Chapter Seven
The president ofSatan’s Pistons pushed the party girl off his lap, and her ass hit the floor with a thud. As she glared at him, she grabbed her top off the couch and pulled it on over her head.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked as she stood up, her hand rubbing her backside.
“I’m done with you.” Shark zipped up his jeans and stretched out his legs.
“You could’ve just told me to get off.” She tugged at the hem of her skirt.
“I wanted to hear your ass hit the floor.” Shark narrowed his brown eyes at her. “I’m done talking.”
The woman opened her mouth as if to say something then closed it and walked away.
“You didn’t like Ginny?” Chip asked as he looked at her retreating figure.
“She’s a whore like all the others. I was done with her. She’s been to enough of our parties to know the fucking score. If she doesn’t like it, her ass doesn’t need to come around.”
“But I heard she’s real tight. She does those exercises bitches do to keep their pussies like that.” Chip turned around and looked at him.
“I said she’s okay. I didn’t even remember her damn name until you just said it. If you want to know about her pussy so bad, then go get her. She won’t say no … she’s easy.” Shark took out a cigarette and lit it. He was bored out of his fucking mind. It seemed that each day blended into the next, and he was itching for something new to keep his adrenaline pumping.
“Blueman called when you were fucking Ginny,” Demon said, sitting down next to Shark.
The president jerked his head back. “Why the hell didn’t you get me? I can fuck her anytime. Shit!” He kicked the scratched-up wooden table in front of him with his boot.
The VP inhaled deeply then slowly exhaled as a cloud of smoke wrapped around his head. “He wanted to know when we’re coming to Durango.”
“When he has the fucking shipment. Haven’t we told the dumbass that like a million fucking times?” He put the cigarette out on the floor. “I don’t trust these fuckers one bit.”
“None of us do, but we need the shipment to get back in business,” Demon replied.
Shark ran his fingers through his long brown hair. “I’ll call the fucking idiot. I’d like to close this deal in a month.” He knocked over the table. “I’m so damn bored. We should go to a rally. New faces, fresh meat, and new scenery are what I need.”
“The only rally in the area is the one the Night Fucks put on at the end of October. We should go and kick their fuckin’ asses for what they did to us,” Demon said.
“Just wait ’til we start selling smack. We’ll get us some big-ass weapons and decimate the fuckers and their goddamn families.”
“And have some fun with their women,” Demon added.
“Yeah, before we slit their throats. I can’t fucking wait to get revenge on those motherfuckers.” Shark pushed up from the couch.
“It’ll be damn sweet and long in coming.” Demon offered a joint to Shark.
Shark’s phone pinged and he smiled. “Noe’s passing through,” he said to Demon as he texted his friend to come to the clubhouse.
Noe and Shark had been best friends since they beat the crap out of each other in the alley behind their school. They were eight years old, and Noe had been the new kid in town. After the fight, they became fast friends. They’d formed Satan’s Pistons, but his buddy and fellow club member stepped away when his dad fell ill and Noe moved them both to Phoenix for better medical care. Noe and his dad were close as hell, and Shark often envied their relationship, wishing that he’d had that with his dad.
“I like it,” Noe said as he walked into the large room. Shark met him halfway, and they hugged each other; it’d been at least a year since he’d seen Noe.
“It took us a fucking long time to get this place livable,” Shark said, motioning the prospect to bring over two beers.
Since the Night Rebels had burned down their clubhouse two years before, Satan’s Pistons made due with a few double-wide trailers, but a year before, one of the brothers—Bandido, had inherited some land and a ramshackle hacienda from his grandfather. After months of work, the clubhouse looked pretty damn good, and there were enough rooms to accommodate all of the members. Most of the brothers lived at the club, with only a few having places of their own in town. The club girls lived in three double-wide trailers behind the hacienda.
“How’s your pop?” Shark asked, cracking open his beer.
“The doctors say the same, but I notice he gets a little worse each day. I’m staying with him in an assisted living place. It helps to take some of the pressure off me.” Noe brought the beer can to his lips.
“He’s been sick a long time, bro. You’ve given up your life for him.”