Gift From The Bad Boy

Chapter Four

Ben

All eyes were on me.

I was standing in the middle of the clubhouse bar. No one twitched or made a noise. The silence was thick and impenetrable, until I cleared my throat, raised a shot glass high in the air, and roared at the top of my lungs, “To the Knights!”

On every side of me, my men raised their glasses like I had and echoed my words. Their voices were like thunder, like the world’s biggest bike engine, damn near deafening, as they toasted and ripped back their shots.

I was happy as hell. We were flush with cash, we’d knocked an enemy down a peg or two, and now it was time to get good and properly drunk. This liquor wasn’t going to drink itself, after all.

Two hours later and the party was in full swing. God only knew how many shots of whiskey I’d poured down my gullet, but I didn’t give a shit. This was a celebration, goddammit, and I had every right to keep ’em coming big and frequent.

“Slick,” I drawled, throwing my arm around the man’s shoulders where he sat next to me, “you done good.”

The clubhouse was packed with people. Every brother in the club had come out to toast to our good fortune. Slick had done exactly like I’d told him to, and the place was crawling with dimes wearing miniskirts and their best “fuck me” faces. More than a few had caught my eye. The first part of the night had been all about throwing back drinks with the boys, but now, the clock had reached that hour where my dick started to do the steering and I was just along for the ride. In other words, the fun part.

“Thanks, boss,” Slick slurred. He was a skinny bastard and the alcohol seemed to be catching up to him. Judging by the girl perched on the stool next to him who was rubbing his crotch through his jeans, I trusted he would be taken care of tonight. It was time for me to choose the night’s lucky female winner, the one I’d be having once the party started to wind down.

“What do you think, brother?” I growled to him. I swept my arm across the room. “Who should it be?”

Slick shrugged and leaned back against the bar unsteadily. “You’re the prez, prez. Which one do you want? You can have your pick of the litter.”

I chuckled. It was always nice to have a yes man like Slick around, though I hardly needed the confidence. Even long before I had the president’s patch on my leather kutte, I’d pulled pussy without breaking a sweat. I’d never understood why some men struggled with it so much. The way I saw it, women were looking for a man who could take them on an adventure. And shit, what better adventure than headed out for glory on the back of a bitching motorcycle? That was as good as it got.

The question was, which little minx was looking for an adventure tonight? I scanned the crowd. It was a swimming, churning mass of bare legs and asses encased in skintight denim. I saw blondes, brunettes, redheads, with bodies of every shape and size under the sun. This was a man’s dream. And they were all here for me. For us. On our turf, playing by our rules. It’d take a miracle for any brother here to end up alone tonight. But how was I supposed to choose?

Then, suddenly, one of the girls caught my eye. She looked different than the rest of them, like she was standing beneath a different light or something. I blinked my eyes and refocused. Either I was way drunker than I realized or something weird as hell was happening, because I could swear she had a crazy glow to her skin.

“I’ll be right back,” I muttered.

“Where ya goin’?” Slick asked, but I ignored him as I set my drink down and slowly began to wind my way over towards the girl. I felt cold and sharp. The warm, hazy drunk had disappeared instantly, and now I was like a shark zeroing in on my target. One hundred percent focus. Eyes for nothing but the goal.

The goal in question had her back to me. She was wearing a sparkling black backless top that plunged down to expose her spine and shoulder blades, what little I could see of them between the strands of the blonde hair swooping down her back. She was fit and tanned. Her body looked ripe for the taking. I wanted to grip and squeeze it, to run my tongue up along every vertebra and then flip her over and work my way back down between her legs.

Her friends were standing on either side of her, a brunette girl I didn’t know and a tall, skinny, mohawked kid I recognized as Hawkeye, one of the guys who worked at the local tattoo parlor. I dismissed them both silently. They would have to stand aside and let me dive in there. I wasn’t going to be denied.