Bear

Chapter 1: Bear

The bacchanal is pungent in the air as it is every Friday evening at the club, like an over ripe fruit, too sweet and sticky. It thrums in our veins, an invitation of revelry that intoxicates my brothers. At quarter to 1 in the morning, the night is still young; the havoc set to continue well into the morning. 

A leggy blonde plops herself down on the floor between my knees; one of the soul suckers chasing dick and hoping one might eventually lead to an Angel patch. She isn't my type, not even close– too pale, too tall and much too blonde, but I'm not in the habit of turning down freebies so I don't bother to stop her as her hands wander up my thighs and into my jeans. 

I think she mutters her name, Lani, Leoni, Lena? I don't hear it over the heavy metal blasting through the club. It hardly matters, I won't remember it neither do I want to, and by tomorrow she'll be onto the next brother that wants their dick sucked. 

Her hand moves up to touch my cut, sending a spark of rage through me. I grip her wrist, pulling it away from the leather back onto my jeans. It knocks her off balance, but she quickly recovers and continues undeterred. 

Her tongue moves skillfully like she's trying to prove a point and my cock twitches. It feels good, but I know that's it, a momentary feeling. At the very least, it is a feeling that  temporarily quiets the constant noise that pollutes my mind and that’s all I fucking care about.

A heavy hand on my shoulder pulls my attention away from the blonde head bobbing in my lap. 

I crane my head back to see who had demanded my attention, not at all bothered by the distraction. I don’t particularly care about having to pull away from the soul suckers. My skin practically itches when they touch me, though my desire to get my dick wet outweighs any disgust at having them touch me. 

The stern face of the Pres, looming over me— just his stare alone tells me he means business. 

His dark eyes regard me for a minute, before he tilts his head over to the quieter area by his office door. "Put your dick back in your pants, I have a job for you."

"Get the fuck off," I pull the blonde back by her hair lightly, tucking myself back into my jeans. She pouts, I have to force myself not to roll my eyes at the antic, her smudged eye makeup and swollen lips making for a pathetic sight. 

On my way over to the Pres I stop by the bar swiping a shot of tequila, hoping the sting of alcohol would distract from the lingering dissatisfaction of a half done blow job. 

"Sorry to break up your fun," Pres smirks around a cigarette. He pauses to light it, taking a drag and obscuring his features behind a cloud of smoke. "But this can't wait. We've got a shipment coming in an hour, I want you there to make sure nothing goes wrong."

The president of the Soul Reapers, Snake eyes, is an intimidating man. He's on the taller side, probably over 6 foot, though not as tall as me; muscular with brooding features; just from a glance it's easy to tell that he is not someone you want to cross, he is what this club knows will eventually become a formidable leader. 

He scans the room, head turning this way and that, his rows of neatly twisted locs pulled into a ponytail exposing the shaved sides of his head. Finally he finds whomever he's been searching for, without even turning back to me he nods in the direction of his stare. "Take Razor with you." 

"You think this is a two man job boss?" 

"No, but after our last run in with the Vipers I'm not taking chances." Snake Eyes' face grows dark as he thinks of the last bloody dispute we had with the rival MC.They, true to their name, have ruthlessly tried to encroach on both our territory and our trade. We almost lost a couple of our men because of them. "Besides, you're a few drinks in, you need someone to watch your back on the road."