Savage. That’s what my mother called me growing up—a no good, filthy savage. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was right.
If finding an ounce of pleasure by causing others pain makes me one, then so be it. I’ll own that title because it’s true. I fucking love pulling the skin away from others’ flesh as they scream in agony.
I wish I could say that I haven’t always been this way, but that would be a lie. Not that I’m above lying; if anything, I’ll use it freely whenever it benefits me. For example, when I found this MC, I didn’t come by it with any good intentions.
Arriving tired and irritated, I was sent by an MC called The Widow Makers. They wanted me to take out some rival Oath Keeper member whose road name was Exterminator. I was told that he had murdered some important members from another club—The Southern Outlaws.
The few SO Members that were left alive warned me multiple times during our meeting about how Exterminator’s a ruthless killer, and I should watch him before making my move. Of course, I was planning on some recon; anyone who’s been paid to kill before knows that shit. If anything, I was overconfident. Had it been me sent on the run to eliminate the Southern Outlaws, none of them would have been left alive.
After scouting Exterminator for a few days, I showed up at the bar he’d visited every night. I figured if I got there early, I’d have the one up on him.
My plan started to go to shit when I got into it with another club. The members had gotten me down on the ground, and I was struggling. I can handle three okay, but more than three I have to work at it.
Three of them had been taking turns at kicking out my right knee and then, in the end, striking me in the back with a metal stool to get me to fall. Once I hit the floor, five guys were on me like fucking leeches. They were determined to teach me a lesson but too big of pussies to do it one-on-one.
Exterminator and his boys stumbled into the middle of it all and bailed my ass out. Why? I’ll most likely never know. They aren’t the friendly type to most, but for some reason chose to have my back.
He saved my life that night. I didn’t even know it was him until after it was too fucking late. Once a man saves your life, you don’t take his cash—no matter what amount is offered.
The brothers helped me out, putting me up for as long as I needed. They were clueless, not knowing that I had my own means to make it. In time, they opened up some and showed me a brotherhood that I didn’t know existed.
They aren’t like the other clubs I’d been around. The Nomads from the Oath Keepers MC were all about themselves, but also each other. They never acted individually, but whole like a team.
With time, I was offered a spot to ride with them. It was hands down the best decision I’ve ever made.
I’ve never admitted my true reasons for going to the bar that night and my brothers have never pried. Eventually, though, I know my dirty deeds will catch up to me; they’re always in the wind, riding my tail, waiting for me to fuck up and come barreling out.
The Nomads run differently than the rest of the clubs; we’re freer. We don’t belong to one Charter but float around to wherever we’re needed or feel like going. The regular clubs’ rules don’t necessarily apply to our group. We have a structure amongst us, but not as strict as the Charters. A few of the brothers like Texas a lot, so we end up spending most of our time here when we stop for a bit. Otherwise, we keep on the move, rarely staying at one place for too long.
Scot and Exterminator pretty much call the shots when it comes down to things; otherwise, we work more as a unit. Ironic since we don’t play well with others often. None of us own much; it makes it easier to travel.
We aren’t tied down by any women either. Scot had an Ol’ Lady at one point, but when she passed on, he went Nomad. That was before I was around, though. Exterminator and Nightmare don’t talk much about if they had an Ol’ Lady in the past or not.
I’m fairly young compared to them, so I’m all about playing the field when presented with getting my cock sucked. Pussy’s another thing entirely; it’s gotta be worth it for me to get in it.
Ex and Night are pretty tight with each other; they handle a lot of shit together. It’s not quite as excessive as Saint and Sinner; sometimes I wonder if they wipe each other’s asses with how close those two are. They seem to share everything—room, food, women; they don’t have any boundaries when it comes to the other.
Spider’s pretty quiet most of the time, and Ruger just likes to shoot the shit. All in all, we make up our small group and we’re each just fucked up enough to compliment the other.
Occasionally, we’ll get a full-time member who transfers over to us, but they never last. Men all bitch that they want freedom, but then many can’t handle the level of freedom that we have. We don’t follow your everyday lifestyle; we say fuck the bullshit and do what we want.
We have our unspoken set of rules amongst the group that we follow. The main ones being: We don’t rape women, we don’t kill anyone innocent, we always have each other’s backs, we never interrupt a fight unless someone feels we might die, and well, that’s pretty much it.
Nancy, the bartender, sets a tall draft in front of me as my ass hits the seat. Immediately taking a large swig, I down half of the refreshing beverage, parched from the Texas heat. Saving the rest for the next drink, my glass hits the top with a thud.
My brothers quickly follow and place their empty cups back on the counter. Feeling a little more relaxed as we all settle into our favorite shitty roadside bar. We always stop in when we’re visiting central Texas.
We just got back here; we were off on a run to California. The brothers and I were helping out the local Chapter here. They were having an issue with a notorious club known as the Iron Fists.
It all turned out to be a success, as we sat by and watched those fuckers burn to death. I enjoyed every minute of torching that ratty clubhouse with them locked inside. That’s what they get for fucking with the wrong crew. The Oath Keepers are well known for their loyalties when it comes to family, so this other club should have taken note. That’s their fuck up, though, and in the end, they paid the ultimate price with their lives.
No sweat off my back, though. I couldn’t give a fuck when it comes to killing scum. People around me thought I was a heartless bastard, and they’re probably right about that. I don’t have the guilty conscience eating me up inside like others get; I’ve seen too much and done too many things.
Taking a life is simple—almost poetic watching the life drain from their eyes. Why should I feel bad for removing them from a fucked up world anyhow? No one ever saved me, so in a way, I’m doing them a favor.
“Ye good, laddie?” Scot gestures to my neck, and I nod with an irritated grunt.
Ares, the VP of the local Chapter, and I got into it the other day. The fight wasn’t anything serious, but he put his hands around my throat and left a mark. He was making Ex look bad in Church, and I wasn’t having it; no one needs to make my brothers or myself look incapable. If anything, we’re more than capable when it comes to handling things, and we should get more credit when it’s due.
“Yep, I’m straight. Don’t get it why they didn’t just let us settle it, though. Now shit’s unfinished, and I wanna have a turn to prove my point.”
“I’m guessin’ they put a stop to it, as it was their Church time. As for Ares, ye should just stick to yer own. No good will come from messing with the VP.”
“Oh, I can handle my own, trust.”
“Aye, I’m sure, but we’re the friendly type with ‘em. Let it be.”
Nodding, I drop it and take a drink of the crisp, cool liquid. I’ll be respectful to Scot, but damn sure believe I’ll have my turn with Ares again. He’s lucky I didn’t take my hatchet to him like I do the others. I kept it clean, only fighting with my fists; the club should’ve stayed out of it.
No wonder they needed our help on that California problem if that’s how they handle a little scrapping. Bunch of pussies!
Speaking of pussy, I could use some tonight and not the gash that was hanging around the clubhouse. Those bitches around there are a little too prim and proper for me. I need a naughty bitch, one who isn’t scared of getting dirty as I fill her up.
Saint and Sinner take the seats on the other side of me, sitting back and relaxing.
“Where’re you two coming from?” We all arrived here at the same time, but those two fuckers disappeared quickly.
Saint turns toward me, his light gray eyes meeting my gaze, with his full-on pretty boy looks. The man could be a fucking buff cover model for Abercrombie or some shit. Sinner looks similar, just the dark version, with his jet black hair and charcoal colored irises. I swear to God those fuckers are real brothers and don’t know it.
“We wanted our cocks sucked.” He shrugs and Sinner grins alongside him.
“Well fuck! I want my cock sucked too.” Grumbling, I scan the room, instantly stopping on some sexy blonde bitch talking up one of the skinny Prospects from the Oath Keepers.
She’s exactly what I need with those sultry lips, plump enough to wrap tightly around my dick and suck until her cheeks flush. I’d spray my load all over that flawless skin gracing her face.
Finishing the last of my drink, I stand and adjust myself; baby already has me getting full for her. Taking a deep eager breath, I swagger over toward the couple. Immediately turning toward the pissant Prospect, I snarl, “Thanks, newbie, but I’ll take her from here.”
Since when do Prospects chat up chicks? When I was prospecting, you shut the fuck up and were the last man on the totem pole to get any female attention.
His eyes grow wide, knowing he better back up, even though his forehead wrinkles in irritation. At least the cat’s smart enough to keep his damn mouth shut.
I turn to the blonde, ready to show her I’m the better choice, only to find she’s gone. Vanished like a goddamn ghost or some shit. Figures, she’s the first one in a while that I want to stick my cock in, and she disappears.
“Where’d she go, Prospect?” I growl, and he shrugs.
“I don’t know; I’d never seen her before. She was only in here a minute before you scared her off.”
“The fuck you trying to say?”
“Nothin’ man.” He puts his hands up and takes a step closer to his Prospect buddy.
He’s never going to get a full patch if he can’t show some balls. The Oath Keepers would not let a weakling in full-time.
“You see her again, you send her to me. Got it?”
“Yep.” He nods, and I take my seat again.
“No luck, brother?” Saint smirks.
Rolling my eyes, I ignore him and gesture so Nancy will bring me another drink. A small hand runs up my arms and a pair of big tits press up against my back. Hot breath hits my ear the same time as Saint and Sinner both break out in grins.
“You want your cock sucked, baby? Your friends sure liked it.”
Glancing at my brothers, they nod, easily agreeing with her, so I stand and adjust my dick. My pants are still tight from the blonde so that I could use some relief. Twisting around, I find a mousy redhead with tits probably bigger than double Ds and a decent mouth.
“Let’s go,” I mutter as I catch her wrist and yank her toward the door. Finally, time to get serviced.
I inhale another drag off the cigarette. My father would shit if he saw me smoking. I’m an adult, but my father’s always treated me like I’m fifteen years old. So naturally that eggs me on even more to do shit that would piss him off. I know, real mature, but fuck him.
He made his choice long ago when he chose his club over his loved ones. I guess his real family wasn’t good enough for him and his life, so he went and made his own. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d included us in everything, but he kept my brother and me far away from it.
Then when I was younger, he was in jail for years because of his friends running drugs with him. What a loser. Being away from him for so long has been a blessing as far as I’m concerned.
Now, he suddenly wants to pull a stunt and show up at my mom’s house all the time, like he fucking cares about her? Fuck that! He broke her so badly before. I’m older this time around, and I’m not letting him get away with it.
Hence the Prospect from the Oath Keepers I was just talking to—Scratch. I still can’t believe he’d let people call him that, and frankly, I’m scared to find out how he got it.
At least I have a plan. Well, my best friend, Bethany, came up with it at first, but it’s brilliant. I’m going to go from daddy’s little good girl to his naughty biker slut, and I’m making sure it’s personal for him. As soon as B mentioned it, I was sold.
Paybacks will come swift and easy for me by fucking a few of his club brothers. Surely they would love a young blonde with a perky rack and tight cunt. I could probably walk right through that club door and get picked up by a few of them.
Once I’m done sleeping with some of them and I can rub it in my father’s face, I’ll embarrass him in front of everyone. I’ll figure out when he’ll be around his oh so precious fucking club and announce it. I may even point out which of his men dipped into the honey jar. Once he’s mortified and disrespected, I’ll be out of there. It’ll teach the bastard to fuck with my loved ones once and for all.
In the past, I’d have never had the guts or would’ve thought about this plan, but now he has my older brother, Brently, joining that stupid gang too. I refuse to let my mom lose Brently as well. She sacrificed her husband already, and it’s not fair to take her son also.
My brother met me to have lunch last week; it was quick but better than nothing. Nothing has been the norm for him lately. He’s been pulling no-shows and not returning any of our calls or texts. Then, I couldn’t believe it at the diner when he showed up proudly wearing a cut that was just like my father’s. The only big differences were that Brent’s said ‘Prospect’ and ‘Snake’ for his name.
Seriously? Because the experience from the psychos who carved him up and attacked him wasn’t bad enough already? The club members went ahead and chose a name off of it for him?
It sounds more like a slap in the face if you ask me. They’re calling him that shit after what the attackers did to torment him and the love of his life. I don’t get it how Brent can stand to be around them after that.
My brother felt like me for so long, never wanting anything to do with the club or our father. We both graduated with good grades and went to college. I was on the drill team in high school, and he stayed busy playing sports. We both made our mom so proud; she supported everything when it came to us.
I went to a junior college since my father wouldn’t pay for a larger school, and I had to go where financial aid would allow. It was extra shitty because I remember him getting a new Harley that year. At least, in the end, it meant that I still had my mom and Bethany around me.
Brently, on the other hand, got to go away to a decent college. He was awarded a sports scholarship that paid most of his way. Not like any of it matters anymore, with his chosen career path. He’s turned into a giant asshole just like my dad.
After all the lying and cheating my father put my mom through, I just can’t forgive him. Now Brently’s going on that list too. He should be helping me, not making it harder. Traitor!
I haven’t spoken to my mom in almost four weeks. I kept seeing my dad’s new bike parked out front of her house, so I didn’t want to stop by. Then, he’s answered her phone every time I’ve called, so I gave up ringing her.
When it comes down to it, I don’t have anything to say to him right now. I’d rather keep driving or hang up, than waste more breath on being angry at him. Obviously, my words in the past never did anything to change his ways, so hopefully this drastic plan of mine will.
In the beginning, when he’d pull his shit with Mom, I’d been able to speak to her about it. She was always saying that she needed him, which I know was a load of bull. I’ve been the one around her—all the time—even when I was in college in Austin. She’s always been such a strong woman; she never sees it, though. He breaks her over and over, yet she rebuilds herself.
Sure, there’ve been nights when I’d hear her crying or when he’d call lit off his ass begging to talk to her, but he never showed up every day like he’s been doing. We’d go for little spurts of him being around for like three days, and then he’d vanish again. Each time he’d show up with the same sob story of ‘he couldn’t take it anymore, and he loved her.’
I never understood back then or now, how she could easily forgive him. Her favorite justification, when confronted about it, was always ‘love’s blind and forgiving.’ Well, I’ll embarrass him so badly this time that he’ll stay away from my mom for good. She won’t have to make excuses for him any longer. I never want my dad to hurt her ever again; she deserves real love and happiness.
He’s done all that and yet the guys he has with him call him the Prez. What kind of shitty man like that deserves to be called the President of any organization?
Ugh. Maybe getting my payback will end up opening my brother’s eyes again.
When I showed up at that crappy bar tonight, it was pure blind luck on my part. I stopped in to see if they knew where I could find some of the Oath Keepers guys. The bar’s located near the clubhouse, so I figured I’d give it a shot. I struck freaking gold when—pretty much right away—I ran into one of their Prospects. He was cute and seemed kinda sweet, definitely looking to get laid until the big guy showed up to interrupt us.
The other man was insanely good-looking, but he was no Prospect. As soon as the wild group of bikers came barreling into the bar, my body went on guard. Their cuts said Nomad and my mother’s warned me about those types of guys, as well as club members from back in her time with my father.
With the lifestyle they live, I seriously doubt I could handle one of them. But, I may try it out in the future, especially if it’s with the guy I saw tonight. Sweet fucking baby Jesus that man was so delicious looking. He seemed rough and sexy all over, and to top it off; his name patch said ‘Viking.’
It was the last thing I saw before I was headed out the door, needing to regroup and come up with a better game plan. Because fuck me, how on earth do you get called something like Viking? You know it can’t just be because he’s massive. It has to be more. I’m betting he’s a very dangerous man, and the scary thing is, that sounds fucking hot.
Next week I’m damn sure dragging Bethany back in there with me to help. It was her idea originally, so she better be up on acting as my wingman. She’ll probably flip out and offer to fuck them all. She’s a total slut, but I still love her. I’m not the only one with daddy issues, but hers are far more fucked up than mine. The poor woman was beaten and molested by the man who helped create her. I don’t know how she did it; I most likely would have stabbed him when he slept if it were me.
Also, some much-needed recon is due for the Prospect; any information on him at all would help me out. Oh and Viking too. But how? My mother wouldn’t know either of them, not that I would get to speak to her anyhow. My dad’s probably over at the house, and God knows I don’t want to talk with him.
Not far from the bar, I pull into the parking lot of my quaint apartment. Climbing out of my car, I slam the door, relieved to be home.
It’s nothing special, but it’s become home to me and occasionally Bethany when she decides to stay over. I don’t make a lot of money, but it’s enough to get me by, thankfully. I’ve never been one for many material things, even with a name like Princess hung over me.
Tossing my clothes in my hamper, I sluggishly make my way to my awesome fluffy bed and face-plant. I’m buzzed and exhausted. It’s the perfect way to end my day, with a good night’s sleep.