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president after only a few weeks out. Storm had given three years of his life for the Brothers of Mayhem. No prospect shit for him. Fuck, yes! Prospects, men who wanted to join the club and had a sponsor, had to take orders from every patched Mayhem Brother, no matter how demeaning. He’d done enough of that hanging around and running dope and guns for the club.
    Three months ago, he suggested to the membership that becoming bodyguards for the rich and famous would bring in the currency they needed to live on and the club to flourish. Everyone was on board, and the first few jobs went smoothly. People with cash loved the idea of having a dangerous outlaw biker keeping an eye out for them.
    Not everyone in the club stayed happy. Venom and Bullhead, newly released from prison a month earlier than Storm, had protested after the first couple of jobs. Storm told them he wouldn’t stop their dealing in meth and pot, but to keep it away from the clubhouse. The Feds and the locals would love to take them down again. With so many arrested and still in prison, the Mayhem Brothers had barely held together last time.
    Bullhead had left the club. Good riddance. Venom stayed. Except for his meth habit, he was a good guy.
    He lit a joint and leaned against the building. Gradually, the need to scream subsided. He chuckled. Venom did provide the best ganja.
    Mary Jane.
    He shook his head. Why had her parents stuck her with a moniker for pot? Shit! His mom had named him after the weather outside the hospital the day he was born. Maybe all those drugs they shoot into women during childbirth fucked with their brains.
    Taking another toke, he exhaled the light stream of smoke. Thank goodness, he had something that helped to relax him.
    After surviving the pen, he often felt like the walls were closing in on him. He learned to get out and stand beneath the open sky. Feeling a breeze filled with diesel fumes from the nearby trucking terminal was better than stale recycled air.
    Using the roach clip hanging on his keys, he finished the joint and then headed for bed.
    When he walked into his bedroom, sunlight sliced through a crack in the curtains. He overlapped the material, darkening the room.
    He clicked on his cellphone light as he stepped over to the recliner catty-corner to the bed and stopped. Unable to resist, he pointed the beam toward his bed. He partly did so as a way to see Mary Jane. She was curled in the center of the mattress, looking so small and fragile. Yet, standing straight, she reached his chin. She was taller than any woman he’d fucked. Again, another way she differed from his usual taste.
    He liked how the waves of hair rested beneath her jawline and across her neck, leaving the swell of her breasts to his gaze. Most likely after she fell asleep, she’d kicked off the sheet and comforter. He liked how her T-shirt bunched around her waist exposing her dainty white panties and her long legs. Damn, he liked that a lot. Those legs appeared to go on forever. His fingers twitched with the need to slide his hand up the silkiness and underneath the ass-cupping shiny material. His cock throbbed, begging for attention. With disgust at his reaction, he clicked off the light and stepped away.
    Yanking off his cut and T-shirt in one fluid movement of exasperation, he tossed them over the other recliner. In careful, slow movements, he eased into the recliner, the leather creaking despite the softness.
    For a split second he thought of jerking off. Anything to relieve the need to grab her ankles and sink into the sweetness waiting between her legs.
    Yeah. Show her that he was a freak. How many times had he caught her watching him in the last eighteen hours? She already expected him to attack her at any minute. Though he had to admit she must have changed her mind. She was sleeping. In his bed. A couple feet away. Asleep. His bed. Christ! So hard to believe.
    Creaking alerted him to how his fingertips dug into the supple leather. His hands