Marcus (Savage Kings MC – South Carolina Book Series 9)
Marcus: Chapter 3

There are so many vehicles crammed into the clubhouse parking lot Friday afternoon that I have to park my bike on the side of the goddamn road.

As soon as I climb off, I bark, “What the fuck are you all doing standing around in our parking lot?”

It looks like twenty or more assholes have showed up wanting to prospect for the Kings. They’re scattered around; some standing timidly next to their cars or trucks, not motorcycles, which is a big fucking hell no.

While I remove my helmet to observe them, they look at each other nervously like they are trying to figure out if they’re supposed to answer me or not. I hang my helmet from the handlebar of my Harley, then remove my baseball hat from my saddlebag to put it on to keep the sun and possibly rain this afternoon out of my eyes. It’s hard to look threatening with rain pouring down your face. That looks too much like tears, and men can’t be seen looking weak, can we?

“Well? Cat got all of your tongues? Answer me when I speak to you!” Now I’m yelling at a volume that would shake most fuckers in their boots.

“We-we’re here to see about-about being a prospect,” a tall, lanky fucker responds, his eyes wide, looking jumpy as shit. “Sir,” he tacks on.

“Take your ass to the back of the building,” I tell him, pointing my finger in the direction.

“Yes, sir,” he agrees before he starts in that direction.

Several guys try to follow him. “Did I give the rest of you a direct order to move your asses?” I snap. “If you showed up today in a fucking car or truck, hop back in them and get the hell out of here!”

The crowd finally starts to thin after that. The ones who stay only move to get out of the way of the outgoing traffic.

Good riddance.

If a little shouting is running them off, then they wouldn’t have made the cut anyway. And what part of motorcycle club did they not understand?

I wait for the sound of retreating vehicles to quieten down before I tell those who are still left, “The rest of you need to get the fuck out of the parking lot before someone runs your ass over. Go join Slim Jim around back!”

I scrub my palm over my face before I follow them, knowing this is just the beginning and already we’re down to maybe fifteen remaining dicks, who are probably more interested in the easy pussy that comes from wearing the Savage Kings patch than actually earning the damn thing.

When I walk around the side of the building, the group is more clustered together like they think there’s strength in their numbers compared to me.

They fucking wish.

Pointing at the cardboard box next to the back door, I tell them, “All right, pussies, grab a clipboard with an attached pen from that box and start spilling your guts.”

Someone laughs, like they think I’m joking. The sound came from a short, stocky guy with a slick, shaven clean dome. “Something funny about my clipboards, dickhead?”

The smile falls off his face and he shakes his head before getting in line with the others behind the box. “No. No, sir.”

Reece’s application is thorough as shit, and I get that it’s necessary, but it isn’t exactly badass to be giving out clipboards with a pen attached to a string like they’re applying for a job instead of earning the right to wear the bearded skull king patch.

I’m taking stock of each of the remaining fuckers when a pair of tits jutting out from a black leather jacket abruptly stops my perusal. It’s impossible to look away no matter how hard I try. While I’m definitely an ass man, I can still appreciate a rack as nice as this one.

But then my brain finally decides to override the attention of my dick.

The chest belongs to a petite woman, who can’t be much more than five feet tall with choppy raven hair brushing the shoulders of her jacket. Even her pants and boots are all black leather. In fact, with her skin so pale, the only real color on her body is her bright red lipstick. Those lips must be fake because God wouldn’t have ever made a pair that fucking sexy.

What the hell is a chick doing out here?

She looks like she should be taking topless photos while sitting on a Harley at the dealership, because there’s no way she can fucking ride one unless she’s on the back of mine.

I mean, on the back of some other asshole’s Harley.

“You lost, little girl?” I ask as I stroll up to her to get a better look at those titties before I scare her off.

There’s way too much black makeup around her violet-colored eyes that can’t possibly be real. Still, she meets my gawking ones without any fear or hesitation behind them. “No, sir. I want to prospect for the Savage Kings like everyone else here.”

She must be kidding, right? She barely looks legal to fuck, which is, unfortunately, a big part of her appeal. Cocks love a good tease.

“The only thing you could ever be is a toy for these potential prospects to play with.” My statement is supposed to insult her so she’ll leave. Instead, she doesn’t flinch, not even when one of the guys whistles and another answers with, “Hell yes.”

“You and you,” I say, pulling my attention from the girl to point my finger at the offending assholes. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Ah, shit,” one remarks as his shoulders slump. “It was a damn test. Should’ve known.”

Yes, he should have.

The other mouth breather just stands there looking at me in disbelief with his jaw gaping.

“Your feet broken, shit for brains?” I ask him.

“You’re serious? You tell a woman she’s nothing but a toy, and I have to leave for just whistling?”

I stalk over to get in his face that’s so young he probably doesn’t have to shave yet. And yet he thinks he has a chance to be with the tough biker chick? No fucking way. “You have to leave because I fucking said so!” I shout at him.

He doesn’t walk away. No, he runs.

Once he’s gone, I replace the girl again. Now she’s facing the building, pressing the clipboard against it, her pen writing away. And fuck me, her ass is even better than I imagined in those tight leather pants. Is she sticking it out like that on purpose?

Going over to stand next to her, I tower over her intimidatingly close; yet it doesn’t faze her.

“Well? Are you going to answer me?”

“I did answer you, sir,” she replies without looking up from the paperwork. “I want to prospect and patch in with the Savage Kings. And no, I don’t mind being a toy as long as you play with me first.” The corners of her cock teasing red lips lift in a grin, but still, she keeps on writing.

This little slut thinks she can come here, flirt a little, and that I’ll what, bend all of the rules for her because I’m horny and she’s got a nice ass?

She’s completely wrong, even if I did consider doing just that for about half a second or sixty of them.

“Oh, hell no,” I finally tell her. “Fucking me won’t get you a patch. There’s zero chance of you being a prospect, little girl.”

Finally, her violet eyes lift to mine, hands still bracing the clipboard against the brick wall. “Are you sure, sir?”

Goddamn her for never leaving off the word sir. Unlike these other assholes, it’s not a second thought for her to try and suck up to me. But no matter how much I love hearing her call me sir, that shit won’t change my mind either.

“We’re the Savage Kings, honey, not the Savage Queens. Why don’t you go shopping or post some pretty, naked pictures of yourself on social media?” I suggest. “Trying to fuck your way into the club might have worked on one of our prospects, but it won’t ever work on me.”

“Why not, sir?” she asks.

“Because it fucking won’t, even if you could handle a man like me,” I tell her honestly. “Now, give me the clipboard and get the hell out of here.”

She goes back to scribbling on the paperwork for several long moments while I wait not so patiently with my palm out. I grind my teeth together, because she’s making me look bad in front of the other potentials. I should rip the damn thing off the wall to stop her from writing any more, but I don’t. I just stand there, staring down at her tits. Her jacket zipper is lowered just enough to reveal a tempting line of cleavage between those heavy breasts.

“There you go, sir,” she says when she eventually turns to hand the clipboard to me. “My phone number is on there in case you change your mind.”

“Never gonna happen…” I look down at the paperwork to replace her name. “T.J. Allen?” I ask in surprise as she starts to walk off, ass swaying teasingly.

The girl shrugs her shoulders and then turns around to face me while walking backwards, hiding that fine ass from me. “Yes, sir. I hate my first name, so I go by T.J.”

“What’s your first name?” I ask, needing to know for some stupid reason.

“It’s Teagan.”

I can’t stop the bark of laughter that bubbles up after hearing the girliest name of all time. She’s right – it doesn’t fit the biker chick image at all. No wonder she hates it.

And for some idiotic reason, I decide to follow behind her to the parking lot, because…well, I’m not sure why.

Watching her fasten a black helmet on her head, then throw her leg over the seat of a goddamn Harley Sportster makes me harder than I think I’ve ever been before. It looks impossible for someone so small to handle such a powerful machine. But then she cranks it and rides off out of the lot, leaving me staring after her in disbelief with her clipboard still in my hand.