Chapter 5 A Motorboating Poodle In A Sticky Situation
A Motorboating Poodle In A Sticky Situation
HORSE
Ipush open the front door of the Broken Kings clubhouse with my boot, cold air snapping at my heels.
I step inside, holding a damn white poodle in one hand like some kind of deranged, denim-clad elf.
I refuse to call the dog Baby. It makes me feel like I have tits instead of a dick.
So, I’ve coined the mutt, Buddy, after the character in that Elf movie.
It seems to fit since he’s a fluffy, Santa-suited menace.
He wiggles in my grip, the stupid red velvet coat glittering under the overhead lights.
Jesus, my men are never going to let me live this down.
I imagine they will tear me apart over it.
Do I care? Hell, no—not after the smile Gwen gave me when I left with Buddy.
Plus, she agreed to dinner tonight. That makes for a very good fucking day.
The only thing that will make it better is to end the night in her bed—preferably buried inside her while she moans my name like a Christmas prayer.
I stride into the main room, past the plywood bar, the mismatched chairs that look like we stole them from three different yard sales, four overstuffed black-leather couches, and the twin eighty-inch televisions.
One hangs by the bar for game nights. The other’s bolted above the couches for video games and, during the raunchier club parties, porn marathons.
None of it is really my scene. I tend not to even attend the parties unless other clubs are visiting, and I have to be here.
I don’t touch the club girls. I like my women to belong to me and me alone.
I’m not a sharer. My old man used to fuck around on my mom all the time.
I saw what it did to her, and it marked me.
I never wanted to see that pain on a woman’s face that I gave my dick to.
So, I never have. Hell, I didn’t even step out through the seven miserable years with my ex-old lady, Dee, not once.
It didn’t matter that we were poison together—marriage was marriage, and I wasn’t going to disrespect the woman I’d chosen.
After she and I divorced? Yeah, I’ll get laid if the need gets sharp enough, but never in town.
Never close to the club. Dee’s still got spies in the club’s old ladies—Rocky’s and Knife’s women in particular.
Those are some nosy-ass bitches. Dee and I are over, but for some fucking reason she thinks she still owns my dick.
Since I’ve never found a woman I want to claim, I’ve let it go.
Now that I’ve met Gwen—if things work out—I’ll have to put a stop to that.
In fact, I’m going to have to lay down the damn law with Rocky and Knife to wrangle their women.
I won’t have Gwen sucked into Dee’s bullshit.
But that’s a problem for later. Right now—
“What the fuck are you carrying, Prez?” Animal, my VP, calls out from the pool table.
And it begins.
I roll my eyes so hard I might sprain something. “You never seen a dog before, asshole?”
“That’s not a dog,” he mutters. “That’s … fuck, I don’t know what the hell that is.”
I ignore him and head to the bar. Mouth—yeah, that’s what we call the redhead club candy who is serving as bartender today.
She grins at me while stacking shot glasses.
She’s wearing a tight, stretched-to-hell white T-shirt that absolutely belongs to one of the brothers.
Her chest is … Jesus. Dolly Parton would salute respectfully.
Some poor surgeon had to work overtime on those things.
If Pie wasn’t bullshitting last week, he said she’s something like a double-J cup.
Why a woman would want to cart that shit around all the time, I have no idea.
I mean, I’m a man and I have a dick, so of course I like to watch them bounce.
If I fucked club girls, I’d even think about doing her just to see what they look like when she’s riding me.
I’d be kind of afraid I’d end up with two black eyes and a busted nose, but it might be worth it—at least once.
Still, if I had to pack them around all the damn time, I’d hate them.
Immediately, Mouth spots Buddy and lets out a squeal so annoying that it’s a thousand wonders and one large Christmas miracle that it didn’t crack the TV screens.
“Oh my God, Prez! Look at this little angel!” she screeches excitedly.
She snatches the dog from my hand faster than a thief grabs a wallet.
Buddy immediately disappears between her tits, like he fell into a marshmallow avalanche.
“Mouth,” I warn, “I think you’re smothering him.”
She snuggles him harder. “He loves it!” I’d like to argue, but even though I can barely see a tuft of white fluff poking out from the deadly cleavage canyon, it’s wagging, so I figure the bastard is a tit man like I am.
Animal saunters over, beer in hand. “Why in the hell did you go buy that damn thing?”
“I didn’t buy him,” I mutter. “And I like dogs.”
Rocky wanders over next, eyeing Buddy like he’s an alien life-form.
“Prez, man … that mutt can’t be defined as a dog. I don’t know what it is, but it ain’t a dog. Dogs are big and vicious.”
“Hey,” Animal says, pointing at Buddy’s head barely poking out, “to be fair, the little guy looks kind of vicious. He’s gnawing on Mouth’s shirt like he’s starving.”
Mouth giggles. “Oh, he’s probably just tasting Knife’s cum. I put this shirt on without washing off. It probably soaked through.”
I choke. Animal spits beer. Rocky starts laughing, but it turns into a wheeze that makes him sound like he’s dying.
Another club girl strolls over. We call her Pixie.
She’s sweet, but kind of quiet. She has bright blue hair, pretty green eyes, but sadly barely A-cup tits.
If it wasn’t for that, I may have thought about taking her as mine.
As long as she didn’t let the other men have her while she warmed my bed, it would have been fine.
Still, my attraction to her wasn’t worth the hassle of listening to Dee go nuts.
Pixie’s wearing the same barely-there white shirt.
Honestly, all of our club candy wears basically the same thing.
Pixie peers down at Mouth’s chest. “He probably is,” she agrees. “Knife has to do something to make his juice taste so sweet. It’s even better than those chocolate candy kisses.”
Mouth giggles. “You got that right.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Give me the dog. Last thing I need is my dog getting addicted to Knife’s jizz. His old lady, Rebbie, would probably kill the mutt.”
“Lord knows she’s mean enough to do it,” Animal agrees.
The men cackle as Mouth reluctantly hands Buddy back. “Rebbie’s never tried to hurt me or any of the other girls,” she murmurs.
“That’s because Knife convinced Rebbie he doesn’t fuck around on her,” Rocky chuckles, taking a swig of his beer.
I swear she loses all color in her face. Smart girl. Rebbie would not only murder Pixie and Mouth—she’d castrate Knife for sport.
Animal taps his beer against my shoulder. “Hey Prez, you going to get him a little doggie helmet? Maybe teach your dog to ride on the back of your bike?”
I smirk. “My dog’s better looking than some of the women you put on the back of yours.”
Rocky snorts. “Burn!” While another round of laughter erupts behind us.
“Fuck you all,” Animal grumbles, making us laugh harder.
I get up with Buddy in my arms. It’s time to get work handled. “Animal,” I huff, “you and Rocky get Knife, Pie, and Storm. I need a meeting with our officers.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes tops,” I order, giving him a look. He needs to know this is serious.
He salutes with his beer, and he and Rocky go to round up the others.
I grab the dog leash Gwen gave me—after I refused the pink blingy one she tried to hand over at first. This one’s not much better. Bright Grinch-green with Santa faces and HO-HO-HO printed all over it.
Christ.
I clip it onto Buddy’s ridiculous peppermint-striped collar and set him on the ground.
He prances like he owns the place. I’m actually starting to like him.
Maybe I could get him his own cut made and keep him on the days Gwen is working.
I grin as I imagine him walking around the clubhouse in his own personal cut.
I kind of dig it. Now, I just need to get Gwen on board.
As the two of us head toward my office, my brothers are staring and outright laughing all the way.
I mutter under my breath, “Gwen, sweetheart, you better be worth this shit.”
Buddy barks once—like he agrees. Yeah, I’m definitely starting to like him.