Chapter Six
Kolter
Her wet pussy bounces up and down on my cock, her moans and whimpers filling the room as her nails dig into my shoulders.
“Fuck! Blade!” she moans, as grating as nails on a goddamn chalkboard.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I hiss as I grip her hips a little tighter and fuck her even harder.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s bleeding by the end of this.
That’s her thing, though. Out of all the cut sluts who wander around the club, she’s the one who likes it to hurt the most. She likes it rough, hard and she doesn’t give a fuck what you do to her.
As long as she’s getting attention, Trinity is in heaven.
Cut sluts are girls with zero morals or self-preservation skills who think they want a taste of this life.
They hang with MC gangs and get passed around like a joint at a concert, all because they hope to become someone’s ole lady.
It happens—sometimes. I don’t get it, though; I don’t get the idea of settling with anybody in this life.
Best-case scenario, you live a few good years before they watch you get gunned down or put away for life.
Worst-case scenario, you watch them get gunned down before you follow right behind them.
Women are weaknesses, especially in our world.
It’s better to keep them disposable, like Trinity here.
She does her best to stay quiet like I tell her, but she can’t help herself, whining and groaning as her pussy spasms against my cock.
I’m nowhere close to done; in fact, I’ve barely been able to stay hard, which is a first for me.
Every time I look at her box-dyed red hair and brown eyes, it sours my stomach.
I lift her off my cock and push her away. She pouts for a moment before dropping to her knees and sucking my cock down her throat. It feels good for a moment, then something else stirs inside me.
Even though I couldn’t see her through that glory hole, I knew what she looked like.
Sitting at the ready like a good girl, those full, pink lips parted for me; that soft tongue wrapping round me like I was her favorite goddamn treat.
I like to think she knew it was me the whole time.
Mainly because if I think about her willingly sucking anyone else like that, it makes me want to spill some fucking blood.
Fisting Trinity’s hair into my fist, I force her further down my cock, causing her to gag in a way that almost reminds me of Naomi. I do it again and again, relishing in the sound as I close my eyes and let my head rest against the back of the booth.
I didn’t know what I was doing when I followed her into the glory-hole hall.
Half of me was ready to rip her out by her goddamn hair; the other part was intrigued—what was a na?ve little thing like her doing in a place like that?
Then some rich prick stepped into the door across from hers.
There was no way in hell I was letting him get near her, so I hauled him out of there and threw him to the ground before locking the door.
He bitched and whined for help, but the attendant saw me walking in there, and he wasn’t about to kick out the club’s goddamn owner.
It’s easy enough to imagine it’s Naomi in front of me, and for the first time tonight, my cock actually throbs. The mouth before me tightens around it, bobbing up and down as my hips mimic her motions.
“Fuck, just like that,” I moan.
Eager to please me, she continues quickly, her soft moans of pleasure vibrating along my cock.
And just like that, it’s not this desperate cut slut before me—it’s her.
Long blonde hair as smooth as silk, her satin hands gripping my cock, twisting and stroking every drop of cum out of me.
It’s too good, too perfect, and I don’t even try to hold myself back.
“Peaches,” I groan through clenched teeth as my load shoots down her throat.
She gags and chokes for a moment, but I force her head into place as I continue to throb my release into her mouth.
When I’m done with her, I shove her away roughly, and she stumbles for a moment before wiping her mouth.
Then a sultry smile crosses her face and she leans into me. “Peaches? Is that my new nickname or something?”
I raise a brow as I pull out a cigarette and light it up. A moment later, I blow smoke in her face. “Now why would I give you a new nickname when Fire Crotch fits you so well,” I say, gesturing down to her box-dyed pubes.
She frowns. “I thought you said you liked it.”
“I just wanted to see if you would do it, and you did,” I scoff.
Her expression turns outraged, but before she can reply, Crow whistles to her from across the room.
“Fire Crotch, bring that pussy over here.”
She looks to me like I might save her.
Fat fucking chance.
I turn away, and she skulks begrudgingly over to our oldest and by far heaviest member before climbing into his lap.
She knows the deal—she can turn down anyone at any time.
No one is gonna force her to do shit. She also knows that if she turns down too many people, she won’t be allowed to hang around anymore. Not unless someone lays claim to her.
I look around the semi-empty bar and see not a single other eye is set on her, so that seems unlikely.
Taking another drag of my cigarette, I pull out my phone and read the last text I got from Nick.
Nick: I’m glad you’re gonna come by. We all miss you, man.
I don’t know what possessed me to reach out to Nick, let alone agree to come to dinner. It’s been at least six months since I’ve seen Nick and years since I’ve come home for… anything. And there’s a good reason for that too.
After everything that went down, I knew what it would mean to keep a close relationship with them.
What it would put them at risk for. Back then, I cared too much to do that to them.
Now… shit, even I can’t convince myself I don’t care.
They’re the best family I ever had. Unlike the piece of shit that’s just strolled in here.
My dad struts through the bar like he’s a king and this shithole of a bar is his goddamn castle.
He looks around his “soldiers” getting drunk or getting some pussy and nods with approval.
This lifestyle is unlike anything else, and in his words, the way to keep a man loyal is to keep him content—fill the bar with booze and floozies and they’ll never dream of a better place.
I nod at him. “Snakes.”
Everyone is given a nickname when they join the club.
Some guys still go by their own name, but my dad didn’t think Matthew would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, so Snakes it was.
His VP Bones is walking beside him and juts out his chin to me in greeting.
They’re both in their mid-fifties, and while my dad had me just before my mom passed, Bones never settled down; never had an ole lady or a kid.
Their lives are one hundred percent focused around the club now.
Being a kid that grew up in and around the club, I gotta say I think it’s the way to go.
“Church in ten,” my dad says as he walks past me, heading to the back of the house where we host our “church.”
No, we don’t gather round and talk about the gospel.
Church is just what we call our meetings, our time to come together, open our goddamn mouths wide and listen to whatever horseshit he wants to shovel down our throats.
Gee, do I sound bitter? It’s because I fucking am.
I hate him. I hate how he runs this club; I hate how he treats its members.
He won’t be in charge forever, though. One day, all this will be mine, and I’ll be implementing some serious fucking changes.
I push up from the booth and start following them, still puffing on my cigarette.
Bones and my dad are already having a hushed conversation at one end of the table, so I take a seat at the other end, then reach into my pocket and pull out my knife.
I flick it open and closed repeatedly, a motion that’s become so second nature to me, it’s as easy as breathing.
Though guns are obviously a cleaner and more effective approach, I’ve always preferred using them last. Maybe because I know just how goddamn much they hurt.