Rough & Rowdy (Notorious Devils #1) (2 page)

I hear a rumble from a distance. Then, suddenly, it feels as though a million bumble bees are surrounding me. I let out a gasp, my eyes widen, and my step falters as I watch the group of motorcycles pull up next to my sporty little black, convertible Camaro.

My Camaro is the reason I work weekends for a real estate company, as well as several evenings a week, showing rentals to perspective clients of my boss. He hates showing rentals and I want to be able to afford a cute convertible. It works out for both of us in the end.

“Nice ride.” A deep baritone voice rumbles next to me as I try to open the door quickly and slide into my car without being noticed.

“Thanks,” I mutter, looking up and simultaneously losing my breath.

The man behind the sexy voice is…
well
… the sexiest man I have ever seen. He is tall. His arms are crossed over his chest, and the sheer size of his biceps makes me whimper. They are the biggest I have ever come across—
in real life
.

My eyes travel down to his middle and I almost purr. He has a firm, thick torso, with jeans that hang low on his hips. And his thighs?
Tree trunks
. He is big everywhere I can see; and probably everywhere I can’t see, too.

The sexy stranger clears his throat, and when I look up into his handsome face, mine turns bright red. He caught me ogling him, and a shit-eating grin curls his mouth. He has messy dirty blonde hair and light gray eyes—his jaw strong and chiseled. I know by the smirk on his lips that he thinks he’s every bit as sexy as I do.

Cocky bastard.

“What’s your name, sugar,” he whispers, deep and husky. I shiver and his lips quirk even more.

“Kentlee,” I say as I slide into the driver seat of my car.

I try to close the door but his hand shoots out to stop me. He quickly crouches down between the door and my seat. He is almost eye level to me, he is so long.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he grins. Then his hand comes out again, wrapping around the back of my neck.

“Why don’t you come down to the clubhouse and party with me tonight, babe?”

I blink at him.

I know what he is.

He is a
Notorious Devil
.

They are legends around our town.

The local outlaws.

Parents tell stories to their children to scare them away from the group, and rumors about them always run rampant in adult circles—about their women
and
about their parties.

No way in hell am I going to be some innocent girl, lured into the lion’s den, so they can pull a train on me.

I have read and heard enough about them, and other MC’s, to know the things they do.

No way. Not this girl.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I say quietly, trying not to rile him up.

Just last week, three of the members were arrested in a bar brawl. Billy Smith, a guy I know from school, went to the hospital.

Granted, Billy is a giant dick and he most likely deserved it—but still.

“Why not, sugar?” he asks.

The hand behind my neck starts to massage me lightly. I almost moan at the contact. His strong fingers digging into my neck, combined with the smell of grease, oil, and
man
is sending me over the edge.

I haven’t had sex in almost a year, and I am horny as hell as it is.

“I’m not… I’m just not the kind of girl that should be at one of those parties,” I murmur, trying so hard not to offend him as I simultaneously try not to wrap my thighs around him and beg him to fuck me, right here—
right now.

“What kind of girls are at our parties, babe?” he asks.

I can sense an edge to his tone forming. My wide eyes lock with his and I tell him the truth.

“I’m a good girl. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink much, and I don’t sleep around… like ever,” I confess, my cheeks turning bright red and heated.

“Could tell you weren’t a bad bitch, honey. Still, you look smokin’ in that sexy secretary getup and I want to see more,” he grins.

Panties. Fucking. Melted
.

I open my mouth to answer him, though I don’t know what I am going to tell him, when another man steps up behind him and halts my voice. He is huge—round belly, long hair in a braid—and he is glaring at me with what I can only guess is hatred.

What I ever did to him, I do not know.

“Prez, we gotta get movin’,” the burly man growls.

I shrink back a bit at his tone. The man’s hand around my neck squeezes gently before he releases me, ignoring the angry giant behind him.

“You want to come on out, you just come on out, sugar. You’ll be perfectly safe with me. Just tell the man at the door that
Fury
sent you, okay?”

I nod, even though I know there is no way in hell I am going to this man’s clubhouse.

I have seen most of the men around town, but this guy, he’s new—
different
. He looks to be around ten years older than me, but I have never seen him before.

Our town is fairly small and you tend to run into people. I even spot a few guys from high school standing by their bikes, part of the club now. But this man, he is a complete stranger.

Once he turns to talk to the big man behind him, I hurry and skedaddle the heck outta there. I have
FroYo
to eat, and I need to freak out—
alone—
in my little one-bedroom rental house.

When I am in inside my home, I lock the door and grab my coveted ice cream. Sitting down on the sofa, I realize I'm in complete shock. I look around the room as I shovel the chocolate into my mouth, trying to forget about what happened just minutes ago.

Long gone are the memories of my sister’s bridal dress shopping moment. My brain is now flooded with the strange and sexy biker.

Holy shit, he was hot
.

I wish that I had some slut in me, because I want nothing more than to end the dry spell I am currently in and walk on the wild side of life.

I figure a man like Fury would know exactly what to do with what God gave him.

I imagine he would throw me against the wall and just take what he wants. I shiver from the thought. Jason didn’t know a clit from a nipple, and he fumbled and bumbled through every single sexual experience we had together.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he was a habitual cheater. How he found so many other women to screw, I don't know. The man was horrible. At least, I hope he was horrible. He was my only experience, and if it's that way with every man, I am going to become a spinster, cat lady for sure.

Fury

I
wanted to throttle Buck. I had that sweet girl in the palm of my hand. She was hot as fuck in her little skirt and high heels, too.
Sweet looking.
I don't come across sweet too often in my life. I want sweet.

I’m tired of all the whores
.

I am determined, after the takeover of this club, to find a sweet piece to sink myself into night after night. Probably won't ever claim her or anyone else as my Old Lady, but it’d be nice to have some sweet pussy on the side when club life becomes too much. As the new President, I'm sure it often will.

“You gotta look somewhere else, brother,” Torch says, throwing his cigarette on the ground.

“What?” I bark, already irritated.

We are going to scout out an empty space for a new titty bar down the street. I brought the voting brothers along to look at the space at the end of the downtown strip. Torch is my Sergeant-at-Arms—my weapons and security officer.

“Kentlee Johnson. That bitch’s cunt is locked up tighter than Fort Knox, brother,” he says with a laugh. I am seconds from beating the fuck out of him, but I stop myself.

He knows the girl
.

“How do you know her?” I ask.

“Went to high school with her, man. Graduated with me. Trust me, we all tried to get in those panties back in the day. She was so quiet though, she gave
no one
a chance. Dated one guy for about a year and I don’t even think he got tit.” Torch chuckles then he leans in close. “Her little sister,
Brentlee—
now that’s a bitch that’ll spread for you, man.” Torch wags his eyebrows and I consider punching him again, just because he’s an idiot.

“Let’s meet with this real estate asshole,” I bark before I start walking toward the empty building at the end of the street.

The men will follow.

They will always follow.

The second they watched me slit their president’s throat for being a traitorous bastard, I knew they would fall in line. I never planned on becoming the president of a charter. I was happy being in the original charter, where my dad is the President; where I could fuck around and never really commit to anything in general. That was until we found out money was missing and morale was shit at this club.

My dad sent me down here to figure it out, because he knew I wouldn’t stop until I found out the fucking truth. I did, and I took care of the problem; but something else happened. I discovered I like it here. I like most of the guys, and they respect me.

I’m not just the President’s snot nosed kid here. At thirty-five, I’m older than most, and they fuckin’ look up to me. So a year ago, I cleaned the shit hole up and I stayed.

“Tommy Walker,” the man standing at the storefront introduces himself. He's in a cheap suit with a slimy grin on his face.

“Fury,” I grunt. He just keeps on smiling.

“Rent’s reasonable. Bar is in good shape. Stage would be good for live music,” he prattles on as we walk inside. I chuckle.

“No live music, man. Live
girls.
Titty bar,” I explain, watching him smile widely.

“Old bitties in this town won’t like that, but can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have a place to go after hours,” he confesses.

I nod, as if his opinion means dick to me.

It doesn’t.

My brothers walk around, checking shit out. I trust them, and they would be straight with me if the place sucked. I don't think it does, though. I have a feeling this is going to be a great, little,
legit
money maker. The boys all nod, one by one, giving me their final vote. I turn to Tommy and pull him to the side.

“We’ll take it. Ten-year lease with an option to buy after five years,” I offer. I then watch as dollar signs practically appear in his greedy eyes.

“Sounds great. I’ll have the paperwork drawn up and leave it with my secretary Monday morning. Come in anytime at all and sign it,” he explains eagerly, shaking my hand.

I signal to my brothers and we leave, riding to the clubhouse.

It isn’t anything fancy—a big brick building with a metal building off to the side. We live in the back of the brick structure. The front is a bar, complete with a few pool tables and room for dancing. I walk straight behind the bar and grab a cold beer before making my way toward my private room.

The rooms aren’t much, just enough space for a small bed, dresser, and nightstand. I am the only one with my own private bath; the other guys have to share communal showers and toilets. It is the one luxury afforded the president, and for that I am fuckin’ grateful.

I never was any good at sharing, and I like my shit clean and orderly. My mother, what I remember of her, was OCD. Our house fucking sparkled. I never could live in filth.

“Hey, baby, need some company?” Kitty asks, leaning against my bedroom door.

Kitty is cute—in a trailer trash, rode hard, put away wet kinda way. I know she’s young, but you can’t tell by looking at her. Her face is caked with makeup, making her look older; and her hair is fuckin’ fried from dieting and bleaching. Her body is solid, with a big fake rack, but she gives good head, spreading whatever part of her body I tell her to.

I start to tell her to go ahead inside, but an image flashes in my mind.
Kentlee
. With her pretty, natural, long blonde hair, and her luscious curves, I can’t imagine fucking the bag of bones in front of me anymore. But I need relief.

“You can blow me right here, Kit,” I order. I roll my eyes when she greedily drops to her knees.

I imagine its Kentlee on her knees for me.
How fuckin’ sick am I?

Kitty pulls my cock out and strokes me until I go from semi-hard to fully erect. She licks the head of my dick and then takes me fully into her mouth. She’s an expert.
Too
good for my taste.

I like a girl to be a bit intimidated, nervous, and even a little shy. It is a turn on to know the girl I’m fuckin’ isn’t a damn pro. Kitty is a club-whore; she’s seen more cock in her young years than a urologist.

I grab onto her straw-like hair and fuck that mouth of hers until I come down her throat. Kitty looks up at me, her eyes rounded in feigned innocence as she smiles coyly. I watch while she licks her lips. It might be hot, if she weren’t such a fuckin’ train wreck.

“What about me?” she asks when I step around her and unlock my door, ready for her to leave.

“What about you?” I arch a brow. I know what she wants, but she isn’t getting it—at least not from me.

“Aren’t you going to return the favor? At least make me come?” she pouts. I shake my head.

“Don’t recall it being my job to
service
you,
Kitty,” I grunt.