.
That’s what all these women at the club did, and they eagerly begged for more with hopes that one day they’d be an old lady.
When she didn’t move to get the fuck back, he stood to his full six-foot-six height, not trying to intimidate her, but just trying to get the hell away. He didn’t get the name Shorty because he was petite.
“I said fuck off.” She still didn’t move, but now had her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. So, he was the one to fucking move away. He didn’t have time for this bullshit.
He walked past her and went to the bar. Shorty was running on a handful of hours of sleep over the last two days, was drunk, high, and had blue balls. He might not fuck these women, or get aroused by them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be balls deep in some warm, wet cunt.
He just had his own issues to work through, and getting involved with a woman, especially a club whore, was far down on his list of priorities.
He took a shot for the road and headed down the hallway to the room he was crashing in for the night. Once the door was shut behind him, he got undressed and headed into the bathroom, cranked on the shower, and stepped in before it warmed up.
Shorty braced a hand on the wall, closed his eyes, and breathed out. He thought about having a woman pinned down beneath him, seeing her wide eyes staring up at him as she didn’t know what in the fuck was going to happen.
She’d slap him, bite him, give him hell, and he’d relish all of it, fucking get hard because of it.
And then he felt his dick get hard as those visions played through his mind. He didn’t doubt he could find a willing woman at the club to slap and hit him, to act like she didn’t want it. But that wouldn’t get Shorty off.
He liked giving pain, but also liked receiving it. It’s what made his blood rush through his veins, what had also made him tick. He was fucked up, he knew that, but he’d accepted it, as well.
Grabbing his dick had a harsh groan leaving him. In his mind he envisioned the stinging slap across his face. He’d lean down and lick her tears away, hear her moan, because deep down she’d want him, want whatever he gave her.
Shorty wasn’t a rapist, would never force himself on a woman, but someone that enjoyed the kind of serious, hardcore play he liked was far and few in between. A woman might act like she enjoyed it, but deep down she wouldn’t.
He squeezed his cock as he stroked himself, pain moving through his dick and right up his spine. The pain felt good, made him harder. Shorty started jerking off like a madman, bringing his fist down to the base of his cock right before sliding it back up to the tip.
He added more pressure to his dick, the pain and pleasure mixing as one. He felt his orgasm rush forward. The pain had his balls drawing up tight and a hiss leaving him, but fuck, did it feel good.
He braced his forearms on the tile and breathed out, just letting the water beat down on his back.
Yeah, Shorty was one fucked up asshole.
21
Nando sat in the plastic chair in front of the window of the motel room he’d rented out for the night and stared at the Bleeding Mayhem clubhouse.
He was using a long-range scope, the smoke from the cigarette hanging from between his lips wafting around him.
The only security detail he saw were the two guys standing on the other side of the gate bullshitting with each other. These men were either careless and stupid, or thought they didn’t need the protection.
Maybe they didn’t. It wasn’t like they were a crime family, or part of an elaborate operation that needed around-the-clock security. All they had was some fucking gate that went around the perimeter of the clubhouse, as if that could keep someone out if they really wanted to get through.
He watched them for ten more minutes before putting down the scope and rifle and leaning back in the chair. Nando finished off his cigarette, rubbed the butt out on the bottom of his boot, and felt adrenaline course through his veins.
He was good at his job, good at tracking and hunting. It might not be the most law-abiding work, but Nando knew when it came to staying afloat, he had to do what was required of him.
And what was required of him to do to this fucking MC looked like it would be easy pickings.
