Read Online Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC by Britten Thorne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Britten Thorne
Tags: Suspense, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Crime, Military, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, romantic suspense, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, New Adult & College, Mystery & Suspense
Ads: Link
and paced the office. Three steps one way, two steps back. Again, then again.
Too much.
Trouble begets troubles. Bad luck draws more bad luck. The only way out is to break the cycle, and Gunner hadn't figured out how to do that yet. Giving a shit about anything would have helped, starting with himself. Not being such an angry, arrogant bastard to everyone he met. Eschewing violence as a first resort.
We weren’t even talking anymore. It shouldn’t feel like this.
His phone woke him from his thoughts. The screen revealed "Jester" as the caller.
"What?" he answered. The two rarely got along, and he was one of the last people Gunner wanted to talk to.
"Brother. We heard. Wanna get fucked up?"
◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙
Home was a six hour drive away but Jester and Irish were already on the road and in town when Jester called. Bill hadn't sent them. Neither had Gunner's father. Hell, they were probably going against Bill's wishes, seeing as how they were in the middle of building some partnership with the Eagles. But their fellow club member had some troubles to drink away, and damned if they weren't going to help him do it.
"Let's tell all the girls they're on tonight!" Jester announced as he stepped into the back office that evening, "Where's your motherfuckin' Rolodex?"
Jester was poison. He was a junkie and an alcoholic and partying with him could only result in a whirlwind of self-destruction for all involved. Irish, being the youngest and newest member, would have the delightful task of staying just sober enough to keep an eye on the front door and make sure neither of them tried to take off on their bikes. With what Jester had planned, though, they wouldn’t be able to find their way out of the parking lot if they tried.
Gunner looked the younger biker up and down. Irish had been a member for only two years and there were currently no prospects at all. Does he know he’s gotten himself sucked into an old man’s club? At least Jester and Gunner himself had the excuses of their fathers.
There was something I wanted to ask him. About some damn picture. About his old lady. He still had that photo in his pocket...
It was quickly forgotten. That night, Gunner didn’t care about anything but shattering the aching numbness that had lodged in his chest.
Most of the girls did show up at Jester's behest when he let it be known he was the Devils’ president's son. It was barely past sundown when the club was packed, word of "a crazy fuckin' night" spreading thanks to all the employees.
As the lights turned down and the music picked up, as scantily clad girls danced on stage and surrounded him, Gunner figured he should have no problem forgetting fast.
Jester led him into one of the VIP booths - nothing more than a roped off couch and table towards the back of the room where suckers with deep pockets could get bottle service. And blowjobs, depending on which girls were on duty.
"Take this," Jester said, slipping a pill into Gunner's hand, "then this." He passed him a shot. "Then her." He pointed at a girl smiling and biting her lip just on the other side of the rope. Trudy . A strange, grandmotherly sort of name for a stripper. Maybe it was a growing trend. He'd known an Agnes, too.
"Come on," Jester prompted, downing his own pill and following it with a swallow of beer. “No brooding.”
Jester wouldn't kill him with his cocktails of drugs, but he'd get him close - just where Gunner wanted to be. He followed the man’s instructions and soon was sitting in the booth with Trudy grinding on his lap to the tune of some pulsing techno track. The effect was hypnotic - her smoky eyes wide, grinding against his thick cock, coaxing it to life to the deep vibrations of the pulsing bass. He looked up at her face, the low red lighting making her blurry - but maybe that's just me - and said "Off." He slapped her ass as she rose and turned away. He liked her well enough but he wanted more of what Jester was
Too much.
Trouble begets troubles. Bad luck draws more bad luck. The only way out is to break the cycle, and Gunner hadn't figured out how to do that yet. Giving a shit about anything would have helped, starting with himself. Not being such an angry, arrogant bastard to everyone he met. Eschewing violence as a first resort.
We weren’t even talking anymore. It shouldn’t feel like this.
His phone woke him from his thoughts. The screen revealed "Jester" as the caller.
"What?" he answered. The two rarely got along, and he was one of the last people Gunner wanted to talk to.
"Brother. We heard. Wanna get fucked up?"
◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙
Home was a six hour drive away but Jester and Irish were already on the road and in town when Jester called. Bill hadn't sent them. Neither had Gunner's father. Hell, they were probably going against Bill's wishes, seeing as how they were in the middle of building some partnership with the Eagles. But their fellow club member had some troubles to drink away, and damned if they weren't going to help him do it.
"Let's tell all the girls they're on tonight!" Jester announced as he stepped into the back office that evening, "Where's your motherfuckin' Rolodex?"
Jester was poison. He was a junkie and an alcoholic and partying with him could only result in a whirlwind of self-destruction for all involved. Irish, being the youngest and newest member, would have the delightful task of staying just sober enough to keep an eye on the front door and make sure neither of them tried to take off on their bikes. With what Jester had planned, though, they wouldn’t be able to find their way out of the parking lot if they tried.
Gunner looked the younger biker up and down. Irish had been a member for only two years and there were currently no prospects at all. Does he know he’s gotten himself sucked into an old man’s club? At least Jester and Gunner himself had the excuses of their fathers.
There was something I wanted to ask him. About some damn picture. About his old lady. He still had that photo in his pocket...
It was quickly forgotten. That night, Gunner didn’t care about anything but shattering the aching numbness that had lodged in his chest.
Most of the girls did show up at Jester's behest when he let it be known he was the Devils’ president's son. It was barely past sundown when the club was packed, word of "a crazy fuckin' night" spreading thanks to all the employees.
As the lights turned down and the music picked up, as scantily clad girls danced on stage and surrounded him, Gunner figured he should have no problem forgetting fast.
Jester led him into one of the VIP booths - nothing more than a roped off couch and table towards the back of the room where suckers with deep pockets could get bottle service. And blowjobs, depending on which girls were on duty.
"Take this," Jester said, slipping a pill into Gunner's hand, "then this." He passed him a shot. "Then her." He pointed at a girl smiling and biting her lip just on the other side of the rope. Trudy . A strange, grandmotherly sort of name for a stripper. Maybe it was a growing trend. He'd known an Agnes, too.
"Come on," Jester prompted, downing his own pill and following it with a swallow of beer. “No brooding.”
Jester wouldn't kill him with his cocktails of drugs, but he'd get him close - just where Gunner wanted to be. He followed the man’s instructions and soon was sitting in the booth with Trudy grinding on his lap to the tune of some pulsing techno track. The effect was hypnotic - her smoky eyes wide, grinding against his thick cock, coaxing it to life to the deep vibrations of the pulsing bass. He looked up at her face, the low red lighting making her blurry - but maybe that's just me - and said "Off." He slapped her ass as she rose and turned away. He liked her well enough but he wanted more of what Jester was
Similar Books
