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Snake
Fuckin’ shit, the traffic is heavy as the boys and I haul ass down the California freeway. Indio, the club’s Treasurer, is riding behind me, and Azul, the Trail-Gunner, is bringing up the rear in the blue ‘64 Cadillac. The bass from the music vibrates and rattles the freeway along with the bikes, forcing the other drivers to drift to the right. I hit the gas and pass them by. All these years, I shouldn’t love this shit as much as I do, but it’s in my blood. My shades shield the sun’s rays, and my black bandana is tied around my face to block the wind, along with my trademark accessory—a cocky as fuck smirk.
Fuego, the Prez and my Pops, was mad as hell that Gringo ended up in the drunk tank again this week. Bastard was to go to a car show with the prospects to represent the MC, but he drank too much and got cocky with another MC. They brawled and both got arrested, the Prospects were held, and the car was impounded on sight.
The car is registered to me, so here I am to claim her. She’s mine, even though the club claims her. If he put one scratch on La Rubia, I’ll fuck him up before my Pops can. La Rubia, or Ruby, is a red ‘82 Camaro with custom paint and white leather interior. She’s won countless awards, and our pride in her is from all of us having had a hand in creating her. I inherited Ruby after my Abuelo passed, then the club restored her a piece at a time. She’s priceless.
Up the road, the police station comes into view and I slow my roll to the legal speed. Asshole cops glare from their cruisers as we park. I swing a leg off my ride, then tug down the bandana that’s over my nose and let it hang around my neck. I grunt and nod to Azul, a direct message to stay put and watch our bikes. There’s no way in hell I’ll leave them unattended. I wouldn’t put it past these fuckin’ putos to plant a bag and pull us over down the road.
Indio follows me inside, and through the door, we discover a feisty bitch with long legs at the admin window. Her body is rigid with a fist at her side and the other hand pointed at the face of an officer. On the other side of the glass, the cocky cop keeps her attention by playing games. She raises up on her flip flops and I stifle a chuckle at how unthreatening the mad little kitten is. “When will her bail be set?” she grinds out. I stand back and listen to him giving her shit.
“I don’t know when we can let her out. She assaulted an officer. She has to be seen before a judge before bail is set—”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she cuts him off, slapping the counter. Whipping her purse up from her hip and slamming it down in front of her, she digs out her checkbook and waives it furiously before also slamming it on the counter. “I have your bail. You’ve already held her for over twenty-four hours. She didn’t assault a cop—she hit an asshole who was her boyfriend. At her home, where she was arrested.” This chick’s face is red as she spits her words at the cop. Her hands are in fists again and she’s about twenty seconds away from joining her friend in the cell. “I’ll be back, Officer Harris. When I do, she better be ready to go.”
Tight jean shorts cover a fine round ass, and her tank looks like it’s about to bust. If I had time, I would take a break and see what her status is, but a brother has work to do. She pushes off the counter and spins around. Golden brown hair is tied up in a messy knot on her head, but a few strands fly around her pretty face. No makeup or extra shit, just her with naturally dark lashes. Her skin is light but has a gold tone to it. My eyes are roaming over the details of her, and I don’t mistake how much I’m instantly into what I want—her. I could help her out of her clothes and untie her hair, just to see how long it is. Can I wrap a fist in it a couple of times and pull? This woman is all intensity and classic beauty. I could paint her on a car with red lips. This girl knows who she is, and she’s comfortable in her own skin. It’s hot, the strength she empowers through herself. That’s something I can appreciate in a woman. She knows her worth and that instantly gets my dick hard.
She doesn’t hesitate when her sights land on me. Mine is solely focused on her, and I don’t hide it, not one bit. I need to see what she’ll do with it. I crave her reaction. With each stride, her hips sway and her body moves like a pro coming right to me.Running my tongue across my lower lip, I hold back my groan, because I wish I had the time to lead her out the door and to my bed. She gives me a wink and her shoulder brushes up against my chest as she waltzes by. My blood immediately heads south and the predator in my soul is ready to hunt.
“You get ‘em, fiera.” I called her fierce because behind those eyes is an intensity most wouldn’t recognize. But I see her hunger for the untamable.
She gives a throaty chuckle, laughing with her head back. “Baby, I’m just getting started.”
Fuck me! Who the hell is this woman? She gives off a bad girl vibe with a girl next door appearance. All balls with a sweet face. I’m captivated. I want more and I can’t look away from her. Not just her body, but the lure of who and what she is. I’ve never wanted to taste a woman like I do her. My thoughts are fleeting, just as she is, on a mission to get out of here as quick as possible. She shows off the walk of a woman with a spine of fucking steel, who knows where she’s going. Sexy. As. Fuck.
Just as fast as she was here, the boss lady is gone.
“Damn, ese, I didn’t know you had a type, and crazy at that.” Indio whistles low. “But with an ass like that, I’ll board the crazy train for a one-way express pass.”
“Nah, cabrón, watch your fucking mouth. She’s a fucking queen.” It takes a second to pull myself out of the spell she’s cast over me. I’ve never chased a woman before, but for her, I would, if I didn’t have to bail this asshole out.
From my pocket, I whip out an envelope of cash and slap it on the counter in front of Officer Harris. His sneer isn’t anything new, neither is his disgust, as he opens the envelope to see the contents of tens for Gringo’s bail. “This shit’s really getting old, Snake.” I’ve run into this asshole every time I’ve had to bail him out.
“You don’t need to tell me what I already fucking know. Grab Gringo. I’ve got shit to do and ain’t got all fucking day.” He snatches the envelope and moves over to the office assistant, glaring at me while she counts out the cash. I could have grabbed hundreds, but watching them get frustrated over the small bills makes me happy. After she confirms the amount, Officer Harris scowls and leaves through a locked door, the same thing he does every time, without saying ‘I’m releasing your drunk ass friend’.
Azul and I leave the way we came in and wait by our bikes. Eventually, Gringo comes around the side of the building, rubbing his face. Looks like this asshole was sleeping it off. “Prez wants to see you, now, pendejo.” Growling at the asshole, I raise my bandana and start my bike.
I don’t wait for the fucking prick to answer, because he knows better. Just like I know he’ll get into the car with Azul without saying shit. The Prez will handle his dumb ass back at the clubhouse. Dealing with Gringo’s bullshit sets my blood boiling. The fucker has no idea what his actions unleash when I gotta clean up his shit. Unsettled, the wind calms the nerves rattling around in my chest as I ride.
Since I was a teen, anger has been a problem. Throwing fists was as natural to me as it was for other kids to give hugs. My fights didn’t end until I was left standing with blood trickling down my fingertips from my knuckles. It was never a hit and done—it was a release to feel the power I held over the sorry puto who crossed me. I was never afraid, and I never lost a fight. It wasn’t until I embraced the need for power coursing through my veins that I blacked out during a fight. My Pops taught me patience and revenge as a way to manage and control my anger. In time, I learned to use my head over my fists.
It started to sneak back up on me these past few years. Little by little, the anger started to swirl, boil, and crowd inside my guts. I felt it swimming within my veins like a kiss from an old lover, one who whispered and teased me to embrace. First was when my sister, Vegas, left for Reno, Nevada. She needed a fresh start after her and Hawk’s marriage went sour. We were close growing up and she’s my blood. I couldn’t fucking stop what she went through or her leaving. I did beat the fuck out of Hawk for hurting her. I let it go eventually because she’s happy now and her ol’ man is the Prez in Reno. He takes care of her and their three kids.
Next was watching my brother, Kilo, slowly self-destruct until it was too late. I didn’t see what was happening with him and what he was doing to my cousin, Jazzy. If only I could have saved them from what was coming. The drugging regret playing on repeat in my mind has turned into poison, and it’s a feeling I can’t escape no matter how fast I ride.
There is no hiding from pain or regret. It follows you and chases you down the highway like death. One day, we all pay, and when we reach a dead end, the Reaper takes his payment for our sins.
Lately, it seems the old tricks of playing games have been wearing off. The calculating thoughts and strategic moves are doing nothing to sooth the venom running through my veins. My body lusts for vengeance and violence. Craving the bite of pain is becoming an obsession. If I don’t find a solution to lessen the appetite, I may get lost in it. That’s the part that scares a man like me—when does it end? The only thing on this earth that could take me out is myself. How do you stop yourself from what will come so naturally? If I black out again, I don’t know if I’ll come back out. The way I understand the world will never be the same and I won’t know who I am. It’s only a matter of time before the Prez figures it out too. My own mind is my poison, and it’s a deadly escape calling me home.
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