Cameron aka 'Killer'

Hard music fills the overcrowded, dimly lit clubhouse. My brothers are fucked up, like always... fucking women on tables, getting blowjobs, having threesomes on the floor, and doing lines of coke. I sit at the bar, watching the chaos from a distance.

My Prez, Devil, sees me and takes the seat next to mine.

“Not joining again?” he asks while nodding toward Linch, one of the Soul-Eaters, who’s currently choking on David’s cock.

“Fuck no,” I say, taking a huge gulp of my lukewarm beer.

“Another,” I tell the bartender, Whiskey. The huge man lifts his chin and slides me a new bottle.

“You need to get over that shit, man. Nothing’s better than the sweet feel of wet, tight pussy,” Devil grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t concern yourself with my cock,” I reply. I’m fucking tired of people telling me what to do. I fucking hate women. I don’t want them to fucking touch me. I nearly killed one once when she tried to rub herself on me... and I really don’t feel like doing that again. I don’t hurt women unless they’ve harmed the club. I just don’t want them near me. Hell, I don’t want anyone touching me. I can barely handle my brothers, let alone some slut who’s just hunting for a patched-in dick.

“Whatever you say, man.” Devil gets up from his seat and grabs Linch by the hair. She likes being dominated, so she enjoys Devil dragging her toward a chair. It’s obvious from her face... lust shines in her eyes, and she licks her thick, fake lips. I turn away just before Devil shoves his cock into her still cum-filled mouth and finish my beer.

“Uh… hey.”

I turn and see a young woman. She must be new, because everyone in here knows not to come on to me. If I ever needed release, I’d grab a bitch, put her on her knees, and get off right then and there. And even that doesn’t happen often.

I’m a sick, aggressive piece of shit, and I know it. Apparently, this chick doesn’t. She bites her bottom lip, trying to be seductive, and looks up at my six-foot-five frame. She steps closer, slowly. I let out a low growl.

“The fuck do you want?”

Her eyes widen, but there’s still lust in them. Crazy bitch. She likes the danger I give off.

“You were sitting here alone, and I thought you could use some company,” she says, trying her luck.

I know this type. She sees an opportunity because the others are too scared to get near me. She wants to be an old lady and thinks I’m a good candidate.

“I’ll give you ten seconds,” I say, looking down on her.

She smiles, stupidly thinking it’s a good sign.

“Ten seconds to disappear before I break that little neck of yours.”

I’m only half bluffing. Devil would kill me if I hurt new blood. Well… he could try. I get blackouts. And when I do, I really don’t give a fuck whether you're a woman or not.

The girl stumbles back, trips over her own foot, and lands hard on her ass. A few people around us snicker, laugh, or look a little worried. She scrambles up and half-walks, half-runs out of the clubhouse.

“AW, GIRL, YOU CAN COME TO ME! I’LL GIVE YOU A GOOD TIME!”

Rios, one of my brothers, shouts after her. The girl on his lap glares and pushes her fake tits into his face, trying to win his attention back. Rios just laughs and smacks her ass.

I get up, fed up with this shit, and head for the stairs. The world spins, and I only now realize I’m more drunk than I thought. With a lot of effort, I make it to my room and stumble inside. I slam the door shut behind me, strip off my clothes, and toss them to the floor. Only my cut is neatly folded and placed on the closet.

My room is my safe haven, though it’s small, just a bed, a tiny bathroom, and a closet. There are holes in the walls, stained with blood from one of my blackouts. I never bothered to clean that shit up. It’s a warning to anyone who thinks about entering.

Nobody’s allowed in here but Devil. I trust my brothers with my life, but I don’t want them in my space. I sit on the bed with my back against the wall and close my eyes. I fall into a dark, dreamless sleep.

x-x-x-x-x

As always, I wake up on the ground, facing the door. My back hurts, and I grunt as I get up. Stretching my arms over my head, I walk into the bathroom and take a cold shower.

Still naked, I walk back into the room and dig around for some jeans and a shirt. Eventually, I find some that look clean and get dressed. Lastly, I throw on my cut and walk out the door.

The bar’s already clean, and most of the Soul-Eaters are gone. The kitchen’s filled with hungover brothers... and a grinning Rios. Bastard never gets hangovers for some reason. I sit next to Devil and jerk my chin up at the others.

“Morning, VP,” or “Morning, Killer,” they mumble. I grunt in response.

The kitchen is one of the biggest rooms in the clubhouse, with a long table that can seat around fifty people. Most of the brothers live here, so a big kitchen is necessary. It’s the only room that’s always clean since the Soul-Eaters basically live in here during the day. It’s their job to clean up after our messes. We pay them with a small weekly allowance, a roof over their heads, and protection.

Bee Tessa, the club’s promoted Soul-Eater, smiles at me and sets down a plate of toast and coffee before walking off. She knows which brothers like what when it comes to food... hence her promotion. She pays attention and keeps the others in line.

“We’re having Church in two hours,” Devil says, and we all nod. We’ve been having problems with some of the drug runs, so this was inevitable. Three runs raided in a short period, if we don’t fix this, we’re gonna have problems with a drug lord. None of us want that.

“HELLO!” someone screams.

My brothers go quiet and turn toward the door. We abandon our food and rise, moving in that direction. Some of the guys look curious, others pissed that someone just walked into our clubhouse. One by one we move through the open doorway, until I nearly run into Rios, who stops abruptly.

“Fuuuuuuuck me,” he mutters.

I look over his shoulder and have to agree. Yeah. Fuck me sounds about right.

The chick standing in the middle of the bar is hot as hell. Too bad I don’t want anything to do with her gender... because she would’ve been my type. Young, slender body, small boobs, nice little ass. Black and grey tattoos peek out from under her leather jacket. Her dark green and black dreads are tied in a high ponytail. She’s tiny too, probably around five foot two. If I wanted to, I could snap her in two with one hand.

She looks around, completely unfazed by the thirty or so huge, jacked bikers surrounding her.

“I’m looking for a… Damon Montague,” she says, checking a small slip of paper.

My eyebrows shoot up, and I glance at Devil, who’s now glaring at the girl.

“The fuck you want with him?” he growls.

His voice is threatening, but the girl couldn’t care less.

“None of your fucking business,” she says, matching his tone.

Damn. Girl’s got balls. Devil has a nasty rep... almost as bad as mine. His name wasn’t given to him for fun. The methods he uses for killing or ‘talking’ aren't jokes.

“Trust me. It’s my fucking business,” Devil says, stepping closer. Now they’re nose to nose, well, as close as they can be. The girl barely reaches his shoulders.

“And how is that?” she dares him, eyes cool.

“He’s my old man,” Devil says.

In the corner of my eye, I see Chaos, Devil’s father. As usual, his face gives nothing away.

“Ah, that’s fine then,” she says. “I’m Violet. Apparently… you’re my older brother. Steven?”