I sigh and let out a laugh. All I wanted was to take a shower, get high, and sleep, and here I am.
I walk to the dresser and grab a phone.
“Yell-ow,” Skidder, my number one prospect answers on the first ring.
“Where are you?”
I glance over at Antoinette who’s still standing with the water bottle. I grab my pipe. Hopefully I can get high enough to eat and get some sleep.
“I’m at Torque’s garage.” He sounds serious. That’s what I like about this kid—he wants it. Definitely feels the call to be a Disciple.
“I need you to go to In and Out and get me my usual. Make sure it’s animal style and a”—my eyes sweep her body again—“cheeseburger and fries.”
“You got it, VP.”
I’m the best at dealing with prospects. Blade is too busy with his family and running all the club’s shit to mold the prospects into true Disciples. It takes time and energy to get in their heads. There’s a big difference between the ones who are serious and the ones who are only in the club for free pussy and the bragging rights to say they’re a Disciple.
You give a kid who’s considered a loose cannon or the one with a chip on his shoulder responsibility, and within months, they’re so loyal they would lay down their lives for the club.
I light up and hold it as long as I can, trying to decide what to do with my ice princess. Exhaling, I offer her the pipe, knowing she’ll stick that nose of hers in the air and shoot me a look that says it’s beneath her. But that’s better than when she makes me want to hold her, reassure her that she’s not alone.
Yeah, she’s got to go tomorrow.
“No, thank you.” She crosses her arms, closing herself off from me.
That’s my girl. I can’t help but smirk as I suck in another long drag of Mary Jane, my body relaxing on the exhale.
“Let’s take a tour.” Before she can talk, I place my hand on her lower back, pushing her so that she gets a move on.
“This is my bedroom.” I gesture to my giant California king. I’m not a man who collects things, so for the few things I do have, I’ve spared no expense.
My bike, car, and guitars—all my stuff is nothing but the best. I work my ass off and deserve it.
My room is my private haven. I let women in to fuck, but there is an unwritten rule that you leave after I’ve shot my load. Only on rare occasions do I make an allowance.
I walk her into the next room that holds more guitars, the kitchen, and my couch where I have all my electronics and my small studio set up. I used to have it enclosed like a small booth when I was still writing music and recording, but after a year of not even stepping into it, I had a few walls torn down and now it’s open with padded floors. When I do play, the sound is still adequate.
“So, you really are a musician?” Her eyes scan all my guitars hanging on the wall.
“Yeah. A lifetime ago, I had a band. Now I play for pleasure.” Her slight vanilla-citrus scent drifts up to me. From the moment I smelled her, she became one of my favorite smells.
“Is it true you know Rhys Granger?” Her eyes finally find mine. Her red plump lips are wet from her tongue, and that fucking beauty mark just does it for me.
I reach down to sweep her hair off her shoulder. It’s soft like silk. Her jacket needs to go. In fact, all her clothes need to go. My mind wanders back to fucking her again.
“Why? You got a thing for Granger?” It’s a joke. I’m not serious since I know she has a thing for me.
“I love Granger.” For a second, I’m so enthralled with her lips and beauty mark I don’t digest what she said.
“Did you say you love Granger?” And here I go again, ready to strangle her.
“What? You asked,” she huffs, and I’m speechless. This has never happened to me.
“I love the Stuffed Muffins. Granger is incredibly talented and…” Her voice trails off as I walk away and grab my pack of cigarettes. If I was with anyone else, I’d start laughing. But for some reason, I’m not finding her funny, or cute, or anything but a fucking wannabe groupie.
“Who told you I know Rhys?”
“The girls at the club.” Her