Four
Life’s been good for my club and my family. I”m confident in the deal we”ve struck with the Bratva. As we’ve grown over the years, the risks we are taking are becoming too high. So, I’ve been looking to diversify how we earn our money. The club is far from struggling, and I want to keep it that way. The club-owning bars, nightclubs, stores, and gas stations have us breaking above even. We were living comfortably before our deal, and we will continue to just with a lot more padding in our coffers.
The thought of always looking over our shoulders worrying about the DEA, RICO, and the FBI was getting to be more of a risk than it was worth, with our last run turning into a colossal cluster fuck and nearly losing a brother. I knew it was time to make different moves. With the club growing and my men having families of their own, it was no longer worth the risk of being sent to CSP California State Prison. I heard the grumblings and knew many of the brothers felt, as I did, that running drugs and guns had become too damn risky. And when I brought my plan to the table, the club voted in my favor.
Being the mother chapter president, I’m responsible for more than just my brothers in my club, but all brothers and chapters below mine and a few support clubs. We are nationwide and branching out to Europe and Australia. And I take caring for, protecting, and providing for my family seriously.
At first, the Greeks weren’t sold on us handing over the reins of their operation to the Deviant Saints MC out of Fresno, but we got shit done. And if I’m honest, the Deviants are a bunch of crazy motherfuckers who love to run headfirst into bullshit. They are the yen to our yang and some crazy motherfuckers. I wouldn’t want to meet any of those crazy fucks in a dark alley. That’s what drew Kanakaris in. He realized how far they’d go to get shit done, like minds and all that shit. And because of that, I knew they’d have a perfect partnership.
It’s done. The transition is complete, and the reins have been passed on. Cross the Deviants Prez and Kanakaris, the Greek Boss, agreed to an arranged marriage to solidify their partnership. The arrangement turned into a doozy of a situation. I hear the problem wasn’t the girl. According to Kanakaris, she knew her place. It was with the brother Cross chose. Let’s just say he’s got a long road to recovery. Thank fuck, I didn’t have to sacrifice one of my men during that partnership. There was no way I would’ve done it willingly. I know what it’s like to have your choices taken from you, and I’d walk away from any deal that required something like that.
Keeping the focus on our newest legal venture, the security and protection firm for the rich, famous, and Bratva. Running security for the Bratva was a straightforward decision. They can securely move their merchandise from point A to point B while we’re at their backs, and we get paid a fuck ton for it. We don’t ask too many questions about what they run. We did, however, have a few stipulations, which would have been a deal breaker. No moving women, children, guns or drugs. And we were only muscle. We were not there for logistical reasons. We were there to protect, and because of how things were set up with the security firm the club now owns, plausible deniability was the name of the game.
Petrov, the Bratva Pakhan, was agreeable to those caveats in our contract. Anything else needing to be protected is fair game. That's what tonight's celebration is about as President of Lucifer's Saints MC Mother Chapter. I know deals like this are scarce and easy to lose. My club and I worked hard to get this contract ironed out, dotting every “i” and crossing every “t.”
Life is good. And the money is flowing.
IN CHAPTER brEAK
Sitting at my usual table with my brothers, enjoying a cold beer and good company. One of the club girls is on my lap, working damn hard to be the pick me of the night. I chuckle. The young ones just don’t do it for me, but they are damn good to look at. I have particular tastes. And rarely do the unseasoned club girls know how to handle a man like me or my proclivities. Since letting my ol’ lady go to live her own stress-free life, which was bullshit if you ask me. She wanted to get back into the family. Guess enough time had passed, and she was done living as First Lady of the club, a spot she shouldn’t have had in the first damn place. All her years of demanding my time and trying to control me and my club didn't benefit her. At least not in the way she thought it would. She got away with shit once. But I made a promise that never-a-fucking-gain.
Early in our marriage, she realized that pulling the strings around here and trying to be a puppet master wouldn’t work. And she sure as shit didn’t like it, which is why her favorite pastime became starting shit to start shit. She was begging for a reaction, one she never got.
Over the years, Beverly’s nagging jealousy, the fights with other ol’ ladies, and my brothers despising her. Shit sometimes got out of hand. I can admit that much. But by the end, it was clear I was done. I was tired of refereeing. I was tired of her games. I was just flat-out tired of her. I filed for divorce and sent her packing, only allowing her to take what she came with, and I'm not upset about it. I'm happier now than I’ve been in the last twenty years.
Stupid cunt.
Since our divorce, I've been free to enjoy the fruits of my labor. I don’t believe in cheating. I never have. I was faithful to my bitch of a wife for the entirety of our marriage, even if she wasn’t.
Now, shit, I do what I want, when, and how I want. That's why I'm living it up. Hell, I'm making up for lost time because my marriage consisted of more days dealing with blue balls, cold showers or yanking one out more times than should be conceivable to any red-blooded man. I shake myself out of my depressing thoughts. I've got plenty of life left worth living. I let the bitch go and am happily living free.
Sweeping my eyes around the main room, I catch Bambi’s eye, and that bitch is not happy. She’s wiping down the bar with a furious scowl on her face. She’s pissed the fuck off. And I can guess why. Being one of our more seasoned club girls, she has thoughts of becoming an ol’ lady, ones she should know better than to have. She knows better than to get attached to a brother. Even if she is Dex's favorite girl, she isn’t his ol’ lady, nor will she ever be, and she knows that, too. My brother, best be careful. That girl is something else. I’ve known her long enough to know that when she puts her mind to something, she will do anything to get it, and I can see the brewing drama coming from a mile away.
My eyes remain on her as she continues to give my brother the stink eye while he gets a blow job from one of the newer club girls. Bambi will never learn. All the club girls know it is rare to ascend from club whore to housewife. The fact that we explicitly explain this to them and what we expect from them when they become club girls, should be warning enough. They know they’re fair game to brothers of the club, but are not in the position to claim a brother. It may seem unfair or chauvinistic, but that has always been the reality of the club girls. And they damn well know it when they sign on the dotted line. But it never seems to deter them from trying.
As my gaze travels the length of the bar, I see my eldest son and club Enforcer Chase. That boy is my spitting image and has a temper to match. That kid is as bullheaded as they come, hence his road name, like father-like son. Fortunately for him, he knows when to use it. That's my boy, and I'm proud of him. I'll pass the gavel to him one day, and I’ll do it knowing my club will be in the hands of a damn good man. As I watch him, he looks to be in a deep conversation with a girl I've never seen here before. Looking closer, there is something familiar about her that has my eyes narrowing. And I watch them, trying to figure out where I know her from, or where I’ve seen her before, coming up blank.
“Prez, what's up?”
My VP, Taz, says pulling at my attention. I don’t respond turning his head to follow my line of sight. “Shit, who's the stunner Bulls talking to? I ain't seen her around before.” He sucks on his teeth appreciatively.
Neither have I, brother, neither have I.
Without taking his eyes off of her, he continues, “Damn. The things I would do to her.” I can hear it in his voice. Boys got a hard-on for the girl. And something in my gut twists, not in a good way. “When she was eyeing me earlier, I saw a fire in her eyes when…” He cuts himself off before he finishes his sentence. Instead of continuing his thought, he leans forward and watches the woman and Bull interact. He sighs and pushes himself back in his seat, taking a drink of his beer. “If Bull ain’t going there, I will. That girl is fine as fuck.” Again, an unwarranted feeling bubbles up in my gut, but I shake it off. I don’t get the same vibe Taz is getting. Something about her I can’t shake, and it’s driving me crazy. The most confusing emotion I feel is the sense of protectiveness, which rarely happens. I’ve only ever felt this way with my kids, which is why this feeling makes little sense.
“No clue, Taz, but I feel like I know her,” I say through gritted teeth.
Taz's eyes meet mine, and he raises a brow, recognizing my agitation, but doesn’t comment. As soon as the words left my lips, I knew they’d spark the curiosity of my VP. Before our conversation could go any further, Bull grabs the girl by her arm, not so gently. Her response is curious. Bull manhandling her isn’t getting the reaction we are accustomed to seeing. Interesting. Usually, girls throw themselves at my kid, climbing him like a tree, or crying because he scares the shit out of them. This girl does neither.
Bull pulls her towards the front doors of the clubhouse. He looks like he wants to murder someone, and she seems bored. Whatever is going on, Bull can handle it. It isn’t the first time we’ve had to throw a chick out on an open club night, and it sure as fuck won’t be the last.
“What do you think that was about?” my VP asks, concern lacing his voice. I say nothing as I continue to watch the pair for a moment longer. Once they make it outside, my eyes remain on the door. Shrug off the feeling of unease.
“I'm sure we'll find out soon enough, VP.”
There is something about that damn girl.
Ignoring the feeling that continues to course through me and the questions that swirl in my head. I shake it off once again and look around the room, watching everyone as they have a good time. When my attention returns to Taz, I catch an odd look on his face. With a shake of his head, it’s gone. He turns his head away, takes a drink, and resumes his conversation with Zero and Hammy. My attention goes back to the door. Something about that girl is just not letting up or sitting right.
Returning my attention to what tonight is all about. It’s about spending time with my brothers. We’ve accomplished a lot worth celebrating, and I plan to enjoy every minute. The club girl, at some point, has made her way under the table and is now rubbing my cock through my jeans. Shit! I hissed at the sensation. Maybe this one does it for me. Or it's just the high of the night's celebration. Fuck knows. I lean back in my chair, try to forget about the girl, and enjoy my night.
“PREZ?”
The prospect, Martin, bellows from the other side of the room. Looking around the room frantically, he finds me at my usual table and makes a B-Line for me. His eyes get bigger and bigger with each step. If he were a patched brother, I would be on high alert. But prospects lose it over the dumbest shit. They stress every minute of every day about not fucking up, and their only concern is earning their patch. And I get that, but the shit can get ridiculous.
“Uh, Prez, some chick is out there...” He points toward the parking lot. And I raise a brow, wanting him to hurry the fuck up and get to the point.
He stutters again. “Uh, Prez.” he says while looking like he’s going to shit himself.
“Um, uh. She's got a gun to Bull's head. Shit! Prez, it's… It’s bad,” he stutters out.
And everything stops. The music, chatter, dancing, everything. Now, I’m on high alert, and when I look around the room, I see I’m not the only one. Pushing the club girl off me and standing to my full height. My brothers watch me for direction as the chair I was seated in crashes to the floor. All eyes are on me. Brothers know to wait for my orders before making any moves. But they also learn to be on alert when shit goes down.
No one comes to my club and fucks with us, especially my fucking kid.
Without a word, Taz is on his feet and beside me. He gives me a chin lift, and we both make our way to the front of the clubhouse to see what the fuck is going on. Everyone moves out of our way because they know. One thing I haven’t and won’t take lightly is someone threatening my family for any damn reason. And anyone who does learns the hard way that I’ll end them to protect me and mine.
As we make it through the crowd, a few brothers make it outside before my VP, and I do. Stepping out of the door, what I see has my blood boiling. Sure e-fucking-nough. Bull is on his knees, and the pretty girl from the bar has a gun to his temple and a knife to his throat, and she looks less than impressed with the situation she’s in. She also doesn’t look too concerned for her own safety. But I know better. I’ve mastered that damn look.
What in the actual...
Is this bitch serious? I look around as does everyone else. The brothers and I stare at one another in amazement at how utterly stupid this girl has to be to pull some shit like this. Does she know where she is and who the fuck she's messing with? She’s going to learn today. My brothers, already out here, have surrounded her, and those who followed us do the same.
With guns drawn and aimed toward her, she seems oblivious to being surrounded. I'll be damned if this little piece gets to walk away from a stunt like this unscathed. That's why we keep Magda’s daughter around. Like her mother, she is a Club Mother in our chapter, not a club girl. Her father would kick our asses if we allowed his little girl to be disrespected. She’s a club princess and is treated as such, she just takes on the duties of a club mother and deals with the club women and whores, so I don’t have to. She also handles bitches that cross us. Teaching them lessons they will not soon forget.
I bellow out, “ENOUGH.”