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Knowing Brian is probably blithering around, trying to dry himself, keeps my head held high, though.
Don’t fuck with me, assholes.
Brian. My Father. Gary. Fucking Tag.
Oh, I was wrong. Today is bitch boss day, and I’m the fucking queen.
1
TAG
Present day
Fuck me, I’m getting old.
I rolled out of bed this morning and felt like an old man. I’m thirty-one, not a hundred.
Picking up my phone, I glance at the time. Fuckin’ early.
With a grunt, I stand as I run a hand through my hair and go take a piss. Least there’re no sweet butts in my bed this morning. Not that I’ve been indulging lately. It’s harder to get rid of them when they’re clinging on for dear life, but nobody in the club has turned my eye as of late.
What don’t chicks get about a quick fuck? Even if I were interested, that’s all it would be. I’m not capable of anything else.
I shake my head, aware that I’ve not been doing my exercise this week and it’s showing.
I’m a gym junkie, to say the least, but after my compound leg fracture that I suffered on the football field some years back, from time to time, it acts up. I’m sure it’s just to remind me of what I lost.
The damn injury forced me into retirement. I played for the Steelers for five years.
Five fuckin’ years.That’s all I got.
I had fifteen surgeries to stem an infection and it nearly cost me my leg. I was in a wheelchair for months. That alone almost did me in. Not knowing if I’d lose my leg, and if I kept it, if I’d ever walk again. It was a slow recovery.
I shake it off. No need to go down memory lane.
I also fell asleep at the clubhouse. I still have a room here, which is for one purpose and one purpose only, and that’s for fuckin’. Unfortunately, with all shit that’s been going on around the club recently, it’s left little time for the simple things in life like getting my dick wet.
I hit the shower because I need to iron out this damn leg and go to the gym. My training buddy and the club’s Enforcer, Harlem, hits the machines with me and spots me when we lift.
He’s a good friend, probably my best friend. Most of the guys in the club, aside from Harlem and our Prez, Cash, are about my age or younger, but I don’t really relate to any of them. Maybe Priest, the club’s Chaplain, and Hawk, the Road Captain, but now he’s got his balls in a vise with our accountant, Jas, he’s a goner too.
First Cash, then Jett, the club’s Secretary, Hawk, and then Harlem. Of all fuckin’ people.
I mean, I know he’s almost fifty, but still. I thought we were on the same page that women are for bustin’ a nut and not much else.
They’re dropping like flies.
I’ve had my fair share of women over the years, and I know how goddamn clingy they can be.
Then there’s Luna.
Goddamn Luna.
The thorn in my side that just won’t go away.
She left a few years back after we got closer than we should have. In fact, it was all so fuckin’ right, even when we knew it was wrong.
I close my eyes as I step into the warm water.
