Page 1 of Watcher

1

Watcher

She 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.”

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