The whore bobs up and down on my dick. Loving on my cock like a hungry little bitch. I let out a long moan that’s vibrating through my throat. I close my eyes and picture another face, another pair of tits and ass kneeling before me. I let this club slut suck me off as I sit there.
I lay back on my bed in the clubhouse, with my pants around my ankles and my boots still on. The feel of her hot wet mouth sucking and licking my cock brings me a moment of peace. Memories of killing hundreds of men are pushed back, along with the one face I can’t picture without stinging pain. I can kill a hundred times over, but she’s the only one who can slay me.
I need, and want more, so much more than she or this club slut can ever give me.
My hand painfully grips her hair at her scalp and I force her down harder and quicker, wanting to shoot my cum down her throat. Seeing her discomfort gets me off and I love that I can toss her away after I’m done.
She gags. Feather’s, I think that’s what her name is, saliva drips down my balls while I push her mouth over my dick to take me deeper.
“Fuck my cock, bitch.” I force her up and down my shaft quicker. She gags, and I laugh at her, not giving a single fuck about her needs. My breathing picks up with every thrust of my hips into her mouth. “Harder, cunt.”
Hammering into her, my steel cock is locked and loaded, ready to finish this. I pump a few speedier, half thrusts into her and hold her head steady to my stomach. My dick throbs a steady release down her throat that she can barely breathe through. Sweet, sweet release. Not satisfying enough though, I sigh.
The climax is enough to calm my nerves for now and I take a few deep breaths in and out, then begin moaning and slowly rocking my hips back and forth, enjoying the feel of my cum coating her tongue and my dick. I moan again, this time not wanting the high feeling of ecstasy to end.
I pull out of her mouth and demand, “Lick this fucking mess up.” Feather takes hold of my dick and does as she’s told, licking every drop off. She polishes it like chrome off a tailpipe.
After she’s done, I pull my black jeans up, zipping them up and buckling my belt. Then I start to make my way out of my room at the clubhouse. I leave her naked, whore ass on the floor and exit the room, not giving a single fuck about her. The night is still young, and there’re more bitches to look forward to. I can hear Feather rustling around with her clothes, trying to catch up to me. Good luck.
I walk up to the bar where Spider is sitting on a stool, staring ahead over at the wall as he’s taking a slow sip from his beer. He nods at me in acknowledgement as I round the counter to get back to bartending. I may still be a prospect, but I can fuck all the pussy I want as long as my work for the MC is done. He eyes me knowingly, then turns his head back to the spot that he is aimlessly fascinated with. I curiously watch as he takes another long, slow pull from his beer and sets it in front of him.
“What's going on, bro?” An uneasy feeling crawls over my skin. Something has Spider’s full dedication to his thoughts. I toss away the empty bottles that were sitting on the bar and wait for his reply. The sound of them hitting the trash can fills the quiet between us.
He looks at me and considers my question, tilting his head to the side. He then directs his focus back to the bottle in hand, and lightly picks at the label. He turns his body slightly on his stool, just enough to look directly into my eyes. “Shit is never settled in this life, prospect. Your enemies will never sleep, and your family is never safe. It’s when we relax that they strike.” He turns his head to stare back ahead at the wall while he questions, “What is it you see yourself doing for this club?”
“I haven’t been told what my options are yet. What’s going on, brother?”
“There are only two types of men in this world,” he looks at the bar and then back at me. “Ones who make their own destiny and ones who allow those around them to choose for them. Battle Born brother, let that shit sink in. You came here for a reason.” He takes his smokes out and lights one, forgoing an answer from me, and continues to smoke and finish his beer in silence.
I let his words swim around in my mind for the rest of the night. Who am I? And why did I come here? Somewhere in the back of my head, something tells me that the riddle he just left me with was about me.
Pain. Shooting pain in my body jolts through me relentlessly and uncaring from my head to my toes. I cry out in agony, willing relief to come and save me. Willing death to capture me in its grips and ride away with me to heaven or hell, whichever one, I could give a fuck.
Cold sweat coats me like a virus, attacking my sanity and the little amount of strength I have left. Deep breaths, I tell myself over and over. But nothing helps in this hell. Giving up on finding any relief, I roll to my side and grip the cool metal of the bedrail with my clammy hands.
Beep, beep. The machine echoes next to me. I keep my eyes shut, refusing to accept the reality of where I am, but hearing it none the less. I survived when all I wanted was to die. I begged for the hounds of hell to take me when I swallowed a bottle of painkillers and as much vodka as I could drink before passing out.
The sterile smell of the hospital room assaults my nose next. I try to open my eyes and the sting from the light hurts. I blink a few times and try to adjust them to the brightness that’s invading my space. How long have I been out? A hazy memory starts flashing before my eyes and I go back under.
My car swerves right and I correct myself the best that I can, then park it in the driveway of my aunt Teresa’s home in California. I grab a small bag from the back seat and walk up to the doorway. I pat myself down trying to find the keys I was just holding.
I laugh at myself because when you’re this fucked up, you don’t really care. I find them stashed in my back pocket and unlock the door, stumbling inside. Thank God Teresa is at work still.
I look up and don’t like what I see. Pictures of me and Ashley are lining the wall, taunting me.
Teresa always pushed us away from the club, and could you blame her? God only knows the amount of grief it brought on to us. I huff at the pictures and continue walking.
I stumble through the house and into Teresa’s bathroom to raid her medicine cabinet, looking for more pills. I finally find a bottle that’ll do and take it with me into my room. I grab the bottle of vodka out from its paper bag and sit down on my bed. Staring at the ceiling, I remember every gruesome detail of my life. The pain takes me down a path I can never come back from. Popping open the pills, I place two in my mouth, wanting to end the tormenting memories and heartache. I want to end it where it all started.
Beep, beep. The noise breaks me out of my nightmare and brings me back here to my living hell.
Lying on my side, I crack open my eyes enough to see the nurses shuffle up and down the hallways, working, and people looking for their loved ones. Living.
My heartrate picks up with a different agony, remembering that I left my family, and James, in Reno and came here to die. Only, I’m still alive in my own hell on earth. The memories of my past and the present are tearing me apart. I can’t go on as these two different people any longer. Why am I still alive!
“Mija.” Fuego’s voice startles me, and I quickly turn over to find him sitting in a chair by the bed. “Bueno, mija, you are awake. Como estas?”
“Why are you here?” The disappointment is clear in my tone.
“You are mi familia.”
“That’s bullshit,” I spit the words at him.
“Mija, you are ten different kinds of fucked up right now. Si? We will get your shit together and you back to the living, mija, es hora, no? It’s time, right?”
He speaks but I just can’t make even a single sound in response. It’s too late for me. I don’t want to live anymore. Closing my eyes, I allow the tears to fall, the ones that are usually held back when I take pills and drown them with vodka. All I want right now is more of that, not this life. Not promises of better, because shit never stays good. Some motherfucker always wants to fuck that shit up for you.
“I don’t want you here or your help,” I croak, trying to push the words out. He stands and walks closer to me, standing next to my bed.
“No, druggies never want help, si. Pero, mija, you are going to a mental hospital, and this bitchy attitude isn’t going to help you,” he leans over my bed rail and sternly reprimands me.
“Fuck that,” I maliciously laugh at him. “I don’t have to do shit.” He’s right about one thing though. I am a druggie. May as well play the part, no more hiding what I am.
“I’m not making you go, mija. But the State of California can, and will.”
Fuego steps out of the room and I wish he would keep walking and leave. He checks in with the nurses’ station and Aunt Teresa walks up. My mother’s older sister who raised me looks at me with disappointment. Yeah, I know, I fucking hate myself too.
“Jenn,” she scolds, “Did you really take all those pills in my home?” She waits for an answer with a hand on her cocked hip. She is laced up so tight, a real Catholic woman to the core. “I’m waiting, Jennifer, answer me.” Her tone is sharp and unforgiving.
That name causes me to shiver and instantly triggers me to want to puke all over the floor. “Yes, I swallowed all your pain pills just to avoid you asking me this stupid question. Save your Mother Teresa act for someone else.” My eyes roll to the side, “Are we done here?”
“I told you to stay away from the club,” she quietly hisses at me to avoid Fuego hearing her. “Thank God that Ashley listened to me and has a good job and a man to take care of her. You are just like your mother…”
Rage fills my vision and I sit up in bed and glare at her, “Fuck what you think about my mother, Teresa. Fuck you and fuck Ashley too.” My hand wraps around her white cardigan and I pull her up close to my face. “Say one more goddamn thing about my mother and I will slit your throat, you biblical whore.”
I pop my hand open and she stumbles backward right into Fuego. She stares at the two of us and her mouth opens to say something before he interrupts her. “Careful, Teresa.” His icy stare snaps her mouth shut and, gripping her purse close to her chest, she storms out of the room.