TRIPP.

Haywood's h.e.l.lions' annual barbeque is one of the best parties of the year. Due to business needs, last year we were unable to attend, though. Roundman scheduled the run so our absence was no sign of disrespect for our parent chapter.

This year, we're expected and happy to oblige. When Roundman or any patched h.e.l.lion calls, we answer. Each charter may have their own Prez, but we all answer to the Haywood's h.e.l.lions and Roundman.

All the charters are represented today, complete with families in tow. The turnout is outstanding for the small town of Haywood's Landing, North Carolina. The compound is located in the boondocks, making functions like these a non-issue for the neighbors.

Taking it all in around us, my crew and I are relaxing, leaning up against the bar when Rex smacks my chest as he tips his beer bottle in the direction of three females. One of them clearly didn't get the message, this is an MC event. She is dressed more for a day of shopping, or a night out at a club, than a barbeque at the clubhouse.

"Those are definitely not hang around hoes," Rex states.

"That's for d.a.m.n sure. They're walking with cla.s.s and a whole lot of confidence. None of them are hangin' on a man and no property patches in sight. Aw s.h.i.t, Rex, fresh p.u.s.s.y for you." I reply, laughing.

Drexel 'Rex' Crews, is my cousin, Vice Prez of my Catawba h.e.l.lions chapter, and my lifelong best friend. We are the Piedmont chapter to the Haywood's h.e.l.lions, located in Catawba, North Carolina, about an hour outside of Charlotte.

Our moms are sisters who both had us out of wedlock and at a young age. We were taken in by our grandparents and raised more like brothers, and we proudly carry our Grandpa's last name. Only eighteen months apart in age, we are still, and have always been, inseparable. Rex's mom tries, whereas my mom bailed early on. Our grandmother pa.s.sed when we were eight or nine and our grandfather followed in our teens. Having no one to really care for us, we roamed the streets.

Aunt Jolene, Rex's mom, tried; but she worked so much to provide a house and food for us that there wasn't enough time in the days for her to keep up. Drugs, alcohol, petty theft, and girls were our day to day until a chance meeting with Roundman and his boys at a gas station one day. He set us straight and set us up. We owe everything we have to him.

Rex is a ladies man with little to no standards. His only real boundary is that of an ol' lady. If you don't want Rex to hit on your woman, then you d.a.m.n sure better claim her. Hang around hoes, sisters, friends, exes, and complete strangers are all fair game in his mind; married or not. As long as it's new p.u.s.s.y, he's happy. There are no encore performances.

'Hit it, get it, and go. No repeats' is the motto Rex lives by.

"That dress is screaming to be plucked off. She needs to be devoured by D-Rex, my brother. She just doesn't know it yet," he says with a snicker as he steps away in the direction of his new conquest.

The brunette in the dress may be what has caught Rex's attention, but my eyes are glued to the long, blonde and straight-haired beauty next to the dress. Her face is round and flawless, her skin smooth like that of a gla.s.s doll. She's in a black Harley Davidson tank top and short as sin jean shorts. d.a.m.n, this broad is stacked; nice rack, skinny with a plump a.s.s that's screaming to be smacked. I watch as she laughs, carefree, with her friends as Rex joins them.

I begin to approach when I see Roundman walk to her. She hugs him innocently and it dawns on me exactly who she is. That's Roundman's Doll she's off limits. All l.u.s.t filled thoughts I have are momentarily gone. She isn't just any h.e.l.lions princess, she's the h.e.l.lion princess. We had to keep an eye on her from afar when she lived in Charlotte.

Rex waves me over after he finishes greeting Roundman with a hand shake, pull into a half-hug, back slap that we men do. I follow suit after my approach.

"Glad to see you and Rex could make it, Tripp." Roundman greets.

"There's no place we'd rather be." I reply, while thinking, 'Well other than b.a.l.l.s deep in your daughter.' That's one place I certainly would rather be. d.a.m.n, I can't be thinking like this. Roundman would cut my d.i.c.k off if he knew.

"Tripp, Rex, this is my daughter, Doll, and her friends, Sa.s.s and Caroline," Roundman introduces.

That is a quick way to squash my l.u.s.t filled thoughts, actually hearing the words my daughter. Blondie is a doll alright, Roundman's Doll. She's one of a kind, that's for sure. You shelter and protect a beauty like her. She's the kind of doll you treat like fragile china; wrap it up and store it on a shelf for safe keeping. I don't know why we haven't officially met before. Although these events are crowded, one would think we would have met. I've always come here focused on business, so maybe that's why.

These broads are far from fresh p.u.s.s.y, and far beyond off limits. I hope Rex realizes this isn't territory he wants to dip his d.i.c.k in.

Doll extends her hand to me, bringing me back into the moment. "Doll is what the boys call me. My name is Delilah. This is Savannah, otherwise known as 'Sa.s.s', and Caroline, our friend. It's nice to meet you," She greets. As I shake her hand, she stands up on her tiptoes, while tugging on my shoulder to pull me down then she kisses my cheek.

The touch of her soft lips to my skin ignites a fire burning inside of me just under the surface. Her touch sends adrenaline coursing through my body. Before I can respond, there is a harsh voice, snapping me out of it.

"Doll, Sa.s.s, Caroline! a.s.ses in the kitchen!"

Looking in the direction of the noise, I see Danza in the kitchen doorway, bellowing for the girls. They giggle as they sashay away. My eyes roam up and down her back side as she goes. d.a.m.n, what an a.s.s she's got. It's one of those moments, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave. f.u.c.k me, what a strut! That girl is a heartbreaker with one swish of those luscious hips. Tame it, Tripp.

"Sa.s.s is Danza's daughter. Every time someone gets near our girls, he calls them to the kitchen. Won't see 'em again." Roundman laughs, "Our h.e.l.lion princesses are tucked safely away for the rest of the evenin'."

After the girls leave, Rex and I shoot the s.h.i.t with Roundman for a bit. Outside of sermon times, no business is ever discussed between clubs. Those are Roundman's rules and we are chartered clubs to him. We are h.e.l.lions always. Brothers without hesitation. Allies and friends, yes. Business partners, of course. And although, my territory is mine to run Roundman respects his chapter leaders and doesn't impose, but ultimately, I answer to him.

Chapter Two.

One Day After DOLL.

Clean up after the barbeque is always a ch.o.r.e. Well, actually, cleaning up after anything with these guys is never a pleasurable experience, regardless of the size of the event. This barbeque is on a much larger scale, though. Danza quickly called us to go in the kitchen yesterday, therefore our drinking and socializing was kept to a minimum. Looking around me, I'm kind of thankful for his overprotective a.s.s. Cleaning this with a hangover would have sucked.

At the time, however, I was slightly irritated. I was introducing myself to this guy named Tripp. Or is he Rex? I don't know, but either way, he is hot as h.e.l.l.

He's at least six feet two inches tall because he is slightly taller than my dad, who is right at six feet. His dark brown hair was pulled back in a knot on the back of his head, the top grown out and the underneath shaved. His face is one of pure masculinity; a strong jaw line, p.r.o.nounced nose, and hazel eyes with golden flecks.

It's been way too long since I've been laid because watching his jaw muscle twitch while he was standing there was turning me on. I pulled him down just so I could brush my lips above that spot. His broad shoulders were tight under my delicate hand. Splaying my fingers across them to pull him to me, sent an electric shock through my body. The ink adorning his forearms was detailed and in our brief encounter, I couldn't take it all in, making me wonder what's under his clothing.

Too bad he has shown zero interest in me. His blatant disregard of me has made it clear that my l.u.s.t filled thoughts are not reciprocated. I'm off limits to him even if he does want me, though. All the h.e.l.lions respect my dad too much to ever date me, f.u.c.k me, or do more than protect me. Don't get me wrong, I'm close with almost all the boys, they are my older brothers or uncles, but no matter how hard I flirt, they never cross the line. Never am I given a second glance from any of them. I've dated pretty boys, but it quickly fizzles. I need the adrenaline, the chaos, the protection, and the lifestyle.

At least one of us was getting some sort of attention. With the way his friend was looking at Caroline, his attraction and intentions were clear. Caroline was not impressed, however. It takes a lot to get her attention. She has aspirations, a career, and goals far beyond that of a motorcycle club.

My mystery man was more concerned with my father. His patches let me know he's a Catawba h.e.l.lion and the Prez at that. Well, that explains why he carries such a serious demeanor. The level of his responsibility is a tough burden to carry. His crew depends on, and trusts, his instincts and instructions. I wish I knew his name, not his roadname "Tripp" or "Rex" but his real name. At least then, in my fantasies, I would know what to call him. My B.O.B (battery operated boyfriend) will just have to settle for being Tripp, or Rex, for now. I like the name Rex better, so Rex it will be.

Looking around me, I shake off my thoughts of the encounter with what's his name to start gathering the trash off the floor and tables of the clubhouse. It's a simple warehouse-style building with an open floor plan. There is a kitchen in the back with four restrooms just off to the side of that. In the vast s.p.a.ce of the common area, there is a fully stocked bar, pool tables and darts in one corner, dining tables off in another, and a DJ area with a dance floor in the middle.

There used to be a stage, but it was taken down a few years back. Bikers and rockers together, yeah, this building isn't big enough for the egos. A lead singer decided to openly flirt with an ol' lady, which was a clear sign of disrespect to Frisco, her man. In a moment of jealousy and rage, Frisco jumped on stage and began punching the singer in the head with his own f.u.c.king mic. When his band mates tried to pull Frisco off, the brothers stepped in and s.h.i.t got ugly. My dad finally had to move in and control the situation. The damage was already done, though. The singer ended up with a broken jaw and nose, while the other band members were roughed up but nothing serious. The next day the stage was taken down and no more outsiders have been allowed since.

Making my way outdoors, I take a moment to enjoy my surroundings. The clubhouse is the first of many buildings on the compound. My dad owns fifty acres out in the country of Haywood's Landing; a small coastal North Carolina town. Thirty of it is compound land which is surrounded by a privacy fence that is eight feet tall with barbwire running across the top and security cameras mounted along the way. The front gates open to the s.p.a.ce of the lot for parking where, in the center, there are three flag poles, our American flag, our POW/KIA memorial flag, and our h.e.l.lions flag are all proudly on display. The clubhouse is the first building due to the fact it's where most club events occur.

Finished with my small break, I continue cleaning up. Once I've gathered all the trash from the clubhouse, I head out to the pit to dump my trash bag. The pit is a concrete slab with a few posts holding up an A-frame tin roof. Under the shelter are pig cookers, gas grills, charcoal grills, and the oyster tables for oyster roasts. The tables are six feet long, wooden with a stainless steel top, and in the middle, there is a square hole cut out that a bucket goes under. When the oysters are ready, they are dumped on the open table to be sh.e.l.led and eaten. When finished, you drop the sh.e.l.ls in the hole to the bucket to be tossed. This is nice because anytime we cook for large crowd's cleanup is easy. Later today, a prospect will be out here, cleaning the grills and pig cooker and hosing off the concrete.

The open gra.s.s area beside the pit is used for horseshoes, badminton, volleyball, and the kids' toys for barbeques and parties. Beyond that are the boys' shops, the duplexes, and the cave.

Dad does not allow drinking and driving, and some of the brothers don't have homes. To give everyone a place, he's had a bunch of duplex-type buildings put in. Each home has four separate bedrooms with their own full bathrooms. They share a common area with a couch, love seat, TV, and small kitchenette. Each bedroom is a.s.signed to a patched member, even the ones who don't live here full time have their own room. They hold the key in order to keep their private s.p.a.ce just that, private. The married guys even have a room in case they need a place to crash for any reason. There are two buildings reserved for guest clubs pa.s.sing through under our protection. After last night, every room is full, some even shared, and tents and campers fill the lot.

The shops in the back are basically sheds for the boys to store their bikes and belongings in. They're roomy but not huge. There is enough for toolboxes, some workout s.p.a.ce, and their motorcycles.

The cave is the other building on the compound. It's a large, one room building with a table inside, that's all I know. I've never seen the interior. That building is for sermon; only patched h.e.l.lions are allowed, no women ever. That is where business is discussed, members are voted on, and decisions are made. Prospects don't even go in to clean it. That is the one building that the h.e.l.lions clean for themselves. Not a prospect, not an o'l lady, a princess, or even a hired maid have permission to enter the cave. Only two people hold keys to that building, my dad and Danza, the VP.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement over by the duplexes. Looking up, I see Sa.s.s making her way over to me. The walk of shame is evident in her stature. Her hair is a mess, clothes wrinkled, her shirt is on inside-out, and her face is flushed in what looks to be a mix of satisfaction and anger.

d.a.m.n it, I can't believe she's done it. We have a rule: don't sleep with Haywood's h.e.l.lions. Sure, we flirt, but as the saying goes, 'don't s.h.i.t where you sleep'. f.u.c.k, this can't be good. Although, maybe it was a member from a different charter. Since we don't have to see them all the time, the situation would be more tolerable than one of the local brothers. We flirt with all the boys, but neither of us has hooked up with a h.e.l.lion before.

"Doll, don't ask. I see the look on your face. If my dad asks, I was with you last night."

"Sa.s.s, you know I've always got you, but exactly who were you with last night? And why do you look like you are holding back tears?" I ask, full of concern for my friend.

"Tank. And I should've known better," she says with her voice trembling as she fights to push back the tears.

s.h.i.t, of all the Haywood's h.e.l.lions, Tank is the worst she could've hooked up with. He's a man-wh.o.r.e. Bigger than that, they have a genuine friendship, or so I thought.

"What the h.e.l.l happened?"

She takes a minute and pulls herself together. "What happened? What happened! Oh Doll, that man just gave me the absolute best night of my life. Everything the girls say about him is true and then some. I wake up this morning thinking there will be more of last night, when he kicks me out. Me, that f.u.c.ker kicks me out like I'm a bar-b.i.t.c.h."

"Oh, Sa.s.s. Did you think for one second Tank, of all people, would treat you special?"

"I'm not club p.u.s.s.y. I'm not a bar-fly. I'm Savannah Mae Mother-f.u.c.king Perchton. We've danced around each other for two years. Two d.a.m.n years, Doll! We have laughed, flirted, and talked. I've shared my real dreams with him, told him s.h.i.t I haven't told anyone but you. Yes, I thought I was someone special to him. At least I thought I was until this morning," she replies with anger now replacing the sadness she began with.

"You are someone special. He's too blind to see anything beyond his brothers and where to put his d.i.c.k next. You know this! They're all like this for the most part."

Shrugging her shoulders, she huffs before the anger sets back into her voice. "Well, lesson f.u.c.king learned. Doll, I want more than being Danza's daughter, working for the club, and knowing my dad is never going to let anyone near me. No more bikers for me. I'm ready for a relationship, not a quick f.u.c.k. I thought Tank was, too. Just the other day, he was saying, 'I'm thirty five years old. I need to stop acting f.u.c.king twenty.' It was my mistake for thinking he was hinting at something. I got his message today, loud and clear."

She's now filled with determination and vigor. Uh-oh, this is her sa.s.sy side coming out in full force. It's going to suck to be Tank.

"Well, babe, I don't know what to tell you. Anything less than a biker just won't do. You crave the vibration of a bike, your arms around your man, and the wind in your hair as the miles of pavement move below you."

"Not anymore, you'll see Doll. I'm moving on. Now, let's get this place cleaned up before they have sermon. There is a big meeting today, that's why everyone stayed overnight. Dad said the cave will be full for a while, and that's all I know." Looking at me with curiosity and concern, she asks, "Your dad isn't pa.s.sing the gavel, is he? Why else would they need everyone here?"

"I don't know, girl. It's not my place. Let's get this done and go shopping. You need some retail therapy."

Shopping, how every girl fixes things. Sa.s.s and I may not be the girly girls, but who doesn't love a new pair of shoes when dealing with life's woes? My heart hurts for my best friend, yet this is a decision she has to make for herself. In time, she may see things differently, though when the hurt cuts that deep, time, distance, good friends, and booze are the ultimate healers. I'll stick by her through the time, give her the distance from the club, and I'll share as many drinks as it takes for my girl.

TRIPP.

Waking up, I rub the sleep out of my eyes. The throb radiating through my head reminds me of the very good time I had last night. Looking over at the clock, I realize it's time to dismiss my guest and get ready for sermon.

She's lying on her stomach, hand up under the pillow. Her golden brown hair is covering her face and the pillow. Watching her breathing pattern, it's evident she's still asleep. Sliding the covers off her, I expose the round curve of her a.s.s, which is calling to be slapped.

The sound radiates through the quiet of the room as I do just that. Lifting her head in surprise, she smiles up at me. d.a.m.n, she's a hot mess in the morning; make up smeared, hair everywhere, and she has the 'I've been worked over look' in her eyes.

"Good morning, handsome," she coos at me. I really hate that f.u.c.king endearment.

"Ain't nothing handsome about me, it's time for you to go," I reply, already over the idea of having any form of conversation with her.

There weren't many single females around last night. When the ol' ladies and kids are around, the club wh.o.r.es are kept to a minimum. This chick is a friend of an ol' lady, or at least, I think that's what she said last night. I do vaguely recall her saying something about she's never been with a biker before. She's cute enough, but the reality is, I had a certain blonde in my head and needed a release. She was willing and available, so yeah, I took advantage of it.

She reaches her hand under the covers and begins to stroke my d.i.c.k. As it comes to life, I lay there while images of one special blonde invade my brain. When my bedmate then leans over to kiss my chest, I gently push her head down to guide her where I want her mouth. She moves in an attempt to climb on to me, though.

"Oh, no, baby. You woke it up, you're gonna finish it. With. Your. Mouth."

She makes a pouty face for a moment to show her displeasure at my wish. f.u.c.k that, I'm done with her p.u.s.s.y, but she's going to finish what she started. I gesture with my hands, what are you waiting for? When she still doesn't act accordingly, I sigh.

"Suck. My. d.i.c.k. Or get the f.u.c.k out, the choice is yours. I got s.h.i.t to do, so make your decision quick."

She starts at the task, her gag reflex not allowing her to take me all the way. For being as wild as she was last night, she's a timid prude this morning. This is the worst b.l.o.w.j.o.b I've ever been given. She's not even playing with my piercing. I didn't get that part of my anatomy pierced for my pleasure alone. I know my d.i.c.k is large and it's a lot to take in, but d.a.m.n, she could use her hand or flick her tongue on my jewelry. Nope. f.u.c.king nothing, she's just sucking with a slight bob of her head. f.u.c.k this! I'm over it. My hand can finish the job better. When I reach down and grab her hair and tug her off me, her mouth comes off my d.i.c.k with a pop, as she looks up at me with her lips still forming an 'O'. Confusion is written all over her expression, as my irritation with her lack of oral skills visible in mine.

"It's been real, but it's time to go."

"I'm not finished yet," she replies, meekly.

"Yes, you are. I'm never gonna finish with the way you suck d.i.c.k, and I've got s.h.i.t to do, so it's time for you to go."

"You're kicking me out? Do you know who I am?"

"Nope, sure don't. Don't really give a flying f.u.c.k, either. Time to go."

She huffs and puffs as she climbs off the bed and collects her clothing. She keeps looking over at me. I'm not going to stop her if that's what she's thinking. She is cute, but she's nothing remarkable or memorable. She's going to get the h.e.l.l out of this room, then I'm going into the bathroom to shower. We have an important sermon today and afterward my crew is heading back to Catawba.

After the b.i.t.c.h finally gets the point and leaves, I saunter to the bathroom to start the shower. Letting the warm water cascade over my body, I wash away the grime of last night, and my thoughts automatically drift to Doll. Picturing her smile, her skin, her body, takes my d.i.c.k from hard to rock hard.

Release, I need release to get this broad out of my head. Imagining running my rough, calloused hands, over her soft, smooth, perfect skin, I begin to stroke. Each pull of my shaft is bringing the sensations of being inside her more vividly to life in my imagination. Her voice is that of an angel, I can imagine her screaming out my name as I get her off, my large hands cupping her full, luscious b.r.e.a.s.t.s, while moving down to squeeze her plump, full a.s.s, with her secure up against me. The face of a doll, the body of a pin up model, and the personality to fit my lifestyle; Doll is everything any man would want.

Tightening my grip as if her p.u.s.s.y were milking me, I increase my pace. The muscles throughout my body are becoming rigid under the pressure, the tension in my b.a.l.l.s building, as I finally find my release. In that instant, I think of that simple kiss on my cheek and imagining the feel of her lips wrapped around my d.i.c.k. My c.u.m is now floating down the drain, and my body and mind are relaxed.

I finish washing, knowing I've got to get Doll out of my head. f.u.c.k, I can't be getting off to Roundman's daughter. I have to get this s.h.i.t under control.

With my hair still wet from my shower, I leave it down to dry. I dress in the usual jeans and black t-shirt, finished with my black boots. Hearing the sounds coming from Rex's room, I know he's busy, but at least, awake. Grabbing my cut to throw on, I step out of the duplex into the compound lot.

"Tripp, hey brother, how's it going?" Tank greets as he approaches me.

Tank is exactly that, a tank. He's not as tall as me; around five foot ten or so, I would say. Broad shoulders and arms show the man is familiar with a gym. I'm built, but he's stacked. His arms are covered in full sleeve tattoos that go from his neck all the way down, a skull even covering his left hand on one side and his sleeve stopping at his right wrist on the other. The intricate designs are eye catching. The metal in his face adds to his persona as well. His ears are gaged with a lip ring in place, probably for the ladies. His presence is intimidating to most people. Underneath it all, though, he's hilarious and a big kid, once you get to know him. He's come to Charlotte a handful of times and stayed at our compound. He's fun to drink with and the women flock to him. He loves to mess with the pretty boys in collared shirts when we go out and has been known to f.u.c.k their b.i.t.c.hes right in front of them. He's fierce, he's loyal, and he's everything that represents a h.e.l.lion.

"Tank, brother." I reply while we greet in the man half hug, back slap.

Hearing a noise behind us, we both turn around to catch the sight of Doll and Sa.s.s bending over to pick up trash. Tank whistles and I laugh just before Doll and Sa.s.s abruptly stand and glare over at us.

"f.u.c.k you, Tank." Sa.s.s yells over to us.

"Oh, baby, you know you want to."

The girls are making their way over in an aggressive march. s.h.i.t, they're not happy with the flirtatious behavior of my brother.

"Let me tell you something, Frank Thomas Oleander. I've f.u.c.ked you once. I won't f.u.c.k you twice. Take all those thoughts from your pea-sized brain and tell them to your pea-sized p.e.n.i.s."

I watch as Doll flinches at Sa.s.s's words. d.a.m.n. Now I see why they call her Sa.s.s. Doll reaches out to grab Sa.s.s and pull her back. Instead, Sa.s.s steps closer, toe-to-toe with Tank, she stands strong against him. He takes the opportunity to grab her a.s.s and pull her closer, rubbing up against her. I can't tell if he's going to f.u.c.k her right here on the spot, or cuss her out.

"Oh, baby, that sa.s.sy mouth," he croons, "I know just how to shut you the f.u.c.k up. And last night, my d.i.c.k sure as s.h.i.t wasn't pea-sized as you were begging for more. Talk your s.h.i.t, but you know you want more. You know there's gonna be more. That sa.s.sy a.s.s is mine, Savannah. I know it, you know it; you just don't wanna admit it. It's all good, baby. No one else will ever match up to what I gave you."

"Keep dreaming, Tank. Bada.s.s biker... f.u.c.king s.h.i.thead... Controlling a.s.s p.r.i.c.ks. You, my dad, and every other f.u.c.king h.e.l.lion here can kiss my a.s.s. I'm done with this s.h.i.t. Never. Again."

With that, she backs away then turns and storms off. Doll is standing there, stunned.

"Tank, how could you? You f.u.c.ked her, fine, you're both grown a.s.s adults, but you didn't have to treat her like a bar-b.i.t.c.h. You know better. Even I f.u.c.king expected more from you," Doll chastises.