Chapter One

Shadow

I slam hard into the nameless mouth, willing and begging her to gag on my cock. I want to inflict some kind of pain. It’s true, I’m a Sadist. I have to cause a little hurt in order to cum. A fucked-up, tragic past has nothing to do with my being this way. I just require that something more to release.

Vanilla fucking doesn’t do it for me. When I was fifteen, I wrapped my arm around my girlfriend’s neck and strangled her as we both came. She was in shock, yet she didn’t run away. She simply dressed, went over to her piece of shit computer, and waited for the slow-ass, dial-up internet to connect. She then Googled all kinds of words before anything made any sense.

My best friend gently let me down when she told me she could no longer see me. It broke my heart. We had been fucking one another since the age of thirteen, and when I cut off her air supply, it scared the living shit out of her. Who could blame her? I sure the fuck couldn’t. Once I figured out exactly what I needed to get off, I sought out older women with experience. Since then, I’ve hurt countless women I’ve fucked, and they’ve enjoyed it.

See, this bitch with my cock in her mouth isn’t doing it for me. I push away from her and curse her for being in a place like this with zero knowledge about what to expect in a room like the one where we are. This is my private room. It has a closet, a bed, a bathroom, and a dresser, and it houses all the toys I use for my particular trade.

As I zip my pants, she whines that she doesn’t understand, and I pat her gently on the shoulder and tell her to do some research. She is proof that Alec is not screening new members correctly. I should have known when I spent more time explaining and giving instructions than actually screwing her.

I tap my foot, waiting for her to leave my room before I lock up and walk down the long corridor that houses the private rooms. I’m not in the mood to try again, so I say goodbye to my friend, the dipshit who owns this club. He has no clue that my President and his wife are about to take it over.

I walk out and the brisk air hits my face. I pause to take a deep breath and welcome the freshness into my lungs. I was suffocating in there. There isn’t anything worse than being tortured by your own fucking downfall.

I straddle my lady, start her up, and head to the clubhouse, praying I don’t run into Tatiana. I want that girl bad, so fucking bad, but not even she can get my dick hard unless I think about tying her up and putting some welts on her. I have never once thought my addiction was a problem until meeting Tatiana.

When the prospect opens the gate to the clubhouse grounds, I throttle my bike in and park.

I spot Sniper and Smokey walking towards the old clubhouse building, and Sniper pats his wrist like he’s wearing a watch. I nod my head in acknowledgement. I’d never miss a church meeting. He knows this, but I think the fucker needs to get laid. Pussy footing around with Piper isn’t doing his dick any favors if he ain’t tapping that shit. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what goes on between them. They claim to be very good friends, but they both hold the look that spells a four-letter word I never want to hear again. I haven’t heard it since I was a teen. That fucking word can suck it.

I light a smoke as I head into church. The feel of eyes on my body causes me to stop dead in my tracks and look around. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but the eerie sensation still doesn’t ease up. Maybe I’m overly tired and aggravated that my sex life is shit. Whatever it is, it better damn well go away. I make it my business to study those around me, not the other way around. My skills are one of the main reasons the Prez let me trade up Charters instead of going nomad. If I become the one being watched, I’m not doing my damn job right. This shit is frustrating as hell.

“Damn, brother. Your eyebrows are sittin’ on top of your head,” Smokey says while Sniper walks in ahead of us.

“Shut the fuck, we got church. And when the fuck did you start talkin’,” I question him.

“Why does everyone keep askin’ me that,” Smokey replies.

It’s true. Smokey isn’t one for words. Lately, though, he has been talking a lot, and no one can find a reason as to why he’s opening up. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy that the motherfucker actually has a personality and all, but it is weird.

He shakes out his thoughts, opens the door, and gestures for me to go first.

“To answer your question, something Pyro said got me thinkin’. He said life is way too short and he may have implied that I should maybe voice my opinions or some shit. So I’m trying and it’s bullshit that everyone keeps questioning me on it,” Smokey growls.

Well, shit. I should have kept my mouth shut.

“I’m sorry, brother,” I say as we enter the chapel and take our seats.

Smokey shrugs as he flops backwards in his leather chair. “Oh well, I’m talkin’ now. Might as well keep up the charade.”

I bark out a laugh. The motherfucker is sort of funny. Who would have thought? I reach across the table and stub out my smoke that I basically let burn between my fingers. So wasteful. I should just fucking quit, but that shit ain’t going to happen. I guess that makes me weak, but I really don’t give a shit. Chain smoking is the only thing that keeps me from wigging out on fucking idiots.

The Prez comes in, slams the door behind him, and stalks to his chair. As he sits down, he grabs the gavel and bangs it down onto the wooden plank, signaling for all attention to be directed at him.

“Breakneck brothers, it’s that time again. Time for us to discuss massive fuckin’ migraine topics,” he huffs and digs out his pad of paper and a pen.