Page 9 of Protective Biker
The hardest pill to swallow for Ripper is the way we make our money. The Oath Keepers don’t deal in dope, only guns, and we make our money in powder—in selling the never-ending high to junkies and anyone else looking to score. I figure if they’re foolishly willing to decide to buy, who am I to stop them? I’m not their parents, and I’m damn sure not the little angel or devil on their shoulder weighing their choices for them. I’m just another biker out here on the road, trying to live free. If selling dope or anything else makes that happen a little easier for me, then so be it. I’ve made most of my money fighting and betting, but my brothers can’t claim the same.
“We’ve come to business terms with Ripper and Blow,” Ares, President of the OG charter, rumbles, glancing at each of us. He was once like me in his club, knocking heads when needed; now he’s the highest-ranking President of the entire MC. “They claim you’re all on the same page.” His words leave no room for argument; either you’re in or you’re out. If you’re not wearing the OKMC cut or the tattoo, you’re a biker no longer welcome in Texas. Having the Oath Keeper Nomad’s huntingyou down is a scary fucking problem to have, and that’s coming from me, an overgrown, stubborn fucker.
I nod, shifting a quick glance at Prez and VP before landing on Angel. My stare pins on him momentarily, making sure the moody fucker nods his agreement as well. I know everyone else will fall into line, but he’s the type to stir shit up just because he can, and in this moment, I’m the one who has to hold him accountable should he choose to deviate. Like he did with Blow’s ol’ lady, Sydney, for instance. He locked her up in a hotel room, ready to bury her six feet under when he found out she could’ve been a cop, rather than talking through it with VP. It was such a g-damn mess, and now they have beef simmering between each other, ready to explode at any given moment.
Ares rumbles, continuing, “Nothing is sold to minors. No heroin.Period.We’ve worked too fuckin’ hard to get that shit outta our area to ever allow anyone wearing our motherfuckin’ colors to be slinging that shit, you feel me?” He asks, shooting a glower around our group.
I’m rarely intimidated by anyone, but I wouldn’t want to fight him. I went toe-to-toe with our now-OKMC-brother, Cain, back in the day, and I can attest they’re a club of mean motherfuckers. We should mesh perfectly, given the chance and the time to work together. I have no doubt this is the right direction for us, or else I never would’ve voted for any of it to happen.
Viking glares, “Cross us on the heroin rule, and I’ll chop your fucking head off. Afterwards, I’ll watch Saint bathe in your blood,” he promises. I’ve heard many of the crazy-ass stories through the grapevine about their club, so I don’t doubt his statement for a moment.
My gaze flashes to Saint, the light-haired, fair-skinned man who has always appeared somewhat harmless. He wears a wide, fucked up, twisted grin, silently conveying that his prez speaksthe utmost truth. With his expression, I have a feeling he’ll enjoy every minute of getting bloody, too. His partner, Sinner, stands close to his side. He openly smirks at us with the looming threat, and my gut tells me nothing is as it appears, and they’re a cruel duo to fuck with.
Cain, from the OG charter, speaks up. He’s the vice president of their club. “If you ever come across someone wearing an Iron Fist cut, you hit Twist up before putting a bullet in their head and starting a new war. Last we saw of them, they were in Oklahoma, steadily building their numbers back up. They’re a nasty fucking group.”
I don’t miss the way Nightmare visibly pales at the mention of the other MC being in Oklahoma. I wonder what the hell that’s all about. More club politics, I’m sure, and I’ll probably never know them since we aren’t in either of their charters. We’re close to both of their clubhouses, but still far enough away, about an hour or so, to keep our chapter and the location. I don’t think Ripper would’ve left, even if he was told to. I have a feeling he would’ve fought it until the others gave in and allowed us to remain with our group.
I mumble, but it’s loud enough that the others manage to overhear, “At this rate, I should’ve brought a notepad to take notes. I knew this was going to be a patch-over party, but not a fucking school session.”
Ripper glares, not amused at my shit-talking when he’s around two other presidents he no doubt wants to remain on the good side of, and maybe even impress if possible. He needs to chill, though. The OKMC members have stopped through our club a lot, and they wouldn’t do that if they couldn’t stand being around Ripper, nor would they have allowed us to patch over. Obviously, we possess some redeeming qualities to them if they’re welcoming us with new leathers and a party full of brothers.
Rather than causing the tension to worsen, my words make the group of brothers chuckle. Spider, one of the nomads, calls out, “Alright, who’s getting some strippers so we can get this party started? It’s been too long since I’ve been laid, and I’ve been around you broody fuckers long enough.”
Torch, their Death Dealer, huffs, “For fuck’s sake, you know Flame will have my ass over this shit. She’s going to set your fucking crib on fire if she gets wind of you bringing strippers around me, fucker.”
Odin, their VP, grins. “And I’m not helping you rebuild your pad. It’ll be your own dumbass fault. Cherry won’t bake you the bread you like, either. You know how jealous she gets with other chicks around me, especially naked bitches. My ol’ lady won’t have it.”
Spider shakes his head, muttering, “You assholes just had to go out and find the craziest set of ol’ ladies to claim, didn’t you? Now, the rest of us can’t have any fun without you pussies whining your women are going to castrate you in your sleep. Bethany will always terrify me with the way she’ll cold cock a chick hitting on Nightmare with such ease. Not to mention, Flame knifing anyone who comes at her. It’s not natural, having women so possessive like you all do.”
A few chuckle, no doubt the ones with the crazy ol’ ladies. We don’t have to worry about those things here, as the only ol’ ladies we have around are chill.
Blaze cuts in, taunting, “You’ve just got blue balls since you can’t fuck Torch’s daughter. Tell us the truth, Spidey, you’ve got it bad for sweet little Annabelle Teague now that pumpkin’s all grown up.”
The space echoes with everyone‘oh-ingandoh-shitting,’dropping shocked comments, but also at the same time not sounding that surprised with Blaze’s comment. I can’t help butwonder if this will turn into a fistfight. Probably not, but we’ll see. I may get to scuffle today after all.
Torch adamantly promises, “The next motherfucker who speaks my daughter’s name, or better yet, even fucking thinks of her, will no longer have a cock swinging. I will burn that shriveled-up pathetic tiny excuse of a dick off and then kick your teeth in.” His threat makes several of us laugh.
I’m glad I don’t have a daughter; there’s no way I could handle men in the picture with her, let alone one of my brothers wanting to be with her. Ripper glances at me, “‘House, you gonna go get the girls from the club? Think they’d want to come party with us tonight?”
Of course, they want to party. Those women love me, but what will Raven think if I show up asking for them all to come by the clubhouse? Will she think I’m going to fuck them too? Would she even care?
Probably not.
I’m acting like a chick over this right now, worrying about what she’ll be thinking of me when she’ll most likely not want anything to do with me. We fucked for my birthday; at least I think it was because of my birthday, but I could be wrong. It was after the exact date, but we were so close before I was dragged outside, and the strip club was forced to close for the night. Anyway, it’s been a week since I was inside of her.
Since I saw her.
Felther.
Not my fault. I promise I was not blowing her off in any way. I’ve never been that sort of guy before, and I damn sure wouldn’t be some type of way with her. I’ve been busy as the SAA of our club; I have responsibilities, especially with this patch over. Okay, and I’ve also sort of been a little bit of a chicken shit about what went down between us.
Don’t get me wrong, I want to see her—more than anything—but what if she doesn’t want to see me after the way things went down? We fucked in the strip club, and the other girls have to know about it by now. Shit, maybe they won’t want to come back to the MC with me either. What a cluster fuck.
The memory hits me of Raven’s voodoo pussy sliding up and down my cock, and instantly the thoughts have me transfixed all over again. Yeah, I need me some more of that, for sure. She’s probably missing my cock by now, too. At least, I hope she is.
“I’ll go,” I instantly agree with a nod. I’m definitely not going to not go and possibly miss a chance at seeing Raven. Even if she doesn’t want to come with the other dancers, at least I may be able to catch a glimpse of her…Or something.Anything.
“Hey, dipshit, I need you to ride with me,” I mutter, roping in my prospect, Ammo, the moment I see him. He’s one of the more easy-going, laid-back type out of the prospects, which is a good thing since he’s always around, it seems.
