Bred By the MC Prez by Sam Crescent Page 0,4

of thoughts.

Uncomfortable thoughts.

Thoughts of Beth Peterson.

She was in his bedroom, and he honestly wasn’t sure what the fuck he’d been thinking by taking the deal with Peterson. He owned Beth, and he could do anything he wanted to the girl. Then why wasn’t he taking her right now? Fucking her so hard that her virginity became nothing but a memory?

He continued hammering out the steel, his mind a fractured mess. What was it about Beth? She made him think of things like settling down and starting a family. He never expected to have an old lady of his own. Everyone thought of him as a recluse, one of the rare men who even stayed away from club pussy. He couldn’t even touch them. Forge’s mother had been a whore, and he didn’t have a single good memory of the bitch.

Beth wasn’t anything like her. She was pure and innocent and needed him to protect her. It felt good to care about something other than the club for once. He barely knew Beth, but she made him feel complete. He felt like he had something to wake up for.

He wanted to leave behind a legacy bigger than stories of death and destruction. He wanted an heir. Someone to carry on his name. He’d fill the curvy virgin with his seed and raise his kid right.

His son would never wake up with nightmares.

Forge tossed his hammer on the wooden bench and used his forearm to wipe his brow. He couldn’t keep avoiding Beth. He’d already decided her fate, and there was no way in hell he’d hand her back to her father or set her free. Forge deserved her. She was his prize for living through one of the most fucked-up lives imaginable.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Hound stood in the doorway to his forge. He’d built the barn-like structure behind the clubhouse years ago. It was his retreat, and his brothers knew not to bother him when he was inside.

“What’s up?” asked Forge, not looking him in the eye.

“There’s a chick in your bedroom. What are your plans for her? Everyone’s talking.”

Forge scowled. “Then shut them up. That’s your job, no?”

Hound shrugged. His enforcer was brutal as fuck, and Forge was almost certain he’d go to hell protecting the club. “I don’t give a shit, I just need to know. This about revenge or something more?”

“Something more.”

He felt tongue-tied. There were few secrets between him and his top men, but this was new and uncomfortable. Hound didn’t have an old lady, so he probably wouldn’t even understand if Forge tried to explain himself. If the prez started talking about shit like falling in love at first sight … it wouldn’t go over well.

Hound didn’t say anything. His enforcer walked inside the forge and picked up the cooled blade he’d been working on all morning. Holding it up to the light, he tilted it and examined the patterns in the Damascus steel.

“I’m not finished with it yet,” Forge said.

“This one will get you a good price. It’s a beauty.” He set it back down. “I’m riding out to Eagle Point this afternoon. You coming?”

He shook his head. “I won’t leave her alone yet.”

“So you’re keeping her?”

This time, he glared at his old friend. “I’m fucking keeping her, Hound. Don’t take any of this as a weakness. If anything, I’m more fucked up because of that girl. If anyone goes near her, it would be a serious mistake.”

“I better make sure the boys know.” Hound turned and left. One of their rival’s clubhouses was at Eagle Point. They’d been planning to send a message for weeks, and Forge had looked forward to a little bloodshed. This was his territory, and those bastards at the Point were getting too close for his liking. When Forge decided to make an example of his enemies, word traveled fast. He’d been fucked-up in the head since his teens. It was easy to embrace the darkness when he had nothing to live for and only a handful of memories that didn’t make him shudder.

He trusted Hound and Dog to handle things without him, but he knew he should be there as prez. It was time to get his head back in the game, which meant dealing with Beth Peterson.

After a shower in the basement gym, Forge stalled before heading back to his bedroom. He wore a pair of gray sweats, a towel slung around his neck as he ascended the staircase. He was forty-two and felt like