Thumper (Cerberus MC)

“What’s the plan for the day?” I ask, my fingers tapping on my desk.

I know what the plan is, but it’s like I need to hear it again to wrap my head around it. The alcohol and the lack of sleep I got last night are making it hard to concentrate.

Angel drops into the high-back chair in front of me, and I suddenly hate this house and this office. I hate how easy it was to purchase a fully furnished house, and by fully furnished, I mean we didn’t even have to supply the cages in the basement when we moved in. This house was built for the exact purpose we’re using it for. The office is filled with expensive liquors and leather couches. The living room has a stripper pole and eye bolts in the floor, for fuck’s sake.

“We have to get them logged. Get their information. We’ll start with showers.”

“I’ll supervise showers,” I tell him.

“That’s my job,” he hisses.

“You seem pissed,” I say, trying to keep the agitation out of my voice.

I’ve seen guys like him before. Hell, I’ve put bullets into the heads of men like him while I was with Cerberus. It felt good then, and I know it would feel good now, but I refrain for the time being.

My work with Cerberus fucked with my head. All good guys doing good things. Fucking ridiculous. No one is perfect, but those assholes with their holier-than-thou complex sure try. I scoff, drawing Angel’s eyes.

“What?” I growl.

“Last night—”

“I’m handling business.”

“You fucked one of the whores… twice.”

My lip twitches, that urge to shoot him between the eyes growing with every word out of his fucking mouth.

“And? That’s what whores are for.” His eyes narrow. “And I was only going to shove my cock in her throat at first. Berto was the one who demanded I stick my dick elsewhere.”

“And what did I tell you when you asked me to come work for you and show you the ropes?”

“My family—”

“Don’t give me that practiced line. I don’t give a shit what your family did two generations ago. You have never done this. There’s an art to selling whores. You’re one fucking day in and already breaking the rules.”

I clench my jaw, wondering where exactly his anger is coming from. Is he livid I fucked her at all, or is he mad that it wasn’t him who got to her first? I scan his face to figure it out, but the man is unreadable. He gives nothing away but his anger through his dark eyes.

“Using them up is bad for business.” He sits back further in his chair, an air of entitlement in his posture as he crosses his arms over his thick chest. “Buyers want to be the ones to fuck the fight out of them. They want them feisty. They want to be the first one to cross that line with them. You can’t have them for your own.”

“You told me I have to prove to these women who is in charge,” I remind him, my fingers itching to pour a third glass of whiskey even though it’s only nine in the morning and I’ve already had two. “Berto had to have proof for his boss.”

“We hold the keys to their freedom, literally the keys to the locks on their cages. That speaks of our power over them. You don’t have to fuck them to prove you’re the alpha. If you want someone to fuck, there’s willing staff in the kitchen. If you’re too good for the willing pussy here, then you can go into town and find a wet hole for the night. The women in the basement are off-limits.”

I grind my teeth, my eyes going back to the window, and I envy a bird that flies by, wishing I could grow wings and disappear. How simple would life be then.

“Taking one for yourself was never part of the plan, and I’m not going to lose my cut on one of them because no one will buy her.”

“They will all sell, even the whore from last night. In fact, why don’t you go grab her and bring her back up to the room. I’ll apologize for hurting her.”

It’s Angel’s turn to growl, and I slowly look back at him.

“No? You want her for yourself? Well, bring me the redhead then.”

My throat constricts as his eyes narrow further.

“Today, they’ll be processed,” he snaps before standing so quickly the chair legs scrape across the floor a few inches. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

The office door slams closed, and I keep my eyes on the dark wood for a while before the pull of the bottle of whiskey is too strong to ignore. One more glass isn’t enough, and I don’t hesitate to refill my glass for a fourth time today before turning back to my computer screen and pulling up the basement video feeds.