Page 1 of Scotch: Unraveled

1.

Scotch

“You can’t go in there!”

That’s yelled from outside. Sounds like Dutchy, one of the prospects. What the ever-loving-fuck now? It’s far too early to be dealing with shite. And don’t we deserve a break? It’s been one thing after another for going on two years now.

“One thing after a-fucking-nother,” I murmur. Two mugs low on coffee. I don’t even have a shirt on. Not that I care about shirts. But I do care about commotion on the compound, so I walk over to the front door, throwing it open.

A woman? All that yelling over a woman? Albeit a hot woman, at least what I can tell of her through blurry-needing-more-sleep eyes. Big hair. Bigger tits. Decent face. Smoking curves. It’s never too early to think about pussy, as in, getting some. And in an instant, I go from sleepy to getting some mode as I assume the pose. One arm propped up against the doorjamb, resting my weight on one leg.

Then I reach out to stroke her arm with one finger, shooting herThe Smile. It gets me what I want. Always has. And right now, I want her mouth wrapped around my cock.

Oh, yeah.

“Hello,” I coo, cocking an eyebrow at her in that come-hither way the lasses seem to get off on.

“Scotch,” she says back, and I wrinkle my brows. She knows me? Her laugh comes humorlessly. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

The woman doesn’t give me time to answer.

“Of course you don’t. Not themighty Scotsman. Isn’t that what you had me call out when you were fucking me?”

It’s probably what I had her call me. I’ve had women call it plenty of times in the past, but she’s right. I don’t remember her. “What do ya want?” I ask.

Her laugh grows louder. “They’re your problem now,” she bizarrely answers as she moves both hands to point down by her feet. There’s a baby carrier set on the ground next to each.

I look at them, then look back up to her only to see her retreating backside. What the hell is going on?

“Ya can’t leave them here—” I pause because I can’t recall her name.

“It’s Constance, asshole.” She flips me the bird but doesn’t stop walking. “And yes, I can. Have fun,Daddy.”

Daddy?

Daddy?

Wait— “No.” Once it clicks, my body jerks and I take off running after her, but she’s already made it inside her car, started it, and put it into drive. “Close the gate!” I shout to Dutchy. Constance, or whatever she said her name is, accelerates. If he closes the gate, that bitch is crazy enough to ram it. Only one woman I ever went ungloved with and this bitch ain’t her.How the fuck did this happen?Was I not careful pulling out? Did the condom roll?I bet it rolled when I was pulling out. Wish I remembered.

Dutchy whips his head between me and the car and wisely, though I’ll never tell him this, moves out of the way, not attempting to close the gate. Her tires squeal as she guns it out of the lot, sticking her finger out the open window to flip me off once again.

“What the fuck is goin’ on out here?” Duke, our president, storms out of his house, no shirt and belt buckle undone. Shite, his pants are unbuttoned. No hiding what he’d been up to.

Caity, his old lady, runs out as she wipes at her mouth. Her fiery locks disheveled. It’s a contrast to her professional doctor scrubs and white coat. That man lucked the fuck out with a sexy doctor for a wife.

Then from behind me, I hear, “Scotch, you can’t leave them unattended.” Boss’s old lady, Elise, calls out to me.

Leave them unattended? I turn to look at her. I mean, I love her. Not a brother on the compound hasn’t jacked off to dreams of her bedroom eyes shining up at him while she sucked him off, not that we’d ever tell Boss. He’d kill us while we slept. She’s one hot lass and fucking funny. She gives Boss a run for his money on the daily. But why is she here so early and what the fuck is she talking about? I squint my eyes at her and shake my head mouthing a silent, “What?”

“The babies,” she calls back. “You can’t leave them sitting here unattended.”

The car is gone and I’m at a loss. My hands go from hanging limp—the only part of me to ever go limp, at least I’m certain ’a that—to resting at my hips while trying to put together what happened. “Babe-ies?” I ask slowly.

“Fuck, brother,” Duke shouts. “Go get yer kids. Take ’em inside the clubhouse. It ain’t really cold out, but it ain’t warm, either.”

“I—what?” I ask again. The man spoke words; hell if I understood any of them.

“Go get yer fuckin’ kids.” His eyes go wide in the way he makes them when he’s telling someone tomove their arsewithout words.

---