Page 8 of Kick

“She screams for help,” she replies, and she deafens me with an ear-splitting shriek that brings the cops running.

Motherfucker.

I go down on my knees, my hands clasped behind my head before the cops can even reach me, but the dumb fucks beat me into submission anyway. She winks at me as I’m hauled to my feet and dragged off to the paddy wagon. Fucking MC brat.

Shoulda known.

Prez, Rocker, Frogger and me spend the afternoon in lock-up while our brothers do damage control on the outside and try to bail our sorry arses out. When we’re finally released around nine pm, Prez pulls me aside as the others walk towards the van. He rests two meaty hands on my shoulder and looks into my eyes.

“That shit you pulled just cost me a lot of favours, kid.”

“I didn’t pull any shit. One minute she was comin’ on to me, and the next she just flipped and her club was laying into me. I didn’t know she was the fucking princess of the Severed Sons. I mean fuck me, did you see her? How the fuck did that come from someone like the old dude?”

“Slayer had more than his fingers in some sweet ethnic pussy pies, that’s how. Listen, there are bigger things in play here than you wanting to see that little bitch bouncing up and down on the end of your dick. The Sons have recently been making life hell for us. He glances at the brothers filing into the van, then lowers his voice, his eyes back on me. “See, they’ve taken a good deal of our profit away from that drug bust last month, they got the bitches in blue in their pocket and it’s affecting Angel deals. With that shit the Banditos pulled up north, our hands are fucking tied. And that means you gotta keep clear of that pussy.”

“Jeez, Prez, I’m looking to get my cock sucked. I wasn’t planning on marrying her,” I say, shrugging out of his hold, though truth be told, I’m fucking angrier than a cut snake. I don’t know why, the bitch is no one to me, but that doesn’t stop this irrational rage welling inside me at my prez’s demands. I stalk towards the van and climb into the back. Tank, who’d driven out from the mountains to bail our sorry arses out, slides the van door closed as he piles in with us. Frogger, a middle-aged brother as ugly as homemade fuckin’ sin, with big googly green eyes, raises a quizzical brow as he asks, “What the fuck’s eatin’ your knickers, boy?”

“Your old lady. I make her lick my skid-marked jocks before she reams me out.” A beat passes in which Rocker bursts out laughing, and then Frogger launches himself at me, crashing us both into the side of the van. His hands slide around my throat and he smacks the back of my head into the metal siding. I laugh as he punches my already bruised face.

“Fuckin’ knock it off or I’ll strip both your patches,” Prez yells from the front of the van as he brings us to a skidding stop, probably no more than two hundred metres from the cop shop. Tank is the one to pull Frogger off of me. His big, meaty fist yanks him back by the curls at the nape of Frogger’s neck, and he slams his body into the side of the van the way Frogger just did with me. Only seeing as it’s Tank, I’m guessing it was a lot harder than the way Frogger had thrown me around.

“Say fuck about my old lady again and I’ll gut you in your sleep, you little prick.”

I open my mouth to speak, but Tank gives me a warning look and I wind up spitting out blood onto the steel van floor instead. Tank is one huge motherfucker, and I’m not scared of him—I’ve taken him on before, fucking around at the Clubhouse after having a few drinks—but after having the shit kicked out of me by the Sons, taking a police baton to the head and letting Frogger give me a few good hits to the face just now, Tank would hand me my arse in three seconds flat. I’m done fighting today. I just wanna head back to the clubhouse, grab the first available bitch and let her nurse me back to health with a long, hard fuck.

And that’s exactly what I do. Cindy, a skinny club whore with long dark hair, who I’ve never really looked at twice before now, is the first bitch I lay eyes on. I walk right up to her—as the rest of the club cheer and applaud our return from lock-up—and take hold of her hand, sliding it down into the waistband of my jeans as I kiss the corner of her mouth. My fat lip stings like a bitch, but I relish the pain anyway because it makes the pleasure of her tiny hand stroking my cock that much sweeter. I lead her to my room and I fuck her every which way possible, imagining all the while that it’s that mouthy little bitch’s cunt I’m driving my dick into. I punish Cindy, or Carla, or whatever the fuck her name is, the way I want to that Severed Sons club brat, and vow that one day it will be her bouncing up and down on my cock, despite the fact that my Prez just forbade it.

I gotta get inside that woman, even if I have to take a bullet to the gut for betraying my club.

I gotta get inside.

Iwake to a pounding on my door and Prez’s angry voice bellowing for me to open up or he’s gonna kick it down, and then he’s gonna kick my head in, too. I slide my arm out from underneath the woman’s filthy body and stumble to the door, buck naked. I push back the lock and Prez comes barrelling into the room, bailing me up against the wall.

“You had one simple order: bring the dentist back alive, and you disobeyed it. For what? Some filthy little whore who should have been put down?”

“I know,” I throw my hands up to ward him off. “I fucked up. I know. But I couldn’t shoot her. I couldn’t let Tank shoot her either.”

He pulls a piece from the back of his jeans and turns it on her. “It’s pretty fucking easy, Kick; you just aim and pull the trigger.”

“Don’t. Please?” I beg. I actually fuckin’ drop to my knees and beg. I shake my head, knowing that I’ve hit an all-time low. I don’t even know this bitch and I’m throwing myself at my prez’s feet, begging him to spare her life. Jesus Christ, I’m a worthless, sorry fuck.

“Christ, get the fuck up.” He shakes his head at me. “Saints don’t fucking bend the knee for anyone. Why is this bitch so fucking important to you?”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, because the truth is I don’t know. I don’t know why I saved her from one monster only to be taken into the care of another. I don’t fucking know anything anymore. And I don’t like it one fucking bit. I shake my head and say, “I knew someone like her once.”

Prez laughs and tucks his gun away, scrubbing a hand down over his tired face. “Let me guess—this is your way of making amends for not saving that someone?”

I nod. “She needs a doctor. I shot her up with some coke so she’d sleep soundly, but it’ll wear off soon, and she’ll feel worse than before. She has bruises everywhere, maybe a few broken ribs. There’s no telling how long he had her there.”

“Fucking long time by the smell of her,” Prez says. “I’ll call the Butcher, but it’s gonna fucking cost ya. And you’re keeping her: food, clothes, all of it is on you. I can’t have her running scared and straight into the open arms of the pigs. The minute she tries to run, she gets a bullet to the head. It’s your job to make sure she doesn’t run. You got it?”

“Yeah,” I say.

He looks down at my naked body and shakes his head. “Put some fuckin’ clothes on. If you’re fuckin’ lucky I can get the Butcher here within the hour, and you gotta get her smelling a little more like roses and perfume than shit before he’ll touch her. You know he’s fuckin’ weird about shit like that.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, wondering how the hell I’m going to clean her up without losing my nut-sack.

Prez makes for the door, but he turns with his hand on the knob. “Ivy’s having a full meltdown out in the fuckin’ hall. You know no one can handle her shit the way you do.”

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