11. Not for you
NOT FOR YOU
CUTTER
I slept the entire day away, waking as the sun was setting and the noise in the club became too loud.
Taking a shower and stroking my cock to thoughts of Kitty had become a ritual over the last year. I took an extra-long shower tonight before getting dressed and necking half a bottle of whiskey. Now, I’m leaning in the doorway of the club bar, not an ounce of party spirit in me.
An atmosphere of power and strength emanates through the room as brothers flood the compound for the party.
Bare tits and asses bounce all over the place, strippers, club sluts, and normies all wanting to ride a big, bad biker before running home to their vanilla lives.
The bitches outnumber the brothers tonight.
And there, among the flesh and leather, is Kitty, singing her favorite song at the top of her lungs.
The music blasts around the room, reverberating off the walls and rolling across the floor. Clouds of smoke fog the air, getting everyone high on the mix of nicotine, blow, alcohol, and lust.
All I can focus on is her, and as much as she tries not to, her eyes drift to me too many times to count.
I did this to myself—to us. I don’t want to know what it’ll be like to live in a world where she’s not creeping into my bed at night. Is this what it feels like to have the sky falling?
My jaw clenches when a young brother joins her, singing and swaying as she dances, carefree and intoxicated.
Diamond shimmies through the crowd, holding a tray of bottles. Hands reach out, depleting her stock. “How’s the head?” she puffs out, handing me the last one.
My fingers brush over the scab. “Healing.”
“You need to claim that girl or let her go.”
“W-what?” I stammer like nun caught masturbating.
“You heard me.” Her pink lips thin. “I’ve seen it so many times with club girls, but Kitty isn’t like them—don’t make her one. I can’t stand watching that girl’s heart break as she waits for you to claim her.”
Without another word, she disappears into the crowd, taking my castrated balls with her.
A blanket of remorse settles over me. I’d never see Kitty as a club slut or treat her like one on purpose.
As if sensing my misery, she looks over, straining her mouth not to smile. I’m going to make her a ghost of a woman—pining after me, wasting her best years. And I’ll give in, take her to my bed, fill her heart with false hope.
“You having a good time? It’s been a tense couple days,” Pres says, coming up beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I’d been so focused on Kitty, I didn’t even notice him in the room.
He slurps back a pull of his beer and grins over the rim of the bottle before wiping his mouth and running a hand through his beard.
He goes through phases of growing a beard then hating how irritating it gets and shaving the whole thing off.
I’d say he’s about a week away before from his chin being as smooth as a baby’s ass.
“I need some sleep.” I shrug. Lies.
Barking a laugh, he says, “Sleep when you’re dead, son.”
Intrigued eyes shift in our direction, Pres garnering attention and respect from new and old brothers alike.
We’ve always had a good relationship. With Callan being my best friend, I spent more years in their home than my own growing up. He’s more than a president to me. My old man was a waste of oxygen, split on my mom when she refused to be his punching bag over two decades ago.
Pres clears his throat, and I listen intently when he speaks. “We’ve faced a lot of shit over the years and always overcame it. This business with the Carnell kid is no different.” Slapping my shoulder, he sweeps the room with his gaze. “Get some pussy and forget about this shit for a few hours.”
On instinct, my eyes cut to Kitty, and my heart pounds against my ribcage.
“She’s spirited like her mother,” he says, following my line of sight. He rarely spoke of Kitty and Callan’s mother, like saying her name in the club tainted her.
“I don’t want this life for her.” My stomach shifts, swilling the whiskey around. “The life we lead is unpredictable, chaotic, dangerous. If this week has taught us anything, it’s that.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I try not to show how affected I am by what he’s saying, but the whisky weakens the walls I erect when it comes to Kitty, and I’m pretty sure I’m frowning.
“Because I’m not blind. I see how she looks at you and vice versa.”
Fucking hell .
Does Callan see it too?
“But she’s not for you.” And there it is. My chest aches, the invisible blade twisting. He flexes his jaw, watching her. “She deserves stability—a man she knows is going to come home to her every night. Give her a family, holidays, the whole white picket fence bullshit.”
That’s not her. And it’s fucking hypocritical of him. Even if it’s true. She does deserve all of that, and I can’t give her any of it.
It’s one thing knowing you’re not good enough. Having it confirmed makes me sick to the marrow of my bones.
“Come on. It’s time to deal with Claire.”
What the fuck does that mean? Is he going to make me put her in the ground after all? I thought he would keep her sweet and in his bed.
We weave through the crowd, stopping so brothers can shake their president’s hand, shooting the shit until we finally make it into the hallway leading to his room, passing Callan’s. I haven’t seen him tonight.
“Do you think she’s a risk?” I ask.
“I think she has ideals of earning an ol’ lady title that she won’t ever get from me. Might turn her bitter. She’s drawn to power, and that can be dangerous.”
Fuck .
Darkness, where the shadows hide and survive on the blood, violence, and death of a biker’s life, has always been where I’ve felt most comfortable.
It’s a part of me, and I thrive in the chaos of it all.
But I don’t feel good about Claire. I’ve shared drinks and meals with the bitch, seen her love Pres with a desperate need to be claimed by him. Like Kitty with me. This feels dirty.
“I want to feel her out, see how she reacts to seeing you. You haven’t spent time together since that night.”
Unlocking his door, he pushes it open, and Claire looks up from the floor, her arms wrapped around a trash can, eyes wet and bloodshot. Her brow is soaked as she heaves, vomiting into the can.
“What the hell? Are you sick?” Pres grimaces, stepping back, not crossing the threshold.
I walk in and take a seat on the edge of the mattress. The walls feel like they’re crumbling in on me. Claire follows my path with her eyes, her face becoming paler. She knows Pres is testing her, keeping her locked away while he decides if a death sentence is coming for her.
“Diamond’s fucking chili,” she sputters. “The baby doesn’t like it.”
My ears must be mistaken. What baby? I look around the room like one’s going to spring out of the bed sheets.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Pres takes a deadly step inside, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. Cowering against the trash can, she startles when the door slams closed and leaps to her feet, swiping at her mouth and resting a hand over her stomach.
Brothers had knocked up club sluts many times in the past, acting recklessly with their cocks, but Pres got snipped, never wanting more than Callan and Kit. If he wasn’t going to end her before, he will now. She’s been fucking around on him.
I’d never have to worry about this problem.
I wore rubbers with everyone but Kit and shot blanks.
Found out when I was fifteen and had forged my age on a sign-up sheet to sell my sperm.
Wanted the money for a two-day rock festival.
I didn’t think much about it at the time or while growing up.
It didn’t bother me until I sank into Kit’s warm body and realized I’d never fill her belly with my kid.
There would never be a picket fence or little Kitty’s and Cutter’s running around.
Pres’s scathing glare narrows in on Claire. “You know it’s not mine. Whose dick have you been bouncing on?”
Her body quakes, lips trembling as she tries to speak. Only a squeak comes out. No brother would be foolish enough to fuck the pres’s favorite girl. It’s an unwritten rule we all respected.
Desperate blue eyes bleed into me. “Cutter.” She forms the word, and I don’t know if I imagine her saying it or if she actually said it. “It’s Cutter’s baby.”
Yeah, she said it.
Brushing my hands through my hair, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
“Is that true? Is that why you’ve been asking after her?”
My head buzzes, the questions trying to fight through the alcohol haze and craziness of this situation.
Claire needs me to claim this baby. It will probably be the only thing that stops the pres from putting a bullet in her brain.
Kitty will be so fucking mad—mad enough to finally move on from me. Diamond’s words echo around my head.
“I’ve seen it so many times with club girls, but Kitty isn’t like them—don’t make her one. I can’t stand watching that girl’s heart break waiting on you to claim her.”
“It was a one-time thing, I was drunk.” The words leave my mouth as air, turning into binding cement once they land in my pres’s ears.
His large hand wraps around my throat, squeezing slightly, his angry face baring down on me. “If it were anyone else…” He shoves away from me and paces the room.
“It was one time, Jericho.”
“Shut the fuck up and don’t come near me if you value your life.”
Sniffling, Claire cuts her eyes to me, asking without saying the words to keep up the lie.
“I don’t want to fucking look at either of you,” Pres growls, picking up a chair and tossing it at her feet.
“I’ll go home,” she offers, gently sobbing.
“No.” He jabs a finger at her. “You’ll stay with your baby daddy until I tell you you can leave.”
“Wait—in my room?” She can’t stay in my room. Kit’s scent is still on my bedsheets. I need it there.
“You got a problem with that, asshole?”
“No.” I get to my feet, taking Claire by the arm. “I’m sorry, Pres.”
When we enter the hall, my thoughts whirl and collide, an anxious twinge spreading across my chest.
“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” Claire clings to me like I’m a life raft and she’s on the Titanic.
“No, not now.”
“Oh god, you saved my life again,” she chokes out, wrapping her arm around my neck, her body quivering against me.
I saved her life and ruined my own.
But maybe I’ve given Kitty hers back.
She’s going to hate me for real now.