Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

anytime soon. A bitch is a bitch; it’s that cut and dry. None of them deserved enough respect to be my old lady, and probably no one ever would again.

My balls were inching closer to the endgame, and if I were a gentleman, I would have warned her about what is next. Thankfully for me, I’m not one. The blonde ground her pussy against my palm, and I pumped her harder, sliding two more fingers in for the sheer hell of it. She screamed with excitement as her walls clenched around my knuckles, a sadistic smirk pulled up at my lips to the rhythm of the blonde’s increased speed. The redhead’s warm mouth let out a throaty moan, and that is all I needed. I shot my load into the back of her throat and flexed my hips upward as the blonde pumped herself harder and came against my palm.

I glanced over at the clock on the dresser and instantly remembered that it is time to part ways, and at this point, I’m not worried about sounding like a dick. I didn’t have the time to consider their feelings, nor were they worth the effort to do so. What is going on between us is straight fucking. Or at least they should’ve got that. This isn’t the first time they’d come to the club. Hell, I’m almost certain they were in Lathe’s room last weekend, and Flint’s the week before that. Nothing came from them fucking either of my brothers and it damn sure isn’t going to come from me.

“Ladies, you’re masters of your craft.” I smiled. Laying it on thick like that, simultaneously giving them compliments every step of the way because they were. It’s never clear when I would find myself in another dry spell and need to call them up. It rarely happened, but on occasion, a man with stamina such as mine had to drag the bottom of the barrel just to get off. You do what you have to do when you’re an addict, and that is exactly what I am.

“But, ladies! Get your shit and get the fuck out! Maybe we can do it again soon.” I added a reassuring comment, nodding toward the door, and gritted my teeth.

The problem is, very few females understood what I didn’t tell them. I’m not looking for love or the soulmate almost every lovesick fool did. Of course, I did that song and dance once, and that is it for me. My ex-wife, Quinn, is the only one I thought could be for me . . . but I was young and dumb then. I would never be in that situation again.

“Oh, honey . . . I understand completely,” one flatly said, climbing from the stained sheets. I kicked my legs over the opposite side they occupied as my eyes scanned for some hair of the dog. There isn’t any reason to prolong this situation or to even try and distinguish which one had said what at this point. “Ladies . . . I got all I needed from the two of you for one day. But, maybe we’ll do it again . . . Now, fuck off!”

I stretched as they scattered around the room, gathering what clothing they could find, and walked out my door, slamming it behind them.

“Fucking pig,” one of them said as the door rattled against the frame.

“Forgot your dignity?” I laughed, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the makeshift milk crate nightstand, and chugged it for a second.

Only a few seconds later, the old door creaked, and it flew open again.

“Back for more, sugar?” I asked, my voice full of cockiness, and laughed a guttural all too knowing laughter. This wouldn’t be the first-time women came back after I degraded them, trying to reclaim their self-worth—To tame the asshole biker as if their pussy held some of the Louisiana voodoo that my grandma once told me about. The blatant truth is, no pussy would ever have a hold over me again, and that is the end of the story.

“Sugar, hmm?” Bad asked, throwing his head back as he took a big horn of whiskey. “Cobra, I’m a lot of things . . . but, son, ain’t nothing on me made of sugar!” He laughed while hitting the bottle once more.

“Sorry about that, boss.” My back immediately straightened as if it were a new arrow, and my palm rubbed at the building tension in my neck.

He laughed and set the bottle down onto the makeshift table that I made at the shop a few months back. “It’s fine. One of those bitches is a screamer. Hell, at one point, kid, I thought you may have been killing her in here.”

“Ha! Yeah! I was fucking her to death,” I admitted sliding my feet into my boots and lacing them to the top.

“Ah, shit, kid. Those were the days! I remember it like it was yesterday. Now the old lady might have a problem with all of that nonsense.” He let out a throaty laugh and bounced his wedding band off the bottle’s rim, picking it up and taking another shot. “Now, are you gonna be a responsible and sober pillar to society and get ready for work . . . or are you going to drink with your president?”

“Is that even a question, Bad?”

“Sorry, kid, I had to ask.” He let out a deep hoarse laugh, lighting a cigarette that he pulled from his pocket and took a few draws from the end.

“We both know I’m not looking to impress a damn person on this planet. No sir. Not my style.” We both were more than aware I had to be at work.

“Mine either,” he agreed, smoke billowing from his mouth as he led our way into the communal area. “But those dues won’t pay themselves.” His elbow lightly jabbed my side, and he nodded.

2

Quinn

“Little fucking whores,” I groaned to myself, sweeping the cigarette butts into a pile on the floor and shaking