Page 5 of Dash

Observing her, he noted her exaggerated inhales. When she exhaled a plume of smoke, he ground his teeth. Flicking his Zippo closed, he glared at her as the corner of his eye twitched.

Cigarettes weren’t cheap. Not that he couldn’t afford to spare one or two, but that wasn’t the point. Every one of her shallow intakes grated against him as he watched her waste his cigarette just to impress him. How disingenuous. He much preferred honesty.

She popped out her hip, placing a hand on it, and puffed the cigarette without inhaling. Taking the smoke from his own cigarette deep in his lungs, he fought the rage as he exhaled two streams out of his nose, watching her strike a pose like a model on a runway.

“Now inhale,” he growled.

“What?” she asked innocently, puffing away like a damn train.

“Inhale,” he repeated the order, something he didn’t particularly care to do—especially while dealing with a bit of Dom drop from his interrupted play session. He may have taken care of his submissive, but he was still on edge from having his play time disrupted.

Her throat bobbed, and she did as he commanded. Coughs sputtered from her as her body rejected the sweet cancer-causing smoke.

Snatching the cigarette from her fingers, he held it in one hand while he brought his own to his lips with the other. Taking a deep drag of his own, he tried to use it to calm his irrational ire.

“Wasting my shit doesn’t impress me,” he barked. “You ain’t gonna get in my pants or on the back of my bike smoking.” What was it about women assuming they knew what he wanted? Be fucking genuine. Why was that too much to ask?

The woman was at least in her twenties. He shouldn’t have to talk to her like she was a fucking kid. Her head bobbed up and down as she nodded along with his reprimand. Her gaze focused on his boots, and damn him if he didn’t feel like he was scolding a child.

“Go.” He waved her off, unsure who annoyed him more: himself for yelling at her, or her. She wasted no time scurrying into the clubhouse.

Shaking his head, he leaned against the cinderblock wall. With his eyes closed, he took another drag of his smoke in one hand, exhaled, and took one from hers. He hadn’t double fisted cigarettes in a long ass time. He would definitely get a buzz from this.

The roar of another bike coming through the gate didn’t draw his focus. Motorcycles outside the clubhouse were pretty standard. They were a motorcycle club, after all. He expected his brothers to show up. Church was in a few minutes.

“You know.” The familiar voice of his Enforcer and best friend, Romeo, followed the cutting of the bike’s engine. “Someone once told me those things cause cancer.”

That someone had been Dash, and to hear it back broke the dark cloud surrounding him enough to get a chuckle out of him.

“You got any idea what all this is about?” Romeo asked, taking one of the half-smoked cigarettes from him. A true brother, he always had his back.

“Not a clue,” the older of the two responded as they leaned against the wall, smoking and settling into comfortable silence. He’d taught the young biker well. He knew how to inhale the cancer-causing substance into his lungs and not waste the precious tobacco. It truly was the little things in life he’d appreciated.

He’d watched the kid grow up through his years with the club. Romeo had become a fine brother. He’d jumped at the chance to be his sponsor since Tex, the VP and Romeo’s father, couldn’t do it. The club had a rule against family sponsoring family—something about nepotism. It didn’t matter. Watching the kid grow up the way Dash had made him more than just a club brother. Twisting the cherry off the butt, Dash watched as Romeo mimicked the move.

When Dash prospected, he’d been assigned to watch over Romeo as one of his many tasks. It meant keeping the kid out of trouble. Yeah, that didn’t happen.

Instead, he became somewhat of a destructive influence—giving Romeo his first cigarette, slipping him his first drink, and even hooking him up with his first piece of ass. Really, the kid owed him.

The older biker smiled with a particular memory of the Romeo’s mom ripping Dash a new asshole for giving the fifteen-year-old a cigarette. She really lost her shit when he dropped the teenager off drunk. Those were good times.

Snaking his arm over the younger biker’s shoulder, he drew him into a headlock. “Come on, Monty’s gonna shit if we keep him waiting,” Dash said as he rubbed his knuckle along his brother’s scalp.

Squirming and shoving at him, Romeo finally got free. He ran his fingers through the length of his thick dark brown hair, taming the wildness. It matched the darkness of his beard. Dash had no hair on his head; he’d shaved it for so long, he doubted he had any hair to grow if he tried. So, he dragged his fingers through the hair of his blondish beard, mimicking Romeo’s move.

With a playful punch to Dash’s shoulder, Romeo led the way into the clubhouse. As the pair strolled in, the older biker took notice of the prospect behind the bar to the left—Teller’s typical post. Well shit, they were officially late to church.

Passing the pool tables and the high tops, the two went up the first flight of stairs. Their clubhouse was spacious, plenty of room for the parties they held regularly. When they entered the private room meant for their meetings, it was packed. Only two seats were vacant at the custom table adorned with Odin’s Fury’s club colors: Odin’s profile with two war axes crossed behind him over a shield.

Keeping his eyes cast down, Dash took his seat with Romeo to his right. Monty, the club president, slammed the gavel down. “So nice of you two to join us,” he grumbled. “I thought with Clark heading up the Ohio chapter, I might actually get to start church on time.”

No one offered any apologies or excuses. The comment wasn’t meant to inspire them. Instead, the two men kept their heads bowed and waited for their president to start business.

“Getting guns from Ohio is proving to have been a wise choice.” Monty opened the meeting on a positive note. “Teller can speak to the amount of profit increase, but it seems we need to bump up our stock with the new customers.”

Grunts and nods filled the room.

“Our profit margin has increased enough where we can all get a pretty significant raise,” Teller announced in a deep Southern drawl. “I’d say about fifteen percent across the board.”

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