Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
“Why wouldn’t they? They ain’t bein’ held against their fuckin’ will. They wanna leave, they know where the fuckin’ door is.”
“Do they bring you your pipe, a robe, and a bourbon when you walk through the door?” she asked jokingly.
“If I tell ‘em, they’ll bring me my pipe and a damn whiskey. And they’ll sit on my dick when I’m tokin’ and drinkin’, too.”
Taryn’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “How does one apply for this position?”
“Ain’t for you.”
“Oh, I wasn’t asking for me. I prefer to live in the current century, thank you very much.”
“Friend brings them to a party or somethin’ and they stay ‘cause they want the life.” Or to try to get their claws in a brother so they can become an ol’ lady.
“Do they live here?”
“Most, yeah.” The old school had so many rooms that everyone in the club, whether a patched member, a prospect, or even a club whore, could have a place to stay if they wanted. However, the prospects had to double up. So did the sweet butts.
Except for Slick. She’d been around the longest and was responsible for the rest of them. Kind of like a house mother. She made sure the sweet butts weren’t only sucking off the MC’s tit. If one of the sweet butts had a problem, they went to her first rather than annoying any of the brothers.
The best rooms were given to club officers, like Stone. It was one of the perks of being voted in to sit at the table.
“Why do you keep a room here when you have a house close by?”
“Convenience.” And for those times he partied so fucking hard he couldn’t even swing a leg over his sled without hitting the dirt face-first. “Had all the classrooms turned into efficiencies and all twenty-eight are claimed.”
“Does every member live here?”
“Depends if they got an ol’ lady or a family. Most of them keep a room here but don’t live here full time.”
“An ol’ lady…they’re like a wife, right?”
“Kinda, yeah. When you see ‘em they sometimes wear ‘Property of’ cuts.”
Someone must have done some research. He could just imagine what her search history looked like ever since that day she first showed up at The Castle. Hopefully the feds didn’t flag her account.
“Property of what?”
“Of their ol’ man. Their cuts identify who they belong to and are leather like ours. The sweet butts cuts are denim and say ‘Property of the Kings.’”
“Representation for an MC is important, huh?”
“Cuts are a symbol of our brotherhood and loyalty. Also makes a damn statement.” So did the colors inked into their backs.
“What statement is that?”
“Nobody fucks with the Kings or what belongs to us. You do, you’re gonna fuckin’ regret it. Guaranteed.”
Chapter Eleven
“It sounds like the Kings are serious about protecting what’s theirs. But from what I’m hearing, the women are considered club property. Does that include the sweet butts?”
“Yeah. Kids, too.” This woman asked a lot of damn questions, but at least it showed she was interested. Her questions so far were pretty generic so he could answer them, but if she started asking about actual club business, he might have to shut that shit down.
“Are there valid threats against the club?”
That question bordered on what she couldn’t know so he answered that one carefully. “Threats can come out of nowhere, as you should know. When it comes to club property—ol’ ladies, kids, sweet butts—we got their back if anyone fucks with ‘em for any reason. Just like I got yours.”
“Besides protection and getting the privilege to ‘serve and service’ you and your brothers, why else do these sweet butts stay?”
“Don’t think our dicks are enough?”
“I’ll take a highly educated guess and say no. Do they get any other benefits that don’t have to do with sex or violence?”
Stone snorted. “Get loads of benefits if they follow the rules.”
“What rules?”
“We give ‘em scratch every month to get tested.”
“I’m assuming you’re not testing their IQ but for sexually transmitted diseases.”
Even better, the woman had a sense of humor. He liked that. “Yeah. Gotta keep their shit clean.” By shit, he meant slit.
“That’s it?”
“They don’t suck or fuck anyone but fully-patched members. No prospects. No hang-arounds. Nobody outside the club. They do, they’re out.”
“Okay, so your brotherhood can share them but nobody else. And?”
He kept waiting for one of his answers to send her into a feminist freakout. But so far, she’d been rolling with it all. “They’re available at all fuckin’ times.”
“No exceptions?”
“Some exceptions. We ain’t tyrants.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “What else?”
“Can’t be causin’ drama all the fuckin’ time.”
“Is that common?”
“If we let it get outta control. That’s why we got rules.” Everybody had rules. Members, prospects, ol’ ladies, and sweet butts. But they weren’t all the same. The club’s bylaws covered most of the rules, but not all.