Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1), page 1
CLUBWHORE
Kim Jones
eBook Edition
Copyright © 2016 Kim Jones
All rights reserved.
From Sinner’s Creed by Kim Jones, copyright ©·2016 by Kim Jones. Used by permission of Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC
eBook Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to others unless a separate copy has been purchased. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
And people who steal go to Hell—or so I’ve heard.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Kim Jones
http://www.kimjonesbooks.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover Model: Jeff Morawski
Cover designer: Hang Le
Books by Kim Jones Available Now:
Saving Dallas
Saving Dallas Making the Cut
Saving Dallas Forever
Red
Coming Soon:
Sinner’s Creed—March 1, 2016
Sinner’s Revenge—July 2016
Clubwhore Playlist:
Fever—Peggy Lee
Only—Nicki Minaj feat Drake, Chris Brown and Lil Wayne
The Hills—The Weekend
Sail-Awolnation
Sweet Dreams—Marilyn Manson
Leather and Lace—Stevie Nicks feat Don Henley
Only—James Young, Phoebe Ryan
Ride--Somo
Listen to the complete playlist here:
spotify:user:kimjones204:playlist:1swjipEFDwL3zsDDjDOYs8
This book is dedicated to:
Whores.
Truth is, you’re smarter than most women. You get paid for sex, while the rest of us have been giving it away for years. So hats off to you, promiscuous women—you’ve figured it out.
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
PROLOGUE
I’ve never been the type of girl to settle down. Life is too short to make sacrifices--like marrying a man you think you’re in love with only to find out later that just the sight of him repulses you. Feeling guilty, you spend the next twenty years of your life suffering in silence because you think you owe him a lifelong marriage. You’re miserable, he’s miserable and you’re sure you don’t love him anymore--that is, until you catch him banging some bitch ten years your junior. Suddenly, he’s the bad guy and you’re the poor, innocent, devoted wife who’s given him your best years.
Well, that’s just fucking stupid.
Me? I’m a realist. I see shit for what it is. I don’t want a commitment, I want a life. I want to call the shots. I want to see who I want, do what I want and be who I want. Keep your property patches. I don’t mind being your dirty little secret.
I know what the ol’ ladies say about me. I know the horrible names they call me behind my back—pass-around…white trash…skank…slut…clubwhore. They look down their noses at me. They think they’re better. They have zero respect for someone like me. A weaker person might be offended or hurt—not this bitch.
So don’t feel sorry for me.
I don’t need your pity.
Because, at the end of the day, I’m the one who wins. I have the one thing they’re most afraid of losing—their man.
I’m that girl.
The girl every woman loves to hate.
The one your man dreams about.
I live up to the name I’ve been given…
CLUBWHORE
And this is my story.
Chapter 1
“That’s right…you know how I like it, baby.” For fuck’s sake…come already. “You’re so big.” Good thing I practiced my Kegel exercise this morning. “I love how you dominate that pussy.” Blah blah blah.
The great thing about being on your knees while getting pounded from behind by a drunken biker who closes his eyes in hopes that it will lessen the guilt he feels in his chest because you aren’t his wife? You don’t have to look at the bastard. For example, right now I’m studying the shitty job my manicurist did on my nails.
As if he can sense my boredom, I finally feel him pull out moments before warmth spreads across my ass. I throw in a few grunts and groan for the hell of it, while he pumps his cock with one hand and kneads my ass with the other—like I actually enjoy that shit.
My name is Delilah Scott. I used to be referred to as Scotty D—weird, I know. But around here I’m known as just plain old Delilah. I guess it’s easier to bang a chick named Delilah rather than one named Scotty. By the way, “around here” is the Devil’s Renegades’ clubhouse in Hattiesburg, Mississippi—my place of employment.
I call myself an entrepreneur. I use my skills, body and brains to make my way in this world. Sure, I do it in a manner that some would consider unethical, but who gives a shit what they think? And the “they” I speak of are the ones who call me a whore. In reality, I’m not.
Whores get paid for sex. That’s not what I do. I get paid for providing company to lonely men. If that entails having sex, fine. I consider it an extent of my gratitude to the men who I enjoy being around.
“That was great, babe. Always is.”
I look over my shoulder, offering a wink and a sultry smile to the man who’s just come all over my back. “Pleasure was all mine.” And really, it was.
Even though this man isn’t a Devil’s Renegade, he’s a friend to the club. Therefore, he’s a friend to me. I don’t generally get pleasure out of fucking married men and this was no different. I was assured that he’s in the middle of a divorce. I’m not so sure it’s true. But, looking at the bigger picture, I’m glad I could be of service. In turn, I’ve been of service to the Renegades. And that always pleases me.
I stay on my knees while he dresses--not wanting it to be awkward when I cringe at the way his dried come pulls at the tiny hairs on my back. With his pants zipped and his cut back on, he slaps my ass and leaves the room. Hell of an exit. I mean, nobody has ever done that before.
One of the great things about living at the clubhouse is the en-suite bathroom I have all to myself. Okay…so maybe it’s not that great. But it is an added bonus. I have two hundred square feet designated especially for me. A nice, spacious bedroom with a view of the backyard, equipped with a king-sized bed, a vanity, dresser, closet and a bathroom with a whirlpool tub. The Renegades know how to take care of their own.
Luke Carmical, president of the Hattiesburg chapter, has always made me feel comfortable, safe and appreciated. Not once has he ever looked at me like I was beneath him. In addition to his hospitality and my room and board, he pays me three hundred dollars a week. In return, I provide around-the-clock pleasure for anyone who walks through the clubhouse door, keep the place clean, and make sure there’s always hot coffee and cold beer.
Not a bad gig for a whore, huh?
Even though the men are great, the same can’t be said for some of their ol’ ladies. I know a lot of people say “They’re just jealous” to make themselves feel better, but really, they’re just jealous. They don’t like the fact that I’m here with their men. They don’t like that I’m loved by the guys. I’m easy to get along with, outgoing, fun and I’m not too hard on the eyes either. That alone is enough for them to hate me.
I’ve never slept with any of the chapter members who have wives—contrary to popular belief. I’ve been with a few from other chapters, but they’ve all been in open relationships. Most of those men like to share me with their wives too—something I’m definitely not opposed to. I don’t consider myself a lesbian due to the fact that I would never have a relationship other than sex with a woman. It’s just business, really. And speaking of business, I have shit to do.
Showering off the scent of the man whose name I can never remember, I let the steaming, hot water cleanse me before switching it to cold. I’m always sleepy after sex—the reprieve I feel from my internal damaged, twisted need is mentally exhausting. But the frigid water never fails to revive my senses and wake me completely. By the time I step out of the shower, I have a renewed passion to get the night started.
I guess I can be considered sexy. I’m tall, falsely tanned with jet black hair and brown eyes. I’ve been called Pocahontas more than once and I’ve always taken it as a compliment. To keep the interest of the men around here, I have to stay in shape. I do so by eating Doritos by the bag, getting extra pepperonis on my pizza and drinking plenty of carbonated beverages. I’m sure it’ll catch up with me one day, but right now, I plan to take full advantage of my high metabolism.
“Delilah? You in here?” The infamous Red, property of Devil’s Renegades VP, Regg. I’ve always hated he was married…
Red falls under the category of “ol’ ladies that don’t really like me.” Although she’s never been rude or forthcoming with her thoughts of me, she always makes it a point to remind me that Regg belongs to her—expressing an extreme amount of PDA when it’s really not necessary.
“I’m in here.” My bathroom door is opened without warning and Red takes a minute to size me up. There must be a stamp on my forehead that reads “If you’re bi-curious, I’m your girl.” Or at least that’s the vibe I’m getting from the appreciative way Red is looking at me right now.
“Are those real?” she asks, glaring at my breasts unashamedly.
“Yes.” My deadpan answer is meant to draw her attention away from my chest and to my facial expression that clearly says, “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course they’re real.” But she can’t be distracted. Humored, I ask, “Wanna touch ’em?”
“What?” That got her attention. “No. I mean. No.” She pulls her eyes to mine and I can’t help but smile at her embarrassment. It’s a first for her. “The Eagles have a Prospect that’s getting his patch tonight. Luke wants to know if you’re interested in giving him a…show.”
My heart warms a little at her words. This is why I like Luke. He always asks, never demands. Why did he have to be married? All the fucking good ones were gone. “What’s his name?”
“Drake.” Drake…sexy …
Pulling a brush through my hair, I turn and watch Red’s eyes follow mine to the mirror, fighting like hell to stay focused on my face and not drop to my tits. I wonder what she’s like in bed… “Of course I will. I’ll be out in thirty.” My words are dismissive and Red leaves, reluctantly, while I continue getting ready for Mr. Drake.
The Eagles are a riding club that supports the Renegades. This means that if the Renegades call, they come. A lot of the patch holders from the Renegades came from the Eagles. It’s like a starter club. To get to a three patch MC, you have to start somewhere. And the Eagles are a pretty damn good place to start.
As promised, thirty minutes later I emerge from the confines of my room and walk the long hallway that leads to the main area of the clubhouse. The place is built on Luke’s property, sitting right behind his house. It’s a massive building consisting of ten bedrooms, a large open area with a bar, pool tables, tons of seating and a kitchen that sits off to the side. On special occasions, a makeshift stage equipped with a stripper pole is assembled where the other girls and I can dance for the men’s—and sometimes the women’s—entertainment.
I don’t know shit about this Drake, so I didn’t dress according to his preference or fetish. Instead, I chose a generic outfit of leather. I have yet to find one man who didn’t approve of it. Black leather boots, corset and matching panties.
Yes…leather panties.
No…they’re not comfortable.
An ensemble like that can’t be complete without a leather riding crop. So I have one of those too.
Not to be conceited, but I’m a showstopper. And when I saunter into the main room, all eyes are on me. I hear the catcalls and whistles that come from the familiar voices of the Renegades. But tonight I have a mission, and I only have eyes for one man—Eagles’ Prospect, Drake.
I can’t help the disappointment I feel when I see him. He’s tall, lanky and ugly as hell. Why can’t he be married? Like I said, the good ones are gone. His brothers grab him and he looks like he might shit his pants. Even when they force him to take a seat in the center of the room, he still has no idea what’s going on.
Grabbing the iPod from the docking station, I find the playlist I’ve made specifically for dancing. Finding it more than appropriate, I select Nicki Minaj’s “Only.” The song crackles through the room. Immediately, the electricity swims through me. Boasting from every speaker in the building, the hypnotic tempo reverberates off the walls.
I walk around Drake’s seat, teasing him with the crop before smacking it lightly against his crotch. He flinches, but hardens. Then I do the second thing I do best—dance. My focus is solely on him. No one else exists in the room. I don’t imagine he’s someone else or I’m somewhere else. I just let that feeling of power course through me. If I don’t already, soon I’ll own this motherfucker.
He’ll dream of me.
He’ll fantasize about me.
He’ll think of only me.
In the real world, a guy like him could never get a girl like me. He knows it. I know it. But right now, he could be the sexiest man alive, because I’m making him feel like it. And to me, he is. He’s important to someone who’s important to me. So I’ll show him the same courtesy I would them. I’ll give him everything I’ve got because the club deems him worthy. Therefore, I do too.
This is my job.
This is what I do.
For years I lived in a world where I didn’t matter. I was a nobody. I was weak. I’m still all of those things, just not in this moment. Right now, I’m the most powerful bitch in the room. And I don’t feel sorry for embracing the rare moments where I shine in my own glory. If that makes me a whore, then I’ll wear the title proudly.
So keep your morals. Stay at your nine to five. Judge me through your rose-colored glasses. View my lifestyle choices however you want. But if being classified as a whore is the only penance I have to pay to feel this good, then stitch an A on my chest. Carve a W on my forehead. Put a label on me to make yourself feel better. Because the reality is, I just don’t give a damn what you think.
CHAPTER 2
Even though it’s the Eagles’ newest patch holder, Drake, who should be occupying my room tonight, it’s the president of his chapter instead. Cape. Why does he go by Cape? I don’t know, but my best guess is because that motherfucker is like Superman. He’s in his early forties with graying hair, a warm smile, a stocky build and a dick like a Coke can. If he’s married, I don’t want to know it.
“Can you keep a secret?” Cape asks, standing just inside my doorway.
“For you I can do anything.”
He shoots me a sexy smile. “The only reason I come here is to see you.”
“You’re lying,” I say, closing the distance between us—crossing one leg in front of the other in that sexy way men love. I call it the Carrie Underwood walk. If I only had her legs…
“I don’t lie, ba—” The word catches in his throat at the sight of me hitting my knees, grabbing his ass and pressing his crotch into my face.
Dragging my teeth over the rough denim of his jeans, I feel his cock harden beneath them. I lift my eyes and smile. “You talk too much.”
In my experience, men like to feel like they’re a god in bed. They want you to moan, scream, gag and whimper like their cock is the biggest you’ve ever had. Like it’s almost too much to handle, but feels too damn good to stop. Not all dicks are as big around as a Coke can, so mostly I fake it. With Cape, it’s almost not necessary. Though I do oversell it just a little.
He’s in my mouth and I’m gagging. My eyes are watering. My throat is screaming no, but I’m pushing through and burying him deeper.
His hands are in my hair. His grunts are loud. Then he looks down at me and speaks, and ruins the whole fucking show. “You like that cock, don’t you, you dirty little slut.”
If I were his girlfriend, his wife or even his friend with benefits, I would probably want to hear something like that. But I’m none of those things. I am how he views me—how they all see me. I am a dirty little slut. I have to live with that knowledge. But I don’t need him or any other motherfucker to remind me of it.
Because I’m not a whiny, sensitive, emotional little girl, I don’t let his words stop me. But I can’t prevent them from drying me up in a place that only seconds ago was wet and ready for him. He’ll be getting no pussy from me tonight. My mouth is just going to have to do.
