Chapter 3

TRAX

Again? What the fuck was wrong with Blade? All I wanted to do was get down the stairs so I could grab a beer from the bar and he was fucking a Hellion on the stairs…again. This was starting to piss me off.

"Blade, man… can I get down the fuckin' stairs?"

And nothing happened. Candy, one of our Hellions, was still moaning loudly as Blade slammed into her from behind. This wasn't unusual. And it was what the Hellions were for. They were women that craved the MC life so they cleaned, did laundry and did about anything we asked them to do. That included letting the members fuck them whenever we wanted. Nobody was forced to do anything they didn't want, but these club whores knew exactly what they were getting into.

"Brother," I growled while looking down on Blade. "I got a beer calling my name. Get the fuck outta my way!"

"Trax, man…this pussy is calling me." And he fucking smiles at me but he doesn't stop. He's the only brother that wears his hair real long and loose. His beard is close trimmed giving him that lazy I forgot to shave look. I can see the sweat dripping down his chest that is covered in tribal tattoos.

"That pussy has called out to every brother here man. Take it someplace else. You got a room or the couch behind you or even the fuckin' pool table. I don't care. Just get off the fuckin' stairs, man."

"Give me like two minutes and I'll be done."

I was gonna fucking kill him. I shoved my way past them knocking Candy a little bit into the wall. It wasn't hard enough to hurt her, but she needed to move outta my damn way. Blade stumbled a second but never stopped fucking her.

I had to give the guy credit for his determination.

I took my pissed off self over to the bar and sat down on a stool. Dutch, one of our prospects, had my beer waiting for me.

"He fucks in the damn weirdest places," Dutch said shaking his head.

This stair shit had to end. I took a long swallow of the ice-cold beer. "Learn from him what not to do, prospect."

The kid laughed and walked to the other end of the bar. Prospects were good for the shit jobs. If they did them and didn't bitch about them plus did anything else we asked, and showed us their complete loyalty, then they'd get voted on to get patched in as a full member. Dutch was good behind the bar keeping it stocked and decently clean, so Bear let him keep that as his main job.

Booze is a good way to keep bikers happy.

I saw our Prez walk out of his office, lifting his chin to acknowledge me. I raised my beer bottle to him before taking another swig. He was a big son-of-a-bitch. One of the tallest in the MC. His long woodsman beard had started to go gray in the last few years, but he kept his dark hair cropped close to his head. He looked like a big grizzly bear and was as strong as an ox. Outsiders underestimated him all the time, and he used that to his advantage.

He was damn smart making me proud to be part of this club.

Bear had done us well in his years of being president of the Road Devils. He took us down a different path a few years after I joined up. The club had been into a lot of shady dealings back then. The brothers had been involved with drugs, gun-running, and more. Bear had moved the club out of that when he became President and into more legitimate businesses like the garage we had, a couple of bars in the area, and the half dozen rental properties we had. We were legit. We looked it too on paper but we lived on the edge too much to not ride that gray area between right and wrong more often than not.

Didn't bother me none. I did whatever the club asked of me. That was life in an MC.

I didn't envy Bear's job as he had a lot of responsibility on his big shoulders.

Better his than mine.

I had no desire to move up the corporate MC ladder. I was fine simply being a member. My brother, on the other hand, kept bitching how he was always passed over for Sargent at Arms. Sugar never saw that he was his own worst enemy. The SA kept us on the straight and narrow when it came to club rules. Our rules were the only ones that really counted when it came down to the members. We all hated outside authority and their way of running things. Sugar, who was not just my MC brother, but my older blood brother too, never found a rule he didn't try to break. Both ours and theirs.

He was never gonna be SA because of it.

And speaking of the devil. "Hey bro," I said as he sat down next to me.

"Trax, little brother…how ya doing?" Before I could even attempt to answer he demanded a whiskey from Dutch who was flirting with a Hellion. "Damn it, boy. Leave the bitch alone. Prospects ain't got no business with Hellions. You're here to serve drinks, so get about it."

Before Sugar even finished his ramble, Dutch had a glass with two fingers of whiskey in front of him. The kid was fast. "That's more like it," Sugar mumbled before taking a pretty damn big sip from his glass. He dribbled some down the front of his Henley and absently wiped it away with his hand.

I loved a glass of Jack as much as the next guy, but it was barely afternoon and beer would suit me for now. We had a club pig roast scheduled for tonight and I'd have plenty of time to hit the hard stuff then. "What got you drinking?"

"You ain't my momma, boy. I drink whenever I want to."

Growing up, he was always a bit of a dick to me. Sugar was ten years older. He constantly referred to me as "boy" or "little brother." The MC life didn't change that, but it should have. Blood brother or not, I deserved respect from him.

"Listen asshole. I done told you not to ever call me 'boy' too many times. You're pissed off that much I can see, but now I don't give a rat's ass why. I'm gonna go for a ride since I got the afternoon off from work. So fuck off."

I downed what was left of my beer. Sugar was ignoring me as Gina, the Hellion that Dutch had been talking to, came over to flirt with him. One thing I knew about my brother was that if it had a pussy, he'd fuck it. It didn't matter how many times any of the brothers had used it, Sugar didn't give a damn.

The girls seemed to like him, which I didn't get. He was average looking at best, not that I'm some hot guy, but there ain't anything special about Sugar. He's obnoxious and loud with some derogatory nickname for you that makes no sense.

"Hey, Sugar Tits. Blow me."

Yeah, that was my brother with Gina. He gets straight to the point. I had to chuckle as I got off the barstool and saw that she was kneeling on the laminate floor undoing Sugar's jeans. This was something I didn't want to see.

"Yeah, go off on that ride while Sugar Tits here blows me. Tell me who's having a better day now?" he called out.

Do you want to know how he got his road name? He doesn't remember any of the girls' names. Never did. They are all "Sugar Tits" to him. He's been calling them that since he was a prospect. So the guys started calling him Sugar.

Me…I'm Trax. Short for tracker. Before I hooked up with the Road Devils, which was long after Sugar was already patched in, I liked to hunt a lot. To hunt you need to know how to track what you are looking for. I'm a damn good tracker. I can track people too. Kinda how I made my way into the MC. So everyone calls me Trax.

I swung my leg over my Harley. I had a '97 Roadster that I had customized a little bit from time to time in the shop. She was my prized possession. Riding her was what kept me grounded. It gave me time to think and relax. I had more freedom on her than I ever could in a cage. I rode my Harley whenever I could. Didn't care that it got cold in the winter, just played it safe when we had snow and ice, which luckily didn't happen all that often. I kept a beat-up old pickup for when riding my bike would have been just too damn dangerous.

I put my lid on buckling it under my chin. Then I took off with no direction in mind. I needed to feel the wind in my face so I could get control of my head. A couple of weeks ago something happened that I just couldn't shake. This ride was long overdue so I could figure out how to get rid of the memory that was haunting me.

Four hours later, I returned to the clubhouse. It was home. The married brothers or the ones with ol' ladies had houses that they lived in. Most of us single guys simply had rooms at the clubhouse, while a handful of guys like Bear had both a room her to their own place to crash. We didn't need anything more than that.

It was fairly soon after I patched into the Road Devils that Truck, who our president back then, purchased this big piece of property near an old garage we were working out of. There were three unused buildings on the lot that became the new Road Devils compound. The biggest building became the clubhouse. He converted it into a workable space for our clubhouse complete with a wire fence that surrounded our property.

The clubhouse not only had a large common area for us members, with a bar, several big screen TV's, couches, half-dozen tables, and chairs, and a pool table, but the first floor held the meeting room we used for church, Bear's office, our armory, and an industrial style kitchen. The second floor was all bedrooms. There was at least a dozen up there. A smaller building became a bunkhouse since our membership was pretty strong at almost thirty guys. The last building we used for storage. It had a false floor in one corner for when we had to keep some things out of sight.

I backed my bike into the spot that had become mine over the years. There was seniority when it came to bikes. Who rode out first and followed was not some haphazard sequence. Prez, VP, and Enforcer were the first three. Next, it was members according to how many years they had been with the club. At the back of the pack were the SA and Road Captain. I was in the upper third of the pack when we all rode out together.

There was always a prospect around when a biker came in. He not only manned the front gate but wiped down all of the bikes to keep them shining. There were only two things that mattered most to a biker, the condition of his cut and his bike.

I strode through the main level and grabbed another beer from Dutch as I made my way up to my room. I acknowledged a few guys along the way but didn't stop. I was road dirty and thirsty. I kicked my door shut behind and threw the deadbolt. My cut was hanging neatly on the back of my door when I padded my naked ass into my small bathroom. I downed the rest of the beer while the shower heated up.

The ride hadn't accomplished what I had hoped it would. If anything, it gave me more time to remember the woman I met on the side of the road a few weeks back. Any other guy in the club would have come back bragging about how he stopped to help a woman with a flat tire and got paid with a free fuck. But I ain't like the rest of them.

Neither is Sophie. I was being a decent guy by stopping to help a stranded motorist. I saw the flashers when I was still pretty far away but when I saw it was a woman, I had no choice but to stop. The second I got a good look at her, my dick went from nothing to steel in record time.

She wasn't dressed to kill like the Hellions are. All she had on was a pink tank top and jeans. I didn't see any trace of makeup and she was a sweaty mess. Her wavy light brown hair had blonde streaks going through it as it hung halfway down her back. She had these big brown eyes that reminded me of the color of whiskey. It was my perfect package that I found stranded on the side of the interstate.

Sophie was fun and outgoing, but I could tell she was still nervous. Hell, I was nervous too. Sitting in her SUV, I tried my best to keep from staring at her tits but it was damn hard. Her shirt had gotten wet in the rain and it clung to those perfect mounds.

I took a chance…a big chance by giving her a look that told her what I wanted, which was her. She could have played it off like she didn't get what I was suggesting, but she didn't. I really didn't think she'd go for it, but I guess she must have had a bad boy biker fantasy cause I can't think of a single reason she would want to let me fuck her in that backseat.

Twice.

Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.

And I've had a lot.

Now, I'm not one who needs to brag about my conquests. Sure, in my younger years I screwed anything and anywhere I wanted just like Blade was doing. That was MC life. You could walk through the clubhouse on any given day and see two people going at it. These last few years, I preferred the privacy of my room. I'd take advantage of whatever the girl was offering then she'd be gone. I wasn't into audiences no more.

That's all I wanted from a chick until I met Sophie.

Even cramped in the backseat and sweating our asses off in that hot cage, I wanted more. But I never asked for her number or even where she was headed. I didn't think she'd ever want to see me again. But I never gave her the fucking chance. The look on her face was sad as I waved driving by her SUV at the end. I should've had her pull over and give me her damn number, but I didn't.

I'm a fucking idiot.

I know I'm not God's gift to women. We have a couple of guys that are good looking and they know it. They can get pretty much any girl they want whenever they want. Striker, Wolf, and Diesel turn heads wherever they go. I don't and that ain't no big deal. I just didn't think she'd want anything more than a hook up with a guy like me.

There ain't anything I can do about it now except get over it. Since that day, I ain't fucked anyone. And that ain't normal for me. Sophie's got my head screwed up so much that nobody else even interests me. But tonight I was putting that shit to rest. With the party we had planned, there'd be plenty of easy pickings. The women that came to these things were looking to bag a biker for a night. Some wanted to make it a more permanent thing, but not many of us were looking for an ol' lady to tie us down. All we wanted was easy sex and nothing more.

Surprisingly, Diesel had claimed an ol' lady a few months ago at church. It surprised me to see him take himself off the block. I was wondering with his pretty face how long that would last. I firmly believed in true lust. Something that'd last an hour or two at the most. Anything more than that wasn't my style which was why this thing with Sophie has me a bit fucked up.

It was time to get down to the business of drinking and having a good time with my brothers. I threw on a clean set of clothes before checking the drawer in my nightstand to make sure I had plenty of wraps there. I threw on my cut and locked the door behind me. It was time to join the party I could hear going on downstairs.

I was on my second glass of Jack when Ghost came over to me to let me know Bear wanted to see me. Ghost can be a creepy fucker without trying. He's got a thin sinewy build that looks puny next to some of the other brothers who hit the gym every day. Except, he'd win a fight against most of them. He's trained in some martial arts shit that I can't pronounce which makes him as deadly as they are. We call him Ghost because he has this uncanny ability to appear and disappear without anyone noticing.

Just like now.

"Where is he?" I asked Ghost.

"Office." Ghost was always direct and to the point.

I turned to grab my glass so I could throw back the last of the Jack in it. In those few seconds, Ghost was gone. Nowhere in sight. Poof.

So I took myself over to Bear's office and knocked on the door. "Open," bellowed from inside.

I turned the handle and stepped inside. "You looking for me?"

"Yeah, Trax. Sit down."

Now I was nervous. I knew I ain't done anything wrong, but you never know. I sat my ass down and waited for him to speak. He was the Prez after all.

"How long you been running things over at the garage?"

I had no clue where he was going with this. Had I fucked something up at the garage? I didn't think so, plus the receipts I had turned showed we had a good week.

"Bout year and a half."

"You know why I put you in charge?" he asked me.

"Cause Strut retired."

Bear opened the cigar box on his desk. I watched him carefully choose one before looking at me. He had never offered me one of his precious Cubans before so now I was completely confused about what was going on. I declined with a slight shake of my head. I wasn't a cigar guy. Cigarettes were my vice along with Tennessee whiskey and loose women.

I watched him savor his first inhale. "Strut retired because I convinced him it was time. His bookkeeping was lazy. He was arguing with the customers too much and the shop was losing money. Bad management and that was on me."

He was right about it all. Unless I saw anyone stealing, since that would've been against the club, I didn't say anything and just went about doing my job. I was good with cars. Always been able to fix most anything. I worked there for years contributing to the club both before and after I was patched in. When Strut stepped down, Bear told me I was stepping up. Didn't ask, just said, "Strut's retired as of now. You're running the shop so get to it."

"Putting you in charge was on me too. Should've done it sooner. Trax, you know that when Strut was in charge we never made any money? Not once, but it was a place for us to work on the bikes and a cage now and then. You brought in more business and now we do more vehicle work than bikes. That brings in the money. We got so much work now that you had to hire outside of the club. Shows the town that we are good to work for."

Bear paused to enjoy more of his cigar before continuing. "We broke even the year you started running it. This year we made a shitload of money. Makes me wonder where all that money went all those years, but that ain't for you to worry about. You done good Trax, just like I knew you would. You and Sugar may be brothers, but you got a good head on your shoulders and Sugar lives to test my patience. Basically, all this shit means is that you're doing a real good job. I notice and I wanted you to know I noticed. This is for a job well done."

He tossed an envelope on his desk. I looked at him trying to keep my shock from showing. Bear nodded that I should take it, so I did. I put it in an inside pocket of my cut. Not gonna insult the man by counting it in front of him but I was dying to know how much was in it. I had seen too many envelopes stuffed with cash not to recognize what it was right away.

I stood up and held out my hand to him. "Thank you, Bear. I won't let you down."

He quickly hid a small smile by turning his head as he stood up. He gripped my hand in his meaty paw his typically stern look was back in place. "You better not. Now git back to the party and have some fun. Heard you've been a pain in the ass this week, so get drunk and get laid. Pussy will fix anything."

I couldn't help but chuckle at him. He's a good president of the club and I'll always have his back. "On my way," I said to him as I headed out of the room.

There was no way I was bringing an envelope full of cash out into the chaos in the clubhouse. Instead, I bypassed everyone and headed up to my room. There I sat down on the bed and pulled out the money. Years of dealing with cash taught me how to count it quickly. I had two grand in my hands. I was stunned. His words of appreciation meant a lot, but this even made it better. It made me feel good.

So the cash went into the safe I have in my closet and I jogged on down the stairs. I needed a drink or two to silently celebrate and then I needed a pussy. Time to go back to being the old me of a few weeks ago.

I made a beeline for the bar but stopped in my tracks when I heard a laugh. I think my heart tried to stop too when I heard the voice that went with that laugh. My eyes scanned the crowd as quickly as I could before I found her.

Sophie.

My mouth dropped open the same time my dick got hard. She was wearing a short black skirt with ankle boots that gave her another few inches in height. On top, she wore a deep burgundy halter-top with her hair flowing down her back in waves. My surprise quickly turned to anger when I saw her looking up at Wolf and laughing that sexy laugh of hers.

What the fuck was she doing with him? He was too good looking for his own good. Probably the best-looking guy in the club according to the Hellions. You couldn't miss them bragging to each after they spent a night with him. He was one of the few blonde guys here and ended up looking like a Viking warrior half the time.

My vision had clouded for a second zeroing in on the fact that he had his arm around her shoulders. She was mine, and he had no fucking rights to her. I took a step to the bar and ordered a double shot. Dutch knew what to pour without me even asking him. I downed that right fast slamming the glass back down on the bar. I guess the look on my face had him pouring me another one without even asking. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

"Fucking Wolf. How does he get all of the hot ones?" Dutch sighed, shaking his head.

"He ain't getting that one," I growled.

I threw back the second double and saw someone wave at me. That's when I realized that Diesel was there with his ol' lady Chrissy and they were talking to Wolf and Sophie. I had no idea what I was gonna do, but I headed over there anyway.

My eyes locked in on Sophie as I made my way over to them. I saw the second she recognized me as her eyes opened wide in surprise. I could see her mouth my name. The name that no one here but she called me…Daryl.

When I got to them I did the first thing I thought of which was smash my fist into Wolf's damn perfect jaw.

And then I had to go open my big fucking mouth.