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“If I want to. Which one of you is telling me no?”
“I’m not refusing,” Junebug said, quickly.
“Not me,” Memphis added. “But not in front of Grandad.”
“Okay, that settles it.” I stood up, “Everyone leave.”
For the second time tonight, I cleared the room. Once everyone was gone, the music still played, but it was so much quieter. I took a seat between the two strippers. Memphis broke the awkward silence, her hand running up my jeans. “Seriously, Kingpin. I want to go first.”
Junebug stood and faced me. She peeled off her pasties, revealing two pale pink points. “I’m first.”
Not to be outdone, Memphis stood, hulled her pasties off and took down her thong, to show off her landing strip of hair. “Kingpin will decide.”
Junebug lost her boy shorts and had a tiny retro bush. “Who will it be, Kingpin?”
Staring at the two of them, ready to go, I smiled. “You girls are going to have to fight for it. And call me, President, ladies.”
Memphis landed the first punch as I undid my belt.
Chapter 3
Present Day 20 years later
Kingpin
An alarm sounded for the millionth time. I rolled over to hit snooze on my phone again before snuggling back into the hot body beside me. Long hair about smothered me, so I shoved it out of the way. Wrapping my arms around a tight waist, I felt the body lying beside her.
Another sound from my phone jutted me from my slumber. I went to hit snooze only to realize I had a phone call. Fucking Bubba’s name flashed. I rejected the call, but it was too late to go back to sleep.
Sitting up, I studied the amazing view. Soft light fluttered in through the vast windows to patina the two beautiful naked figures gracing my bed. Amazingly one still holstered her gun. Junebug never went anywhere without it. Memphis and her often warmed my bed, but they were more my private security than anything else. Guards with benefits. They’d never admit it, but the ladies loved it that way. They enjoyed all the benefits of fucking the president of the Royal Bastards MC, got to be bad asses in their own right and none of the bullshit of a real relationship. Plus, they were paid handsomely, and I didn’t care if they entertained another man on occasion as long as they were safe and smart about it. What’s more, I hadn’t ever had to choose between them. I never could. Maybe twenty some years ago one of them would’ve made me a happily married man, but the both of them guaranteed I’d stay single if she couldn’t have me.
Swinging my feet to the floor, I practically leapt from my tall king-sized bed. Landing, my foot caught something, and I almost tumbled. The motion turned my stomach, making me quite aware of a hangover. Looking down, I found another body. Just as lovely. A redheaded woman lied on the floor in a most uncomfortable position. Girl was hogtied, her cooter on full display. I shut my eyes, so my dick didn’t respond.
Clutching my pounding forehead, I tried to recall the previous night and failed. I did however recognize the belt fastened around her neck as my very own. On instinct, I bent and checked her pulse. While I felt it thump under my fingers, I watched her ample breasts rise and fall. Ginger was alive, so I let her be. She’d wake in the position I’d fucked her in with a story to tell. Nothing new.
Rising, I caught my reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror that covered the wall before me. All this fucking kept me in shape, or I just got better and better with age. Either way, I smirked at the old naked man in the mirror, stretched and yawned. Even hungover, I could appreciate my own physique, lean yet muscular.
My phone buzzed again. This time I grabbed it from the bedside table and answered it.
“Bubba,” I greeted my brother, trying to sound more awake than I was. I walked into the bathroom.
“Beau.”
“Now, don’t call me that. Kingpin will do. Prez is even better.” I flushed the toilet, so he’d hear it.
“Then don’t call me Bubba.”
“I can’t very well call you Beau, now can I?” We had this conversation way too often. I grew tired of it. “What do I owe the pleasure?” I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a pack of Camel Reds. Memphis made sure to keep them all over my residence. Said I was an asshole without them.
“Rick has tried to reach out about the timing of this shoot we are trying to do but says he’s getting nowhere.”
“The video. Ah, yes,” I said, packing the cigarettes against the sink. We only want to film in the bar. We’re shooting next week whether we can use Royal Road or not.”
I pulled on the cellophane and tapped out a cigarette as he talked about the fire that broke out in the arena during the big fight a few weeks ago. “Insurance adjuster was supposed to be out here, so I see no problem going ahead now. I’ll let Opry know to deal with your people.”
What I didn’t tell my brother was that we also had the cops snooping around on account of them claiming arson. Flicking my lighter, I lit a smoke. Taking a big draw, I exhaled with a wicked grin on my face. I knew who burned down our arena, stopping the fight. The one to benefit the most from stopping the match, me. Well, to be fair, I didn’t strike a nary a match. I only planted the idea in Jassica’s mind. She burned down the place to save Pagan from beating Irish to a pulp and from my wrath. Losing the arena was better than the money we would’ve lost on the fight.
“I heard you like the gift I sent.” My brother sounded proud of himself.
