Crow: Kings of Carnage MC - Prospects

Prologue

Crow

Sitting in the back of Centerfolds Strip Club, I watch a young blonde woman who I’ve come to learn is named Aspen talking to a man with light-colored hair, leather cut, and tattoos. North, a biker of a motorcycle club. Aspen smiles, her back against the wall and North dips his face into her neck, kissing her. She slips one hand up his back to his neck, and into his hair. I’ve been coming here for two weeks watching not only the sexy entertainment on the stage but North the biker that is more pussy whipped than he realizes. The colors on the back of his leather cut, The Kings of Carnage, is the sole reason I’ve been stalking this place as long as I have. I want in, I want a place inside of his club, but I don’t exactly know how that works. I can’t come up to him and just say that, it’s not a fucking gym membership. I somehow need to show him that he needs me, then I can persuade the club to give me a chance. I moved here two months ago from Kansas City and in just a matter of days, I figured out that The Kings of Carnage motorcycle club runs this town. Their loud motorcycles growling and roaring down the streets of Uprising, Georgia. Their tattoos, menacing faces, and drop-dead gorgeous women would have any man wanting to dip their cock into that adrenaline rush. Men have a couple ways of life to choose from by the time they reach thirty, and my being twenty-eight, I better pick a hand soon.

There’s married with kids, a dad bod, and a minivan.

Or living the life of brotherhood, either in the Army or in a motorcycle club. Both come with a sense of freedom and loyalty, but the idea of being able to shoot shit whenever I want and without Uncle Sam telling me what the fuck to do is a much better idea.

North turns away, letting his woman slip behind the stage, his eyes set on mine and he juts his chin in my direction, acknowledging my presence. Grabbing my beer, I lift it, conveying a friendly hello back.

The club has become crowded with horny, loud men giving me a headache. I swipe my keys from the table in front of me and decide to call it a night. I pass a man named Jinx at the door. His arms crossed, glasses on, as he watches the rowdy crowd with a grim expression on his face. He’s from The Kings of Carnage as well.

Outside, the warm Georgia air gusts around me as if it’s cleansing me of the club scent. My boots thudding against the ground, I unlock my Ford Explorer, the lights flashing in a row of trucks and cars.

“That your ride?”

I slowly turn and find North looking at me with a cocky smirk on his face. He thinks he surprised me coming up behind me in the dark but I knew someone was out here watching me. I felt the heat of his stare as soon as I stepped foot out of the building. Judging by the look on his face though, I don’t want to let on that I knew he was there, and force my eyes to widen and mouth to part with the façade of surprise.

“North?”

Running his hand through his hair, he cocks his head to the side.

“This your ride, brother?”

I look back at my old 2009 Ford Explorer and shrug. “Yeah, why?”

“Figured you had a motorcycle the way you’ve been hanging… never mind.” Resting his arms on the hood of my truck, he looks me over carefully.

“What’s your name?”

“Lennox. Lennox Godfree, but everyone calls me Crow.”

He glances back at the club, interlocking his fingers that rest on my hood. He’s thinking, trying to make sure what he says or asks is enough and as little as possible.

“Lennox, are you just some horny man that can’t score any pussy, or are your frequent visits for the last two weeks for other intentions?” His eyes sweep to mine, and I swallow hard.

My jaw clenching when I stare back, knowing he probably has a gun on him right this minute and will have no trouble pistol-whipping me and dragging my ass to the side of the building to finish the job if I say the wrong thing. I want that fucking power and respect.

“Let’s just say I don’t have a problem getting my dick wet.” Lifting my chin, I tilt my head to the side.

His mouth turns into a full smile and he pushes off my vehicle, his eyes not making full contact as he rubs his palms together.

“That’s what I figured.” He begins walking away, the streetlights showing his leather cut and rocker. His boots crunch into the loose gravel on the cracked pavement as he disappears into the club without another word.