Chapter 1
KILLA
FIVE MONTHS LATER …
Jenna bounces on my cock, but her enhanced tits barely move, her face is caked in makeup, and I’m not a single second closer to coming than I was almost two hours ago. The sounds she makes are porn-worthy, and her efforts deserve another orgasm, but I’m not interested in providing one.
Her pussy is basically bone dry, rubbing my dick raw through the latex condom, and it sure as fuck doesn’t make this pleasurable. I eye the empty bottle of lube on the floor, contemplating grabbing another from my dresser.
Let’s face it, she ain’t doing it for me.
Not a damn one of these girls is doing it for me.
All I can think about is the pretty little blonde, all innocent looking, meek and mild. How I’d wrap my fingers around her slender neck and choke the living fuck out of her while I come deep inside her—without a condom, without the lube. Just with all my hate.
Punish her for being his sister. For being alive when I feel so lifeless inside.
A garbled sound comes from Jenna, and I loosen my hand, realizing I applied too much pressure to her throat. “What the fuck, Killa?” She knocks my hand away and climbs off my cock with a grumble reverberating from her chest.
I watch with amusement as she picks up her short-as-fuck skirt and little crop top that doesn’t cover her tits even the slightest. We’re both aware there’s no point in her wearing clothes, and yet, for some reason, she’s making a show of pulling them on while muttering bullshit and clucking her tongue.
“We’ve been at this for hours. And now you wanna choke me out. Ain’t gonna happen, Killa.” Her eyes widen, and I drop my head back on the pillow. It’s too damn early for bitching.
“You’re a club whore, darlin’.”
She spins on her bare feet, her arms crossed over her chest, and her lips twist into a pitiful pout.
Her makeup is smeared across her face, her hair mussed—the just-fucked look well and truly in place.
Still, my cock is soft, and the condom slides off with little assistance from me.
I tie it anyway and drop it in the trash can beside my bed.
“I don’t enjoy being choked out!”
I roll my eyes. Everyone knows she’s alright with being choked out. Just as long as it’s Venom who does it to her. Instead of pointing that out, I chuckle, grab the blunt from my dresser, and spark it up. Inhaling the club’s product, I relish the tension drifting away with each puff.
“You still here?” I tilt my head in the direction of the door.
She grimaces, and rather than wearing the pitiful expression that was there moments ago, her eyes narrow and her lips flatten as she straightens her shoulders. “Well, you almost choked me out”—she taps her foot on the hardwood floor—“and I need some cash for a dress I saw downtown.”
I snort; there’s no way in hell I’m giving this bitch a dime. We pay enough to have them around in the first place; if she can’t manage her money, that’s on her.
Club whores receive an allowance, board, and lodging, and in return, they cook, clean, and fuck.
All the perks of a live-in maid and sex doll rolled into one.
The perfect woman, if you ask me. Minus the nagging of a wife, it’s the closest thing any of us are going to get to owning a woman. Per-fucking-fect.
Apart from when they want more, of course, which they do. All of them.
They want the ol’ lady status. To be a biker’s woman, through and through. In our world, this is as good as being a wife. A lifetime commitment written in blood, burned in fire, and forged in the unity of the Unholy.
But no club whore is going to receive that status. Why the fuck would you want someone who all your brothers have shared and continue to?
Hell, I don’t even dare go down on a club whore. I can’t remember the last time I tasted pussy, and I’m cautious of always gloving up. The last thing I want is to be saddled with a kid.
“Go ask Venom for some cash; you bounce on his cock on the regular.”
She scoffs loudly and it ain’t pretty. Placing a hand on her waist, she cocks her hip. “Jealous?”
I blow out a deep puff of the weed I’m smoking. “Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”
“You’re a dick!” she screeches, and I close my eyes. Christ almighty. Here we go. I just wanted a quick fuck, now I’ve got something I can’t get rid of.
At least it’s not an STD, I guess.
“I hate you! I hate all of you jackasses!”
A loud thump sounds at the door. I’m about to respond, but it opens anyway, and Warrior pokes his head inside, and I’m grateful for my brother’s intrusion. “Thought you were murderin’ her.” He chuckles, mirth dancing in his eyes.
“Not yet,” I mutter.
“Going for dinner at Reggie’s, you comin’?” He lifts an eyebrow.
If it means getting out of here and not having to deal with Jenna and her bitch fit, then hell yes.
“Fuck yeah.” I throw the sheets back, jump out of bed, and pull my jeans on in record time.
“Get gone, woman,” I growl in Jenna’s direction, and Warrior opens the door wider for her.
His eyes travel over her ass as she leaves, and I smirk.
He’s bored with fucking Dixie, we all know it, but cutting her off will cause more shit than what it’s worth.
Even though all my brothers share the club whores, some of them never tire of the same ones, and unfortunately for him, Warrior’s thing with Dixie is going to end in trouble because he wants any easy pussy on tap, whereas she wants a regular guy with a cut to fuck.
“How’d it go?” He cocks his head at the door. This fucker knows everything there is to know about me.
“It didn’t.”
Jenna might have a mouth like a Hoover, but even that didn’t make me come. I must be broken or something.
“You come yet?” Warrior asks as I grab a fresh T-shirt from my walk-in closet.
“Nope.”
“You come with your hand, right?” He makes a jerking gesture, and I grin back at him.
“Absolutely.”
Perhaps I’m not broken after all.
I pull on my cut and push my feet into my boots.
“You’re not completely broke, brother.” Fucker is a mind reader too, it seems. He slaps me on the back as we head out of my room, and I elbow him in the stomach. Groaning, he makes a grand show of leaning over as if it hurt.
I smirk at his performance.
“Cock ain’t broke. Just need the right woman.” He shrugs as we head out of the clubhouse.
I snort, and my mind instantly flicks to the blonde at the trial. “Or the wrong one.”