Read Hell on Heelz (Asphalt Gods' MC) for Free Online Page B

Differences or not, Twink and DDD were both in the same boat now, like all of us.
    Hell on Heelz wasn’t just a rider’s club like Ripper had founded. His club, the Seville Slayers was made up of mostly respectable blue-collar men who wanted to get away from their nagging wives on the weekend and put Harley decals on their pick-up trucks. They rode with us sometimes and ended up here. They were the sizzling meat in our biscuits.
    Hell on Heelz, on the other hand was an MC, a motorcycle club with roots in the one percenters. Although Shirley, I mean the Banshee, wanted her club to be different than the men’s clubs, no prostitution, no sex trafficking and the like, she was no saint. The Banshee wanted us to be outlaws like the club she’d come from, the Asphalt Gods’ MC, which like many others struck fear in the hearts of regular folk. She’d picked us girls, all of us because of what we were capable—what we’d done, or in my case, what I was about to do. It was like she’d known it, seen something in my eyes that had been off about me.
    Us girls weren’t regular people. I wasn’t a regular person like Ripper. Sure, he had a cool name, but he hadn’t murdered someone like I had. The only thing he could kill was an 18 pack of beer on a Friday night. He hadn’t been biker brats like Locks and Topper who played pool with some fresh blood, two hawt volunteer firefighters visiting us for the first time. He hadn’t escaped being an MC’s clubwhore by burning down their clubhouse like Miss B who had the attention of Squid, a bodybuilder who’d been in the Navy. He’d come to visit with a couple of Slayers tonight.
    Every other member here tonight whether they be older, fatter, younger, a gay man or just plain dumb, Legs, Duchess, Butterbean, Sugar Hips and Short—in that order, seemed to be on to someone new. Here I was stuck with Ripper who stared at me like I’d be his salvation.
    Why did I get the used up ones, the ones like me?
    Ignoring him, I scrutinized my sisters and I knew why. They were happy. The booze and the drugs made them smile. Ripper wasn’t smiling. Like me, he was coping. He breathed on my neck before whispering in my ear, telling me again, “I’d like to take you to my home tonight.”
    Ripper would do, for tonight, but he’d be coming to my cabin. I really didn’t feel like using the stables and listening to Pepper and his brother getting it on upstairs.
    I stood, putting my knee on his chair, right against his balls and grabbed his shirt collar. “No. You’re coming with me.”
    Ogling my exposed cleavage, Ripper nodded his head and about drooled. He obeyed just like the dog he was, following me through the room. I stopped at the bar and grabbed a handful of condoms on the way out. Girls talk, so I knew he’d been with Dixie the last two weeks—bitch had more crabs than the beach. And to think he was asking me to come home with him!
    Men, they were all alike—dogs. Ripper was on all fours over me on my bed. He didn’t know that last Saturday, it’d been his brother Keg in his place. But it seemed Keg had moved on and would probably move through all my sisters who were single and willing.
    In the morning, the sun shined through my thin curtains illuminating Ripper who tried to wake me, holding a plate of pancakes. I pushed him away, trying to see the clock.
    “You’ve gotta go. I’ve got work.” I’d told Shirley no later than eight, and it was ten now. I wiggled into my slacks and found an old t-shit. “Let yourself out, Larry.”
    Out the door, I climbed on my bike with my backpack full of cleaning supplies. I wished for coffee. Hell, it was a Bloody Mary morning, but the crisp air would have to get me by.
    He called from my door. “What’s more important than breakfast?”
    “Being up to my elbows in shit!” I replied, taking off.
    The more things changed, the more they stayed the same…
    “Dixie, crack a damn window.” I’d been scrubbing so hard, my arms were