Page 78 of Tinsel & Chrome

“Dinner?”

I look at the time, geeze, I slept late. It’s time to start cooking dinner.

“Yeah, I got it,” I say, nodding.

After I finish the salad, I clean up my room and do laundry.

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Five

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Frosty

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Ember left in the middle of the night after I fucked her brains out. She’s going to be fucking sore, and she will remember my cock deep inside her pussy.

I rub the towel over my head and toss it over the shower door. I grab my jeans, pull them up, and a black T-shirt. I finish dressing and walk out of my room.

I walk over to my Brothers at the bar and slide onto the stool.

“Prospect, get me a beer,” I say, resting my arm on the bar countertop.

Ember’s mischievous face slides into my mind. Yeah, she’s taking fucking residences.

That’s not good.

“What the fuck! We waited for you to go get some grub,” Ice says, shaking his head.

“Fucker, I was busy,” I say, grabbing the beer.

I take a long pull and look at my Brother. He’s fucking have a blast with this. He knows that I don’t fucking nice girls.

“Fuck, did you really fuck that bitch,” Ice asks, peeling off the label on the beer bottle.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have,” I grunt, grinding my molars.

I didn’t have the right to fuck her. She’s not a fucking whore, and now I ruined her. It’s fucking with my head.

“Yeah, you left us hanging,” Psycho says.

“Fucker, you couldn’t get enough of that sweet bitch,” Enforcer says, smirking.

“Fuckers! You will not talk about her, ever,” I hiss, gathering my brows.

“Whoa! Brother, just kidding,” Enforcer says, raising his hands.

“Fuck! Let’s get some grub; I’m starving. I need gas,” I say, taking a long pull.

“Let’s go,” Ice says, nodding.

We walk out of the clubhouse and into the parking lot to retrieve our bikes. I get on my bike, pulling on my helmet, gloves, and sunglasses. We pull out of the clubhouse and onto the road. We ride to the gas station, and I pull up to the pump. My Brothers also needed gas. I slide off my bike and pull off my helmet, and that’s when I see the little boy crying in the back of the old Honda. My gut tightens, and my chest aches. I don’t like it; something is wrong.

I enter my card, and I start filling up my tank. It didn’t take long, and I put away the gas hose. I pull on my helmet and slide onto my bike.

A huge fucker walks out of the gas station store and opens the driver’s door. He turns and glares at the little boy. He’s no older than seven, and I can see that he’s scared of the fucker.

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