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“You’re not anything like I was expecting,” the guy said, his voice whiny and grated on my nerves like fucking sandpaper. I tried to look over my shoulder and wished I hadn’t. The guy had so many facial piercings he looked like he’d been in a fight with a nail gun. And lost. “Thought there’d be more pink.” Like the bike wasn’t pink enough.
I wanted to ask what was going on, but couldn’t quite make my voice work. I shook my head, trying to clear it only to have the guy shove my face to the floor.
“Stay the fuck still, bitch.”
I took a deep breath, the panic inside me very real and hard to overcome. But I’d do it because I had to. I was Rocket’s woman. Not a pussy. Because the only pussy Rocket wanted was between my legs, not my ears. Or something. It was hard to think. But one thing was for sure, I was not a pussy. That thought finally helped me shake off some of the dizziness, though my head was beginning to throb.
“Of all the people I could have gotten kidnapped by, it had to be fuckin’ Pinhead.” In retrospect, that was probably the exact wrong thing to say, but, Goddamnit, the guy shoulda known better than to fuck with me. Even if he didn’t know me, no one rode a fucking pink Harley if they didn’t expect to be assaulted. The mere fact I was willing to risk it really should have told this guy how badass I was.
Except, right now, I didn’t feel at all that badass. And that comment? Yeah. It cost me.
Chapter Five
Rocket
“Falcon!” I called out across the main room. Everyone was gathered tonight for a party which was usual on Friday night. It meant club whores were everywhere, fucking anything that moved. I’d already had to threaten to ban more than one if she touched me again. I needed a buffer. “You seen Lemon?” More than one club whore backed off even farther than she’d been before I mentioned Lemon’s name. She’d made a grand impression on the club whores, and she hadn’t had to lift a finger. Of course, it could have been due to the fact that she’d had blood splattered all over her hands, face, arms, and T-shirt.
I wanted Lemon here because I loved showing her off. That stunning, brash, tough-as-nails woman was with me. I got the added benefit of Lemon’s mere presence keeping away any whores, and it reinforced to my men that Lemon was mine. There weren’t many who were strong enough to deal with a woman like Lemon, but there were a couple I knew I’d have to keep an eye on. They’d never disrespect me as long as I treated my old lady right, but if they thought she was unhappy with me? Yeah. They’d jump all over that shit. Then I’d have to kill someone, and I didn’t much want to have to kill any of my brothers.
“Not since early afternoon. She took the monstrosity and left.”
“Monstrosity? You mean your bike?”
“Ain’t my fuckin’ bike no more.” Falcon stuck his chin up. “Just ain’t had time to give it to its new owner.”
“Oh? Who the fuck’d you get to buy that thing?”
Falcon shrugged. “Just some chick. Freaky as shit. Made sense she wanted the fuckin’ bike. She was dressed from head to toe in the same shade of pink. It was like Lemon had it custom painted to match that bitch.” He took a pull of his beer like the mere memory was more than he could take before continuing. “And when I say head to toe in pink? I mean that literally. The fuckin’ bitch’s eyes were fuckin’ pink, Rocket! Who the fuck does that?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Where’s my old lady?”
“If she left you, Rocket, I’ll be happy to console you.” Chyna, one of the fuckin’ club whores, sauntered up to me and would have thrown her arms around my neck. Not only would it have given her leverage to pull herself up to kiss me, but it would have helped her retain her hold when I tried to shove her off me.
I took a step backward. “You fucking touch me, you die.” I was sick and tired of this horse shit.
“I only want to make you feel good, Rocket. That bitch ain’t nothin’ compared to you. Just a kid playin’ at bein’ an MC queen.”
I took back the steps I’d retreated plus another step toward the woman, intent on backhanding her. Had Falcon not been there to catch my arm, I have no doubt in my mind I’d have truly hit a woman in anger for the first time in my life. I might have felt bad about it afterward, but… OK. No. I wouldn’t feel bad about it. Even now, I was trying to shove Falcon off me so I could go after her skank ass.
“Rocket,” Falcon said as he kept a firm grip on my arm as he stepped between me and Chyna. “You can’t hit the bitch.”
“I’d like to know why the fuck not.” My gaze never left the bitch in question.
“Because -- you hit her, she rats us out. Gonna be questionable as it is. Any woman here you reject’s gonna take it as a personal affront. You knew that when you claimed Lemon.”
I heaved an exasperated huff. “First of all, she claimed me. I only say that because she’d hand me my ass if I tried to take that claim away from her. Thinks she’s special because she claimed her man instead of waitin’ for him to claim her. I will absolutely give that to her.” I turned my gaze back to Chyna with what I hoped was a death stare. “Second, any of ‘em even think about doin’ something to get even with me or Lemon and put this club in danger, woman be damned, I’ll work out my frustrations with my fists. So, no. I’m not gonna worried about insultin’ any of ‘em.” I was generally well-spoken, but when I got this angry and frustrated, my southern accent leapt to the fore.
“Fine. I still want you to step away from her. She got the message, and I’m sure she’ll pass it on to anyone not here.”
“She fuckin’ better.”
Chyna had gone white, and I knew I’d finally gotten my point across. She wouldn’t tell the other women anything, though. It was not what club whores did. While they would be loyal to the club at all costs, the other whores were their rivals. No matter what Falcon thought, I knew every woman in this compound well enough to trust they wouldn’t bring outsiders into club business. Even Chyna was only in it for the social status. She couldn’t give two shits about me. Any jealousy on her part toward Lemon was because Lemon was the president’s old lady. ‘Course, the fact Lemon was VP kinda trumped the old lady status. And that was something none of them would ever have. Even if I resigned as president, none of the guys would take her for his old lady. Not because she wasn’t attractive or wasn’t smart enough, or even because she was a club whore. It was because it would be hard taking an old lady when every brother in the club had fucked her at one time or other. Not because she didn’t deserve to have a good a time as everyone else, because it was hard not to think about men you see and talk to every day knowing what it was like to fuck your woman.
“Plush, take Chyna out,” Falcon said, his voice harder than I normally heard from the other man. “She can either get her shit and leave, or she can go back to the whore’s section. But she doesn’t need to be here right now.”
“I’s jus’ tryin’ ta have a good time.” Her words were slurring now. Apparently whatever her recreational drug of choice was was starting to kick in. I’d say it explained her behavior, but Chyna was one of the more aggressive whores. She didn’t need a drug to enhance her personality.
“Not now, Chyna,” Plush said, casting quick glances at both me and Falcon. Yeah. She got it. Plush would spread the word, and maybe they’d back off me. “We need to go.”
