Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“You were amazing out there, Ares,” says the girl wrapped around my bicep.
“So big and strong,” says the one running her hand up my chest. “I love a man who’s hot and sweaty.” She presses her body tighter to mine. “If you come with us, I can show you just how much.”
She bats her long eyelashes. She’s pretty, cute, and a college girl.
But it’s not going to happen.
I won’t mess with fans, and I’m not in the market for a girlfriend. Sex is a complication I don’t need right now.
“Sorry, ladies, I’ve gotta hit the showers.”
“We can come with you,” bicep girl says eagerly. “We can wash your back and anything else that pops up.”
She digs her teeth into her lower lip, and out of nowhere, I’m tempted. She’s gorgeous and sexy and after a fight—especially one that’s inflicted a little pain on me—I’m turned on. I’d planned on taking care of my arousal in the shower, alone, but maybe a little assistance could be enjoyable.
But then I think about King Pin.
We used to fight together in the underground circuit. He was a champion who liked to indulge in the circuit girls. Lots of them. Unfortunately, one of them became obsessed with him after a one-night stand, and when he didn’t return her interest, she shot him dead a few months later.
Just another reason I avoid female company.
It’s too unpredictable.
My right hand isn’t.
“That’s a real sweet offer, but not tonight,” I say with a wink.
“Maybe we could come and see you at the clubhouse,” the other girl suggests. “Keep you company for the night?”
Okay, that makes me pause.
How do they know I belong to a motorcycle club?
I keep my private life separate from my underground fighting. I don’t tell anyone I’m a King. But these girls have clearly done their homework, and that’s a red flag.
I untangle myself from them both. “Maybe another time.”
Not hanging around to hear their protests, I make my way through the bar toward the locker rooms where the fighters can shower and change.
Inside, Doc, Jack, and Paw are waiting for me.
“Scorpion got you good,” Paw says when he sees the blood on my face. He grins happily. “You losing your touch, big fella?”
Paw likes to tease.
“A bit of pain is half the fun,” I reply, crossing the locker room to where the benches line the wall.
I sit, and Doc takes a look at my eyebrow.
“Yeah, well, that fun is gonna get you four stitches,” he tells me.
“Do your worst,” I reply.
When he opens his medical bag and tries to stick a local anesthetic into the area surrounding the wound, I stop him. “No drugs,” I remind him.
Doc shakes his head. “You know this is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”
“I said… no drugs.”
Truth is, I like the pain. Call me a psycho, call me what you will, but I am what I am, and I like a little physical pain.
Across the room, neither Jack nor Paw are surprised.
“Crazy sonofabitch,” Jack mutters with a shake of his head.
Jack is President of the Kings of Mayhem Motorcycle Club, Tennessee Chapter.
Four years ago, he found me at The House of Sin during one of my benders. I was high and drunk on just about everything, and by the time Jack roared in on his Harley, I had been through one girl after the other, sometimes two or three in a night.
But Antoinette, the owner of the House of Sin, was getting worried about my lack of interest in leaving and was worried I might become a problem. She asked Jack to swing by the brothel to show me who I would be dealing with if I started any trouble. Not that she had anything to worry about. I was only there to blow off some steam and work out my next move. Since leaving the De Kysa, I had no direction, no place to be. I didn’t belong anywhere. To cope, I indulged in a lot of fucking, drinking, and doing blow.
But I was never a threat to them.
When Jack was there, a wild storm hit, and we were all trapped for two days, which if I’m real honest, there are worse places to be stuck than a brothel with a lot of beautiful women during bad weather.
Jack and I bonded over a chess board as lightning lit up the room and thunder rumbled in the sky, and the next day he invited me to join the Kings of Mayhem.
Figuring I had nothing else, I bought myself a Harley, threw the bag containing all of my belongings over my shoulder, and joined the club.
Now, they’re my family.
“Never met anyone with such a hard-on for pain,” Paw says. “Not sure if I should high-five you or call a psychiatrist.”
And Paw, I guess you can call him my best friend—he’s a smart motherfucker. He jokes that I’m the brawn and he’s the brains in our friendship, but he’s right. His real name is Malcolm, but we call him Paw because of the deep claw marks on the side of his face. In his previous life, he used to be in the FBI. One day he was attacked by a mountain lion when he was on a case, which left him badly scarred. If the scars bother him, he doesn’t let it show. Now he takes care of our club’s security and all the technology we use daily. He still has contacts in the FBI which has gotten our balls out of the frying pan more than once.