2. Hawg
HAWG
Iwait for the crew who are still packing up their shit for a night over at the Harlots Club.
A group the Royal Bastards are obliged to protect because of our connection with Duchess, Stephanie Winters the Royal Harlots of New York, the National Chapter, sister to Jameson, founder of the Royal Bastards.
And with the recent decision of our group to patch over to the Royal Bastards, Phoenix Chapter our loyalty has expanded to not only our small little crew but to our brothers all over the country.
We ride with the Royal Bastard colors and share their mission.
A fucking privilege not everyone gets offered and we don’t take that shit lightly.
Times are changing in this area though. When the mafia bosses want the roads between Phoenix and Tucson cleared of the fucking Desert Riders and Scorpions who’ve been trying to hedge in with a vengeance and are scooping up the smaller clubs like ours, it makes a whole lot of fucking sense.
All of us would far rather be taking bank from the Larussios in Vegas as we make runs than any other family in the southwest.
The Royal Bastards in Tucson and the Rivals, a club I started years ago have always been great allies, now it’s just official. They’ve taken us under their wing, and we have a new name, colors, and the mission is so similar that to us, it’s just like expanding the family.
In times like these when enemies are coming out of the woodwork, fighting for jobs running product between here and sometimes down to the coast, we have to all protect what’s ours.
We all see it that way, and thankfully the mafia family in Vegas who pays us bucks to make those trips sees it the same fucking way.
The Larussio crime family, we’ll work for them any fucking day of the week. They don’t abide to trafficking women and work hard to protect them and send them over our way for protection, which the Harlots are excellent at doing.
“You guys ready to roll?” I yell into the clubhouse.
“We’re coming, Prez,” one of our recruits shouts as he laces up his boots.
I turn so they don’t see me grin. Fucking new recruits, pain in the ass but a necessary evil as we look to expand.
I head to my bike, a black and silver Harley-Davidson Road Glide, letting them follow as I settle into the worn black leather saddle and buckle my helmet.
I wait for a few minutes before peeling out on my pride and joy.
I slow at the intersection almost a mile down the road, feeling the engine rumble beneath me, the deep violent idle turning heads and rattling the windows of the small gas station on my right.
The owner of the place gives me a nod from the window.
Respect…
That’s what our club commands as does the roaring engine under my seat.
I ease back into traffic as the light turns green with my crew behind me.
The drive isn’t long, and the boys know this route like the back of their hand.
Many of them know the Harlots let the dancing girls use their club every Friday and Saturday night.
And they head over there and frequent that club on the weekends.
Dancing girls… who the fuck can resist the sweet things who shake their asses on the stage on the weekend. The guys who aren’t married, or who aren’t hooked up with a bunny for the night head over to see them dance and maybe hook up if it works out.
The Harlots don’t run those girls though. They’re not pimping them out or anything of the sort. The girls dance because they’re good at it and know they can make bank just from the tips alone. The Harlots, they only take an overhead fee. That’s something I sure as fuck respect.
And the boys, they’ll support that effort any night of the week.
I may not go often anymore—being prez of the club takes a toll and keeps me busy.
And watching out for the members of my crew, and our livelihood.
They go out and I usually gate keep. But tonight, it’s a fucking wedding celebration for a good friend of mine.
Someone who’s been running as a lone wolf for a long fucking time.
Now that I’m president and we’ve patched into the Royal Bastards, he’s joined our crew and isn’t alone anymore. I never thought I’d see the day that Carver would join a crew. I guess that’s what love does to you.
By the time dusk starts to settle in over the city and lights are beginning to turn on one by one we turn the corner and head to the back alley where we’ll park our bikes for the night. Special privilege for the crew that has the Harlots’ backs and protects them from the threats in our world.
I smile. Whether they fucking like it or not and most days they certainly do not. Especially the dark-haired beauty with bright green eyes. The ice queen who has no time of day for any man who makes a move on her.
The Royal Harlots, Phoenix Chapter. I’ve never seen a more badass set of female bikers and they take their mission as serious as me and my brothers. But, the Scorpions and the Desert Riders, they have scores to settle with these babes. Big scores that they aim to settle.
And we’re not going to let them close. We owe it to Jameson and Duchess to ensure we protect these ladies from anyone wanting to do them harm in the southwest.
Pearl may act like she thinks what happened is over, but deep in my gut I know better, and she does too.
Those bastards are just lying in wait for her to make a mistake or an opportunity to snatch her up.
The Desert Riders got bested by a female who not only helped rescue the females they took but made them look pansy as hell and their male ego isn’t going to let that lie for too long without making a play.
A sinister attack that sends a very specific message if I had to guess…
But the Royal Bastards, me and my crew are waiting too, and when they make a play, they’re going to get taken down a notch or two. Because protecting the ladies, along with a whole bunch of other shit, that’s what we fucking do.
I put down my kickstand and wait as my brothers roar into the alley. I’m looking forward to celebrating the couple I just married a few hours ago with an age-old officiating license I’ve held for years and hadn’t put to good use until today.
I’m not usually amped up to go to parties outside of our clubhouse anymore, but I am anxious to see that dark-haired beauty with those smoldering green eyes again. No matter how much I tried not to, it was hard not to look at her in that pretty little dress, sitting on her bike.
She may have averted her eyes, unwilling to meet my gaze head on, but I could feel those eyes on me when she thought I wasn’t looking, heating my skin hotter than the fucking desert sun at the wedding this afternoon.
But the minute I glanced her way, every single time, she averted that pretty little gaze like I was the plague. The green-eyed ice queen. Doesn’t date, doesn’t screw anyone in the clubs and is an enigma to all the men in the area.
Rumored to be badass as hell, and I know that for a fact just from the little bit I saw of her skills on a bike and with a rifle when Pearl and her crew went head-to-head with the Desert Riders who tried to kidnap some of the girls under the Harlots’ protection not that long ago.
She and Pearl and their girls, damn if they aren’t ferocious. They went screaming into the desert and rescued the girls with a little help from Carver and yours truly, but most of it was the Harlots pulling together and being as badass as they are.
They may or may not know it but besting the Desert Riders, humiliating them in that way, ensuring the leader of that club had to go back to his prez with his tail between his legs.
It’s going to come with a price tag.
The Harlots may have gotten the ladies to safety and I’m glad about that, but now, they have a target on their back for their troubles.
A big red fucking bullseye on their back the way I see it.
And it’s been long enough for them to regroup, come up with a plan, and my crew and I, we have to be ready.
The storm is coming. It’s just a matter of time.
Every single one of the Harlots deep down know it and they’re watching their six, but that doesn’t mean Carver and I aren’t watching too and will pound the enemy into the ground the minute they make a move.
Onyx carrying that rifle to protect those ladies and seeing her today in that frilly dress.
It’s a hard comparison and image to get out of my mind.
She has nothing to worry about with me. I’m not into ice queens and she’s made it clear that she has no interest, especially after today. Not one time would she meet my eyes.
I shouldn’t want to see her tonight, shouldn’t be looking forward to seeing if she’s still dressed in that frilly little gown or heads into the club in those tight-fitting jeans that make me want to bend her over for a ride.
The minute we open the clubhouse door though, it’s sure as fuck not what we planned on walking into at all.