Page 18 of Biker

“No,” she spits and throws her hands up. “I’m not watching a damn thing other than this whore parading herself around this clubhouse like she’s some fucking club princess, but she’s not. She’s not,” she rants. “She’s just a cunt. Just another piece of pussy that’s going to be used and spit out by the,” she snarls her next word with so much hatred that I almost want to take a step back, “brothers.”

The room has gone quiet, and I can feel the oppressive anger of the men around me as they move closer. Porter shoulders his way through and is seething, “Who the fuck do you think you are to talk to my old lady like that?”

She whips around and gets tripped up on her feet, almost falling, but catching herself. “Your old lady,” she screeches with outrage, like she didn’t see the property cut I’m wearing, which is ridiculous. “You can’t be serious,” she softens her voice and reaches toward Porter and takes a step closer to him.

Before she touches him, I shake Demon’s arm off and grip Cherry’s hair, using it to pull her back. “Do not touch him,” I snarl. “Bronco is mine. My old man.”

Cherry claws at my hand, but I don’t give a fuck. She tries to turn her head, but I yank back on her hair harder, not giving her an inch to look at me. “Stop,” she screeches, her feet kicking out, but she’s too fucking drunk to be effective and I’m behind her.

I shake her head with the grip I have on her hair, not hard enough to really hurt her. I just want to startle her. “Don’t try and look at me. Look at him,” I demand, “Look at Bronco.” Porter’s eyes meet mine over her head, but he doesn’t stop me. No one stops me. I keep my voice even, “He is mine. Soak up your fill because you will not look at him again. You will not touch him. You will not speak to him. You will not try to get close to him.”

She whimpers and I give one more tug of her hair before I let go. She drops to her knees and lets out a pitiful sob. I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something crass about her being on her knees. I don’t need to kick her when she’s down, no matter how tempting it is.

“That was hot,” Demon murmurs under his breath.

The quiet in the room surrounds us, only broken by the ridiculous crying coming from Cherry. Like she didn’t put herself in that position in the first place.

“Cherry, Cherry, Cherry,” Spark tsks in admonishment.

My eyes snap over to him to find him looking at me with a prideful smile on his face. He winks at me before he directs his attention to the woman on the floor.

Porter told me about what went down in New Orleans not long ago with the VP’s old lady being stalked and a club angel helping her stalker, who was the president of a rival club. He almost kidnapped her, and the angel ended up dead. I’m sure I’m not the only person thinking about that situation right now.

Spark claps and every brother looks his way. He looks around the room, meeting the gazes of the men he considers family. I know he feels the same way about me. He might be a little standoffish at first, but he’s a big teddy bear underneath it all. I get it, he has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders.

I try and relieve that burden however I’m able to. When I’m here, I help where I can. I cook for the guys. I make sure they know how much they mean to me. I’ve started organizing the next charity run.

“The way I see it, there are two options,” authority oozes from every word Spark speaks. “Cherry can be punished for her disrespect, or she can be kicked out.”

I grimace at the thought of her getting kicked out. Porter has told me some of the reasons angels have decided to be angels. I don’t know Cherry’s story, nor do I really care, but I know, sometimes, they don’t have a lot of other options. Usually, they work for the club somewhere else as well.

Did she fuck up? Of course. Do I think she should get kicked out? Not yet.

I clear my throat and Spark smiles at me. He nods, “You have something to say, Kenzie?”

“I don’t think she should be kicked out,” I hold my head up high as I speak, but I twist my fingers together. When warmth engulfs them, I glance up to find Porter standing next to me and holding my hands in his. “I believe that people can surprise you,” I find myself grinning as I look around the room at the men who have become my family, earning some chuckles, “and can learn from their mistakes.”

Cherry blinks up at me, but she isn’t glaring, and she doesn’t say anything.

Spark nods. Pride washes over me and it’s not just coming from the president of the DSMC; it’s from all of them. “All in favor of Cherry being punished for her indiscretion.”

“Aye,” is chorused throughout the room.

“All opposed.”

“Aye,” Rites surprises me by being the only one who speaks up for her to not be punished. My eyebrows furrow together as I look at him. “I think she should be kicked out,” he lays it out simply before glaring down at the woman who hasn’t moved to stand up. “Old ladies are the heart of this club. Always have been. The old ladies we have associated with the club don’t come around anymore, not really. Their men are old timers and I understand why it’s that way. I don’t want anyone to get the thought in their head that we won’t back an old lady, no matter who she belongs to.” Cherry cringes away from the venom and righteousness in Rites’ voice. “But,” he shrugs and winks at me, “I’m out voted. I just wanted to make my stance known.”

Spark claps Rites on the back. “Noted, brother.” He looks down at Cherry. “You’ve forgotten your place here in the club. Bronco was never yours. He never claimed you. He never even thought about it.”

“Damn right,” Porter mutters and releases my hand to wrap his arm around my waist and tuck me into his side.

“Your punishment will be that you will not be entertaining any brother for a month. You will also be working like a prospect, if not harder, for two months. One task you will perform every day is cleaning the public bathrooms and the bathrooms of any member who wants theirs cleaned. You will clean up after every party, by yourself for six months.”

Cherry’s voice is filled with regret, “Okay.”

Who knew snatching her cherry red hair would knock the notion that she’s a tigress out of her head and, instead, show her she’s a kitten without claws?

“We’ll assess your behavior at a month, two months, and then at six months,” Spark warns her, and she nods before standing up slowly. “Go sleep it off,” there’s disgust in his tone.

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