Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
We’ve fine-tuned ourselves. It’s why we rule the West Coast. We’re the most dangerous MC… because the bottom line is might makes right in our world.
My world especially.
All my brothers have something to lose these days. I don’t. It gives me the superiority the club needs. I’m the vice president and I love every fucking minute of it. That is, besides today, when I have to deal with the Pussycat. Sure, it’s necessary, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. Fucking Edge and Dolly.
“Thanks, brother.” I light up, trying my best to ignore the terrible music exploding from the sound system.
As I inhale, Rip leans over.
“It’s Plain Jane. I think it’s exactly what you need today.” He grins.
Grunting, I hold the magic, letting it burn down my throat and esophagus. He shakes his golden hair, laughing at me.
“Lighten up, Axel. In two minutes, you’re gonna be happy.” He laughs and leans his head back to wink at Porsche.
Exhaling, I yell to the room, “This fucking day… are we starting?”
“Yes, Axel. I’m checking one more thing.” Crystal leans over and I blow the last residual smoke in her face, causing her to roll her eyes and wave that clipboard I’m starting to hate.
“I’m excited.” Rip smiles as he crosses his arms, settling back into his chair.
I eye him and let out a laugh because he does look like he’s excited. He glances at me, nodding at the joint.
“Keep smoking, trust me.”
I take another deep drag, and thank fuck, sweet happiness. I love getting high. Leaning my head back, I let it roll to the right and see Crystal and Destiny in deep conversation.
“What’s the holdup?”
Crystal puts her hand up, displaying her long spiky nails. “Some of the girls are being cagey about their information.” Her voice sounds accusatory.
“Who gives a fuck? Deal with it later. Let’s go.” I motion to the empty stage.
“Fine.” She huffs. “Mac, are you ready?” she yells at him as she looks at her clipboard as if we’re holding tryouts for a Broadway show.
“I’ve been ready, bitch,” he snarls loudly into the microphone. She whips her dyed red hair around and flips him off.
“Clearly I’m the only professional here,” she mumbles, shooting Mac and me a death stare.
“Jewel, you’re up.” A medium-height blonde scurries onto the stage and over to the pole.
“Finally.” I light up again, praying this will help me survive the next couple of hours. Fuck that. Let’s be real—I need to get through the next two weeks.
Song after song, legs and asses twirl around the pole. Tits and pussies blend together. Crystal leans over and I smile because I’m still high and we must be at the end by now.
“So, this last one is an iffy. Her info is all wrong.”
I nod because I don’t care. “Whatever, let’s do this.”
She rolls her eyes again and waves her hand for DJ Mac.
What starts blaring through my speakers, invading my ears, is nothing compared to the sight in front of me.
“What. The. Hell?”
Crystal goes to stand, but I grab her hand and jerk her back into her seat. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand why. Or maybe I do because on my stage is a girl… woman, who’s robbed me of my speech, maybe even the ability to think clearly.
I turn to gripe at Rip for giving me shitty weed. “I’m hallucinating, asshole.”
He’s not even looking at me. The dick sits up in his seat as though transfixed.
“What the fuck, man?” I say.
She stands in the middle of the stage dressed in nothing but a tight black dance shirt that stops under her small breasts allowing me to see her flat defined torso. And I guess dance shorts on the bottom? Not sure because they barely cover her ass. Her platinum-blond hair is pulled in a tight bun showing her long neck and waifish body.
“Jesus, is she wearing leg warmers?” I growl at anyone.
“Fuckin’ A. She is.” Rip nods, still not looking at me. “And ballet slippers, pointe slippers.”
“Like that means shit to me.”
I feel like punching him. At least that would stop him from staring at her. The infamous eighties hit “Maniac” spills out of my sound system. I’m not even sure she’s real… no, she’s dancing so she must be real.
“Is she doing the Flashdance dance?” It’s been years since I saw the movie. Actually I don’t think I ever watched it, but I’ve seen scenes.
“She sure is.” Rip moves his head to the music and follows her moves.
I glare at him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m watching my next downfall.” Not only is his head jerking to the crappy song, but now he’s tapping his foot.
“It’s like Jennifer Beals is in our club… only with blond hair and—”
“Shut up.”
He’s right though. She’s dancing exactly like fucking Jennifer Beals… or Jennifer Beals’s stunt double.