Bullet: Devil's Rose MC #5

Chapter 1: Mason Ohara

Dedication:
Because I love you and can't say it better.
"Shrink your thoughts
burn them
bury them...
if all they tell you
is that
you aren't good enough"
- Anjum Choudhary
Because you are, my love, you are.

I latch my hand around the back of the girl's head, lacing my fingers into her thin red hair, and press her further down on my cock. She moans and grasps my exposed thighs tighter, her saliva dripping over my erection. 

I glance down at her to see her fingering herself as she chokes on me with each of my thrusts, matching the movement of her fingers. Her throat vibrates while she grunts due to her orgasm and mine come soon after. 

She gets up off her knees and begins wiping my cum that drips down her chin. I nod to thank her before she walks away.

Buttoning my pants and buckling my belt, I stand up and make my way out of the closet at the back of the bar. I get glaring looks from locals and MC Old Ladies, but I honestly don't give two fucks. This is my fucking life. They can go to hell if they think that I care about what they think of me. 

If I need a good fuck, and I find a willing lady (which isn't fucking difficult for me), then I'm going to get a good fuck. It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone. I'm doing my job around here, trying to keep people happy - more specifically Poison - and doing whatever the fuck I want. 

It's not like anybody had a fucking problem with that before we saved the asses of a couple of people from some awful chick named Claws a couple of years ago or whatever. And now, Alpha, Reaper, and everybody else won't get off my ass about being a 'role model' or whatever the fuck. 

Because of my bad behavior in the recent weeks, which I thought my MC brothers would be more empathetic about, I've been assigned as a prospect trainer. That's just a cute name for being a fucking babysitter. Now, I get it, someone has to do it. 

For the past couple of years, it's been Tank and then Whiskey, but apparently, it's my turn. Only a select few are just blessed with this job, and I am one of them.

I don't give a shit about these damn prospects. They are either good enough or they aren't. If they aren't good enough, they are never going to be. I don't know what's so fucking difficult to understand. 

I worked my ass off without any help to get where I am today, so everyone else should have to go through that. It's not my fucking fault they aren't good enough, and it shouldn't be my problem. No one can fucking change a talentless shithead, you know?

Yeah, I've been in a shit mood for the past few months, but it's not like being a babysitter is helping fix that. But I feel like I deserve to be in a shit mood. My older brother, Hugo, decided to steal all my money, so you know, life's been horrible. 

Or at least it was until a few weeks ago when everyone decided to pitch in and help me find a new place to live (after I had to sell my house because I couldn't pay my bills). 

Plus, Alpha, with giving me a new job and everything, gave me a raise and bonus check. So I'm pretty much back on my feet, but I was betrayed, seriously betrayed. He's a rich motherfucking asshole without my money, he just stole it for fun.

However, my chosen brothers used up all their kindness on my new house. So what if that makes me sound ungrateful? I don't fucking care.

I push through the normal lunch crowd, ignoring the calls from my closest friends. They don't give a shit. They pretend they do until they decide when it'll be a good time to leave me in the dust. No one truly cares. 

Just like my mother used to say, I'm a worthless piece of shit who will amount to nothing. I will always be tucked into the shadow of my brother. And what's worse is she was fucking right. He's got everything he's ever wanted. 

The wife, the kids, the company, the million dollars that he has no idea what to spend on.

While my grandfather would say I have something far more important, love or something, I fucking know that I'll never be enough. I'll never be enough to have someone who loves me. 

Life doesn't fucking work like that. Life lies to you, destroys you, tears you down, and you don't get a say. You've just got to deal because you can't escape.

"Bullet, can I talk to you?"

I turn my head sharply to see this prospect named Piper. She's been here for quite some time. She's average. There's nothing outwardly spectacular about her. 

I mean, she's pretty, but I've seen better. I haven't told her that to her face though, not quite yet. I've been saving it for a rainy day.

"No, you can't."

"But it's important."

"That's what everyone fucking says, okay? You're fine."

"Look, please, I have to leave for a couple of weeks. I just thought you would want to know."

"I don't give a fuck about you, Piper. You mean nothing. So leave and maybe don't return."

I almost regret saying that to her when I see the tears gathering in her brown eyes. Almost is the key word. She has to toughen the fuck up though. I mean, like, a few tears are good, but it's so ridiculous how sensitive she is. 

No one here is going to coddle her, so she better get used to it. Since she's been here a while, I'm surprised she hasn't. I'm not, knowing that Tank was babysitting her not too long ago. These dumbasses.

I push past to get outside and away from the disappointed eyes. Fuck them.

"Bullet, where are you going?"

"Home, Poison, I need a nap."

"What's been going on with you?"

"I don't need a fucking invention."

"Don't you dare talk to him like that!"

"This isn't your problem, Dakota."

"You keep speaking to him like that and it will be."

She steps up in my face, her gray eyes shimmering with fury. She doesn't hide it well.

Poison gets in between us and holds a hand on my chest with his eyes flicking back and forth.

"Both of you, calm down. Dakota, let's go get somethin' to eat. And Bullet, we're here to help you. No one likes seeing you like this, and it's not who you are. Please let us help."

"It's useless, Poison."

"What is? That's what I don't understand. Your brother stole your money; you were fine in three weeks. Are you not telling us the full story?"

No, I'm not because you wouldn't look at me the same. You'd see me as the broken, hopeless, worthless piece of shit that I truly am.

"It doesn't matter."

"It all matters. The way you talk and treat people matters. Whether you believe it or not."

"I didn't want a fucking intervention."

"All I'm saying is, take a good look at who you are right now. Is this who you want to be? You may die tomorrow, you want people to remember you as a complete asshole?"

"No one would fucking care enough to remember me."

"I highly disagree with that. I love you, and I care about you. Stop being a jerkface."

The two of them leave me standing in the middle of the parking lot but not without Dakota slamming her shoulder roughly into mine. She isn't exactly subtle when it comes to her disdain for me. Not that I can blame her for that either. 

Poison's right, I mean all the guys around me are right and I need to fix my attitude, but I just can't seem to find a reason to care enough to change it. Who honestly gives a fuck about what I'm like? I do what I need to do with the attitude I have. When did that ever hurt anyone? 

I have to keep reminding myself that they don't care. They are just pretending that they do.