It was as if he could sense the desperation in my voice, or maybe it was the way my head careened into his palm, begging for more. Whatever the reason, Snyder pulled his hand away, taking a shy step back as he carefully nodded his head.
“Yes, Shasta. I think you’re very beautiful.”
Then he did something I didn’t expect, sending hot aroused shivers sashaying down my spine. His lips drew dangerously close to the cusp of my ear, his battered breath tickling the tiny hairs on my skin as he dipped down, whispering something only I could hear.
“We all do.”
Chapter Two
Snyder
Being a part of the Lewd Outlaws MC was part of my blood. I lived, breathed, fought, and would die for my club. I never expected to rise up through the ranks as fast as I did, but when Sabbath took out his brother Leppard two years ago, he needed a second in command, and the club chose me to fill those shoes. As much as I respected Sabbath, there was one thing that always irked me… his wandering eye—an eye that should’ve been on his Ol’ Lady.
If this was any other club… hell, any other time in this club, the idea of a club Prez skating out on his Ol’ Lady would’ve been completely forbidden, but Sabbath changed the way the club ran, fitting it to his own personal preferences. He wanted to touch everything with tits and a pussy, but he wanted no one to touch Shasta.
It was as if he was living in his own little world, eating his cake whenever a girl opened their legs, and storing the frosting for later.
The frosting in this analogy was his fine ass woman, Shasta. From the moment she wandered into the club by his side, I wanted her.
There wasn’t another woman here that could match her in beauty, brains, or character. She never belonged in this world, but her love for Sabbath outweighed the risks that came with being a one-percenter’s Ol’ Lady—the Prez’s Ol’ Lady at that. He claimed her the moment he got patched in, and for the most part he stayed faithful, up until he took over as Prez. Then it was like he just didn’t give a shit anymore.
Being Prez came with a lot of perks as well as responsibilities. But it seemed like the club sweet butts were attracted to power, and the second Sabbath stepped up as our leader, the girls flocked to him like flies. He could’ve been a gentleman and told the bitches to step off, but he didn’t. He just let the hoes go wild. It was like they didn’t play to any of the normal rules, like laying off members who were taken by Ol’ Ladies. They had zero fucking respect for Shasta, and despite her standing up to them every chance she got, the sweet butts continued to disrespect the queen, and fuck Sabbath whenever he wanted.
Yeah, again… if we were any other club, shit like that would never happen.
I still remember the day Sabbath changed everything. He came charging into Church, dropped a cut saturated in blood onto the table, then smacked his hands on the hollowed oak, grabbing everyone’s attention.
“Leppard betrayed us all. He was working with another MC, and was trying to leave the club, so I put two bullets in the back of his head. If you turn your back on the Lewd Outlaws MC, you’ll end up with a bullet in your skull.”
The whole club erupted into cheers, but I just sat there staring at the cut, trying to figure out why everyone was so happy? We lost our Prez that day, a damn good one at that. We traded him in for a murderer who didn’t give two shits that his own family’s blood was on his hands.
But that’s how Sabbath rolled, with guns in hand, zero tolerance for bullshit, and was as ruthless and vindictive as they come.
It’s why I took a personal interest in always being there for Shasta. The woman deserved more than to be tossed away like yesterday’s garbage. She deserved to be treated like the queen she is. And if I had been her king, that ground she walked on would be treated like fragile porcelain and respected to the highest degree.
It was a communal agreement that Shasta Hall was the ultimate prize. Every man here wanted her, but it was Sabbath’s bed she warmed every night—a bed I’d give two testicles to be in.
I wasn’t the only one. We’d spent countless nights bullshitting over joints and beers when Sabbath wasn’t around, discussing what we’d do if we ever had the chance to tap her ass.
It was Clash that came up with the term,“Hall pass”,a nod to her last name, and a play on the idea that if we ever got a chance to fuck her, we’d be cashing in our “Hall pass.” But there really was nopassabout it. If Sabbath ever found out we had secret discussions about fucking his girl, we might as well end up like Leppard. With two holes to the back of our heads and buried six feet underground.
The club was always jumping with sin and seduction, but right now, it was like every man around me was elbow deep in pussy or blow. Well, I shouldn’t say that. Priest was over in the corner, avoiding the festivities at all costs. The man was loyal to his cloth, and there wasn’t a single temptation that could lure him away from his silent pledge to God.
I felt Sabbath’s presence before I ever heard him say a word. It was like the hairs on my neck were standing at attention, ready for order.
“Keep her busy,” Sabbath growled as his predatory eyes raked over Rose’s double D’s. He adjusted himself as he swiftly left the room, following her back to his “playroom.” He was man enough to never bring a woman into the bed he shared with Shasta, but he did have his own personal room in the club—a room specifically for fucking other women.
I wasn’t sure if Shasta knew of the room or not, but it would be hard not to hear the whispers. Every girl thought it was funny to brag after fucking Sabbath.
“Got on my knees andpreyedon Sabbath today,” one of them would joke after exiting the room stinking of sex, hair tousled with that ‘I just got fucked look’, and makeup smeared to high heaven. Fucking bitches were using the Lord’s Day of rest as a way to communicate. It was always prey, not pray, because the girls were like a pack of ravenous lionesses, prowling for their next big stud to breed them.
But that was one thing Sabbath was adamant about when it came to the club. Each sweet butt had mandatory STD checks and were put immediately on birth control. The bastard wasn’t taking any chances of getting caught—either in a sweet butt’s trap or by Shasta.
But he had no clue that she was already on to him. She wouldn’t have tears in her eyes, and a look that dripped with utter betrayal if she didn’t have a clue.
“Hey, don’t cry, Shasta. Don’t let him see you weak. You’re too strong for that.” Instinctively, my calloused thumb fingered her cheek, washing away her tears so Sabbath couldn’t see them.
Fuck, this was bad! So fucking bad! God, just feeling the softness of her skin tickle my thumb made me hard as fuck. She was a forbidden fruit I was ready to sink my teeth into—a juicy peach dripping in poison that was worthy of all the death sentences that came with her.