Savage Daddies (Venom Vultures MC #4)

1. Zoe

Why do vibrators take so goddamn long to charge?

I slump back in my bed and twiddle my fingers, thinking of something else to do while my husband sleeps soundly across the hall. It’s a wide hall. Long enough to mute the buzzing sound of the vibrator. That’s when it actually decides to work.

Felix is so uninterested in fucking that he probably doesn’t know what a vibrator is.

His nonexistent sex drive is a good thing. I only slept with him once, and it was the night of our wedding almost four years ago, but that was just because sex on your wedding night is something you’re supposed to do.

It didn’t consummate much.

Just eternal hell for me, and a sweet business deal for him.

I sigh, then jump off my bed and peek through the window to watch Vegas from afar. MacDonald Highlands is a prestigious neighborhood that sits on good elevation. You can’t beat views of the Vegas skyline from here. It’s the only bonus that comes with living in this place.

Lights twinkle neon and the fake Eiffel Tower shoots high into the night. Even at midnight, the sky never properly turns black like it’s supposed to. New York is supposed to be the city that never sleeps, but Times Square after midnight goes “apocalypse quiet.” That’s the term Felix uses to describe it, whenever he’s over there vacationing. I rarely come with, and I’m grateful for that—being locked up in his state-of-the-art mansion is bad enough.

The Eiffel Tower changes to blue, white, and red. I watch, kind of forgetting where I am for a moment. Paris, like it is for every sixteen-year-old girl, was my dream. The thought of glimpsing the Eiffel Tower for the first time, the real one, while enjoying a handmade croissant, used to be what motivated me out of bed in the morning. It’s why I put pen to paper every lesson. Why I burned through two packs of Monster energy drinks so I could stay up all night cramming for finals.

Sand and overpriced Long Island iced teas rule Vegas, but over in France, you’ll find impressive architecture and local-vineyard wine on your doorstep, and that’s always interested me a thousand times more than some stupid desert oasis.

But sometimes fate has different plans for you, and before you know it, you’re in the cross fire of a business deal.

Father is a powerful casino owner, which means he’s always been more emotionally tied to money than to his own two daughters.

Then enter Felix Fernando—king of Nevada real estate. Four years ago, he approached Father and suggested a company merge. He said they’d both benefit, earn even more, and one day become ten-figure heroes together.

But Father declined.

At first.

Then, it became an ultimatum.

“Your daughter and I are to be married, and our companies will merge. Sign on the dotted line, or see your entire empire crash and burn.”

Two out of five charging lights on the vibrator beam blue.

I pick up the wand and stroke my fingers over it like it’s somehow gonna charge faster. The dildo is supposed to mimic an actual dick. I’d love to leave a review and rate it out of five, but it’s been so long since I experienced the real thing that I no longer know how it feels to receive good, orgasmic cock.

Climaxing these days feels artificial. Vibrators are good and achieve much more than fingers, but they’re designed for long-distance babes who need a hit when it’s been a while. They’re supposed to mimic the real thing. Not replace it entirely.

I abandon the vibrator, kick my feet up onto the bed, and reach for my phone. Instagram notifications never end, so I scroll through them for a while to see what my “fans” have to say.

Before Felix Fernando, I had two hundred followers. Now, as Felix’s wife with half a million followers, photos need to be curated. Retaken.

Apparently, according to Felix’s social media team, quick, unthoughtful images look cheap and tacky. Felix’s brand is expensive and respectful, so “nobody wants to see pictures of you in vintage, distressed shorts having fun.”

Clothes must be thrown out if they’ve been in the closet for more than six months, and they should never be worn more than once.

Nails must always be done, baby pink and almond-shaped.

Never curse.

Never talk too much.

Keep your mouth closed while chewing.

The list goes on.

The sliver of light under the door widens, and in walks Sammy. She stands in the doorway like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Barry the deadbeat platypus dangles from her hand. She always holds him by the beak.

“Mommy.”

“What’s up, sweetheart? Can’t sleep?”

She nods her tiny head.

I pat a space for her on the bed, and she climbs onto the mattress to slouch next to me. The rules apply to her too. No open-mouth chewing or chipped nails, even though she’s fucking three years old. Ridiculous, if you ask me.

Not like anybody ever does.

I’m the agreeable wife who stands looking pretty next to her rich husband.

And pretty girls don’t have opinions.

I curl a piece of red hair behind Sammy’s ear. I’m glad she inherited my hair color, not Felix’s washed-out brown shade. Her eyes glow blue, not green like mine, but not brown like Felix’s either.

She looks nothing like him.

There’s a celeb-conspiracy Youtuber from England with millions of subscribers, and he posted a video fifteen months ago calling me a cheater. “Sammy looks nothing like Felix,” he said, arguing very passionately while making intense eye contact with the computer screen. “And Zoe is a very beautiful girl. She could have anyone. No offense to the guy, but there’s more attractive blokes out there that probably tickle her fancy more.”

According to the comments from the video, I’m a gold digger, and only with Felix for his money.

But no amount of money could make me want to marry this psycho.

People on social media are creative.

And think of everything but the truth.

The night before Felix and I got engaged, there was a masquerade. Teagan, my friend from high school, used to host these extravagant parties for Halloween, Christmas, Easter, etcetera, so you can imagine the hype when the celebration was one of hers . It was her eighteenth, and she invited everyone. High schoolers. Mutual friends. Family friends.

Biker friends.

Turns out a couple of college girls were fucking middle-aged motorcyclists in their free time, and their whole entire posse turned up. Three of them ended up on my beer pong team and…well, they fucked me. Hard.

Felix might call himself Sammy’s father, and I might go along with it, but biologically, he’s not. I see more of biker number two’s eyes in Sammy every day, and I call him that because he went second. No names were shared.

Just our intense eye contact when he fucked me missionary-style on Teagan’s bed.

I remember it like it was yesterday, especially when I look into Sammy’s diamond-blue eyes. She has the same piercing look, her eyes the kind of startling blue that stops you in your tracks and makes you forget what you’re doing.

There’s no doubt about it.

I look over at Sammy. She sleeps beside me in the fetal position, tiny limbs curled up. I rise from the bed, gently scoop her up, and carry her back into her room.

1:00 AM reads the clock when I make it back to bed. Sammy’s been this way for a while now, her sleep disrupted. Sometimes it’s nightmares. Other times it’s because her heart is “beating too fast for me to relax.”

The pediatrician says she’s stressed.

A three-year-old shouldn’t be stressed.

But you know what they say about environment—it’s your biggest influence.

All five lights now charged, I unplug the vibrator and settle it between my legs.

Finally, time to escape.

Four Years Ago

“You’re terrible, Zoe,” laughs Tegan as I miss yet another beer pong cup.

Hand-eye coordination isn’t for me.

But you know what is? The three middle-aged hotties on my team.

They’re good, too. It’s why we’re in the lead.

“You’re too fucking drunk,” she says.

“I’m not drunk,” I counter.

Not yet.

But I’m definitely on the way.

Tonight, I’ve been knocking back the lime White Claws like it’s a race, and now I’m onto beer because the other team keep scoring cups.

I’ve been counting down the days until Friday since Monday. When your primary caregiver cares more about finances than your high school progression, you naturally turn to other sources to feel validated.

Booze validates.

So does a hookup.

And tonight I’m out to achieve both.

The three bikers behind me can give me a ride if they like.

Middle-aged men aren’t supposed to be hot, so I don’t know why I’m so tempted to remove my panties and let these guys fight it out for my pussy.

Maybe it’s the masks that make them attractive, but then again, Drew Tinseltane in the corner—the creepy-eyed basketball jock—still doesn’t look fuckable, even with half a face concealed.

One look at the motorcyclists and I’m ash. All three of them stare at me with an intensity I’ve never experienced before. High school boys look at you only for a second, and then flick their eyes somewhere else, because at the end of the day, like me, they’re insecure pubescents with undeveloped frontal cortexes.

These men stare at me like nothing in the world matters. It’s refreshing. Also a little anxiety-inducing. Normally it’s me driving the conversation, making the male species falter, not the other way around.

A lump gets stuck in my throat every time we speak.

Their age intimidates me.

Their confidence too.

The other team fires a ball into one of our cups.

“Drink up!”

So I do.

I could use Dutch courage.

I squash the cup. Turn back around to them. “What are your names?”

“It’s a masquerade, darling,” says one of them, finger pressed to his lips. “No telling.”

This guy is the tallest. Like, unnaturally tall. He’s closer to seven foot, and wears sunglasses on his head that keep his silver locks swept back. I develop a neck ache from looking up at his face, but it’s worth the pain.

He brushes his hand against mine, and tingles explode up and down my body.

“The ball, if you please, miss.”

I didn’t even realize I was holding one.

“It’s my turn.” He turns to the table, brown eyes pinched. Two strong, tattooed arms tense and get ready to shoot.

Bingo. Straight into the other team’s cup.

He regroups with the other two, and my eyes veer over to them.

Group sex has never piqued my interest before, but my body craves a foursome tonight. I imagine Godzilla bending me over and fucking me from behind, tattooed arms hooked under my stomach to bring me closer to his dick. If it’s anything like his height, I’m in for a treat.

Then there’s the one on his left. Blue-eyed beauty. His hair is more of an iron gray, and his eyes shine brighter than the neon lights flashing around us. Time stands still when our eyes lock. He’s wearing contacts. Has to be. There’s blue eyes, and then there’s blue eyes. The kind that entrance you.

Make you forget that it’s your turn to throw.

“Come on, Zoe.” A pair of hands rattle me back to reality.

The ball misses the other team’s cup again.

“They’re distracting you,” teases Teagan. “You can use my room if you want.”

“I’m not about to fuck somebody’s dad.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be silly. They’re not dads.” A pause. “Not yet, at least.”

“Fuck, no.”

She pulls me away from the team, amber eyes glistening. “Merideth—you know her? Apparently she has a thing with some of them.”

“Not—?”

“Not these guys, no. Some others in the group. Apparently they’re quite kinky. Have some kind of arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” I flash my eyes back to them for a second. Honestly, they seem like the type. Bikers that hunt in packs probably share more than each other’s Harleys.

Teagan smiles. “Why don’t you find out?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit…daring?”

“Totally.” Teagan grits her teeth to contain the excited squeal that wants to burst through. “Look at them. Best sex of your life, right there. Forget about literature with Mr. Reeves. Right there. Behind you. If there’s one thing more dangerous than trying to seduce your literature teacher, it’s this. Three bikers that look like they’re up to no good. Come on. Don’t disappoint yourself. You’ve been waiting for a dose of adrenaline for a while now, haven’t you?”

Damn, the girl’s got a point. Anything for a high. To feel excitement racing through my veins. It buckles my knees to see them standing there like that. They’re like knights, except their shining armor is black leather and too many tattoos.

Too many tattoos is good, though. It shows character. Life experience.

The full-body leather must be making them overheat. Maybe they need somebody to help take it off.

Even earthquakes couldn’t shake these guys. They stand so tall. So manly.

The one on the right leaves his pack to come talk to me.

I whip around.

No sight of Teagan.