Fender: Soulless Kings MC Read online

  I surrender, Daddy.

  When the chaplain wraps up the service, I’ve calmed down enough that my vision isn’t completely blurry. I turn my head around to peer at the back of the room, looking for Fender, but he’s gone. I let out a sigh of relief. I doubt he was here to pay his respects. He probably just wanted to make sure my father was really dead, but whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s gone now.

  The last thing my father said to me before I packed a bag and left was that you can’t outrun your demons.

  At least I tried.

  Chapter Two

  I need answers. But first, I need the courage to ask the questions.

  Fender

  “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  I flip Margo the bird as I stalk past the bar.

  “If I were a decade younger,” she cackles, which only sets off a coughing fit from years of smoking Marlboro Reds.

  Margo is Burly’s ol’ Lady and a mother hen to boot, if mother hens wore denim and leather. She took it upon herself to ‘look out for me’ after my mom died, and if I’m being honest, I don’t hate it.

  I unlock my room at the clubhouse and toss my tie on the floor as I enter. I strip out of the suit in record time and decide to take a quick shower to wash the fancy off of me before I head back out to party with my brothers. As the water sluices over my head, I conjure up an image of Charlie in her black dress and the look on her face as she tried to talk about her father.

  My cock hardens, and as much as I need the release, I’m not giving it to myself. After the last few hours, I need a warm pussy to do the work for me. When I step out of the shower, I grab my discarded jeans from earlier and pull them on my still damp legs and finish dressing with what I assume, based on the smell, is a clean tee and my cut.

  When I enter the bar area of the clubhouse, I scan the room for Piston and find him lounging on a couch with his head thrown back and a blonde between his hairy thighs. Shaking my head, I step up to the worn wooden counter and watch as Margo hands a skinny prospect an uncapped bottle of Hop Venom.

  “Prospect,” I growl when he starts to walk away.

  “Yo,” he says when he turns around with the bottle to his lips.

  I hear Margo mumble ‘oh shit’ behind me, and I can’t help the grin that tugs at the corner of my lips. This jack-off is going to give me exactly what I need to calm the beast clamoring to get out.

  “Yo?” I snarl as I advance on him. “You talk to your mama with that mouth?”

  “Uh, y-ye—”

  With lightning quick speed, I grab him by his shirt and throw him against the bar as if he weighs nothing. Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, I shove his face in the wood and am disappointed by the whine that escapes his mouth.

  “You wanna wear our patch, you show some motherfucking respect. Margo isn’t your bitch, and I’m not the punk from down the street.” I lean in close so I can get a good look at the fear in his eyes. “I’m the goddamn president of the Soulless Kings, and if I catch you pulling that shit again, not only will your prospecting days be over, but you’ll wish you were never born.”

  The prospect swallows, and if it weren’t for the Guns N’ Roses belting from the sound system, I probably would have heard the kerthunk of his throat. I’ve seen this kid before, but never at a party. His black leather vest is a wannabe’s cut, void of any patches. Piston usually oversees prospects, but if this is the shit he’s bringing in maybe I need to be more involved.

  “What’s your name?”

  “T-T-Tyler,” he stammers.

  “Tyler, you better grow some balls real quick if you want to survive this life.” I yank him upright. “Now, take a look around.” He doesn’t listen so I smack him upside the head. “When your president gives you an order, you fucking obey.” Tyler quickly turns to scan the room. “See all those pretty half-naked chicks?” He bobs his head. “You wanna girl to be your bitch, you get one of them.”

  “Y-Yes, sir.” Tyler turns back toward me, and I’m glad to see some of the color is returning to his cheeks.

  “Much better. So Tyler, Piston give you a handle yet?”

  “A handle, sir?”

  I roll my eyes at his complete lack of understanding. “Yeah, a fucking handle. A road name.” When his stare remains blank, I clarify the only way I know how. “A fucking nickname.”

  “Oh, uh, no, sir.” Tyler chuckles to cover his nervousness.

  “Ya got one now. From here on out, you’re Trainwreck, cause lord fucking knows that’s exactly what you’ll be.”

  His eyes narrow for a split second before he masks his anger. “Trainwreck.” He repeats the name a few times as if seeing how it feels rolling off his tongue. “All due respect, sir, I ain’t no trainwreck and I’ll prove it to you.”

  His attitude pisses me off and at the same time gives me a glimmer of hope that Piston’s not completely running our club into wimp territory.

  “It’s Fender, or better yet, prez. Call me ‘sir’ one more time, and your nuts are gonna get up close and personal with your throat. Got me?” He nods. “Get the fuck outta my sight.”

  He turns away from me, and I let him think he’s getting away before I call out to him.

  “And Trainwreck?” His body stiffens and he glances over his shoulder. “You’re working the bar with Margo tomorrow night.”

  Trainwreck’s shoulders sag, but he nods and returns to his task of escaping me.

  “Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance.”

  I slide onto a bar stool and face Margo. The corners of her eyes are crinkled which tells me she’s trying not to laugh at what just happened. I shake my head at her.

  “Maybe, maybe not.” I grab the bottle of Armored Fist she slides at me and take a swig before slamming it on the wood in front of me. “Either way, it’s sure gonna be fun to watch.”

  “Fender, if your fath—”

  “Not now, Margo,” I bark. “Today has been shit, and the only thing I want is to get drunk and fuck. I don’t need any of your sage advice muddying the waters.”

  “Too damn bad,” she snaps. She’s the only one in this place who can get away with that shit. “I’m gonna say what I have to say, and you’re gonna fuckin’ listen.”

  “You’ve got two minutes and then I’m walking away.”

  “I only need one.” She wipes the bar down with her rag, as she often does when she’s going to get all feelings on me. “Your parents were great people. Loyal, strong, the best mama and daddy a kid could ask for, but they failed you, too.” I’d been staring into my beer, but with that statement, my head snaps up. “Hear me out.” She holds her hand up to stop the protest on my lips. “There’s a great big world out there, and you’re not limited to this little corner. Don’t get me wrong, the Soulless Kings are my family, my home and I would do anything for them, but I didn’t start out here. If Burly hadn’t spread his wings, so to speak, I wouldn’t be here. Now I get that that girl is supposed to be poison, the enemy, but Fender, I saw how you were with her all those years ago. And then everything turned to shit. Your parents were gunned down, she left. After that night, you changed. You hardened.”

  “It’s never just a minute,” I mumble.

  “Shut it. I know you went to Dyno’s funeral, and I’m guessing by the granite hard look on your face when you walked back in here that she was there. You’ve spent so much time listening to Joker and Piston and the other brothers tell you that she’s no good, that she set you up, but what do you believe?”

  I have no answer to her question, no response to her words. They swirl around in my mind until my head feels like it’s going to explode from a deadly combination of fury, confusion and pain. I lift my beer and down the remaining contents. The bitter brew doesn’t even begin to quiet my demons.

  “Gimme another. And two shots of tequila.”

  I slide my empty bottle toward Margo, and she tosses it in the trash where it clanks against the rest of the empties. Another bottle appears in front of me alon
g with the double shot glasses, filled to the brim. I down the shots in rapid succession and savor the burn before grabbing the beer and turning away from her. Time to find the other half of the cure to what ails me.

  I scan the room for a few minutes, not finding anyone that looks appealing, when it hits me that it’s an impossible task. Who I want and who is available are two very different things. I settle on the next best thing when I spot Tina, with her short black hair and her denim-clad ass. She’s not Charlie, but she’ll do in a pinch.

  I sidle up to her and wrap my arms around her waist, pressing my cock into her back as she sways her hips to the music. I close my eyes and let the friction between us do its job. Tina turns around, and her tits strain against the lace tank she’s wearing. Her nipples are hard and visible. I bend to capture one between my teeth and pinch the other.

  Tina’s head is thrown back, and she’s grinding her pelvis into my thigh, seeking the release I’m not ready to give. I try to yank her back by her hair, but it’s too short to get a good grip. Growling, I stoop to swing her into my arms and carry her to my room.

  “Damn, Fender, a girl could get used to this,” she purrs into my ear as she’s sucking on the lobe.

  “Don’t.”

  I kick the door shut behind us and stroll to the bed where I toss her down. She laughs and the sound is like fingernails on a chalkboard. She’s not the woman I want, and that’s not the laugh I want to hear.

  “Why not, baby? You know you like what I do to you.”

  Tina scrambles to her knees and reaches out to me, dragging me forward and mashing her lips against mine. Tina’s cunt is the only one that hasn’t been plugged up by any of my brothers, which is the only reason she’s ever been allowed in my room, in my bed.

  “I’m not your fucking baby.” I grip her wrists and hold them above her head.

  “Whatever you say, Fender.” Tina squirms and I let her go.

  “Take your fucking clothes off,” I demand.

  Tina strips and I can’t help but notice the track marks on her arms. I’m guessing she’s high right now, but I’m too much of a prick to give a damn about her inability to make smart decisions. Because fucking me is not a smart decision. Not when I’m wishing she were someone else.

  I unbutton my jeans and shove them down until they pool at my feet. My cock springs free, and Tina’s eyes immediately seek it out. She licks her lips and practically bounces with excitement.

  “Suck my cock.”

  I take a step back and point to the floor in front of me. Tina does as she’s told and kneels on the carpet. When she leans forward and her pink tongue darts out of her mouth, I brace myself for the contact. Tina swirls saliva around the head of my cock, and when she makes no move to take me in, I thrust my hips forward until I ram the back of her throat.

  “I said, suck. My. Cock.”

  Tina finally starts to move her head, and with each pass over my length, she lets her teeth scrape the sensitive flesh. Some men might not enjoy the pain, but I’m not some men. The pain is the punishment I deserve for letting my dick anywhere near someone who’s not her.

  Tina moans and the vibrations make my dick twitch. Too close to blowing my load and knowing she deserves something in return, I lift her up and shove her on the bed.

  “On your stomach.”

  Tina rolls over and her ass is sticking up, begging to be smacked. The crack of my palm leaves a red mark and Tina whimpers. I spank her four more times before I spear her pussy with two fingers, not bothering to see if she’s ready. Tina’s moans fill the room and make it difficult for me to picture her as anyone else.

  “Shut up.” I smack her ass again.

  When her walls clench around my fingers, I replace them with my cock and pound into her from behind. Tina’s knuckles are white as she grasps at the blanket underneath her. Mine are white as my fingertips dig into the flesh at her hips. My orgasm is close, but something is missing. Something is holding me back.

  “Fen-Fender… gonna come.”

  Tina’s wails reverberate off the walls, and her pussy clenches with her release. When she collapses onto the bed and I’m still hard as a rock, I flip her onto her back and crawl up her body to fuck her face. I need to fucking come and this ain’t done until I do.

  Tina lets me bang her mouth while she plays with my balls. My eyes slide closed, and I imagine another set of lips sucking me, another pair of hands pushing me to my limit. With that picture in my head, the tell-tale tingle races down my spine and I fill Tina’s mouth with my cum.

  When I’m spent, I fall to the bed at her side and stare at the ceiling. It’s always crazy how pussy can make you feel so good and so fucking terrible at the same time.

  “Get out,” I growl and push Tina away from me.

  “C’mon, Fender, let me stay,” Tina whines.

  “Get. Out.”

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” she spits out.

  After she grabs her clothes, she storms out of the room without getting dressed. I stay right where I’m at, thinking, staring, regretting. As I lie there, one thing becomes crystal clear: I can’t keep doing this.

  I need answers. But first, I need the courage to ask the questions.

  Chapter Three

  He was mine, and I was his, and now I’m no one’s.

  Charlie

  My mother, my sister, and I all sit around the kitchen table, eggs and bacon in front of each of us. No one has said a word. Sylvia has only taken two bites, my mother holds her coffee cup in front of her face and takes a sip on occasion, looking off into space, and I move scrambled eggs around with my fork. I don’t know how any of us could possibly be hungry right now.

  After what feels like too long, Sylvia’s fork clanks on the plate and she asks, “Are we really not going to address the elephant in the room?”

  I let out a sigh of relief and set my fork down before lacing my fingers and resting them on the table. Finally, we can get this over with.

  “This is a time to mourn your father, Sylvia. Not… other things.”

  “Can’t she go stay in a hotel or something?” She turns to me. “Or better yet, go back to wherever the hell you came from.”

  “This is where I come from.”

  Sylvia huffs and rolls her eyes.

  “What? Am I somehow less of Dad’s daughter because I wanted to be on my own for a few years? Do I not deserve to mourn? If you want me to fuck off, so be it.” I stand and throw a pointed look at my mother. “At least you have the courage to tell me.”

  I turn to walk away, but Mom’s coffee mug slams on the table. I glance at the spilled liquid before moving my gaze to her hardened eyes. “Sit. Down.”

  I glower a few moments before I plop into the seat, my fists clenched at my sides. She’s the one who asked me to come stay at the house for the time being. “It’s what your father would have wanted,” she’d said, although her face was hard as stone. It gave me hope that maybe she wanted to forgive me, but obviously she just wanted to make me uncomfortable. I would’ve been perfectly fine staying in a hotel and trying to make my amends from a distance. Now I’m stuck on Black Savages’ property surrounded by people who hate me.

  The door off the side of the kitchen creaks open, and I swivel to find Leal coming inside. He wipes his boots on the mat and grins at us like he can’t feel the thick tension in the room. “Mornin’ ladies.”

  “Hey Uncle Leal.” Sylvia springs to her feet and bubbles with affection as she goes over and hugs him. It seems she’s forgotten the tension too. “What are you doing here?”

  He hugs her back and, when he lets go, he strides over to the countertop. “I was hoping to snag me a bite of your mama’s cookin’.” He plucks a piece of bacon and lifts it as if to say cheers. “And I’m in luck.”

  He’s not really here for that, and we all know it. They’re several club whores who stay in the clubhouse that would cook for him if he wanted. He’s checking on us, and the sentiment is sweet. I’ve always liked Leal
.

  “Hey, Char, how you doin’?”

  I shrug. “I’m okay.”

  My lack of manipulating my facial expressions betrays me, and I can tell by the creases around his eyes that he knows I’m not okay. He gives me a kind smile anyway. “Are you planning on staying a while or do you need to head back?”

  Head back. I wish there was something to head back to. I never even called my job at the shop to tell them I quit or that I planned on leaving the state, so that bridge is burned. My apartment is a one bedroom with shit furniture and a Harley Davidson lamp I could probably live without.

  No, I don’t have anything to go back to. But I’m not sure there’s anything for me here anymore, either. “I’m not sure what I’m doing actually.” I give a tight smile and he nods, this time frowning.

  “Well, let’s get together soon, okay? Catch up.”

  “Of course.”

  He stays a little while, making small talk with my mom and sister while I stare off into space trying to decide what the next stage of my life will be. I never planned to come back here. I never planned to come back to him.

  He hates me.

  They hate me.

  Sometimes even I hate me.

  I’m not even sure who I betrayed worse anymore. Fender, for simply being my father’s daughter and belonging to the people who raided his club, or the Black Savages for killing one of our own and taking off.

  But they don’t know about what I did… right?

  “I’m gonna take off,” I say, my face hot as I stand.

  Leal turns to me. “You need a ride?”

  “Nah, I’m gonna take my bike.”

  My bike. Fuck, I have missed her. Four years without the wind whipping through my hair while my legs straddle a five-hundred-pound beast is way too long.