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Feeling that girl come just from that little interaction was almost my undoing. It took literally every ounce of self-control I have to stop myself from jamming my cock straight into her smooth wet pussy.
As I wander around the club property, I interact with a few of my guys, thankful for the distraction. A few share updates on deals; one shows me a picture of his old lady and their new baby. It makes me think of Shannon as a baby, of myself as a young, single, grieving father.
I have to leave quickly, patting him on the back and promising him a congratulatory cigar. But I need to get away because these are the moments when it’s the worst. It’s these in-between moments, when the hallways are quiet and the guys have a minute to share their lives, that I think of Giselle.
Giselle was a sex worker. She was also beautiful and caring and my first love. My only love, I guess, other than my daughter. She looked like a fucking supermodel with her long black hair and exotic eyes. I met her when I was a cock-strong teenager, full of piss and vinegar and eager to get my rocks off as often as possible. She was actually a few years older than me, and it wasn’t until she came to see me with a black eye when I was maybe twenty that I realized how much I cared for her.
She kept working, and I kept paying her for sex, but the time in between was more than that. And as I started working my way through the ranks and building my business, I promised her I’d get her out of that life. I wanted to fill her with babies and give her a house with a white picket fence, because that’s what dumbass boys in love promise to people they love.
When she did get pregnant, I took half my savings and paid off her pimp, telling him she was mine and he was to stay away or end up with a bullet in his head. I meant it, too, and he left with a few choice words and a bag of money, but he kept his word and he never bothered her again.
It was Giselle who was dead within the year, dead from complications having Shannon. I had raced her to the hospital, the whole time arguing about baby names. She liked Shannon, and I wanted something else—a name I can’t even remember nowadays, but felt worth fighting for in the moment.
She told me she hated me about fourteen times during labor. I loved her even more as I watched what she went through, and when Shannon was born, her father was, too. They say it’s like that for men, that the father is born with the baby. And as I cut the cord and asked questions about her weight and length, Giselle flatlined.
Her heart just couldn’t take it. She never got a chance to hold her baby.
I killed the pimp a few days after her death, just because I could. I’d have killed seven more people if my sister hadn’t forced me to stay with Shannon, to be a father. I wasn’t good at it. I drank a lot and I needed a lot of guidance. I hated being a father because I was doing it without the woman I loved.
But Shannon means everything to me now. I would literally pull someone’s balls off with my bare hands if they hurt her. I know Drew must feel the same, and that’s why I can’t fully claim his daughter like some common whore. I need her to be able to go home, if she wants to, and claiming her means something in our world. If I claim her and then send her home, it will mark her as damaged. If I claim her and keep her, then she’s mine to manage.
I know I’m just using her, making a point, staking a claim so I can make the most of this shit situation Spree created. But I need to send her home. After I get Drew’s club out of my borders. After I get him to cede land that should be mine anyway. I’ve got to find a way to allow her to go home with her honor intact.
This whole situation really pisses me off. I’m angry. Angry because I’ve let myself brood over Giselle. She’s been dead five years and I rarely allow myself to think about her. Angry about Spree and this garbage behavior out of him lately. Angry for not being a better father. Angry for wanting this young woman when I have too many other things to worry about right now.
When I walk in on a group of club members in a brawl, I toss my kutte and T-shirt to the side and join the melee.
A roundhouse kick to the kidney lands squarely, pitching me forward. I recover right off the bat and turn to find Spree there, grinning ear to ear.
“Welcome back, boss.”
“What, you haven’t had enough?” I ask.
We dance around each other, oblivious to the rest of the fighting around us. This is pretty normal at the club—guys need to let off some steam after tense deals go down. I usually don’t participate, but fuck if this asshole hasn’t pissed me off enough for me to come out swinging. Add in the girl and I am a nuclear bomb ready to drop.
“Enjoy getting your fuck stick licked out there, boss?” Spree asks as he punches at my jaw. I duck and land one to his gut instead. He wheezes, but manages to say, “She’s a pretty little cunt, isn’t she? You should be thanking me.”
It bothers me more than I would ever admit to hear him call Tanzie a cunt. I punch him in the jaw for it, and he lands a knee to my lower abdomen.
“If you don’t claim that little bitch for real, I certainly will,” Spree says. “My old lady don’t mind when I get a little side ass.”
I’ve got him by the throat in an instant, lifting him into the air and throwing him like a bag of grain. He hits a nearby table and scrambles to his feet.
“That little girl’s got you all in a twist,” Spree sneers. “This club don’t need no pussy for a leader, David. Just get it hard and jam it in. Take her like you need to and claim what’s yours.”
The way he says my real name, like it’s a sickness in his mouth—it makes me see red. I fly toward him, knocking him to the ground, my knee on his chest as I pummel his face for the second time in less than 48 hours.
“Watch yourself,” I growl. “Unless you want to end up buried out back.”
This time I don’t need my guys to pull me off. I manage to pull back, leaving him lying motionless on the floor. I stalk off, telling one of my club members to make sure he’s breathing. Part of me hopes he’s not.
As I walk down the hall, I’m tempted to head out, to go to Cary’s place. I’d give anything to curl up with my daughter, to hear her breathing. But I can’t. Spree is too volatile, and the situation with Tanzie and the Blazing Pistons is likely to hit a crescendo soon.
I pull out my phone as I near the bedroom, calling Cary’s number. When she answers, I have to tell her I can’t come home tonight. Or any time soon, for that matter. It’s not safe. Drew will now know Tanzie is here. He’ll look for any way to get me and that includes taking my daughter, the way he thinks I’ve taken his.
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