Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 115933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“I-I-It shouldn’t have h-happened.”
With that perfect fuckin explanation, I left the room, feeling like a creepy bastard, but no matter how much I condemned myself, I was unable to shake the vision of Mae as she came.
I was so fuckin’ hard but so fuckin’ mad.
Bursting into the bar, most of the guys were gone, hounding the cops for intel or fuck knows what else. And, hell no, fuckin’ Dyson was pouring drinks.
Storming straight over to her dyed-pink hair and fake tits, I slammed a fist on the bar top.
She stumbled back, sensing my fury. “I c-came to see Tiff and Jules.” She said, lowering her gaze in an act of pure submission. “I heard what happened today and we all came to help out. Thought the guys would need pussy to take their mind off things. Thought they could use someone they were used to.”
That answered my question as to where everyone was, shacked up in their rooms. The pussy cavalry had arrived and Christ knows a brother wanted nothing more than serving his dick after he’d just survived a shit storm of bullets flying at his vital organs.
Damn manipulative slut. Dyson, the bitch who took my virginity at thirteen. Hell, she must’ve only been about sixteen herself at the time, come to think of it. Some underage runaway who found herself a home in a den of outlaws. The pink-haired junkie used the brothers for ice until she fed that shit to a newbie whore with some real fuckin’ potential. The bitch OD’d on the compound floor. Dyson was cast out after that by my old man, warned never to return. Of course, her lounge room sex shows were missed by the brothers, but no one wanted her for more than a blow job. Hence her name, Dyson: excellent suction and ball control.
Reaching out and grabbing Dyson’s wrist, I pulled her forward, pointing at the exit door. Her bottom lip began to tremble and tears ran down her heavily made-up cheeks. The makeup hid years of acne scars.
“What the hell’re you doing here?”
I whipped around at the high-pitched shrill, only to see Beauty storming over to me and Dyson like a fuckin’ bull charging a rodeo clown. Dyson paled, as she should. Beauty may look like Goldilocks, but she is a fuckin’ Rottweiler in a terrier’s body. Dyson had made a move on Tank once and only once; Beauty didn’t appreciate the aggressive move on her turf. Dyson wore shades for two weeks, hiding the two black eyes Beauty had gifted her.
Dyson swept her eyes between me and Beauty, fidgeting with her hands, head twitching, waiting for a rescue. Ah. It then struck me the reason she was back made complete sense. She was desperate for her next fix, hoping some brother would slip her some cash for meth.
“I came to see Tiff and Jules,” Dyson answered unconvincingly, eyes shifty, trying to avoid our glares.
“Don’t give a shit! Get-the-fuck-out! No one wants to see your skanky sex show no more!” Beauty stood almost nose to nose with Dyson, the tension building too high for my liking.
Beauty— I signed, trying to calm her the fuck down. She thrust a palm in my face, the other hand gripping my fingers, silencing my voice.
“Don’t, Styx! Don’t let the temptation of fuckin’ her rancid pussy again make you change your mind! Think of Mae. Get rid of the whoring bitch!”
You know what, Beauty? I signed. I’m getting beyond pissed at you trying to tell me how to live my fuckin’ life.
Beauty gasped. She was the only old lady I never had crossed words with. She was the only bitch I could tolerate for more than two minutes, and we were good. Hell, she even learned ASL for my sorry mute ass. But her letting her mouth go, to me, the Prez, needed to stop before she completely robbed me of my fuckin’ balls!
I saw Dyson smirk. Quite honestly, I felt like wiping the evil grin off her face myself, but I just wanted to drink a fifth of whiskey and not picture Lois dead on the sandy ground, blood pooling beneath her, or Mae curled up crying in my bed, covered in rape scars. Pit, like he was reading my fuckin’ mind, slid a fifth of whiskey my way from behind the bar.
Down went half and I could feel myself going numb. In my drunk-ass state, I noticed Beauty move to the end of the bar, keeping a close watch on Dyson.
Ten minutes later, I wasn’t noticing much else.
***
I could’ve sworn the five rivers of the underworld painted on the bar wall were on the move. They seemed to be swirling, but then again, the whole room had started to swim. Making an attempt to get up and off the barstool, I stumbled only for someone to prop me up by my arm: Dyson. Her eyelids hooded, lips frozen in a smirk and her hand reached for my cock.
My drunk-ass body lurched to life and Dyson gripped onto my shirt and began dragging me to the hallway. The look my favorite blonde shot me from her position at the bar would have incinerated a lesser man on the spot.
Dyson led me into the hallway, finding the darkest spot. Her smile was wide and she licked that fuckin’ talented tongue over her teeth. I needed this, needed to fuck all the rage outta my system—hard, rough fuckin’. Had to get Mae and her fucked-up scars outta my head before I lost it and went hunting for people to rip apart for fun. Needed to get Lois’s hurt face outta my eyes before the guilt tore me apart.
Dyson reached up and ripped the top of her tank down to her waist. Her massive plastic tits popped out—no bra. Dyson’s eyes shone with arousal as she plucked and squeezed at her fuckin’ huge red nipples, groaning loudly, getting herself off.
Dirty fuckin’ whore.
Dropping one of her hands, Dyson lifted her skirt and slipped her finger against her clit. This was why the brothers craved her—the fuckin’ pre-fuck floorshow.