Page 6 of The Prez

“No one’s stopping you.” He’s literally standing in front of the only exit, effectively trapping me.

I don’t move. I’m hoping I can wait him out and he’ll get tired of standing around and leave, but no such luck. In fact, Brock takes two long strides towards me, boxing me in against the counter. “Come on, now, Omari. I told you.” His finger drifts down my chest, rubbing my left nipple through my shirt. I push his hand away and glare at him, which only makes him grin mischievously at me. “All you have to do islet me fuck your ass and I’ll forget all about that little debt you owe me.”

My stomach twists at the reminder of my debt and how I got into this mess with Brock in the first place.

After I got fired from my office manager position at a construction company so the boss’s daughter could be hired, I was floundering for how to pay rent and have money to live. Luckily, my lease was ending, so I wasn’t at risk of eviction. But I also had nowhere to go. I planned to move in with my sister, but it would have taken too much work to move her kids into the same room to accommodate me.

So, I asked Kit if I could crash in his empty spare bedroom. He welcomed me with open arms and for a few weeks, I was happy, our relationship growing and strengthening. Then his boyfriend moved in. At first, Brock was chill. He even offered to help me out of my bind so I could have some money. He sold pills to students at the local college and wanted to expand. A new nightclub had opened downtown after a massive fire burned down the initial building and he wanted to tap into that market.

I jumped at the opportunity, wanting quick money that would hold me over for a few months until I could get a new place and a new job.

The first few times selling pills in the club were a breeze. I sold out of the product Brock gave me and he gave me an honest cut. But I guess I got sloppy because the club owner caught me selling on his territory a month after I started.

The club owner, who is the president of the Devil’s Mayhem MC, the badass motorcycle gang here in town.

Some guy with a vest that had “Enforcer” stitched on the front pulled me from the floor and told me the boss wanted to see me. After a brief moment of protesting, I followed behind him, knowing I had no other choice if I wanted to keep all my teeth.

The enforcer put me in the office and left me alone for almost an hour.

I’d never been so afraid as when the club owner stepped into his office. His handsome features were contorted into a mask of dissatisfaction. His angular eyes peered down at me, sending me a clear message that I fucked with the wrong business. I shrank in the chair the enforcer pushed me in, wanting to get away from this handsome man’s disapproval.

“You thinking peddling your shit in my club is a good idea? Do you have a death wish?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest. His accented words rolled over me, making me both aroused and afraid.

My lips trembled before I shook my head, not meeting his eyes anymore. He was fucking scary. Even though he looked like an accountant with his white button up shirt, black slacks, and sharp black shoes, he radiated power and authority. “I’m sorry.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” he said, standing in front of me. He held his hand out in my line of sight. I looked up at him quizzically. “The rest of your stash. It’s mine. And everything you made in my club. Hand it over.”

“No,” I whispered. “Your enforcer already?—”

I was yanked out of the chair and my back thudded against the door. I gasped, looking at the president with wide, fearful eyes. I’m not a small man, my weight usually a deterrent from people manhandling me, but this man tossed me around like I weighed next to nothing. I shouldn’t have thought it was hot, but his strength sent a spark of want through me. Though it was quickly tamped down by fear.

His hand went to the front of my throat, squeezing hard enough that I know he could end me if he wanted to. My eyes bulged. “Now listen here, comepinga. You’re going to empty your fucking pockets, then get the fuck out of myclub. If I catch you here again, I’ll fucking bury you myself. Entendido?”

I knew enough Spanish to know he was asking if I understood and I fucking did. I emptied my pockets of the cash I made with shaky hands and got the fuck out of there. When I returned home empty handed, no money or drugs, I was in an even worse spot than I was before I started working for Brock. I paid him the small bit of money I managed to save, but he said I was short. The pills they took from me was worth more than the measly few hundred dollars I had saved and I didn’t even have the money I made from that night’s sales. In other words, I was fucked.

Brock’s trailing finger brings me back to the present. That fucking motorcycle club president left me in a shitty position. I mean, yeah, I was selling in his club, but he could have told me not to come back. It’s not like I knew I was encroaching on his territory or I wasn’t allowed to do it. Brock told me to sell there, so I did.

I shove Brock’s hand away again, glaring up at him. “Do not touch me. I told you I’d get you the money I owe you, but not like that.”

Brock’s faux jovial expression morphs into a predatory gaze, his eyes tinged with anger. He doesn’t like to be told no. “Listen to me, you fucking useless fuck. You owe me a fuck ton of money.” I wouldn’t call two grand a fuck ton, but it’s more than I have, so it seems that way. “You ain’t never gonna get it, so you might as well suck my cock and let me fuck you until you’ve repaid me. Now get the fuck in that room and take your fucking clothes off. My dick is hard and I want to sink it into something nice and hot.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” I shout, bringing my knee up into Brock’s balls. He yelps and drops down to the ground, grabbing on to me to keep his balance. “Get off!”

I push past him, trying to get away, but he grips my ankle,pulling it out from under me. I tumble to the ground hard. The wind is knocked out of me, but I curse and kick out at him, landing a good shot to his face. He snarls, but lets my ankle go.

I’m scrambling to my feet when Kit pushes open the door, rushing into the kitchen. The commotion must have been loud from the way he hurries inside. “What the fuck?” he shouts, looking between me and Brock. I glance back at Brock and see blood leaking from his mouth, dripping down his chin. “Brock, what happened?”

Pointing a shaky finger at me, Brock roars, “He attacked me! He came on to me and when I turned him down, he kicked me in the balls.”

“That’s a lie,” I shout, climbing to my feet. “I would never come on to you,” I spit, my lips curling in disgust. I turn to look at Kit, pleading with him to listen. “I told you, he’s been creepy for weeks. This time, he told me I can pay him back the money for the pills I lost if I suck his dick and let him fuck me.”

“Kit, don’t believe him.” Brock wipes his mouth and makes his way over to him. Kit’s eyes bounce back between the two of us. He takes a step back from Brock, but it only lasts a moment. After they have some stupid silent communication, Kit allows Brock to wrap an arm around him and I know I’ve lost. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you. I only have eyes for you, baby.” He rests his hand on Kit’s face and Kit fucking leans into it. Fuck!

“But Brock,” he whines, glancing back at me briefly. “He’s my best friend. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

Brock gives me a dirty look before refocusing on Kit. “Come on, Kit. You’re enough for me. I only want you. I told you when we met I don’t like fatties. You think I had you on a diet to lose those extra pounds so I could try to fuck a fat guy?” Brock scoffs like it’s such an absurd thought.

I wince at the dig. It’s always what someone says when they don’t want to be seen with a chubby guy. Like being plus sized is a bad thing.

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