Beretta (MC#1)

Chapter 1- Him

What a waste of time.

I mean, I thought parties were supposed to be fun. So, this party was exactly as it was supposed to be. Lit, Vegas would say. It was me who was the dysfunction around here.

I loosened a long breath at the insufferable sight that was the woman currently shoving her titties in my face. A paid whore- my birthday gift. The club ladies clearly wanted me to settle down. What an awful, awful thought.

"You're done for the night, Miss", I handed a wad of cash to the woman and wandered out of my birthday party, ignoring her expression and nodding to a couple prospects out front.

I didn't miss the President in suggestive dance moves with his old lady. The leading lady of the club herself was a confident lover. A perfect match, one would say.

The festivities never stopped me from guarding the club, they don't this time either. I go around checking the front, the back and pretty much everywhere I checked before the party started. For what? Assassins, spies, dealers- bombs. Since this is a public party, anyone can come in. A huge risk, I told the Prez. But what his lady says, goes.

It's a quiet night out back of the clubhouse. The music booming out the enormous speakers Lighter had brought in from one of his clubs do nothing to ward off the peace I feel here, in the silence. Maybe I was born a loner and so no matter how close I am to those men inside; I need a breather once in a while.

"There's the birthday boy", way to break the moment. "See I told you he'd be here, Don"

A heavy hand around my neck and vodka filled breath in my face later, I shrug Butcher off me and straighten my cut.

"Can't a man have some peace around here?", my question comes out as a joke apparently because Butcher chokes out a laugh and almost trips over his feet if not for Don.

"Brother, you're standing at a biker clubhouse, wearing a Vice President patch. What did you expect- yoga classes?"

Even I need to keep my expression in check at the image of all of us in tight leggings doing yoga. So, I make my annoyance at his words apparent which never really did anything to ward him off before, wouldn't help me now either.

"I'm sure Don would love to teach you a pose or two. Wouldn't you, brother?"

Don glares at me, promising death and I grin back. Butcher wears a questioning look. So, I explain.

"Harlow has been taking him for yoga every Saturday, didn't you know?", Butch and I share a look before completely breaking out in fits of laughter as Don sighs and pinches at his forehead, a gesture showing his annoyance.

"I was gonna say Happy 30th, since you never know when you might find yourself impaled on one of my silver daggers. Just saying", he shrugs and brushes his blonde locks back.

I try to hold in my laughter but fail miserably at which Don turns and walks back in. Most likely back to guard the Prez with his life. Pretty much his job aside from assassinating club enemies.

Butcher passes out due to the amount of alcohol he consumed and me being the remarkable friend I am leave him lying there in the grass back to the party.

As soon as I enter, the Prez gives me one look and jumps up on the bar. The music immediately stops and all eyes look at the drunk man on the bar.

"Now if y'all motherfuckers would shut the fuck up and learn the reason you're enjoying free drinks 'round here, you'd know that today is the day Blaze, the Vice President of Reaper's Disciples turns 30. All jokes aside the man has been a loyal brother in arms all these years-", at that point out I zone out because this was probably his fifth speech up there and nothing he said was new to the crowd.

"- to the man who brought me back from the darkness. I wouldn't be the President I am with any of my club members present here- yes, sadly even you Lighter- but I would've been far gone had it not been for Blaze and my smokin' hot wife dragging my ass back to the land of living", now that was new and judging by the look on Raven's face, brand new.

"Raven, baby, I love you so fucking much. More than I love my hair-", he ran a hand through his fawn hair, cropped and shiny and freshly washed too, even I wanted hair like tha-

Nope, this is the alcohol talking. Us bikers don't care about hair and girly shit like that. Nah

"- and with that let's wish the man a Happy 30th bir-", a flash of red hair and bullets firing all around the club rush everyone to the Prez as people file out of the club until only our prospects remain surrounding the area.

All that blood pooling under the Prez as he blinks furiously at the sudden attack in his drunk state.

Blood. So much fucking blood.

Motherfu-