Watcher (Brothers of Chaos MC #4)

1. Watcher

1

Watcher

S he left in the middle of the night without saying a word. The note she left behind said, “Sorry, I couldn’t do it anymore. Going back to the FBI.” Like that, Trixie was out of my life almost as quickly as she came into it.

I’m never surprised when they leave. Most never say a word. They disappear. It’s because my life isn’t for everyone, but, at the same time, the way most people live isn’t for me. Eight to five? No fucking way. Sitting at a desk, watching time tick away into a wasteland of boredom? Hell to the no. Can I give an old lady a house on a hill looking down on everyone else? No. Can I give an old lady the time of her life in the bedroom and on the back of a bike? Fuck yeah.

Unfortunately, take away the club, and there’s still shit a woman can’t handle with me. They all like a wild fuck to start, but when they see what I’m really into, they freak out instead of getting freaky. When a woman makes promises to you on day one, you better fucking run away on day two. If she doesn’t make any promises, stay the fuck there.

Fuck it. No more. It’s all about the pussy now. Fuck the emotions and the responsibilities. It’s why I came here from Canada in the first place. Too many fucking rules and too many things weighing me down up there. Those day-one promises never panned out.

I crawl from beneath covers that still smell like Trixie and plant my feet on the floor. I don’t have to think about what to wear. It’s always the same biker look—blue jeans, a Rock tee, and black boots. The beard is a must—they like it rubbing between their legs when I’m eating pussy. Next to the club, eating pussy is one of the more essential things in life. A man who can’t make a woman squirm while eating her cunt, isn’t much of a man.

After a piss and brushing my teeth, I head out into the club, passing pictures on the walls of past club members, brothers who died for the cause. Most people skim over the cause. All they see are the bikes, booze, and hot women. They don’t give a damn about what actually makes us tick.

Beast and Big Kentucky are sitting at the bar, talking about the pussy shop—one of the club’s moneymakers. We’d gone a whole month without an incident. Apparently, that all changed the previous night.

“What’s up?” I say.

“Bunch of college assholes went to the pussy shop last night. Started acting like college assholes. Three of them tried to tag team Mitzi.” Beast finished his drink and handed it to the new chick behind the bar.

“She just about shot a dick off,” Kentucky said. “The assholes grabbed the gun and shoved it in her pussy.”

“Fuck,” I said. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Beast shook his head. “The whole club heard you giving it to Trixie. Nobody was going to interrupt that shit. Diesel and Towles were close by. They broke fingers, arms, and jaws. Slash brought home a couple of front teeth that belonged to one of the assholes. Fucker almost has a whole empty pickle jar full of teeth.”

“You guys see Trixie leave in the middle of the night?” I ask. “She left a fucking note. Said see you later.”

Beast nods and pats Big Kentucky on the shoulder. “Another one bites the dust. She go back to the FBI?”

“Yeah. Fuck her. I should have known. She didn’t like it up the ass as much as she claimed.”

“They never do,” Kentucky says. “They tell you they do until they’re ass high, and you’re about to pull into the hangar.”

Everyone laughs, and the new girl behind the bar hands me a beer. I’d never seen her before, but she had that southern look—blonde, blue eyes, big tits, and nice ass. She had dimples most women would kill for and an undeniable accent that would hook a guy like a fish. I wondered how long the line was to fuck her.

“That’s Juicy,” Beast says, and I smile. “That’s her name, dumbass.” He laughs and gets up, still shaking his head. “Got a run for you and Kentucky.” Outside, Diesel and Towles join us. “We’ve got a shipment of 40 Glocks waiting for us in Memphis. Two saddle bags each should be plenty. I want you back by nightfall.”

“Memphis?” I ask.

Beast nods. He knows sending me to Memphis is a problem. “Is that going to be a problem? I can send someone else.”

“I didn’t know it was the mayor’s wife,” I say, and several “bullshits” are thrown my way. “She should have told me. That’s on her.”

“Heard the mayor wanted her stomach pumped when he found her,” Diesel says, and everyone laughs again at my expense.

“She didn’t swallow enough for shit like that,” I say and shake my head in disappointment.

“Stay away from her,” Beast says, and I nod. “Contact the Memphis chapter when you roll into town. Irish is up north, so you’ll meet Dent, the new VP.”

“Cash?” Kentucky asks.

“Not this time. Payback for the shit we saved them from two months ago. We had a guy take a bullet for their chapter. It’s the least they can do.”

“I hear the stadium is trying to move their club out,” Diesel says. “Rich man throwing his weight around.”

“I hear it’s a done deal.” I finish the beer from Juicy and wonder who in the club is hitting it. “The Stallones want the football stadium right next to the baseball stadium. City agrees the biker club next door needs to go. Nothing anyone can do about it.”

“I’ve talked to Irish about it,” Beast says. “We’re going to help with their cash flow so they can find a new place. Preferably further away from the city.”

Kentucky taps his phone and brings up a picture of a very young woman. “Her name is Jessica Stallone. The owner’s very young daughter.”

“How young?” I ask, and Beast sighs.

“Don’t be hitting that pussy, Watcher.” Beast looks directly at me. “Her father has enough money to bury the Memphis chapter and ours. Easier to move the club than fight a fight the city doesn’t want us to win.”

“She’s 18,” Towles says. “She was sent home from Stanford. Bitch got into three fights this past semester. Daddy put her in charge of the Memphis Macabre, the roller derby team her father owns. Bitch is wild on wheels.”

“She’s on the team.”

Diesel nods. “She’s a fucking superstar. Most of the league is afraid of her. She broke a woman’s nose last week during a bout. Knocked another woman into the crowd and broke three of the woman’s ribs. The league wants to suspend her, but Daddy has too much money for that to happen.”

Beasts looks at me, knowing the kind of women I like. “Don’t.”

“Got it.” I glance at the picture again, knowing, given the opportunity, I’d hit it in a New York minute.

Big Kentucky gets up and claps me on the back. “I shouldn’t have shown you her picture. Let’s ride.”

I go back inside and grab a Glock from the nightstand. Fully loaded, I stick it in my back waistband. Before closing the door, I take a deep breath, smelling Trixie for the last time. The woman knew how to ride a dick. I’ll give her that much.

“Y’all worry too much,” I tell Kentucky in my best redneck voice when I get outside, having put Trixie behind me. That’s what you do with people. Put them behind you and keep moving forward.

“I got a buddy from Eastern Kentucky who’ll be in Memphis today. He bought three tickets to the Memphis Macabre, thinking his kids would go. They backed out on him. Says we can have them. The game is this afternoon.”

“You volunteered us,” I say.

Kentucky sees me smile and shakes his head. “I knew about the tickets before he asked. I’m not taking you there for you to get laid or thrown in jail.”

I shrug and climb on my bike. “Leading me into temptation. Unless, of course, you have an ulterior motive.”

“You don’t have a chance at that pussy, Watcher. Move on.” Kentucky climbs on his bike, and the thing rumbles when he starts it, drowning out any reply I might want to give.

We pull away from the club around ten, the young blonde at the bar still on my mind.

Maybe I’m my own problem. Maybe it’s the things I like that run women off.

By three, we’re riding into the Memphis city limits and needing gas.

“You really didn’t know she was the mayor’s wife?” Kentucky asks when we stop for gas. He sticks the nozzle in his tank and waits for an answer. He’s a good man who likes to poke fun. Make no mistake; the man has your back when the rubber hits the road.

“Of course I did.” I let a sneaky smile cross my lips, and Kentucky waves me off. “It wasn’t just me. She fucked one of the Memphis Prospects as well. Maybe that’s why her old man wanted her stomach pumped.”

“You need to settle down with an old lady,” Kentucky says.

I shake my head. “No fucking way. They can’t handle me. Besides, I don’t want a nag on my ass all day.”

“What are you, 40?”

“I wish. Turn 45 next month.”

“You’re getting to that age.”

He’s right. Continuing my current trajectory, I either get shot by a jealous husband/boyfriend or just die alone. Either is fine. I’m not going out with a heart attack, sitting on the couch, or on some porch swing. I don’t bother reminding Kentucky his old lady walked a week ago. Just up and left his ass. That’s what he gets for being loyal.

Two young women walk from the gas station store toward a Mercedes convertible. Neither sees the three bikers pulling in. The bikers stop behind the Mercedes and get off their bikes.

“Fuck,” Kentucky says. “Asylum Seekers MC. Thought those motherfuckers were all but gone.”

I put my riding gloves back on and watch the three men surround the Mercedes—assholes who don’t look old enough to drink, much less hit on women twice their age.

“Nice ride,” one of the bikers says to the blonde trying to get in on the driver's side.

“Get out of my way,” the blonde says unladylike. “Asshole.”

One of the bikers hops in the backseat.

“Hold up,” Kentucky says when I start to leave the bikes. “Let it play out.”

“Do you know who I am?” the blonde says, full of herself. The other woman, obviously a coattail rider, smirks. She’s pretty fucking hot but has nothing on the blonde.

“You’re a bitch about to climb into the backseat and suck my friend’s dick.” The biker crosses his arms and leans against the car. Men are always badasses when they have their boys with them. I’m taking the blonde in a one-on-one throw-down.

“Megan Stallone,” the woman says. “I own the Memphis Stallion’s professional baseball team.” Her friend cock’s a hip as if she’s co-owner. Something tells me there’s a lot of pussy licking going on between the two.

Kentucky and I look at each other and then back at the bikers, who appear worried. The biker in the backseat reconsiders his position and climbs out. The other two bikers move out of the way, and the two women get into the car. They pull away without another word from the bikers. We aren’t so lucky.

“What are you assholes looking at?” The big-mouth biker walks toward us between the pumps, and the other two join him. It’s not a fair fight. “Sgt at Arms and Road Captain.” He looks at me. “Sure as hell don’t look like an S A G.”

All three bikers are Prospects and about to make a rookie mistake. Kentucky winks. I shrug. “You want to call reinforcements?” I ask.

The Prospects glance at each other, the short one in the back looking a bit unsteady. He’s used to having a real backup, not two assholes trying to make a name for themselves.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Kentucky says. He moves closer to the two bikers in front. He pokes the one with the big mouth in the chest, touching his colors, the one thing a biker should never allow another person to do. The man does nothing. “You’re going to hop your candy asses back on your bikes and go back to the tree house. Otherwise, I stick one of those gas nozzles up your ass and fill you up with some unleaded. How does that fucking sound?”

“You should listen to him,” I say. “He’s from the hills of Kentucky. They eat animals off the road.”

Kentucky turns and scowls. “Fuck you.” He pokes the Prospect in the chest again. “He’s right. I’m from the hills. I eat opossums and other strange shit. Get back on your bikes and get the fuck outta here.” He lifts a nozzle from one of the pumps, and the bikers back away. Kentucky and I sit on our bikes when they’re gone, laughing.

“I wanna fuck that blonde,” I say. “You see that cameltoe she was sporting? I’d lose my whole fucking head up in that.”

Kentucky stops laughing. “Don’t even fucking think about it. That shit will get you killed.”

“Man’s gotta die sometime.” I start my bike, and Kentucky calls the Memphis chapter.

The blonde at the bar, the redhead in the picture Kentucky showed me, and the blonde in the convertible. Too much pussy and not enough time. An intelligent man would take a shot at Juicy instead of the other blonde or the redhead. But I’ve never been called smart, especially when my dick is involved.

“Picking up the guns after the roller derby bout,” Kentucky says, putting away his phone. “You okay?”

“Of course.”

“You still thinking about that blonde in the convertible?” Kentucky starts his bike. “Better get your mind off that shit. I reckon her old man will have a hissy fit if he finds you anywhere near his piece.”

“Where do you learn shit like that?”

Kentucky smiles. “My granddaddy. When he wasn’t in the coal mines, I was on his lap listening to stories as far-fetched as you having a shot at the blonde in the convertible.”

“We’ll see about that.”

We pull from the station and I have three women on my mind. Two of the three could get me killed.