Wolf growled as he grabbed a handful of that thick, blonde hair. “Don’t stop, baby.” He thrust his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. She could be a porn star with that mouth. He’d fucked her ten times at least…this week…and she had yet to gag once. He was so close…he closed his eyes and suddenly a picture of Amara popped into his head. She was on her knees like this little club girl was now, but as she sucked him, she stared up at him with those deep brown eyes…those eyes that he could never resist, those eyes…fuck. He opened his and suddenly, he was just done. Pissed off, he pushed the girl on her knees back and said, “Sorry, baby, I got things I need to do.” He wasn’t pissed at her, or really even at Amara anymore. He hated her, but he wasn’t angry any longer…not at her. He was angry with himself for not being able to move on. The pretty girl sat back on the carpeted floor on her naked butt, big, pert boobs sticking out and blonde hair in disarray around a gorgeous face. She really should do porn, Wolf thought. Maybe he’d suggest she go see his friends in Boston. They could hook her up.
“But you didn’t finish.”
He was already zipping his jeans and buckling his belt. “I’m good,” he said. “Go on and get dressed now, you can’t stay here.” They were in his little house behind the club. Maybe that was his problem…maybe he needed to stop bringing them there where Amara’s ghost inhabited everything. The girl, whose name was Amber, pushed up off the floor and Wolf watched her get dressed. Her perfect body usually stirred something in him when he looked at her…but not today. Today was his ex-wife’s birthday, and for some reason, although she’d tried to have him killed a few short months before, she was still on his mind. It wasn’t that he wanted her back, it was more like she was in his head just to continue to torture him…and hold him back.
He tried to stop thinking about her and when Amber was finally ready, he walked her out and made sure she was gone before locking his door and heading over to the club. He never used to lock his door before, but the Colombian witch that used to be his wife had left him not only angry and bitter, but slightly paranoid as well.
He went into the back door of the clubhouse, entering through the kitchen. A few of the girls were there, cleaning up breakfast dishes. Wolf’s favorite club girl, and his best friend, Tricia, greeted him first. “Hey, Boss, looking good. How are you doing today?” He gave Tricia a kiss on the cheek while the other girls looked on. He wasn’t one of those guys that did the women right out in the open in the clubhouse, nor did he easily display his affections. But Tricia was different. She was proof that not all soulmates were meant to be love interests. Some people came into your life as stabilizing forces and to prove that there are such things as unconditional love and affection.
“You’re looking good too,” he said. “As always.” He wasn’t lying. For a forty-something-year-old woman, she was still hotter than most of the younger club girls. Wolf still fucked her from time to time…but in all honesty, he tried not to. He truly wanted her to be happy one day, to find a man that would make her his old lady and treat her right. He also knew that if he started to depend on her too much, he’d use her like a crutch and she’d let him. They both needed to move forward with their lives. He wasn’t quite sure how to do that, and Tricia seemed to be stuck in place for quite a few years now herself.
Wolf realized that maybe he wasn’t a very good friend. He honestly didn’t know why she stayed around the clubhouse so much. She liked sex, and she got plenty of it there…but he didn’t doubt she could get plenty of that anywhere. Something kept her coming back; he just never thought to ask her what that was. “The day’s good,” he lied. He could see in Tricia’s eyes that she didn’t believe him. It would be just like her to remember that today was Amara’s birthday…not for Amara, Tricia never liked her, but for Wolf. It was things like that which sometimes made him think about saying Fuck romantic love and just marrying his soulmate…but he knew that at least one of them deserved better than that…and he doubted it was him.
“You hungry?” she asked, drying her hands on the dishtowel. Even if everything was gone, she’d make something for him, and it would be great. She was a freak in the sack, a whiz in the kitchen, one hell of a listener…she could dance, sing a little, and she was one of the smartest women he’d ever met. She was the whole package…older than him, but he wouldn’t be bothered by that either. It was simply that as much as he loved her, he wasn’t in love with her, and if that hadn’t happened by now, it probably never would.
“Nah, I’m just gonna grab some coffee. Manson and I are going over some invoices today, getting things ready for the tax man. Hate that shit.”
Tricia laughed as she poured him a mug of hot coffee. He said hello to the other two girls then, one he’d fucked a few days before, but couldn’t for the life of him remember her name, and one he hadn’t met yet…but already thought he might be looking her up later. One good thing about being in an MC when the woman of your dreams rips your heart out of your chest and stomps on it…you don’t have to go far to find a distraction…they come out of the woodwork around the club.
He took his coffee and went through the kitchen door and down the hall to the office. He found Manson there already, as he knew he would, with his sleeves rolled up and a pile of invoices and spreadsheets in front of him. Manson loved this shit. Wolf hated it, and usually tried to get out of it…but Manson didn’t want to make any financial decisions without Wolf signing off on them, even if Wolf told him it was okay.
He kicked out a chair with his foot, sat down, and said, “I think I need to go somewhere and look for some different pussy.”
Manson stopped what he was doing and looked up at his president. Shaking his head and grinning he said, “Good morning to you too, Prez.”
“Good morning. I was just thinking as I walked through the kitchen and saw the new club girl…maybe I need really new. Maybe I should get the hell out of this valley for a while and find some fresh pussy that hasn’t been drilled by every guy around me already.”
“Well, if that’s your way of asking if I drilled that, the answer is yes…twice, and just this morning.”
“See what I mean?” Wolf said. That was the thing about Amara. She was no virgin when he met her, but none of the brothers in his club had ever laid a hand on her. He could never love or have a relationship with a woman that had been with any of the rest of them. He knew that was chauvinistic on his part, since he was still willing to fuck them all…but it was what he knew about himself. Not that he was even sure he ever wanted another relationship…but still, fresh pussy sounded great.
“You’re going to Vegas next weekend, why not look there?”
Wolf chuckled. “Right…fresh pussy in Sin City, that’s exactly where I’d find it.”
Manson shrugged. “You never know. At least she wouldn’t have fucked all the brothers in the club. How fresh you talking? You want a virgin or something?”
Wolf made a face. He didn’t think he’d ever had a virgin, but he was sure that wasn’t what he wanted. He just didn’t want a woman that every man in the room knew how she tasted. He wanted a woman who would be willing, no matter how many men she’d had before…to only be with him.
“Nah, don’t want no virgin. But don’t want one who’s fucked all the brothers either.”
“You looking for an old lady?”
“No. Hell no. Just…different, I guess.” Wolf honestly didn’t have any idea what he was looking for. Amara had messed him up, badly. When he met her, he thought that was it…that he’d fucked the last woman he would ever fuck, and he was surprisingly okay with that. She was hot…and they were so good together. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand why it wasn’t good enough for her. Maybe that was why he suddenly needed fresh pussy. His ego was wounded, and he needed a woman that didn’t look up to him because of his position in the club, to tell him he was good enough. Maybe Manson was right, and Vegas would be a good place to look.
Wolf was going to Vegas the following weekend with Bruf, to meet up with Dax Marshall, his brother Gunner, and several of the other Southside Skulls from Boston. Together, they had invested in a gym not long ago and it was in that gym that one of the greatest MMA fighters in the US, Jacob “The Lion” Wright, was training Dax’s brother Gunner for a PPV fight that was happening in Vegas on Saturday night. Jacob and his team had already flown back to Vegas and Gunner was with them, training for his last week at their gym. Jacob wanted him there where he could keep a close eye on him, making sure he stuck to his diet, training, and lifestyle. Dax and his guys were riding down from Boston and would meet Wolf and Bruf in Nevada on that Saturday afternoon. They all had front row seats and Wolf was looking forward to it, if for no other reason than he needed a vacation, a chance to shed the responsibility of taking care of a crew of almost fifty and their families. Not to mention he hadn’t had a chance to get away and shake Amara from the corners of his mind.
“So, what’s all this shit?” he asked, getting back to business.
“Payroll receipts,” Manson said. “We’re paying out more money than we’re claiming to have made.”
“Well, that can’t be good.”
Manson laughed, “You think? The gym isn’t making money yet, but despite that, we’ve got eight people on that payroll. The garage made about thirty grand, legitimately last year, but we paid out over fifty in salaries. There’s a lot of money coming out of the warehouse, but we can’t claim any of that. I can see where Granite funneled some of it into repairs and upkeep on the timeshares, but I’m not sure where the hell the rest of it is. He was supposed to be here to explain all this shit. It’s like looking at Chinese, and I’m the one that’s going to have to explain it to the tax man.”
Michael “Granite” Parker was the Westside Skulls treasurer, and quite possibly one of the strangest men that Wolf had ever met. He looked like he should be working on Wall Street instead of riding with an MC…but the man could ride, he could shoot the head off a pin at a hundred yards, and he was one of the most loyal sons of bitches that Wolf had ever known. Granite got his name thanks to the stone face he wore ninety percent of the time. He rarely showed any expression and even when he talked, it was hard to tell if he was happy, sad, or ready to kill himself. He had been treasurer of the club since Wolf’s father was president. It wasn’t a job most people wanted, but up to this point, he’d been doing a great job. He was responsible for laundering the “cash transactions” the club made and the way he did that was by setting up payroll accounts. Suddenly, however, that didn’t look like the best idea.
“Well, tell him to get his ass here,” Wolf said.
“I would if I could find him.”
“What do you mean? Did you call him?” Wolf drew his brows together…a missing treasurer, privy to all the secrets of the club, would not be a good thing.
“Of course I called him, several times. It just goes to voicemail. I texted him too with no response and I sent one of the prospects over to his apartment.” Granite didn’t live at or near the clubhouse. He kept his own apartment on the north side of town. Wolf had a bad feeling, though—if Granite wasn’t at the clubhouse, or on club business, he was almost always at home. He came from a wealthy family and he liked the finer things in life. He played the violin and listened to classical music and sipped expensive wine when he was in his own home, and he loved his alone time.
“I don’t like it,” Wolf told Manson. “Get some of the guys together and send them out to look for him.”
“Where would they start? I’m sorry, but the dude is weird. If he’s not here, he’s there, period.”
“Fuck…what could have happened to him?” Wolf was just talking aloud…until Bruf walked in and answered his question.
“Boss, we have a big problem. One of the girls just took a call from a guy calling himself ‘Corporal Dan.’ He says he has Granite…and we can have him back, for a price.”
“Fuck.” Wolf ran his hands through his long hair. His head was beginning to pound. “What’s the price?”
“They didn’t say. They gave her a number and told her to have you call it at exactly five this evening and they’ll give you the details.”
“Son of a bitch.” Wolf stood up and said, “Let’s go.”
Manson was on his feet and Bruf was always ready. As they walked through the door Manson said, “Where are we going?”
“We’ll start at his apartment. By the time I call these sonsabitches, I want to know who and what I’m dealing with.”