Page 12 of Pope’s Purgatory

“What about this, Prez?” Malice asks, shaking the head and slinging blood.

I grin and take it from him. “He’s gonna ride with me.”

Once I’m seated on my bike, I place the head on the gas tank and turn him so he’s facing my dick. “There,” I say, patting the top of his head. “Now, you have something pretty to stare at while we go for a ride.”

“Screw, Ducky, keep an eye on the scene until the cleaning crew gets here to make sure nothing is left behind,” Malice orders.

The others fall in formation as we ride out. It’s late and a weeknight, so most people are locked in. Coral Cay doesn’t usually bust loose until the weekend, then we’re lucky to find empty space on the streets. We try to keep most of our shit at the clubhouse or at Slop and Chop, but this wouldn’t be the first time the residents saw some fucked-up shit from us. Though riding through town with a chopped-off head practically choking on my cock would be a new one.

Simply scandalous.

We take a turn about a mile out from the Steel Slayers compound in Stormy Ridge when the head starts to slide from the tank.

I laugh gleefully, tangling my fingers in the blood-matted hair, and put him back in place. “Whoa, there, little buddy. You can’t escape that easily.”

Joker leads us into an empty wooded lot so we can get the other half of my little friend and bring him along for the ride to his home.

While the guys unload the body, I find a spot on the back of my bike to hook the chain to. After it’s anchored tightly, I scoot the body closer and create a harness around his torso, snapping the lock in place, then I give a quick tug to check its sturdiness. Satisfied, I dust my hands together and rise.

Swinging my leg over my seat, I get settled and drift my eyes between the head and the body with a twisted grin. “Geez, guys. I’ve never been the cream in a sandwich before. I’m flattered I was chosen. Be gentle with me.”

“If you’re done flirting, Prez, we should get a move on before we’re surrounded by Steel Slayers,” Pretty Boy suggests with a laugh.

I stick my bottom lip out but fire my bike up. “If you insist, Pretty Boy. Honestly, I think you’re just jealous it’s me and not you.” I shake my head. “All right, brothers. This will all go down quickly. We’ll set the body against the fence, and I’ll find the sharpest point I can to stake the head. Then we get the hell out of there. Protect yourselves against them if you must. Otherwise, it’s a drop and roll.”

I lift my hand in the air, twirling my finger to give them the signal to ride out.

Butcher and Manic peel off so they can take out whoever is manning their gates before they’re able to alert anyone of our presence.

Clink toys with us, and it’s time to toy with him in return.

I have all trust in my brothers, so I don’t hesitate to roll up to the gates. Butcher is sitting inside the gatehouse while Manic stands outside of it with his arms crossed. My eyes scan the perimeter. For how big the Steel Slayers are, this chapter sureis fucking stupid. If a group of bikes were to roll up at our clubhouse, they’d be surrounded in a fucking heartbeat.

Seems the Stormy Ridge chapter of the Steel Slayers MC are more concerned with their personal vendetta against me than actually running their fucking club and protecting the people in it.

I swing off my bike, making sure the head is in place and not going to make a run for it before heading to the back of my bike. The corpse is a mangled lump of flesh, bone, and material that would make great food for some of the beasts roaming around the surrounding woods.

“Woo wee, boys. Look at this delicious fucking roadkill. I have to say . . . I cooked up a masterpiece.”

Malice laughs. “Crazy fuck.”

“Well, that was just rude,” I huff, squatting to unhook the chains.

Pieces of loose skin stick to them as I lift, and I flick the meaty flesh off. It lands on the toe of Pretty Boy’s boots, and he stares down at it in pure heartbreak.

“Ah, man, not the fucking boots,” he whines, shaking his foot to remove it.

“Sorry, not sorry,” I quip, hefting the headless corpse and carrying it to the gate.

I toss it down then straighten him so he’s sitting up against it. There’s a perfect spiked point right above him, but as I step back, another idea occurs to me, and I smile. “Bring me the head.”

Tomcat whistles as he carries it over and passes it to me.

Dropping down, I place the head in the Steel Slayer’s lap then take his mangled hands and place them on top of it.

Then, with a maniacal grin, I step back and unzip my jeans, pulling my cock out. I make sure to soak him as much as I can as I empty my bladder.

Nothing as disrespectful as pissing in someone’s face.

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