Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Monk
The bass thumped through the clubhouse walls like a second heartbeat, rattling the windows and vibrating through the floorboards. Music blared from the speakers. Something heavy and aggressive, all distorted guitars and pounding drums—loud enough to drown out thought.
Which was exactly what I needed.
The main room was packed. Brothers everywhere were drinking, laughing, and shouting over the music.
Trigger had Angel in a headlock, both of them grinning like idiots as they wrestled near the pool table.
Ashe was doing shots with Judd at one of the tables, slamming the glasses down hard enough to crack.
Fifty had a club whore bent over the back of the couch, her skirt hiked up, his hands gripping her hips as he fucked her without a care in the world.
The air was thick with smoke, cigarettes, weed, and something stronger I didn’t want to identify. It mixed with the smell of spilled beer, sweat, and sex, creating a haze that clung to everything.
Chaos.
Beautiful, mindless chaos as I pushed through the crowd, my arm resting over Ruby’s shoulder. She giggled when someone bumped into her, stumbling slightly in her too-high heels.
“You gonna take care of me tonight, Monk?” she purred, pressing herself against my side.
I didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
Ruby was... convenient. That was all she was. All any of them were. She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t expect anything beyond a good fuck and maybe a drink or two. She didn’t look at me like I was supposed to be something more than what I was.
She wasn’t her.
I shoved that thought down hard, burying it beneath the noise and the alcohol and the press of bodies around me.
Don’t think about her.
Don’t think about the way she looked at you in that barn.
Don’t think about the kid.
I reached the bar and pulled out a stool, dropping onto it heavily. Ruby slid onto the stool beside me, her hand immediately finding my thigh, her fingers tracing lazy circles through the denim.
Kansas was already there, leaning against the bar with a bottle of Jack in one hand. Blackjack sat to his right, nursing a beer, his expression unreadable. Whisper stood on the other side, arms crossed, his gaze scanning the room like he was cataloging every face, every movement.
Always watching. Always calculating.
“Monk,” Kansas greeted, lifting his bottle in acknowledgment.
I nodded back, signaling the prospect behind the bar for a whiskey. He poured it quickly, sliding the glass across the scarred wood, and I downed it in one swallow, the burn doing nothing to dull the edges. “Another,” I said, pushing the glass back.
The prospect refilled it without a word as Ruby leaned into me, her breath warm against my neck.
“You’re tense,” she murmured, her lips brushing my ear.
Her hand slid possessively up my thigh, fingers digging in like she had a right to touch me.
“Want me to help you relax, baby?” She pressed closer, her tits pushing against my arm, and I felt her other hand slide around my waist, claiming territory.
“Now that you’re VP,” she purred loud enough for the brothers nearby to hear, “I should be taking better care of you. An ol’ lady’s job, right? ”
I stiffened. Ol’ lady. The words grated like nails on a chalkboard. She wasn’t my ol’ lady. Would never be my ol’ lady. But I didn’t correct her. Didn’t push her away. Just let her cling to me like a fucking barnacle while I focused on Kansas.
“We doing this or what?” I asked, my voice flat.
Kansas’ eyes flicked to Ruby, then back to me. He didn’t say anything, but I saw the question there. You good?
I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter.
“Yeah,” Kansas said finally, straightening. “Whisper’s got an update on the Amarillo run.”
I turned to Whisper, who uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the bar.
“Met with Benedict last week,” Whisper said, his voice low enough that only we could hear over the music. “President of Wild MC. They’re based just outside Amarillo. Specialize in weapons, handguns, rifles, some heavier shit if the price is right.”
“And?” Blackjack prompted, setting his beer down.
“And he’s willing to sit down and talk logistics,” Whisper continued. “They’ve got connections we don’t. Clean supply lines. No heat. They move product fast and quiet.”
Ruby’s fingers traced higher, her nails scraping lightly through the denim. I grabbed her wrist without looking at her, stilling her hand.
“What kind of inventory are we talking?” I asked Whisper.
“Glocks, Sigs, AR-15s, AKs,” Whisper said. “He’s got access to suppressors, extended mags, armor-piercing rounds. Says he can get us anything we need within seventy-two hours. No serial numbers. No paper trail.”
Kansas leaned forward, interested. “What’s his pricing structure?”
“Competitive,” Whisper replied. “Handguns run about four hundred a piece. Rifles, eight to twelve hundred, depending on the model. Bulk orders get a discount. Ten percent off orders over fifty units, fifteen percent over a hundred.”
Blackjack whistled low. “That’s better than what we were getting from the Federation.”
“Yeah,” Whisper agreed. “And Benedict’s willing to front us the first shipment on credit. Wants to build trust. We pay him back within thirty days, no interest. After that, it’s cash up front.”
I took another drink, letting the whiskey burn through me. “What’s the catch?”
Whisper’s mouth twitched. “No catch. Benedict’s a straight shooter. Old school. Runs his club tight, no bullshit. He’s not interested in games or power plays. Just business.”
“You trust him?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
Whisper met my gaze, unflinching. “Yeah. I do. Met him through a contact in Tulsa. He’s been running guns for fifteen years, never had a shipment intercepted, never lost product. His word’s solid.”
That was good enough for most of the table, but I wasn’t most of the table.
“Amarillo’s close,” I said, my jaw tightening. “Too close. We start doing business that close to home, and it’s only a matter of time before someone notices. Feds. Rivals. Whoever.”
Kansas nodded slowly, considering. “It’s a risk,” he admitted. “But we need the connections. We’ve been operating on scraps since we cut ties with the Federation. This could give us leverage.”
“Or it could blow up in our faces,” I countered.
Blackjack leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Everything’s a risk, Monk. You know that. Question is whether the reward’s worth it.”
“What’s the meet look like?” I asked Whisper.
“Neutral ground,” Whisper said. “There’s a warehouse outside Amarillo.
An abandoned meatpacking plant. Benedict uses it for deals.
He’ll bring three of his guys, and we bring three of ours.
We inspect the product, negotiate final terms, and shake hands.
If we like what we see, we take delivery of the first shipment and set up a regular schedule. ”
“How regular?” Kansas asked.
“Monthly,” Whisper said. “Maybe bi-weekly if demand picks up. He’s flexible.”
I stared down at my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.
Lina’s face flashed through my mind. Her eyes wide with shock, her mouth forming my name. The kid’s voice. “Momma.”
I clenched my jaw, forcing the images away.
“Monk.” Kansas’ voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.
I looked up.
“You with us?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.
I nodded once. “Yeah. I’m with you.”
Kansas held my gaze for a long moment, then turned back to Whisper. “Set it up. We’ll ride out in a few weeks. Keep it small. Just the officers and a few enforcers. No need to draw attention.”
Whisper nodded. “I’ll reach out to Benedict tomorrow. Confirm the details.”
“Good,” Kansas said, lifting his bottle again. “Then it’s settled.”
The conversation shifted after that, talk of routes, timing, who would ride point.
Blackjack suggested taking Highway 287 straight through, avoiding the interstate.
Whisper mentioned a motel outside Amarillo where we could crash if the meet ran late.
Kansas wanted Judd, Shadow and Trigger riding with us for extra muscle.
I listened with half an ear, my mind drifting despite my best efforts to stay present as Ruby’s hand slid higher up my thigh, her fingers brushing dangerously close to my cock.
She leaned in again, her lips grazing my jaw.
“You done talking business?” she whispered, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Your ol’ lady needs some attention.”
I drained the rest of my whiskey and set the glass down hard enough to make the bar rattle.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m done.” I stood, pulling Ruby up with me. She giggled, stumbling slightly, and I caught her around the waist, my hand sliding down to grab her ass possessively.
She gasped, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. “Mmm, that’s what I’m talking about. Show these bitches who you belong to.”
I didn’t belong to her. Didn’t belong to anyone, but I let her think whatever the fuck she wanted.
Kansas glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “We good?”
“We’re good,” I said, already turning away.
Blackjack raised his beer in a mock salute. “Have fun, brother.”
I didn’t respond. Just kept walking, Ruby pressed against my side, her laughter ringing in my ears. She waved at a couple of the other club whores as we passed, a smug smile on her face like she had won some kind of prize.
Fucking pathetic.
The hallway leading to the back rooms was quieter. The music was muffled by the thick walls. The air was cooler here, less suffocating, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped.
Ruby’s hands were already tugging at my cut, trying to pull it off my shoulders, but I grabbed her wrists, stopping her. “You don’t fucking touch,” I growled.
She pouted, but there was a gleam in her eyes. She liked it when I was rough.
I pushed open the door to my room and pulled her inside, kicking it shut behind us. The lock clicked into place, and for a moment, I just stood there, staring at her. She was pretty enough. Blonde hair, curves in all the right places, a mouth that knew exactly what to do.
But she wasn’t her. She’d never be her.
Lina’s voice echoed in my head. “I did what you told me to do!”
I shoved the thoughts away violently, desperately trying to force them from my mind, my hands going to my belt with trembling fingers. “On your fucking knees,” I ordered, my voice cold and detached, devoid of any warmth or affection.
Ruby’s eyes widened in surprise, then darkened with unmistakable lust. She dropped to her knees immediately without hesitation, her movements eager and practiced, her hands reaching for my zipper before I could say another word.
I grabbed her wrists firmly, stopping her in her tracks. “I didn’t say you could fucking touch me yet, bitch.”
She bit her lip seductively, looking up at me through her long lashes with those big doe eyes she knew drove men wild. “Sorry, baby. What do you want me to do?”
“Open your mouth.”
She obeyed instantly, her lips parting slowly, her tongue darting out to wet them in anticipation.
I unbuckled my belt with deliberate slowness, popped the button on my jeans, and pulled my cock out.
I was already half-hard, the blood rushing south, but it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the need to obliterate the images in my head, to drown out the thoughts threatening to consume me.
Lina’s face. Those eyes. The kid’s voice. The betrayal that cut deeper than any knife.
I grabbed a fistful of Ruby’s hair, wrapping the silky strands around my fingers, and guided my cock to her waiting mouth.
She took me eagerly, hungrily, her lips wrapping around the head, her tongue swirling and teasing the sensitive skin.
“Deeper,” I growled, my voice rough and commanding as I pushed forward, forcing myself further into her throat.
She gagged slightly, her throat constricting around me, but she didn’t pull back.
I didn’t give her the chance as I fucked her mouth hard and relentlessly, my hand fisting tightly in her hair, controlling the pace, setting the rhythm.
She made wet, choking sounds that filled the room, her hands gripping my thighs desperately for balance, her nails digging into my skin, but she didn’t try to stop me. She never did.
Good. I didn’t want her to stop. I wanted to use her. Wanted to lose myself in the mindless, brutal rhythm of it.
Lina’s voice: “I did what you told me to do!”
I thrust harder, deeper, my cock hitting the back of her throat.
Ruby’s nails dug into my thighs, her eyes watering, mascara running down her cheeks.
She fucked another man. Had another man’s kid. Moved on like I never existed.
My grip tightened in her hair, my fingers tangling in the silky strands as I felt the pressure building deep inside me, that desperate need for release that had been coiling tighter and tighter with every movement of her mouth.
“Swallow it,” I ordered, my voice rough and ragged, barely recognizable as my own.
She nodded as much as she could with my cock buried in her mouth, her eyes meeting mine with an obedient, eager look that sent another jolt of pleasure through me, and I let go.
I came hard, spilling into her mouth, my body shuddering with the overwhelming force of it, wave after wave of pleasure washing over me. She swallowed, gagging slightly at the volume, but she took it all, every last drop, determined not to waste any.
When I was finally done, completely spent, I pulled out slowly and stepped back, my legs slightly unsteady as I tucked myself back into my jeans, fingers fumbling with the zipper.
Ruby sat back on her heels, catching her breath and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand in a gesture that was both crude and oddly elegant.
She looked up at me with those big, empty eyes that always seemed to be searching for approval, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.
“Was that good, baby?” she asked, her voice hoarse and scratchy from the effort, but still eager to please.
I didn’t answer. I just grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. “Get the fuck out,” I said, my voice flat.
Her smile faltered. “What?”
“I said... get the fuck out.”
“But—”
I opened the door and shoved her into the hallway. She stumbled, catching herself against the wall, her eyes wide with shock.
“Monk!”
I slammed the door in her face. The sound echoed through the hallway as I stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, my chest heaving.
She isn’t her. She will never be her.
I turned and walked to the bed, dropping onto it heavily.
My room was silent. Empty. Just like me. I closed my eyes and tried to forget. Tried to drown out the sound of Lina’s voice, the image of that kid, the crushing weight of seven years of grief and rage and betrayal. But it didn’t work.
It never worked. Because no matter how many women I fucked, no matter how much whiskey I drank, no matter how hard I tried to bury it—she was still there.
Always there. Haunting me.
And I couldn’t afford to shatter.
Not now.
Not ever.