Feel My Pain (Curse Bound 1)

Fuck him. There were other people around too. People whose skills didn’t hinge on creating a gory mess Roach would have to dirty his hands with.

Jersey, their prospect, became alert behind the filthy bar counter ahead. His black hair, held in place by copious amounts of gel, shone in the colorful lights as he approached them with a bottle of whisky and three glasses, so eager to please he might have dropped to his knees and rolled out his tongue for the prez to piss on if that got him his patches sooner.

Roach accepted the glass, even though his personal opinion about the cheap shit his father favored was known well enough. He was the last one to have his liquor poured, of course. Jersey knew as well as anyone that regardless of the patches on Roach’s cut, they occupied a similar position in the food chain, so like the weakest dog of the pack, the prez’s younger son drank last.

That was the way it was.

The acidic alcohol that had at best stood next to real whisky did its job, numbing any bitter emotions still lingering in Roach, even though he wouldn’t exactly consider drinking it a pleasure. He couldn’t wait to leave for a moment of solitude with his favorite flask filled with the most aromatic bourbon. Stainless steel covered in leather from his mother's vest, it was one of the few personal items Roach prized. Hulk would have to pry it from Roach’s cold, dead hands to have a taste, but Roach would rather avoid another fight, so slipping out a few times during the night was the best course of action.

Hoots and whistles erupted throughout the club, and Roach didn’t have to look up to know what was going on. The double doors opened, and at least twenty women joined what had until now been a congregation of dicks. Dog closed the procession of pussy as if he really was his namesake herding sheep.

“It is on!” he shouted in the relative silence remaining after the band finished their final number. “The best titties in town are all here, so don’t be shy,” he said, scooping one of the girls with his arm as he pushed his way through the sweaty crowd.

Roach never understood how this bald bastard got so much tail. Sure, he was a biker, buff, and packed a good size of meat, but still—pretty, he wasn’t. There had to be something about his confidence, about that mean, over-inflated ego of a child who’d never been told no that appealed so much to a certain demographic.

At thirty-two, Roach was past the stage where he tried to convince himself he could make things work with a woman. That ship had sailed a long time ago, ending his pathetic attempts at having a girlfriend, and shutting the doors on his sex life. He wasn’t about to confess to his club brothers that he liked dick, even if Dog sometimes fucked guys during dry spells, claiming a hole’s a hole. Fucking men would be a can of worms Roach wanted to open even less than that freezer downstairs.

So he usually took on the role of Enforcer at parties like this, despite it not being his job.

Heat tickled Roach’s neck, and when he sensed the whiff of liquor breath, he braced himself for impact. Sure enough, a soft yet strong body collided with his back, and long gray-blond hair brushed against his cheek as the actual Enforcer of the MC tightened his arms around Roach and lifted him half an inch off the ground.

“Prey coming to our lair on their own. Don’t you like that, Roach?” Leo asked, expecting the obligatory laugh. Because he was, somehow, the funny one and considered his sense of humor an asset with the ladies. Maybe twenty years ago that had been true.

Roach supposed certain things ceased to matter once you’d had enough shots. Like the lameness of a guy’s jokes or the fact that his body hadn’t seen soap for the past two days. Maybe chicks with chronic sinusitis were his target for the night, because Roach sure as hell wouldn’t touch Leo with a ten-foot pole, even if his personality was charming.

Roach’s nostrils flared, letting in more of Leo’s ungodly smell. “I’d rather know all that prey has their IDs on them. The cops are just waiting for us to fuck up, and if I’m going to jail again, it’s not gonna be for serving alcohol to minors.”

Ajax flashed a mean grin, white against his stubble, and Roach braced himself for another verbal punch. “Thought the younger the better with you. Flat-chested should be as up your street as a piece of pussy can be.”

Ah, the gay jokes. Unavoidable even when Roach gave Ajax no reason to suspect him. “No thanks, you forgot I like dick. Big, meaty, and spurting floods of spunk.” He rolled his eyes to make sure it was considered a sarcastic rebuff. Ajax didn’t always get those.