But damn if I'd put up a fight if she came along naturally. My shoulder remembered taking bullets for her on our last night together, just like my lips remembered that kiss.
Her breath. Her need. The little moan she pushed into my mouth when my tongue twined with hers, held it down, stroked it the same way I wanted to spread her legs apart and drive into her virgin cunt.
Fuck.
“Yeah, Brass, let's not get cocky. The way it's going, we're gonna have ourselves a double wedding, if somebody doesn't knock up their girl first. We can still put our brother here behind us, right where he belongs.” Rabid winked at the VP and tilted his bottle at me.
“You boys go do that. As for me, I'm gonna find something to fuck around here while I'm a free man, without taking more shit.”
“It's your bachelor party, bro.” Rabid said, raising a drink to me. “You know we'll be right behind you, whatever happens.”
Grabbing my bottle, I staggered away from the bar. The brothers meant well, but their barbs left my ass sore, seeing how this wasn't a real marriage.
Wished the Prez had told me I'd end up the butt of everybody's bullshit jokes for taking this job on. Not that I would've let Stryker or anybody else do it.
Shit, just imaging another man in this club taking Elle Jo to the altar made me want to smash my bottle to pieces on the nearest wall, stab the nearest asshole I could find.
One of our new prospects, Glassy, was standing out by the gate, smoking. “You need something, Asphalt?”
“I'm too fucked up to drive. You're gonna bring me into town for some tits and ass.” Another swig, and I dropped the Jack, spilling the shit all over the pavement. “Not that clean new place Rabid's old lady runs. I'm talking about the dirty tonight.”
Glassy grinned, tilting his head. Hated when he looked at me like that because his fake eye pulled apart from the other one, making him look like a goddamned chameleon for a split second.
“You're the boss. Let's take my truck.”
I didn't come all the way to the last big whorehouse outside Redding to fuck. I came for therapy.
Sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. I sipped it slowly, just waiting for some chucklefuck to make the first move.
No matter how much my dick hurt tonight, my fists hurt more. They needed serious action.
When you've fucked dozens of whores, sluts, and one-night wonders your whole damned life, fucking takes a backseat. The other F interested me a whole lot more, and nothing but a good, hard fight was calming my nerves tonight.
I stared into my half-empty glass, realizing I shouldn't even be here.
Well, fuck, shoulda, coulda, woulda never sat well with me anyway. That shit, that uncertainty, became an integral part of my life since the day my balls dropped and I got my bottom rocker.
Nothing tonight made sense without blood.
Marrying Elle Jo wasn't supposed to be in the cards. I wasn't supposed to take an old lady and a wife. I wasn't supposed to come up to Tacoma and face down Aaron “Gil” Mathers after he'd barely spared my life that night four years ago.
Fuck what was supposed to happen. Destiny held an Ace in her hands tonight, but I could still control a few things, make them go my way or the motherfucking highway.
They didn't call me Asphalt for nothing. I'd lost count of how many fucks I'd hitched to my bike over the years and shredded on the pavement.
Too bad I couldn't do one more tonight. My fists would have to do the talking instead. And those sons of bitches sang when I saw the greasy, redneck piece of shit across the room, fondling some bitch swaying in stockings, refusing to let go when she tried to push him away.
The girls out here were supposed to be off limits. This place looked like a strip joint on the outside by Blackjack's order – all part of the agreement July Kitty paid the club for being allowed to operate an old school fuckhouse in our territory.
So, Kitty put the nice girls, the ones who weren't down to fuck, out to shake their tail near the bars. The real meat was out back, and the asshole ripping at her thong outta known it.
I threw the rest of my brew back and slid the empty glass over to the bartender, who gave me the stink eye. Bastard knew what was coming.
Too bad. No way would any of these assholes call the cops unless the place was riddled with bullets and blood.
Rule number two, by the Prez's order – any attention to this place by the authorities was too much. They depended on our club's protection, and tonight, I was gonna give it to the girl.
My feet felt like cement logs in my boots as I walked up to the handsy fuck. He had a firm hand around her thighs now, trying to pull her off the stage, more than a little dangerous for a woman in heels as tall as hers.
“Whatdafuck, baby?” he slurred. “Come hang out on papa's lap. That little ass was made for this dick, and I ain't paying. You should be fuckin' paying me after all the shit I dropped on booze here. I –“