Chapter 1
CASH ~ PRESENT DAY
“Want the cut,” my five-year-old demanded, trying to leap up to grab onto the hem of the souvenir nailed to the wall of Church.
“I’ve already told ya, you can’t have the cut,” I said firmly, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the damned thing.
“I want the fuckin’ cut,” he whined, his face twisting into an expression that only Satan could spawn.
“I’ve told you, no cut,” I repeated, louder that time. “Stop askin’ or no Xbox.”
“Fuck’s sake,” Wilder muttered.
“Stop fuckin’ cursin’. Your ma will have my balls if she hears ya,” I scolded.
“Good,” he threw back. “Mom can have your balls. You won’t gimme the cut. I’m telling Iris; she’ll cuss you out.”
I tipped my head back and sighed because my son was loved above all others, but he was a little fucking shit.
“Just give him the goddamned cut,” my dad tried to reason. “Who’s it gonna hurt?”
My face tipped back down. “It’s the cut of my sworn enemy: the evil asshole who trafficked women and kids. The same poor excuse for a man who hurt my ol’ lady and tried to snatch her when she was pregnant. I’m not lettin’ my only son wear his damned cut.”
Dad sniffed. “Dunno who it would hurt. It’s not like Bear needs it anymore. You should let the kids play with it.”
Atlas, my Sergeant at Arms, let out an amused snort.
My stare cut to him. “Dunno what you’re laughin’ at, Mambo.”
He shook his head at me as if I was some kind of lunatic, when in fact, he was the idiot standing in Church dressed as John fucking Rambo.
The stupid prick wore a long, curly black-haired wig, which had been shaped into a mullet, an off-white wifebeater, combat pants, and boots, with rounds of ammunition wrapped around his body.
The icing on the cake was the green-and-black camo streaks of makeup he’d smeared across his face.
“It’s my Halloween costume,” he sniffed indignantly. “And at least I made the effort.”
“I’m the prez of an MC,” I shot back. “I don’t do costumes.”
“I always did back when I was Prez,” Dad interjected in a wistful tone. “You kids used to love it when I dressed up, especially when I put on my Santy suit on Christmas morning.”
“Don’t like your Santy suit, Granddad,” Wilder muttered.
Dad’s head reared back. “Why don’t you like it?”
“Too fat for it. Can see your nuts,” Wilder informed him. “Looks weird.”
Atlas busted out a laugh.
I chuckled.
Dad’s face flushed pink. “Okay, so I may have put on a few pounds.” He rubbed his belly. “It’s the sign of a happy life and a happy wife. My Elise looks after her ol’ man.”
“Love Leesy,” Wilder declared. “Like her pretty gold hair.”
“See?” Pop ruffled the top of my boy’s head. “Chip off the old block. This boy’s just like his old gramps when it comes to blondes. You’ll go far, lad; always knew it.”
That was debatable. Wilder was crazy, but he was also a wily little fucker. He’d either get thrown into top security by the age of eighteen for trying to take over the world, or he’d succeed in his evil plans and end up running the entire goddamned show.
Wilder took Pop’s hand and stared up at him beseechingly, “Will you gimme the bad man’s cut please, Granddad? Pleeeaaaase.”
Dad’s torn gaze slid to me. “Just give him the cut, Son,” he urged. “Who will it hurt?”
“Me!” I snapped. “Jesus Christ, Dad. No son of mine is wearing Bear Rawlin’s Burning Sinners’ goddamned cut.”
“Wanna cut.” Wilder’s bottom lip started to wobble. “S’not fair. Wanna be a biker for Halloween.”
My jaw hardened, and I shrugged off my cut and thrust it at Wilder. “Here, but just for tonight’s party. I want it back, and if you fuck it up, I’ll throw your Xbox out the damned window.”
My boy’s eyes widened, and my heart panged at the happiness shining in them. “Cool!” he exclaimed. “Now I’m the prez and I’m gonna shoot everyone in the head ‘cause I’m in charge.” He let out a “Woo hoo,” grabbed my cut, and disappeared through the door before I changed my mind.
“If he sets it on fire, I’m blaming you,” I sniped at Dad.
Pop grinned. “He’s a little fucker, but I love the bones of him.”
“Yeah,” I agreed begrudgingly. “Me too.”
“Right,” Atlas boomed, getting to his feet. “Gonna go get Stitch, make sure the kids are settled, then get my ass down to the party. Got a lotta civilians coming tonight, so I wanna make sure the door’s covered.”
“Good idea,” I agreed. “I’ll see you out there.”
I waited for the door to click shut behind him before turning to my dad and asking, “Has Iris got the cuts ready?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“And Tristan’s come through with the bald caps?”
He grinned. “He’s in the medical wing now, waitin’ for us.”
I rubbed my hands together gleefully. “Can't wait to see Atlas’s face.”
Dad laughed deep and low. “He’s gonna fuckin’ die.”
—————
“You ready?” I asked my brothers.
Bowie nodded, his grin huge.
Breaker chuckled.
Dad ran his hands through his newly shaved head.
Abe wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.
“Time to make an entrance,” I declared, then made for the corridor leading to the bar, the rest of the men at my six.
I’d lied to Atlas in Church when I told him I wasn’t dressing up for the Speed Demons’ Halloween party. In fact, Bo, Break, Dad, Abe, and I were all dressing up, and lo and behold, we were all going as the same person.
The sound of “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish drifted up the corridor from the bar along with peals of laughter, happy shouts, and glasses and bottles chinking. We’d already been partying but decided to duck out and get changed, so we could surprise our SAA with our costumes.
We all wore bald caps with little spikes of hair drawn onto them, representing Atlas’s shaved head, along with white wifebeaters, jeans, and boots, and SAA cuts with a sticker covering the name patch with ‘Atlas’ scrawled on it in black marker.
We also wore a pièce de résistance that made the costume special.
“This fucking thing keeps banging on my dick,” Bowie muttered.
“It’ll be glad for some action,” Breaker teased.
It was hard to keep a straight face with the boys dressed like our SAA. Bowie had less muscle than Atlas, and the shaved cap made him look like an anemic thumb.
Abe adjusted the bulge in his pants and made a spanking motion, which of course cracked Dad up all over again. “Pays to be packin’,” he boomed in a deep voice, identical to Atlas’s, and which set Breaker and Bowie off laughing too.
“You could joust with that thing,” I told him. “Don’t turn too quickly or you’ll gouge someone’s fuckin’ eye out.”
We all roared with laughter again while continuing to the end of the corridor and sauntering into the main room.
The bar was packed with Speed Demons, ol’ ladies, townies, and kids darting around in their Halloween costumes. The room was pitch black apart from the flash of disco lights reflecting off the bats and skeletons that were hanging from the rafters.
The music boomed, and my eyes caught on my ol’ lady, Cara, who was dirty dancing with a hanging skeleton while dressed as a slutty Sabrina Carpenter, blonde wig and all.
I wasn’t into blondes, but I was definitely into Cara, so watching her gyrating on a fake skeleton made my cock kick in my Atlas jeans.
She threw her head back, laughing with Breaker’s wife, Kennedy, who was dressed as a slutty Taylor Swift.
She gyrated her hips, pretending the sparkly fake microphone she held was a dick and giving it a blowie in time to the music.
Layla, Bowie’s wife, danced drunkenly behind her, dressed as a slutty Ariana Grande while grinding on Kennedy’s ass.
Well, hell, it looked like the girls were drunk, which meant us boys were in for a good time tonight. Once our women got a few cocktails down them, they lost all their inhibitions, and we loved it.
Atlas’s wife, Sophie—who was in the process of trying to do ‘the lift’ from Dirty Dancing with their friend Tristan—noticed us first.
She ran at Tris, who was waiting with his arms out, and his legs bent slightly at the knees, shouting, “Come at me, Baby. Make like I’m Johnny Castle and jump.”
Soph ran at him, but just before she hit him full force, she must have caught sight of us from the corner of her eye because instead of executing a leap, she smashed straight into Tristan, who went down like a lead balloon, taking her with him.
Sophie looked up from the floor, her blonde wig askew, and pointed at us, yelling, “Oh my God. Look!”
Tristan’s head swiveled from beneath her, and his eyes widened. “Lord have mercy! I love it!”
Every eye came to us, and the entire room started laughing. Wolf whistles filled the ether along with shouts and hollers.
I stood tall, hands on my hips, and thrust my cock out, making the red soda can tied to my groin bounce around. “Yo! Stitch,” I barked in my best Atlas impression. “Come get a taste of my Coke can.”
Sophie collapsed back onto the floor, howling with laughter.
Cara shimmied over to me and started to sexy dance against my Coke can.
I made a grab for her, pulling her in close. “Want me to wear it in bed?”
She burst out laughing. “Sophie may be able to take that shit, but I’m quite happy with what my ol’ man’s packing, thanks.
” Her arms went over my shoulders, and we began to move in time to the music.
“You made Wilder’s day by giving him your cut to wear,” she whispered, her eyes softening.
“I told him if he sets it on fire, I’ll give his Xbox away. ”
My lips twitched. “I told him I’d throw it out the window.”
“See,” she exclaimed. “This parenting business is easy. We’re so on the same page.”
My smile widened. “Love you, Wildcat.”
“Love you, too, Xander,” she whispered, her gaze lowering to my sticker patch. “But tonight, I’m gonna fuck the SAA.”
“Meh.” I shrugged slightly. “At least I get to fuck Sabrina Carpenter.”