Chapter 3
Chapter Three
With a groan, Rage blinked open his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. He removed his arm from over his eyes and blinked again.
Yeah. It was daylight.
He had no fucking clue what time it was but he needed coffee with a shot of...something. A joint and a blowjob would be good about now, too.
Unfortunately, he was alone in his bed and wouldn’t be getting the third item on his wish list.
He groaned as he pushed himself up into a seated position.
Why the fuck did he hurt so damn bad?
A second later, he remembered.
With more effort than he cared to admit, he ignored the dull ache radiating through every inch of his body and moved to the edge of the bed. With his knees wide, he dropped his head and glanced at his right hand.
Yeah, his knuckles were busted and blood had caked around the split skin. He worked his fingers into a fist, then spread them wide a few times, checking to see if any of his bones were broken.
He felt a lot fucking older than his thirty-one years.
Wait. Was it still morning?
He ground his uninjured hand along the back of his neck and glanced at the LED clock on the nightstand.
Fuck. It was already ten.
His eyes roamed the rest of the items on the stand: a ripped open foil wrapper, another ripped open wrapper, and two more unopened wraps.
He really needed one of the girls to clean his fucking apartment.
He glanced at the sheets. He had no idea when they’d been changed last. They were probably a blacklight special.
Coffee first.
Joint second.
Blowjob...
He pursed his lips, wondering who would be downstairs to take one for the team.
That team being him.
The shift of his jaw reminded him that something had collided with it.
“Goddamn,” he groaned as he rose to his feet.
He tagged his jeans off the floor—though, bending over made him see spots— and yanked them up his legs. He didn’t even bother to fasten them because he had to fucking piss like a bitch.
Once he made his way to the hallway bathroom, he shook his head at the pee-splattered toilet. Yeah, one of the girls needed to get to cleaning.
He glanced up into the mirror. “Holy fuck.”
He lightly brushed his fingers over a bruise on his left jaw, glanced down and poked gently at the big one that had bloomed over his ribs.
Sore, but not broken. Thank fuck.
The good news was nothing seemed broken and he was upright. But fuck, even being a little fuzzy on the details, how he looked and felt proved that last night didn’t go as easily as planned.
Driving his hand into the front pocket, he realized his jeans were blood-splattered. The girls would need to do his laundry, too.
Or maybe he should just burn this pair like he planned on doing with the cuts of any Twisted Souls he stole.
One by one, he pulled out the name patches of the four souls he had a “word” with. The last one having been just the night before.
Psycho. Prime. Cobra. Bug.
Yeah. The war may have begun.
And fuck if he didn’t start it.
“How ya feelin’, boss?”
“Like shit,” Rage answered Pugsy as he headed behind the bar at Heaven’s Angels. His home away from home. Actually, it was his home since his commute to work only involved a fucking metal staircase out back. “Any fuckin’ coffee?”
The prospect answered, “Shimmer started a pot. Should still be good.”
Good, because he hated drinking bitter tar. And he needed caffeine badly. “She here?”
“In the back.”
That was also good. It was a bonus to have a sweet butt working at the club. She could—and did—pull double duty. Not that some of the strippers wouldn’t put out. Some did. The ones with significant others didn’t.
At least Shimmer was a guarantee.
Even though they weren’t sweet butts, Opal and Cashmere were always up for playtime, too.
“Get me a big mug of coffee and tell Shimmer to get her ass out here.”
“Think she’s gettin’ ready.”
“Didn’t ask what she’s doin’. Told you to get her out here.”
“You got it, boss.” Pugsy shot him a sloppy salute and headed into the back. Rage shook his head when he heard the prospect yelling, “Shimmer! The boss wants you out front!”
For fuck’s sake.
A few minutes later, Pugsy stepped up to the other side of the bar and set down an oversized mug of what looked like black coffee and smelled like Heaven. Rage poured some of it out into the sink, snagged a bottle from under the bar, and filled it to the brim with Hennessy.
He was about to use his finger to stir it when he realized how stupid that would be. He didn’t need to add burns to his existing injuries. Apparently, his brain wasn’t working at full capacity yet.
The coffee would help.
The blowjob would clean out the rest of the cobwebs.
He lifted the mug and stared at Pugsy over the rim of it. “She comin’?” He took a long sip.
The prospect snorted. “Doubt it, but bet you will be.”
He took his mug of “medicine” over to one of the circular, cushioned chairs on the quiet, empty floor by the stage and settled his ass in it.
Food would probably be good, too, but he had his priorities straight. “Pugs, you got any smoke on you?”
The prospect patted his cut before shaking his head.
“Fuck. You sure?”
The prospect checked all of his pockets again. “Don’t got shit.”
“What fuckin’ good are you, then?”
Before Rage got an answer, Shimmer came sauntering out from the back, wearing one of the very tight, revealing dresses she wore when she worked the floor between her sets. Only, she wasn’t wearing her crazy, ankle-breaking stripper heels yet.
Rage snapped his fingers and pointed to his dick. Once she reached him, he asked, “Can you get on your knees in that fuckin’ thing?”
The blonde, wearing too much fucking makeup already, answered, “I don’t want to get it dirty.”
“Your knees or that dress?”
“Both.”
Rage snapped his fingers again, this time over his head. “Pugs, bring over a clean bar towel.”
Without any back talk—one reason Rage had picked Pugsy to work under him—he brought one over and Rage pointed to the floor between his spread boots. The prospect dropped it there and hurried off.
“Problem solved.” Rage took another gulp of coffee as she sank to her knees. The hot liquid hit his gut at the same time the caffeine hit his bloodstream.
He only needed to find a joint and his wish list would be complete.
With a long sigh, he leaned back in the chair, tucking one arm behind his head. “Do your thing.”
He spread his knees wider as she quickly fished his dick out of his jeans. It might be a bit limp, but that would change soon. His eyelids slid closed as she wrapped her lips around his dick and swallowed him all the way to the root.
Fuck yeah.
She went to town, taking his length all the way to the back of her throat. The woman was always in high demand at Church due to her not having any gag reflex.
Oh yeah, she was a pro at head, too.
She also danced well and was super flexible—another reason she was popular with his brothers. She always pushed the limits of what was legal to do on a pole in Pennsylvania, but doing so made her some damn good tips.
A lot of local men had lost a ton of scratch on this woman. Maybe even some marriages. All of them because they thought they had a shot with her.
They didn’t.
As long as she was a sweet butt, she was off limits to anyone not wearing a DAMC cut. And even then, she was only available to full-patched members. They did not share their women with the prospects.
Those recruits had to find their own pussy.
He sank deeper into the chair as Shimmer tugged on his balls and slobbed his knob.
Oh yeah. This shit was better than aspirin for his aches and pains. He was quickly forgetting what little he remembered about last night and his run-in with the last Soul on his list.
Until she paused and his dick slipped from her hot, wet mouth. “Shit! Pugsy, can you check the schedule and see when I’m on stage?”
What the fuck?
“11:15 and every hour after that,” the prospect answered her.
“Shit.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Rage muttered, opening his eyes.
She turned her blue ones up to him. “What?”
“Got words in your mouth ‘steada my dick.”
“I guess you want me to just shut up and suck you.”
He glared at her. “No shit.”
She smiled in return and drew her long-ass, bright neon nails up his length before blowing him a kiss.
He didn’t need her to be cute. He needed her to finish giving him head before the club doors opened. “Don’t got time for your fuckin’ games, woman. Suck my cock or I’m gonna fuck your ass. Your choice.”
“If you fuck my ass, I’ll have to shower and get ready for my shift all over again. And it starts in…” She turned her head and yelled, “Pugs, what time is it?”
“Doors open in fifteen,” he yelled back.
“I take the stage in a half hour,” she explained, like Rage cared.
“Sounds like a you problem, Shimmer, not a me problem.”
“It’ll be a you problem if you have an empty stage because I’m running late.”
Fuck. She was right.
That meant they had no time to waste. He grabbed her head and shoved it back into his lap. “Then use your fuckin’ mouth for what it was made for.”
Any other woman who wasn’t a sweet butt would’ve given him shit for that comment. Maybe even stormed the fuck off. Not Shimmer.
Before he could close his eyes to concentrate on the skills of her hand, mouth, and tongue, someone else entered the main floor from the rear.
Zeke.
What the fuck was he doing here?
At least he didn’t have his three-year-old in tow for once.
Though it would be pretty fucking entertaining to watch the DAMC president explain what Shimmer was doing on her knees with Rage’s dick in her mouth to a toddler.
Rage tracked Zeke until he stopped right next to the chair.
For fuck’s sake. Having him hover wouldn’t help rush this along.
“Shimmer, hurry the fuck up and get the job done. Got business to talk about.” Apparently.
Zeke grinned. “Since it should only take you about ten fuckin’ seconds, brother, I can wait.”
Rage closed his eyes to block him out and focused really hard on Shimmer.
Until Zeke began to count. “One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi…”
Rage cracked open one eyelid. “You ain’t helpin’.”