HARDCORE: Storm MC(147)

Once I hit the big three-oh, everything seemed to change. I couldn’t hang the way I used to. Plus, I inherited an MC.



“Inherited” wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t passed down by blood or anything. But it was handed over to me just like was the heir, anyway. It was expected. When Rico stepped down, I would take his place. He groomed me for five years—nothing could prepare me, though. No teaching in the world could get me ready for what I needed to do. I had dozens of men depending on me to make the right decisions, to lead them in the right direction. It would be enough to stress the hell out of anybody. Some nights, I even lost sleep. So if I wanted to party, getting a little drunk, have some fun…who could blame me?



I heard groaning from the other side of the bed, and I froze. I didn’t want to wake her up. I wondered if I could get away with lying back down, pretending to be asleep. That was how much I wanted to avoid having to talk to her. I didn’t even know her name or remember what she looked like. She was on her stomach, face turned away from me. She didn’t move, so I guessed she was only having a bad dream or something. Good. Let her stay there until I’m ready to leave for the day.



I felt shitty for event thinking it, but I couldn’t help myself. It was bad enough having to talk to a woman the day after screwing her, but when it was a stranger, there was nothing worse. It was awkward, uncomfortable, clumsy. I wasn’t the best at conversation even on a good day. No way I could get along without making an ass of myself. Better to get showered and dressed, and let her know I was leaving for the day. It was easier than kicking her out and looking like a douche for it. I didn’t wanna be the bad guy.



That was one thing about me my friends never understood. I was all about having fun with women, doing what I wanted with them, whatever. I couldn’t see the point in hurting them, too. Why make a woman feel like a whore just because she fucked you and you don’t feel like hanging out with her? The worst part was, I saw those same women hanging around the clubhouse all the time, wanting to get back into bed with the same assholes who hurt their feelings. It didn’t make any sense to me.



I winced when the water hit my head—that was how much pain I was in, that even the shower hurt. I needed to stop drinking so damn much. Even so, when I found a half-drank beer sitting on the bathroom sink, I picked it up and drained it. The hair of a dog and all that. By the time I finished washing up, I felt a little better. The beer probably helped that.



I went to the bedroom again—the girl was still asleep, which was fine with me—and dried off, then pulled on a set of clean clothes. T-shirt, jeans, socks and work boots. My leather kutte with the patch from my club on the back, the President patch sewn on the front, over my heart.



When I was finished dressing and the blonde still wasn’t awake, I cleared my throat. It was getting ridiculous, her sleeping. I needed to get the hell outta there—I was running late enough. I didn’t wanna be an asshole, but she was making it tough for me not to.



“Hey. Hey, are you okay?” I nudged her as gently as I could, wondering if she was even still alive. She was, and she moved a little.



“Hmm?” She opened one eye, smudged makeup all around it.



“I asked if you were okay. Are you?”



“I think?” Her voice was thick with sleep.



“I’ve gotta go. I have to get to the clubhouse. Do you, uh, need a ride somewhere?”



She blinked once, twice. She didn’t understand what I was trying to say. Why did she have to make it so damned hard?



“I’m gonna need you to leave,” I finally said. “I have to get to work.”



Her face changed. I pissed her off. Of course I did.



“You’re kicking me out?”



“I’m sorry,” I muttered, still bending down. “If I didn’t have to go to the clubhouse, I wouldn’t. But I really do have to leave. We have a meeting this morning and I have to be there.” I wondered if she even knew who I was or what the hell I was talking about. There was a chance she had no idea. I didn’t remember anything about what we talked about. She might’ve thought I was talking Greek to her.



She didn’t. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Okay. I get it. You want me out.” She sighed, and I felt sorry for her. She looked tired, not just sleepy tired, but tired in general. The way I felt.



“Can I drop you somewhere?” I stood in the doorway, waiting for her to get dressed.



“Yeah, at home. That would be great. I got a ride here from you last night.”