Dutch (Venom Riders MC #1)

Chapter 1

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— Indira —

The Venom Riders clubhouse was quieter than usual for a Thursday evening. Only a few bikes were parked out front, including Dutch’s custom Harley with the distinctive flame detail.

I’d texted Dutch, but he hadn’t responded. Probably in church with his brothers, handling club business. Maybe we could have a quiet dinner, just the two of us.

I pushed through the heavy wooden door, the familiar scent of leather and beer washing over me. The main room was empty except for the prospect wiping down tables behind the bar. He looked up and gave me a nervous nod.

“Hey, Miss. Dutch is, uh...” Jimmy’s face went red. “He’s in his office.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” I headed toward the back hallway where Dutch’s private office was. The door was closed, but I could hear voices. Low murmurs.

I raised my hand to knock.

A woman’s breathy moan filtered through the door, followed by Dutch’s familiar grunt of satisfaction. My hand froze in mid-air.

“God, you feel so good,” Dutch’s voice, rough with arousal. “Been thinking about this pussy all day.”

My stomach dropped to my feet. This couldn’t be happening.

Not Dutch. Not my Dutch, who texted me good morning and goodnight every single day, who called just to hear my voice in between those texts, who looked at me like I was the only woman in the world, who’d been talking about us taking a trip to the mountains next month.

The woman—whoever she was—let out a pornographic moan that echoed through the thin door. “Harder, Prez. Show me how a real man fucks.”

My vision blurred. I should leave. I should turn around and walk out of here with whatever dignity I had left.

Instead, I reached for the door handle.

It turned easily under my palm. The door swung open to reveal Dutch, jeans around his ankles, driving into a blonde woman I recognized as one of the club girls.

Candy or Sugar, or Crystal, or something equally ridiculous.

She was perched on the edge of his desk, her legs wrapped around his waist, her fake tits bouncing with each thrust.

They were so absorbed in their performance that it took a few seconds for them to notice me standing in the doorway.

Dutch saw me first. He froze mid-thrust, his steel gray eyes going wide. “Indira... fuck. You’re supposed to be—”

“In Atlanta until tomorrow,” I finished, my voice surprisingly steady. “I can see I’m interrupting something important.”

The blonde—Crystal, I remembered now—had the audacity to smirk at me. She made no move to cover herself. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the audience.

“Bad timing, sweetheart,” she purred, running her hands down his chest possessively. “You could have waited a few minutes until we’d finished.”

The casual cruelty of her words hit me like a slap. There was no guilt on her face, no shame, no “oh no, we got caught.” This wasn’t some heat-of-the-moment mistake.

Dutch finally pulled out of her. I caught a glimpse of the condom and felt a sick rush of relief that at least he’d been smart enough for that—and yanked up his jeans. His face showed annoyance, not remorse. “Indira, let me explain—”

“Explain what?” I stepped into the office, my legs somehow still functioning despite feeling like they were made of concrete. “Explain that while I was in Atlanta missing you, you were here fucking club whores on your desk? The same desk you’ve fucked me on multiple times.”

“She’s not a whore,” Dutch said, and the fact that this was his main concern made my chest burn with rage. “Crystal provides services for the club. It’s not personal.”

“Services.” The word tasted like acid in my mouth. “And what exactly do I provide, Dutch? What’s my service to the club?”

His jaw tightened. “That’s different. You’re my woman.”

“Am I?” I looked between him and Crystal, who was now lazily getting dressed like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Because it seems like she’s more your woman than I am.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Dutch said, buckling his belt. The dismissive tone in his voice was somehow worse than walking in on them. “This doesn’t mean anything. It’s just stress relief.”

“Stress relief.” I nodded slowly, feeling something cold and final settle in my chest. “Right. Of course.”

I turned to leave, but Dutch caught my arm. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find one of your brothers to fuck,” I said, my voice deadly calm. “For stress relief. Maybe Holden. He’s always been friendly.”

Dutch’s face went dark red, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Like hell you are.”

“Why not?” I tilted my head, enjoying the fury in his eyes. “If it’s okay for you to fuck other women, then it’s okay for me to fuck other men, right? It’s just stress relief, nothing personal.”

“No. Not happening.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re my woman.”

“Then act like I’m your woman instead of treating me like one of many.

” I stared him down for a long moment, then shrugged.

“Fine. If I can’t fuck one of your brothers, then I’m going home.

” I pulled free of his grip. “To my apartment. You know, the place you’ve never actually invited me to move out of because apparently I’m just another service provider. ”

“Indira, don’t be like this. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me.”

I stopped and turned back to face him. “I did? I thought I was dating a man who cared about me. I thought we were exclusive. Apparently, I was dating a man who thinks fucking other women is just part of his job description.”

Crystal chose that moment to saunter past us toward the door. “Don’t take it personally, honey,” she said with fake sweetness. “Prez has needs. Nothing wrong with knowing your place.”

The rage that had been building in my chest finally exploded.

“My place?” I stepped toward her, and she actually took a step back.

“Let me tell you something about my place. My place is anywhere I damn well choose it to be. And it’s definitely not here, watching my boyfriend screw a club girl because it’s apparently just an average Thursday to him. ”

“Indira,” Dutch’s voice held a warning. “Calm down.”

“Calm down?” I spun to face him. “You just told me that cheating on me is stress relief, and you want me to calm down?”

“I wasn’t cheating,” he said, and I actually laughed. A sharp, bitter sound that made him flinch. “This is just how things work. My father...”

“I don’t give a shit about your father,” I snapped. “I give a shit about you. Or I did. Past tense.”

I walked out of his office, through the main room where several club members had gathered, drawn by the raised voices. Their faces ranged from uncomfortable to amused. I kept my head high and my stride steady until I reached my car.

Dutch followed me out, his boots heavy on the gravel. “Indira, wait.”

I turned around, my hand on the car door handle. “What?”

“We’ll talk about this at home,” he said, like he was doing me some great favor. “After I’ve finished up here.”

I stared at him for a long moment, my mind racing through my options. Home. His house on the club grounds, not my apartment across town where I could lock the door and lick my wounds in private. He wanted me on his territory, where he had all the control.

I could refuse. Tell him I was going to my own place instead.

But then what? I’d have to get past the gate, and the prospect on gate duty was already watching us from his booth.

When we first started dating, I’d always had to wait outside while the prospect placed a call to Dutch to get his permission to let me in.

All that had changed when Dutch put me on the approved list—they’d waved me through without question, and I’d thought it meant something.

That I belonged. Now I realized one phone call or a wave from Dutch and those gates wouldn’t open for me. I’d be trapped here.

What about ramming the gate? I’d seen it in movies—desperate woman crashes through barriers to escape. But this wasn’t Hollywood, and my Honda Civic wasn’t exactly built for demolition work. I’d probably just end up with a destroyed car and a very pissed off motorcycle club.

No, the smart play was to go along with his plan. Let him think he was in control while I figured out my real exit strategy. I could pack my things, make it look like I was going along with whatever bullshit explanation he was planning to give me, and then leave on my own terms.

“Fine. We’ll talk at home.”

He nodded, satisfied that he’d handled the situation. “Good. I’ll be there soon.”

I got in my car and drove to his house without another word. But not to wait for him like some obedient little woman.

I had packing to do.