Chapter 4

~Ax~

 

I kick the door shut to the shithole motel room. The whole room shakes with the force of it.

Ripping the paper bag off the bottle of Jack clutched tightly in my white-knuckle grip, I screw off the top and take a long swig, needing to feel that comforting fucking burn as it sears my throat. The only thing that can calm me down right now is the bite from this bottle and a good shot of nicotine.

I pull out my pack of smokes from my cut and fire one up, taking a harsh drag. Blowing it out, I start pacing the room wildly. I got a smoke in one hand and the bottle of Jack in the other. Gotta get a grip on my rage. But her shitty words keep screwing with me.

“I ain’t him!”

“You’re his son!”

Fuck, hearing that shit outta her mouth was like a bullet to my brain, ripping through every mental block I put in place over the years in one goddamn shot. Everything I’d done to separate myself from that sick fuck had just snapped right back into place, connecting us again as she’d tarred us with the same bloodied brush. Like all the blood on his hands and all his crimes were mine. It was like all the demented shit he’s done was coming right back on me. And the way she’d looked at me, like she was looking right through me and seeing him? It was a brutal fucking blow, the kind that drives you straight to your knees, making you go to that dark place between giving into the pain or summoning the balls of steel needed to throw that next punch.

That bastard ain’t nothing but a sperm donor. Calling him a father ain’t something I’ve done since I was a kid. Before I knew what he really was, what he was capable of and what he’s done. He’s a disgrace to the MC way of life. Hell, he’s a disgrace to human beings in general.

Shit, why am I getting into this bullshit? How’d she get under my skin like this? Bitch is messing with my head. Known her a few hours and she’s having this impact on? Jesus. Gotta man up and get a goddamn grip. That smart mouth of hers and her ballsy attitude’s got me all twisted up like a pussy-whipped fool. What the hell? I cop a brief feel of some tight, hot pussy and I’m acting like a damn school boy who’s just stuck his dick in some bitch for the first time.

These thoughts shouldn’t be running through my head in the first place. Fucking her was just to relieve the tension in my damn dick that she’d fired up since the second I’d walked into that diner. Nothing more. Never nothing more.

Well, that’s off the table now. Thanks to her connection with Skinner. That’s on her end. On mine is I don’t want some bitch looking at me like I’m the man I’ve hated with a vengeance for most of my life, like she can’t separate me from him. Screw her to hell and back then. How fucking ignorant is that?

Tomorrow I’m taking care of the shit I came here to deal with. Nothing else. No fucking ‘round now. It’d shocked me when I’d found out RJ was a goddamn woman and my plan to strong-arm what I needed outta him had gone up in smoke. No more. No more handling her with kid gloves. The damn gloves are coming off tomorrow. I’ll steamroll her into submission if I gotta. She’s a woman? So fucking what? She’s ‘bout to see how me and the boys really do business. No taking shit from nobody.

She’s fucking lucky it’s me Trig sent down here and not Daz “Smiter” Forbes, our Sergeant-at-Arms. He’d have her kneeling at his feet in seconds and ready to do whatever the fuck he wanted, probably begging to suck his cock too. Smiter don’t take shit from nobody. But the guy racks up a shitload of collateral damage. Got orders from Prez to do this on the down low. No drawing attention to the club. I got a more subtle approach. That’s why Trig sent me in.

Well, one of the reasons. The other? Only reason I came back to the club when Trig begged me to step in as VP. To end the Mavs by cutting the head off the fucking monster. By killing their Prez. Skinner. My demented prick of a father.