It Ain't Me, Babe

He smiled that damn cheesy smile. “Right.”

Sighing, I said, “F-F-F-FUCK! Y-you… you sh-should be P-P-Prez, K-Ky.”

Ky went nose-to-nose with me. “Should I f**k! You can’t speak for shit; I get that. But you use your hands as your words. You lead by example, brother. You’re always there at the front line, taking and delivering the first round of fire. You are the Hangmen’s Prez, so shut the f**k up! Your old man always meant for you to follow him, just like his old man before him. Yeah, it may have come a few years early, but you’ve been taking names ’round these parts for years. Age ain’t nothing but a damn number in this life. It’s all about f**kin’ guts and you got that shit in spades! Christ, Styx, you’re the infamous Hangmen Mute!”

Stepping back, Ky rubbed his hands together, smiling wide. “Plus, I’m too damn pretty to be in charge. I get on just fine with being your mouthpiece. Don’t y’all know I f**kin’ love the sound of my own voice!”

Hell, he had that right. Sometimes I wondered what the hell he was doing wasting his life in this club. His looks, his personality giving him what he needed to succeed elsewhere. But like me, it’s all we know. We’re lifers—born and bred to wear a cut.

No way out.

Didn’t want out neither.

Ky threw an arm around my shoulders. “So now you’ve quit being a weeping pu**y, you gonna get Lois to relieve some stress?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Cool. I got dibs on Tiff and Jules. You wanna see them licking on each other, man. Fuckin’ makes me blow every time. Even better when it’s in one of their tight asses. Crackin’ view…” He waited for my response. “You get it… crackin’… ’cause of the ass…”

Christ, he’s a slut… and a shit comedian to boot.

As I walked outta the office, the whole room quieted as I tipped my chin toward Lois across the bar. Brothers hated being on the outs with me, but this kinda f**ked-up shit didn’t go down at my club. Not without some serious f**kin’ consequences.

Lois slipped off the stool and began making her way to me, her tall, lithe body strutting like a damn model in her short black dress. Her old man used to be a brother until a collision took him out five years ago—Harley totaled, head split open, asphalt roadkill, skin hangin’ like f**kin’ ribbons from the trees.

He went to Hades—Lois became another club whore.

The sound of heeled cowboy boots on the wooden floor followed me out back into the yard. Stopping at our usual spot against the clubhouse wall, I pulled out a smoke from my pocket, lit up and took a long, hard pull. Without a word, Lois dropped to her knees, her big tits busting out of her dress and she pulled out my cock, wrapping those lips around it like a f**kin’ wet fist.

The back of my head hit the wall, my eyes closed as she worked that tongue ’round the tip, and I enjoyed my smoke as she suckled down hard.

Fuck. This was what I needed. Stress draining from my body with every scrape of her teeth along my dick. I wrapped my fingers in her long brown hair, slamming in farther and farther until it was time to blow. Lois just took it, mewling, lapping at my c**k like a starving kitten at milk.

My legs bent as I braced and came, shooting to the back of her throat. She drank it down, moaning. Sighing in relief, I opened my eyes and took one final pull of my smoke before flicking the cherry to the ground. Backing her off my junk, I belted up my jeans.

As I pushed off the wall, I noticed a red pool on the asphalt beneath my feet. Blood lay below Lois. Red streaks were dashed all over the inside of her thighs.

Lois caught my hard stare and, frowning, she glanced down to her knees. “What…? Shit! Is that blood on my legs?” She jumped up and tried to wipe the red liquid from her skin. “Where the hell’s it coming from?”

I tracked the blood with my eyes and noticed a thin, fresh stream coming from around the back of the dumpster.

“Jesus! Is there a dead body out here again?” Lois said, trying to cover herself with her arms. Bitch was too soft for this kinda shit.

Without paying her attention, I rolled the blue dumpster to the side, revealing the source. A bitch’s body—young, black hair mangled around her face. Slim body covered in mud, her white dress ripped and sopping with blood.

I searched for the wound… Her leg.

A huge, gaping gash, deep enough that her muscle was exposed, some pitted f**kin’ rag attempting to stop the flow.

It weren’t working for shit.

Checking her pulse, not able to find even a lick of movement, I could only surmise one thing: bitch had croaked.