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SWISS
The nightmare cameto me last night.
I hadn’t had one in almost three years.
A record.
I’d been lulled into a false sense of security. I’d let myself believe that they no longer lived inside of me. That I’d banished all of those memories, scrubbed them clean with the actions of the past … fuck, almost twenty years.
When I jerked awake, I was drenched in sweat, my heart jumping out of my fucking throat and my hand on my piece in an instant.
“Baby?” a voice croaked from beside me.
A red tipped nail trailed down my soaking chest.
Fuck, I’d untied her and forgotten to kick her the fuck out last night.
Had I been that wasted? That kind of oversight was not the norm for me. If bitches stayed over, they did it bound to the bed. And that was usually because I was too drunk or tired to kick them out. Or because I liked the way they obeyed me and wanted to get one last fuck in the next morning before I never saw them again.
“Baby.”
This time it was a purr, and it grated over my skin like sandpaper.
I didn’t even look at her. She’d probably be a knockout. All women were… in their own way. I didn’t give a shit about body type, race, religion, hair color. No, I did not discriminate when it came to women. I could spot them a mile away, the ones I wanted. Not that I’d spotted one I’d really wanted in a long fucking time.
“Get the fuck out,” I snarled, still holding on to my piece with an iron grip. The bitch didn’t hesitate, even seconds after waking with what was likely a killer hangover, her survival instincts kicked in.
Club girls were usually some of the hardest I’d met, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know when to run.
And everything about my energy was telling her to run. Not to mention my reputation that spoke for itself. Bitches wanted to fuck me because of that reputation. And the patch, of course. But they wanted to be the one to tame the beast. They wanted to prove that they could handle me.
No one could. Not really.
I glanced over at her ass, jiggling as she struggled to get into the jeans she wore last night.
“I tell you to fuck around and get dressed?” I snarled. “Out!” My arm, the one holding the gun, pointed to the door which led to the hallway.
The bitch jumped and scuttled out the door, scrap of fabric pressed against her bare tits.
Someone would probably be up in the club common room and see her exit. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing they’d seen here.
Not by a long shot.
Fuck, we had a club party last night, so there were probably naked bitches covering the floor like rugs.
I didn’t lie back down, didn’t try to find sleep again. Not after that nightmare. I wouldn’t sleep for the next two days at least. This was a cycle I knew well, one my body was prepared for. Already my blood was pumping, hot and urgent, a call for something.
Death.
I jumped out of bed and yanked on my clothes from the floor before shrugging on the cut.
Good thing I was patched into the Sons of Templar MC… Death was part of the fabric.
THREE WEEKS LATER
I was bored with the night before it even began.
Not a good sign.
