Beth got up and walked away. He wanted to tell her to wait, to hear him out, but he kept his mouth shut. Beth and Sable had become good friends, so he’d always be on the losing side.
Dog continued eating, his body still tense from hearing what Sable
said about him. Yes, in a perfect world, he’d claim her. But if he ever decided to settle down, he’d want a woman who was clean, just for him. He didn’t want half the fucking club knowing what she looked like naked or reminding him they’d fucked her every which way. And they would. Besides, taking an old lady and starting a family weren’t priorities in his mind. He had a lot of anger built up. His own mother dumped him when he was born, and that rejection stuck. He didn’t want to repeat history.
He was better off on his own.
Being VP to the Hell’s Slaves was his life.
His mood continued to sour as his thoughts darkened. What he needed was the usual violent outlet, and the club always provided. He hoped Forge had something he wanted cleaned up. It would give him a chance to blow off steam.
Dog met the prez out back near his forge.
“Hey, daddy.”
Forge glared at him, his features set hard. Then he smiled. “I can’t even get mad. It sounds too damn good.”
Dog leaned against the doorway. “Things going well with the family?”
“Perfect. I’m living on cloud-fucking-nine.” Forge began to tidy up the tools on his bench. He was working on some new knives and some sort of iron work with his kid’s initials. Dog didn’t bother mentioning it, or Forge would get defensive. Deny it or not, the prez was putty when it came to his wife and baby son.
“You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah.” He continued tidying. “How’s Redneck getting along? Any problems?”
After they killed their backstabbing Sergeant-at-Arms, they’d gone without an enforcer for too long. They finally voted in Redneck. He was younger but he’d been born in the club and was a ruthless motherfucker. He’d proved himself loyal time and time again. “He’s doing good. That kid has a lot to prove.”
“I like the sound of that. Keep an eye on him.” Forge came closer and focused on him. “The new mayor wants some quiet cleanup.”
Dog laughed out loud. “One corrupt mayor after the other. Good for business, I guess.”
“Very good. We’ll have him wrapped around our finger in no time. We’ll visit him tomorrow and hear him out.”
“He know what happened with Peterson?”
“I really don’t fucking care. If he pays, we’ll do the job,” said Forge. “In the meantime, get some of the boys to pull up any dirt there is on him. Ideally, I’d like to get pics of him with one of our girls. He’s married and they’ll come in handy if he tries to fuck with us. Politicians are so easy to blackmail.”
“Will do.”
No violence for today. He’d have to hit the gym and take out his frustration on the punching bag. Anything to get Sable off his mind.
****
Sable spent most of the afternoon crying in her room. She felt like garbage. Worse than garbage. No, she had no rights to the VP of the club, not even close. Apparently, he couldn’t even stand her.
Then why did she love him?
She remembered having a crush on him since she was seventeen. He was strong, ruthless, and in control. She’d watch him lift weights, pretending to be cleaning or sewing patches on cuts. His body was rock hard, weathered, and toned to perfection. The scars and tattoos only made him sexier.
Her mother had tried to get in his bed, but he’d refused her. The fact he wasn’t a pig like so many of the other men in the club only made her attraction to him grow.
But, like he said, she was club pussy and nothing more. She had no rights. She had no future.
Her little sister was four years younger and loved her role in the club. She’d fuck anything that walked. Sable supposed her future had been mapped out for her before she was even born. Her mother was a club whore, and Sable was born into the club, daughter to one of the bikers. She had no clue who. Her sister likely had a different father considering how much her mother got around and how different they looked. Honey had blonde hair and blue eyes and was a favorite with the men.
Sable preferred to keep on the down-low. Every time there was a party or cookout, she’d stay behind the bar, handing out beer and mixing drinks while the other girls competed for the guys’ attention. Keeping a tally of how many guys she could fuck in one night wasn’t her idea of a good time.
After feeling sorry for herself most of the afternoon, she decided she needed to get off the compound for a while. Maybe some retail therapy.