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They were wrong.
It didn’t matter how many other MCs they brought in—their so-called allies—because Fury would crush them all. He was the last living representative of Manticore, and like the creature, Fury was intelligent, stubborn, tricky, and vindictive. When a founding member of each MC in Lawrence and Pennington County’s went bad, Fury recruited them to work undercover against those in power. The rightful presidents. Manticore had been formed. A secret society working within each club to tear down everything they’d built and make it Manticore’s own.
Good clubs left their values behind, and Fury had revelled in the underhanded tactics they’d used to shove a puppet into the president position and control them.
Fury grinned, his teeth a stained yellow and brown from all the smoking he’d done. Those had been fun days. Bulldog had been an egotistical fucker and was easy to handle. But Bulldog was often smacked out of his head and did shit that riled Drake.
Fury had seen the writing on the wall long before Bulldog and made his move with the rest of Manticore and headed to the sunny state of Florida. Slowly he and Manticore had infiltrated a rather unknown club, Venomous Fangs, kicking out the good and keeping the ruthless. They’d given birth to a whole new era. What they couldn’t take, they destroyed, and by doing so, his MC had prospered.
Fury had taken the presidency fairly easily, murdering the former president and raping his wife and thirteen-year-old son and daughter in front of the remaining Fangs. Then he slowly strangled them to death whilst everyone watched. It’d taught them all a lesson. Some brothers had left to be hunted down and killed with their families, and Fury had removed any threat to Manticore. And now they controlled Florida.
But it burned deep inside him when Drake had taken back the club Fury had helped found. The little bastard. Despite the distance, Fury made the fight difficult for Drake. He recruited the Santos men to screw Drake over and other MCs, not caring if they lived or died. Fury aimed to make shit tough for Drake. At one point, Fury thought he might have been able to sway Drake to his side.
But no, Drake had too much of fuckin’ Arrow’s honour and personality inside him. Fury had watched bitterly as Drake plotted and manoeuvred around Bulldog. Fury then turned his attention towards Ace. The kid had manifested into a fuckin’ killer, and Fury had enjoyed watching Apache lose the son he adored. Fury hadn’t been present for Kayleigh’s torture, but he’d sure whacked off to the video Bulldog had sent him. Even though Bulldog took the blame, it’d been Fury whispering in his ear that set Bulldog off to target Kayleigh.
And as for Axel, that sanctimonious prick, the so-called legendary founder of Rage, Fury had plans for him and his wife. Axel’s daughter and those two-street scum that Axel had adopted would also pay. Fury had relished hearing what had happened to Keith, Axel’s legacy. Of course, Fury had a hand in destroying the weak-willed boy, and he’d fucked a club whore to death when he heard the news. Fury didn’t give a shit if Willow was FBI. She had three holes to fuck, and she was beautiful. For now. When he’d finished with her, she’d be nothing more than an unidentifiable mess of flesh and bones.
“Dad, got a report,” Volcano said, entering his office.
“You knock?” Fury growled at his last remaining son.
Volcano stared him in the eyes, and Fury felt glee rise. The boy had once been soft and gentle, and Fury had soon resolved that issue. A psychopath looked at him. Nothing remained of the person he’d once been. Volcano had even killed two of his blood brothers to take his place on Fury’s right side. Back then, Fury didn't care. If they’d been too weak to survive, that was tough shit. But now he regretted only having one living son.
Despite his encroaching age, Fury was still virile. He could use some of those women that Rage had and fuck them until they get pregnant with his kid. Controlling the bitches would be easy once locked in a room. Once they gave birth, he’d give them to his men as a reward. In addition, Rage had several teenage girls that were ripe for pregnancy. A slow grin crossed his face.
“Dad?” Volcano asked.
“Put it on the desk, boy,” Fury snapped.
How dare the punk interrupt his thoughts? Fury glowered until Volcano left and turned back to Drake and Rage.
So far, the fucker had been lucky in their encounters, but Fury hadn’t sent the real force of Venomous Fangs against Rage. He’d sent the bottom feeders. The clubs he’d taken over but forced to keep their real names so he could hide how many guys he really had behind him. Based across the United States, Fury could call over eight hundred men. His own fuckin’ army.
Power surged through him as he thought of them. Lately, he was weeding out the weak. Those left would be strong. When it was time, and it wasn’t yet, but when it was, Fury knew that Drake and his allies couldn’t muster the numbers to match him. Rage was royally screwed and would fall one way or a-fucking-nother.
Fury spun in his chair and faced the wall with his maps, plans, and pictures on it. His gaze lingered on Pheonix Michaelson and her two older daughters. Fury would get great pleasure out of raping them and bringing them to heel. He’d get even further enjoyment taking the billions that Phoenix Michaelson had. Fury’s dick grew hard in his jeans, and Fury undid his buttons. His hand stroked his cock, and he closed his eyes and imagined Phoenix under him as he screwed her ass.
In his mind, he could see her face twisted in pain. Phoenix’s screams made Fury pant, and he grew harder. Drake was tied to a chair, fighting to get free, beaten to a pulp and helpless as Fury fucked Drake’s woman. He pictured Drake’s expression as his hands slowly slid around Phoenix’s neck and he began choking her. Fury’s laughter rang out as Phoenix breathed her last, and Fury saw himself climbing off her as Drake cried big, fat tears.
He visualised himself grabbing the eldest daughter, Jodie was her name, and throwing her on the floor as his men ripped her clothes from her body. Meanwhile, he held Serenity down and fucked her in front of Drake as his guys pulled a train on Jodie.
His cock spasmed, and Fury let out a growl as he came. He grabbed an old tee and wiped himself clean before chucking it into a corner. A grin crossed his lips. He’d come so hard. If he had been in a woman, she’d have gotten pregnant for sure. Proved he still had what it takes.
Fury’s mind turned to Artemis, the former Kayleigh. Artemis thought she’d been tortured before. When Fury got his hands on her, she’d know real agony. The things he was going to do turned him hard again, and Fury glanced at his cock, surprised. Damn, his dick loved the idea of those girls under him. A woman’s pain always made him rock solid, and this was no different. Fury licked his lips.
Once Phoe and Artemis were dead alongside Marsha, the other bitches would fall into place. There were several exceedingly rich cunts amongst them. Fury would take their money and bodies while their boys would be raised to be real men. They would grow up to be Fangs. Naturally, any boy aged seven or older would be put down. Fury had discovered that up to the age of seven, boys were mouldable. After that, they remembered stuff and had stupid thoughts of vengeance.
The girls he didn’t give a shit about. They’d go into a stable until they could be fucked. As soon as they started to bleed, then they were ready to breed. Age did not mean anything. And they’d be the basis on which he’d create another army. Keep them knocked up and enslaved until they were useless, and then whore them out. Somebody would pay for a used cunt, even if was only twenty bucks a pop.
Fury decided that any bitch under forty would be placed into a breeding centre. Any attractive cunts over forty would be for his men’s usage. Any older than fifty and those bitches could join their men—unless one of his guys took a liking to her.
Fury came a second time as he finalised his plan for the Rage females. They were just incubators waiting for his cum and his seed to take root. He’d raise a fuckin’ blood army who would know exactly who was boss. It was time he got his own kingdom, and he’d be taking South Dakota.
Let the government come; he’d win, he always did.
Dana
I’d been back at work two days when some of the stories hit about my family. Dylan had warned me as soon as I entered the office to be prepared. He made coffees as I took the newspaper he had given me. My mouth dropped open as the first thing I saw was an image of my mother being arrested. Mom wore her usual suit, but she was rumpled and, in the picture, sobbing with her hands cuffed. Two hulking officers were guiding her to a black and white, and she looked beyond shocked. Her make-up had run where she’d been crying. In the background, I could see my father sternly staring after her.
