“Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t give two fucks what you were up to,” I say, turning to leave the bar. I have one thought on my mind now. My brothers need to know what happened tonight, and they need to know now.
Peeling out of the parking lot, I make my way over to the bar most of the club members hang out at. It’s a mile down the road from the range and club, which sit on the outskirts of Kansas City, but it’s the closest place for the guys to get some easy ass. The bar has a few small stages in it, and the later the night gets, the greater the number of drunk girls taking off their clothes. Pres doesn’t allow sweet butts into the club, so this is where they all hang out. Shit went down when he took over, and a lot of trouble came from the random women around the club. He nipped that shit in the ass, so only old ladies are allowed in the club now. If you want a quick fuck you have to go down the road, or hope one of the old ladies likes to be shared. It is like shooting fish in a barrel down there for them. Women know that’s where the Ghost Riders like to hang, and they flock there. As much as I love my brothers, I’d rather not see them fucking. And no way could I ever fuck any of them.
Pulling up to the front of the bar, I don’t see Pres’s chopper sitting out front, so I circle around the back. I see Pinch, a new prospect, leaning up against the side of the bar with a woman on her knees in front of him, sucking his cock.
Coming to a stop, I roll my window down and whistle to get his attention.
“Casper,” he says, still letting the woman continue to suck him off. He grips her hair tighter, pushing her further down his cock.
“You see Pres tonight?”
“I’m not his fucking keeper. You out stalking his ass or something? You really his side piece?” His words grind on my nerves worse than they normally do.
Seconds later, he cums in the woman's mouth, pissing me off further because he’s getting off while being a fuckhead to me. It’s been a while since I’ve had to deal with someone’s mouth about being in the club, but this kid is new so maybe he doesn’t know any better. It’s time he learned a thing or two about respect.
The woman gets up from her knees shooting me a death glare, like I want to take this piece of shit from her. Pinch whispers something into her ear before she scurries back inside the bar. Just what I was waiting for.
Pulling out a smoke he lights it, leaning back against the brick wall of the bar.
“Got nothing to say, Casper? Now that the entire club isn’t beside you to shut someone down, you don’t seem to run your mouth as much.”
He’s a hundred percent right. I won’t get out of my truck and walk over there looking for a fist fight. Some might call me a pussy for that, but I don’t give a flying fuck. He’s also right that if anyone tries to physical with me, my brothers get in their face, because let's be honest, I can’t win. And I have no problem letting them do it for me. Just like they have no problem sticking me in the hills, or on the top of buildings to do what I’m best at. We all have our skills and we use them for each other.
Reaching into the back waistband of my pants, I pull out my 9mm Smith & Wesson and point it right at Pinch. God, I love Missouri’s right-to-carry law.
The only light in the back parking lot doesn’t give me the best line of vision, but I don’t need it at this close range.
Pinch throws his hands in the air when he catches sight of my gun. He was a little slow on the uptake, so I’m thinking he’s got to be more than a few beers deep.
“See, Pinch, you fail to realize that I won’t fight fair. Yeah, you could probably take me in a fist fight, I got no doubt about that. But I think it’s time you understood something. They call me Casper for a reason, you never know when I might just pop up on you, and shoot your fucking nuts off.”
“You wou—” Before he can finish his sentence, I shoot him in the crotch. He doubles over and hits the hard ground.
“Well damn. Isn’t that neat? Those rubber bullets don’t even make your gun recoil,” I say, cocking the gun back to look in the chamber. “Too bad I can only load one at a time,” I say and put in the next one.
“Fuck, Cas. Please, I’m sorry.”
I fire the next one at his ass, and he screams like a bitch.
“Go home, Pinch,” I say, as he starts moaning louder. “I’m sergeant at arms in this club and you better learn some fucking respect if you ever hope to see a patch.”
Not waiting for a response, I roll up my window and head to the club. Those damn rubber bullets cost three dollars a pop, but it’s the best six dollars I’ve ever spent.