Chapter 6

SIX

MILES

T he incessant sobbing from a grown man is something that grates my ever-loving nerves each time we do something like this. His begging and sniffling have me wanting to put a bullet through his forehead. If Braxton were here, he'd have already been on the ground. He can't stand repetitive noises. The older I get, the more I understand him.

"Please, I'll do anything. I have a family," the man begs.

Sully tsks loudly enough that it echoes through the large room in the factory.

The smell of burning plastic fills the air, and my nose has had about enough. A throbbing sets up residence behind my eyes because of the place's overwhelming perfume.

"Pres, just let me kill him," Kylo says, whipping his pistol out of the back of his jeans.

The man's cries grow even louder. I wave Kylo off. Rubbing my temples, I step toward the man, who Sully strapped to a conveyor. The same one where he has many in the town of Twin Pines working day in and day out, with no PTO, no rights to claim, and when they call in—God forbid—he writes them up.

Also, no worker here has seen a rise in years.

So, the town has cried out in its way. For justice.

The Cobras are going to give it to them.

"Now, we talked with you two weeks ago, right? About the well-being of the employees here? The ones under your care?"

I hover over his right side, looking down at him—a power skitters through me at how it feels to be the President of the Cobras.

He nods frantically. "But I have a board to go through, and I have..."

A shot rings out, and blood leaks from the side of Mr. Smith's head onto the conveyor below him.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Sully!" I scold.

He shrugs, putting his gun back, and signs, " He has bosses, just like I do. You know what bosses don't listen to? Peons. You know what they listen to? Action. That," he points at the dead general manager on the conveyer belt before me, "is action. That's a message."

I stand back, looking down at the manager, his blood now slipping over the black rubber of the conveyor to the concrete below. "Leave our calling card behind, too. Let them know who the fuck has their eyes on them."

Sully pulls out his wallet, pulling out a card with a Cobra signet. There's nothing else on it. Nothing needs to be on it. He slips it into the front pocket of the man's vest, in clear view for the board and all who touch this man's body to find.

We used to have to worry about the cops, but we no longer do when dealing with corrupt companies. Companies like this won't involve the cops; they'll deal with this internally.

"Give them a week," I sign, moving outside to get my bike. I turn back, finding Sully stroking the man's face absently, looking down at him with a glint in his eye. "Don't do anything weird to his body."

He looks back at me, lifting his hands to sign, " You got it, Pres. "

Sully is an odd duck. When he found us, he begged for a spot in our chapter. He's an outsider, but he felt like family from day one. He's my age but has always acted older, but he's far more fucked-up than any of us ever realized before he got his full patch into the club.

A fucking head doctor should study the things we've caught him doing with bodies. But he's the most logical in the bunch, somehow.

I text Blaze that we need to go into Portland tonight; I need to let loose. There's no one here to do that with—none I haven't sampled more than once.

Hey, Jackal territory tonight?

Who's watching the princess?

Sully. He's not suited for the public this evening.

Oh shit, what's he done now?

Nothing. Just trust me. I'll be back at the CH soon.

Ride safe.

Once I've got my helmet on, I let the chilly fingers of the night slip past as I dig into the throttle, shifting gears fluidly and turning corners widely. Riding a bike is the most free I ever feel. The sheer thrill of going as fast as possible, teetering on the edge of life and death. A long ride can clear your fucking mind and restore your soul.

When I was little, though, I'd been deathly afraid of riding. The first time I got on Dad's ride to learn, I'd been too stiff, too panicked. I didn't feel the bike and let it become an extension of my body. I crashed into a ditch, my body flung over the handlebars into a tree.

But I got right back on that bitch over and over, determined to become the victor.

I return to the house to ride out with the boys and look toward the clubhouse. Sully idles up to the bay, kicking his stand outward to lean his bike over. He looks over and nods in my direction. I've got it, the nod says.

Even though I want nothing more than to go in there and check on her, I don't think my nerves can handle it. Death has a way of making my body ache for something alive. Something soft and plush to sink my cock into so I can come back to reality.

Nightfall isn't far off, and I'm ready to ride when the others join me.

"She's eaten?" I ask Blaze as he stops beside me, letting his feet touch the dirt below his bike .

He nods. "I told Sully to feed her in like an hour. You were right, though. He looks fucked-up."

I nod as more Cobras join us.

Revving the bike, I set a good pace as we move across the gravel, back toward the asphalt we love to glide across.

The ride to Portland, into Jackal territory, will take us an hour. Every member stays in tight formation as we let the bikes roar through the Oregon night as dusk swallows us all.

The Dirty Pour is somewhere we know we shouldn't step foot, but now and again, we love a good fucking time. More often than not, that means riling up a fight.

"You think this is a good idea, Pres?" Blaze asks.

Knowing it's not, I look up at the sign above and nod my head anyway.

"They shouldn't have been in Cobra territory, and you know it. We can't let it go unanswered."

Blaze sighs. He knows I'm right; he isn't ready for the full brunt of them breathing down our necks as full-on war brews between factions.

"Let's go have some fun, boys!" I shout, moving into the bar first, letting them follow.

Last week, Vito Murphy—leader of the Jackals—decided he'd come into Zeke's and raise some hell. The place got trashed in a fight they started, and I had to foot the bill. Undoubtedly, he was there to rile us up. For what reason? Fuck if I know.

But Cobras are known for repaying favors. There are a few spots the Jackals love to hang, but The Dirty Pour is dear to their heart. Because Vito's late father owned it, it's a family legacy.

As soon as my eyes lock on the lithe body of the blonde bartender with brown eyes and tits to kill, I know it's going to become a favorite of mine, too.

I already had my murder tonight; I need a little mayhem.

"What'll it be?" she asks as she slaps a napkin down.

I expected she'd give us shit. I thought we'd raise a little hell here and then have to find elsewhere to get our drinks. So did the boys.

"You're going to serve me?" I ask, my brow lifting.

She looks around. I can feel the eyes of the rest of the bar slithering over the massive Cobra on the back of my leather jacket, but I don't move a fucking muscle.

She shrugs. "I need to make my money somehow. Your party looks like you're good for it. Are you?"

I lick my lips, and hers lift in a little defiant smirk. "Yup, we're good for it. We're good for more than that, too."

She giggles and rolls her eyes playfully before grabbing Blaze's beer orders for us all and shucking the tops off.

"Maybe I'll just have to see what a Cobra is good for, hm?" she teases, winking at me as Blaze elbows my side.

I join his rueful laugh as she turns and sashays off, taking and filling orders. While she's no candle to the pouty-lipped beauty back at the clubhouse, she'll do in a pinch.

I am definitely in a fucking pinch.

"God, the way you grip my fucking cock, love," I growl, shoving into her pussy with all I've got. My boots are sliding across the bathroom's filthy floor, and it's a fight to stay inside her.

"Harder! Fuck, harder!" she begs, and I grab hold of her and lift her, dropping her onto the sink, praying the weight doesn't make the thing crumble.

My cock slides in and out of her as hard as I can fuck her, skin slapping skin. Toilets flush as people come and go outside the stall; giggles and scoffs greet us as the door opens and shuts.

She grabs the back of my head, heading right for my mouth. Just like they always do. I turn my face, and her lips get to my cheek. She plays it off, moving to my ear and nibbling.

When I turn back, there's a sparkle of embarrassment in her eyes, but I grab each side of the sink for leverage and roll into her, giving her friction that wipes the look right off her face.

"I don't kiss," I grunt out.

She nods, hands bracing on my biceps, grabbing onto the leather of my jacket for dear life as she arches. Her head hits the mirror, damn near cracking it.

I lean down, breathing in the perfume scent on her neck before latching on.

She moans, pussy convulsing around me as I feel my own ends coming for me .

"Cobras don't kiss; they fucking bite," I groan, pulling my dick out of her and jacking it into the sink, cum erupting in thick ropes into the basin under her pussy hovering over the open space.

"Fuck, why is that so hot?" she breathes, panting as she tries to catch her breath. "I might go to hell after this."

I shrug. "That's between you and your god, love."

I reach behind her and turn the water on, using my hand to splash some on her swollen pussy. She moans, and I feel slightly revived by the sound, wanting more.

It wasn't enough.

My fingers slip inside her. "You want more, you dirty little whore?" I ask.

She bites her lip and nods, but the door to the bathroom slams open, and I pause.

"We got problems, Pres. All hands on deck!"

Meaning there's a fight about to erupt.

"Gotta go, love. The fun's about to begin!"

I pull my fingers out but think better of rinsing them. Putting them before her face, I lift my brows in silent demand. "Suck, whore."

She leans forward, swallowing them whole and giving me a brief show of just what I'd missed by not letting her suck my cock before I fucked her.

I groan, but Blaze's voice, shouting outside, pulls me back to reality.

Pushing my cock back into my pants, I give the blonde one more backward glance as I leave her with her pussy bare, sitting freshly-fucked on the sink in the bathroom .

When I enter the central part of the bar, fists, chairs, and tables fly.

Fuck, I love tonight!