Page 9 of Outlaws of Tulsa

Gibson elbows him and tells him to shut the fuck up.

Slamming my palms down on the table, I lean forward to glower at him. “It’s for me to fucking worry about, Blake, because I’m fucking Prez. I make the goddamn rules. Understand?”

Nees winces at his real name, eyes lowering like a scolded child, and nods.

“Any more questions?” I growl, meeting each member with a glare.

They all shake their heads.

Didn’t fucking think so.

Hadley

Where the fuck is Milk?

I slide on my sexiest heels—because being a biker bitch doesn’t mean I have to give up my cutest shoes—and stomp out of Milk’s room I share with him.

If he’s with that skank again, I’m going to kill them both.

A few guys whistle as I pass and I sling my dark hair over my shoulder as though I don’t care. It gives me a thrill when they do that shit in front of Milk because then he gets possessive. When he’s possessive, it leads to wild animal sex. It’s hot.

“Where’s Milk?” I demand, popping my head into the room of his best friend, Hammer.

Hammer, a burly looking dude, makes a great show of drinking in my long, bare legs before looking up at me. “Hmmm?”

“Oh, don’t you hmmm me, asshole,” I growl. “Where the hell is my boyfriend?”

He smirks and strokes his long beard. “I could keep you company until he comes back. My dick is lonely and your ass would look hot as fuck planted on it.”

I roll my eyes. “Fuck off. Just tell me where he’s at.”

“You his old lady?” he taunts.

“Whatever,” I snap, storming out of the room.

My heels clomp loudly on the wood floors as I pass several more rooms. If it weren’t for meeting Milk when I was a kid andfalling madly in love with him, I would have chosen any other place to run away to. Like the fucking beach. Not this pissy, hot, smoky clubhouse filled with goddamn idiots.

With each passing step, my anger morphs into something unstoppable. When I find Milk, I’m going to claw out his eyeballs. And if Juicy is sucking his cock, I’ll shove my heel up her ass because I am so over that bitch.

I’m so pissed that I don’t remember to tone it down before I pass Prez’s door. When he barks out my name, I flinch.

Fuck.

“Oh, hey, Magna.” I wave at him, feigning sweetness.

“Get in here, girl.”

Double fuck.

I suck in a steadying breath and force one of my pageant smiles on him. It works for everyone else, why not him too?

Magna sits in his leather chair in the corner of the room, a joint pressed between his lips. The room reeks. He’d shit himself if he knew I call him Skunk behind his back.

“You got shorts under that?” he asks, his eyes roaming down my legs.

“Yeah, Prez,” I say with a stupid nervous giggle. And then because I’m a complete idiot, I lift my long, flowing white tank to prove it.

His eyes dart to my belly button ring and his smile becomes predatory. “Looking for Milk?”

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