Page 13 of Hendrix

Picasso wasn’t an officer purely because I’d already selected my crew before he joined, but he ran the tattoo shop we owned, and he ran it well. Cass was smart and watchful. He had a sixth sense like I’d never seen before, probably because of the year he spent ‘finding himself’ on a mountain in Tibet with a group of monks who taught him about meditation, chakras, and Reiki.

Many of my men experienced shit in the military that screwed with our heads. We fought and fucked the trauma out of us in order to cope, whereas Cass had learned to deal with his demons in a much more spiritual way.

Picasso parked up and switched his engine off, then, like something out of a Hollywood movie, he took his brain bucket off and hung it from his handlebars before flipping his long, dark hair upside down and shoving it into a messy man bun with one of the black hair ties he had permanently banded over his wrist.

“Fuckin’ pretty boys,” Dad muttered as we dismounted.

I looked down at my boots and grinned.

Cass was a good-looking guy, but I wouldn’t call him pretty. He was covered head to toe in tattoos and his stubble was a week past groomed. He was lean and muscled, his core strength coming from Martial Arts. Still, he was prettier than my pop, so there was that.

“You wanna get a beer?” Cass called over, jerking his chin toward the clubhouse as he swung from his bike. “I know how wired you get.”

Dad smirked and called over, “He already fucked it out of his system.”

Picasso cocked an eyebrow. “Daisy will be disappointed. She’s always talking about how much she likes how you get after a fight.”

A weird feeling clenched through my gut. “What the fuck’s she been sayin’ now?”

Cass shrugged uncaringly, “She’s always boasting about fucking the prez on the regular.”

“No shit she fucks the prez,” I retorted. “Daisy fucks everyone. She’s a club whore.”

“You fuckin’ any of the other girls?” Cass demanded.

“No,” I responded. “But I see women from town and the tourists. Daisy’s a regular of mine, but she’s hardly my ol’ lady.”

“Been tellin’ you a while she’s getting too big for her britches,” Dad muttered. “You need to cut her loose.”

My fingers scratched at the underside of my beard.

Maybe Pop was right. The last thing I needed was a club girl getting territorial. We’d had nothing but shit in Wyoming with the crazy ones who got ideas they had no business getting. First, with April, who caused a lotta strife between the now Prez, Cash, and his ol’ lady, and later tried to pin a pregnancy on Cash’s brother. Then Cherry, who took on a couple of the wives and got her ass kicked outta the club for overstepping.

Club girls were just like everyone else; you got good and bad, but in my experience, if you gave some of them an inch, they took a mile, and okay, so I’d given Daisy a good eight inches, but it didn’t mean I was gonna wife her up.

The sounds of bellows mixed with low, thumping music floated from the hotel. An almighty crash reverberated through the air, and my head whipped around just in time to see the hotel’s double doors fly open and Iceman stomp out, dragging a disheveled-looking Fletch across the ground while half the club followed behind.

“What’s that fucker done now?” Dad demanded under his breath before stalking toward the two men.

“Fuck knows. But it’s not like Ice to lose his shit. Fletch must’ve excelled himself this time...” The door flew open again, and my voice trailed off as I watched Ice’s girlfriend, Marney, come running out of the clubhouse, her clothes just as disheveled as Fletch’s.

“Shit,” I breathed, taking in the way she was straightening herself up like she’d gotten dressed in a hurry. My heart began to sink because if this scene was what I thought it was, the incoming drama would likely put the Wyoming chapter’s Days of our Biker Lives daytime soap opera shit to shame.

My lips thinned as I watched Iceman throw a very drunk Fletcher to the ground. Looming over him, he bellowed, “You touched my woman!”

I sucked air in through my nose.

Jesus Christ.

Fletch, still lying on his back, laughed out loud. “She touched me first.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

“Fuck,” I muttered, scraping a hand down my face.

“You should’ve come tome!” Ice bellowed, his face turning purple with rage. “Your loyalties should lie withme!”

Fletch knifed up to a sitting position. “And what aboutherloyalties?” he challenged, throwing a hand out toward Marney before drawling, “Bro, I did you a favor.”

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