Page 3 of Sinner's Fury

As the owner of the city’s only exclusive Gentleman’s Club, Barney catered to the club for one reason only. Protection. He allowed us to have the pick of the litter for assurance that his club would stay off everyone’s radar.

I shrugged, as if none of them really captured my attention. “No blondes tonight?”

“Naw. Had one a week ago, but she got accepted into UCLA’s master’s program. Shame too, she was a good dancer and drew a decent crowd.”

In contrast to the majority of biker clubs, the Soulless Sinners did not engage in relationships with skanks, cut-sluts, biker bunnies, or whores.

Fuck that shit.

We had enough self-respect for ourselves and the club not to dip our wicks into a community gene pool. Nope, we had a more refined appetite. One that catered to brains and a woman who could string a complete sentence together.

Also, we didn’t want or need any fucking drama.

That was a big fucking hell no.

Pussy was pussy, and the women knew the score before they even showed up. That’s why we farmed our girls from Barney. All of Barney’s girls were college students. None of those stupid brainless bitches that walked the Boulevard near the ports.

Nope. These girls were going somewhere.

Just not with us.

The girls knew the drill before they even volunteered to come to one of our parties. It was a simple arrangement. Befriend andbecome a brother’s plaything for however long we chose and in return, the brother would make a sizable donation to whatever college fund they desired. We got the pussy, and they got the education.

It was a win-win scenario. No hard feelings, and when the arrangement was over, we both went our separate ways.

Sometimes, there was the occasional dust-up when a bitch got clingy or a brother’s condom ripped. Nothing the morning-after pill couldn’t take care of. Those that got clingy, well those cunts got the boot and were told never to come back.

Feeling my phone vibrate, I reached into my cut and removed it, swiping my thumb across the screen.

I smiled.

It was Davina.

Which only meant one thing.

She was in town.

Pocketing my phone, I slapped Barney on the back. “Decent crop, but nothing for me. Maybe next month.”

Without saying another word, I went in search of Montana to tell him I was leaving, when I saw him heading upstairs with one of Barney’s girls.

I knew better than to interrupt that fucker when he was about to be balls deep in pussy, so Mercy it was. I didn’t have to look hard for him, knowing he was probably drunk in his office. And I was right, because he was.

Knocking on his door, I opened it to find my brother half into a bottle of Hell’s Breath whiskey.

Out of all the brothers, Mercy was the only one who had a wife and a kid.

Well,had, being the operative word.

Mercy’s wife, Largo, left him barely a year ago for no apparent reason. One day she was here, the next she was gone. None of us understood why. Before we could even find out whatmade Largo do a runner, she served Mercy with divorce papers and that was all she wrote. Now, Mercy saw his daughter every other weekend and for two weeks in the summer.

“Hey, brother. You doing okay?”

Mercy sighed, looking up from the bottle, and sneered. “Do I fucking look okay? My fucking bitch of a wife left me. Took my kid. So, no, Fury. I’m not fucking okay.”

Shutting the door behind me, I took a seat and sighed.

“Let us help you, Mercy. We all want to help. Just say the word and we will get to the bottom of it all. We all agree none of this shit makes sense. Largo was one of us. She isn’t a runner. We know something happened. Let us investigate.”

---