Prez.
Koyn the boyfriend murdering bastard.
As I search through the growing crowd of people, I take note of the property. Trees surround the compound. The house is massive and so is the garage beside it. The back patio is covered and filled with chairs. I walk to the edge of the house and peek around the corner. A giant pool fills the space and to my surprise there are kids already diving in. It must be heated.
What kind of Twilight Zone am I in?
Man Mansion. Giggling kids. Heated pools. Fucking brisket.
The shindigs we had with the Roaring River MCs were wild and insane and filthy. This reminds me too much of a time when I lived at home and was part of a real family. The urge to escape intensifies.
I need a plan.
One that doesn’t involve blatantly sneaking off. Because I’m not stupid. I see the cameras. I notice the way Dragon’s smile is for the little girl, but his green eyes are locked on mine. It doesn’t get past me that Filter watches me like a hawk even as he gropes Stormy’s ass. These guys aren’t your usual run-of-the-mill bikers. They’re smarter and more calculating. Vicious monsters who choose to hide behind smiles and money.
I’m not fooled.
I gaze at the woods, wishing it were that easy. It’s then I see someone. Hidden in the shadows. It’s the one they call Payne.
“What the fuck?” I mutter. What a creep! How long has he been standing there watching me?
I beam at him and give him my middle finger. I see you, asshole. Problem is, they all see me. My plan has to be smarter. More detailed. Intricate. I need to warm these people up, earn their trust, and then skip the fuck out of town when they least expect it.
For tonight, I’ll drink, maybe dance a little, and eat more of that fluffy fruity nonsense.
Koyn
I snap my laptop closed and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. For hours I’ve stared at this screen hunting for Putnam. I’m tired as fuck but tonight is the Q. I need to get out there and make an appearance.
With a grumble, I leave my office and saunter through the empty house toward the back where the party will be in full swing. It’s dark out and Gibson is already entertaining the masses with his own rendition of Bad Company’s “Shooting Star” on his favorite Gibson that he named Bocephus—a replica of Hank Williams Jr.’s all-maple guitar from the ’70s. His deep, raspy voice has a Southern twang but with just enough of a rock and roll growl to be cool. He’s got his own little fan club—all female.
We’re all used to Stormy’s flirty ass shaking her tits and singing along. What we’re not used to is her.
I stop dead in my tracks.
Anger swells up inside me, hot and violent.
Fucking Hadley.
She’s wearing a pair of Stormy’s pink booty shorts that barely cover her ass. Her fucking cheeks are hanging out like it’s not goddamn November. The black Pantera sweatshirt she wears hangs off her shoulder and from this vantage point, it reveals nothing but bare skin. I don’t see a bra strap and for some reason that sets me off.
“What the fuck is going on?” I snarl, stalking over to her.
She swivels around as I approach, her fingers pushing up her hair as she works her hips perfectly in tune with the music. Her eyes are glassy—a telltale sign someone’s been allowing her young ass to drink. The bitch winks at me and then turns her back to me, continuing her seductive dance.
Bermuda eye-fucks her as he sips on his beer and mutters words to his brother beside him. Bizzy looks seconds from nutting his pants. Filter and Copper seem amused. Katana is disinterested. Payne’s probably watching from the shadows. Fucking Nees is dancing like the little bitch he is. Hell, even Halo’s eyes are glued to her teenage ass.
And Dragon…
That fucker is pacing, his eyes on the prize.
On my prize.
“Pageant Girl,” I bark out. “Get your ass over here.”
She shoots me a scathing look, before dancing right into the line of danger. Dragon stops his pacing to cock his head at her. He’s going to pounce. And when he gets that evil glint in his eyes, he’s either going to fuck or kill. I’ll be damned if I let him do either.
I stalk right over to her, sling an arm around her narrow waist, and drag her away from Dragon. My eyes sear a warning into his.
Calm. The. Fuck. Down.
Filter, becoming aware of the silent showdown, walks over to play peacemaker. Katana nudges Dragon with his shoulder to pull him out of his trance.
“Let me go!” Hadley shrieks.
Nope.
Not after this.
I fucking warned her.
Not only did she ignore me and undermine my authority, but she taunted the deadliest guy around. She knew what the fuck she was doing.
And now she needs to be punished for it.
I wasn’t kidding when I told her I’d whip her ass if I had to.
Someone needs to and her daddy’s not around.
She kicks and screams to no avail. No one’s going to save her.
I drag her unruly ass into the house. She bellows, but I’m focused. I’m reminded of the time Blaire used my credit card to buy a bunch of bullshit online when she was thirteen. I’d told her she was going to work it off and she fucking laughed at me. Like a little ungrateful shit who thought she could walk all over her daddy. It was the last time I whipped her, but I got her good. She never sassed me quite like that again.
“Stop!” Hadley yells.
Ignoring her, I push her thin body over the arm of the sofa and hold her down with my hand as I work at my belt buckle. Her entire body freezes.
“I don’t want to have sex with you,” she whimpers, almost cracking my resolve to punish her. Almost.
“I’m not some fucking perv,” I bite out. “I’m going to whip your ass for that stunt.”
“What?!”
She starts squirming a lot worse than when she thought I was going to stick my dick in her teenage pussy. I yank out my belt from the loops with a swish.
“Stay still. I’m giving you three licks. You fight me, and so help me, PG, I’ll give you ten.”
I crack the leather against her ass over her booty shorts and she screams, her back arching. The girl doesn’t listen to a goddamn word I say because she tries to crawl away. I fist her Pantera sweatshirt, keeping her in place, before whipping her again. I’m able to land one more lick of the leather before she launches herself out of my grip and scrambles to the other side of the sofa.
“You whipped me!” she accuses, sobbing.
“Fucking right I did. You’re under my roof and you’re going to follow my damn rules.”
“YOU ARE NOT MY DADDY!”
I grab a fistful of her hair, dragging her to her knees on the sofa. Tears streak down her red cheeks, leaving black lines of despair. Her bottom lip trembles.
She looks so broken.
Fuck.
Rather than whipping her some more or getting in her face, I haul her up further and into my arms. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders like she’s about to go fucking crazy trying to get away, but then her body deflates in defeat. She relaxes, giving in to her tears. I toss the belt, grab her tender ass, and hoist her up like she’s my little girl. Her body is wrapped around me like I’m the only tree in a storm and she’s gotta hang on to survive. I stroke my fingers down her spine and kiss her hair.