Page 7 of Savage King

Manipulative pussy was sour, bitter pussy, and he could do without it. Fortunately, her manipulations and sensual, seductive tricks made her the perfect Madame for their whore house. She ran the place like a tight ship, bringing in the highest quality girls who knew how to suck a cock and drain a wallet, which made their bordello their highest earning legit business…even though there were less than legit things happening behind the scenes.

“I came to see what the holdup is, Odin,” she drawled coyly, reaching out a hand to run it along his bicep. He pulled out of her reach. “I miss you and I want to dance with you.”

He ignored the twisting in his belly at the thought of even touching her and growled, “I didn’t tell you to come in. My office. My club. Get the fuck out.” He was done with being polite.

His father gasped then proceeded to tear into him about his language, how disrespectful he was being—to a woman, no less—and how disappointed he was in Odin. Thankfully, the rant was in Norwegian so Bonnie’s obvious eavesdropping wouldn’t bear fruit. The only other people in the club who spoke Norwegian were his VP Trouble, and Hawk, both of whom he’d served with and bonded with over the fact that they, too, came from old Norse families. When they’d been discharged, they knew they would create something new, and they had. The Savage Raiders MC was the result of ten years of spittin’ shit while hunkered down in the sand, and day dreaming about building their own brotherhood where the bullshit rules and regulations of fat-necked blowhards didn’t touch them.

“I got to go, Dad,” he ground out, disconnecting the call and sneering at the woman who had gone too far this time.

“Bonnie, what the fuck are you doing in here?”

She smirked, no doubt thinking she looked sexy, which she did, but he was immune to her and her numerous charms. In truth, she made his skin crawl, but he put up with her because she was one hell of a businesswoman, and did a respectable job keeping the club bitches in line.

Before she was an old lady, Bonnie had been one of the first club bitches. She’d earned her room and board on her back, going from brother to brother, and sometimes more than one at once. She’d even ridden his cock a handful of times, her eyes on becoming the club prez’s old lady, but he’d been smart enough double-wrap his shit. Tosser, the sorry fucker, wasn’t as smart as Odin and ended up with a pregnant club whore. Apparently, any brother was better than no brother because Bonnie demanded Tosser marry her. His balls in her hands, he took Bonnie as his old lady, married her, then spent the last eight years of his life a miserable bastard. Their marriage was a loose as Bonnie’s pussy, neither one of them taking their vows seriously. But Odin couldn’t say shit about it unless their marriage woes spilled over into club drama, which it only had once or twice when Bonnie tried to hook up with one of the brothers to make Tosser jealous or get back at him for fucking one of the other club bitches. Where club bitches were fair game to any brother—married or not, the brothers had a different take. Club code: old ladies were off-limits. Thankfully, his brothers adhered to that, keeping their dicks out of Bonnie—much to her annoyance.

“Come on, Odin, it’s a party, and you’re missing it,” Bonnie purred, trying to touch him again. Again, he pulled away, this time moving toward the door, hoping the woman took the fucking hint. No such luck. She leaned forward, pressing her elbows together to shove her tits up and out her revealing top. The woman had no sense of modesty—which was a club bitch trait. The more skin they showed off, the more attention they got, the more they fucked, the more they thought—foolishly—that they could grab the title of old lady. Problem was, none of men were going to make a club bitch his old lady, not when she’d fucked all his brothers and then some. Bonnie and Tosser were the exception because she’d gotten pregnant on purpose. Since then, though, he and his brothers took extra precautions.

Heaving a sigh, Odin strode toward the door, in desperate need of a fucking drink. She followed on his heels, her large tits brushing his back. He could actually feel her hardened, pierced nipples through his leather kutte. Fuck. He fought off a full body shudder.

“Let’s go,” he barked, eager to get the hell out of his office, downstairs, and into a willing pussy that wasn’t Bonnie’s. Odin refused to acknowledge the sliver of unease that slipped into his thoughts. Sex was sex, it was supposed to be a stress release. He was fucking stressed—the call with this father, the pressure of leading the most powerful MC in the state, and that strange, unnamable tension in his body that made him feel like his bones were too small…all points of stress. He needed a hard, filthy fuck. He just needed to find a club bitch that wouldn’t break in half from the pounding he so desperately needed to give. For the first time in his adult life he wished he wasn’t so fucking big, then at least he could finally find some goddamn satisfaction without committing murder by cock.

Bonnie clicked her tongue, dragging Odin’s attention back to her. “I figured we’d go together, ya know. It’s been a while since Tosser, and—”

He halted mid step and turned to her, glaring down at her.

Catching sight of his expression, Bonnie paled, stepping back.

Thank fuck.

“I’ll tell you this one more time, Bonnie, since you seem to stop fucking hearing my words once you step into the clubhouse—I willnevertouch you. You will never ride my cock. You run my business, that’s it. Now, I can either keep you as the madam and you can keep making bank, or you can keep up your shit and see how fast I toss your ass.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t do that. I’m an old lady—”

“Your ol’ man is dead, Bonnie. We keep you around out of respect for Tosser, but my patience only stretches so far.”

He leaned back, pinning her with a final glower from his full height. “Don’t make it snap.”

Bonnie visibly swallowed then nodded before hurrying out of his office and down the corridor leading to the stairs. Sighing, Odin slipped his cell into his back pocket, locked the office door, then headed out, suddenly too fucking weary to do much else but get himself blasted and forget the night ever fucking happened.

Trouble, beer in hand, stood at the top of the stairwell, his lips curling as Bonnie flew by on her way down to the party and away from her prez’s ire.

“She try to catch your cock again?” he asked, his voice laced with disgust. Out of all the brothers, Trouble liked Bonnie the least. He’d been good friends with Tosser, and when the fucker had gotten caught in Bonnie’s web, Trouble had been all for giving Bonnie child support but kicking her from the club. Everyone knew Bonnie had been brother hunting, which was why so many had steered clear of her after her first year there. Tosser, who spent more time drunk than sober, was an easy target. And Trouble hated Bonnie with a passion for targeting his friend.

“Poor Bethany…having such a greedy bitch for a mom….” Mentioning Tosser and Bonnie’s nine-year-old daughter was like a bucket of cold water on the situation. Yeah, they could get pissed at Bonnie the bitch, but their daughter was a tiny, sweet, totally un-Bonnie version of her daddy—and Tosser had loved that little girl to fucking death. So, the club made sure she got plenty of love, attention, and lots of protection. Over a dozen men, tatted up, wearing kuttes and scowls was a sight to behold when escorting a pig-tail wearing princess in pink to her first day of third grade.

“Yeah, the little princess is having fun with Gran-Gran Modelle up in Carson City,” Odin replied, grinning. Bethany spent the summer months upstate with Tosser’s mom, which kept her from the loving arms of her many uncles, but it also kept her from the grasping clutches of her scheming mother. Bonnie loved to use her daughter to get whatever she wanted out of the club, and Odin let her, because he loved that little girl as if she were his own. Hell, he’d even created her college fund, paying thousands into it every six months so that when the time came, she could go any fucking where she wanted. Preferably far, far away from Bonnie.

Trouble sniggered, lifting the beer to his mouth for a swig. “Look at you, adoring Uncle Odin,” he said, grinning bigger. “I can’t wait to see you as big daddy Odin, with your own little shits runnin’ around, terrorizin’ the club house and city, just like their dear old dad.”

Odin grunted, pinching his forehead. “Fuck off, brother. I haven’t been inside a woman bare,ever. Ain’t gonna start now, especially not with a club bitch who can’t even take all of my cock.” His thoughts, unfortunately, turned to Bonnie.

Trouble shook his head, his expression turning serious. “It’s a heavy burden to be so hung, brother, but there has to be a woman out there who can take you. Find her, claim her, get her belly full.” He shrugged, taking another hit of his beer. “If any one of us deserves the full happy ever after, it’s you, brother.”

A yearning, deep, gnawing, voracious, and scorching rose up within him, cutting off his ability to speak. What the fuck? He was thirty-eight years old, lived a long, dangerous, filthy life, had more money than the gods, had fucked more women than a college frat house, had killed and buried more people in the desert than anyone knew—and he didn’t regret a fucking thing. And now…with his bloody, dirty hands, his blackened soul, his twisted heart—heyearned?

For what?

After taking a piss and checking his reflection—he looked as good as ever and knew he’d get some panties wet—he headed to the party to get fucking drunk.

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