Page 9 of Gunner

“Of course, she isn’t mad at you asshole,” Priest smiled. “You keep her high and happy with dick and orgasms. We don’t have that ability.”

I smiled and looked at my brother, only to have him growl. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Gunner.”

I mean hell, if that was what it took to keep the Menace to Society happy, I was all for volunteering myself. Bailey had a smoking hot body. Wasn’t going to deny that or admit that I’ve taken a longer look than I should a time or two.

The woman was a total Betty!

“She tore into the new club whore the other day too,” Bank added. “All because Violet smiled at her.”

“Poor girl, ran from the room crying,” Hawk nodded. “Spent all night consoling her.”

“I bet you did,” I grinned, fist bumping my club brother.

“Scribe, go wash that shit out of your hair. You look like a fucking clown.” King moaned.

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been trying to do all morning? It won’t come out!”

Priest and I chuckled.

“I hate you all,” Scribe sneered, before pointing at King. “You most of all. Because of you, she is here. You claimed her. You fix this shit!”

“She isn’t mad at me. I know how to keep my woman happy. Maybe if you stop fucking with her, she will leave you alone.”

“She doesn’t have any tattoos! How can a world class tattoo artist not have tattoos? It doesn’t make sense!”

“Think of it as one of life’s great mysteries,” King grinned mischievously before adding. “And stop fucking with my woman!”

That bastard fucking knows the big secret.

Even I was curious why Bailey didn’t have a single fucking ink mark on her. For a world class tattoo artist, it was strange, but I never gave it much thought. But now that I knew King knew, it was a mystery I was eager to unravel.

Checking my watch, I groaned.

Annoying King would have to wait.

“Fuck. I need to leave. Someone call Frank and tell him I’m on my way and not to shoot me when I arrive. I had a late night.”

“You always have a late night,” Pyro muttered, walking away popping the gum in his mouth.

“Jealous, brother?” I grinned, wiggling my eyebrows as he flipped me the one finger bird.

“Gunner, get the fuck out of here!” King ordered.

Grabbing my cut off the bar, I headed outside and hopped on my bike. It was going to be a beautiful day in the Shenandoah Valley and instead of going for a long ride or sinking into a warm pussy I was going to be stuck inside with the scariest motherfucker in the club.

And because of that fact alone, I was going to need caffeine reinforcements.

Fuck it.

I was already late.

What was a few more minutes?

It was summertime in Rosewood and that meant tourists from all over would soon descend upon my quaint little town. I loved everything about Rosewood, Virginia. The area was fucking beautiful, had the perfect riding weather, lots of things to do, from hiking to amusement parks. Thanks to my town being a hotspot for young, beautiful women, I also had a fresh and ready supply of eager and willing women, ready to ride the Gunner machine.

Riding my Harley down the main street of Rosewood, I took stock of the lovely potentials walking around admiring my little town. Tall, short, athletic, curvy, it didn’t matter. Women were a gift from God. A delicacy that needed to be admired and tasted.

What most men didn’t know was that a woman didn’t want to be contained. Oh, no. Women needed to be encouraged, adored and revered. A woman was like a fine wine. Robust, sweet with a bit of tang. Cared for, a woman could tantalize and ensnare a man’s senses. Ignore, belittle or anger a woman and it was game over. That was when a woman became sour and vindictive.

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