Beyond Regret

Python hadn’t given his birthday much thought. After all, what was the big deal about turning thirty-five? It wasn’t a decade birthday like thirty or forty. Shit, forty. He was five years away from forty. There were times when Python didn’t think he’d make it to twenty-five no less thirty-five.

Back then he’d been muscle for hire—waking up at three in the afternoon, busting some heads, partying, fucking random snatch, then blissfully passing out, only to start all over again. Those were the bad old days after he’d done some time in Ely State Pen and before he’d hooked up with Cobra to form the Serpents.

Okay, no more deep thoughts about that—at least not now—not when he had an outstanding brunette named Crystal and a stunning blonde named Tina or Tara or something like that … in his bed.

“Outstanding” and “stunning” weren’t his words. The new ad agency he’d hired used them on the billboard along I-15, advertising Ecstasy Gentlemen’s Club, the strip joint he ran for the Serpents. If someone would’ve asked him, he’d have said that they were both hot as fuck and, right about now, had his dick hard as steel.

“Baby, I don’t like the way he keeps looking at us.” Crystal shifted closer as she eyed Kobi, Python’s black German shepherd, who was staring at them from his dog bed in the corner of the bedroom.

“He’s just jealous.” Python patted the sheets. “This is usually his spot.”

Yup, the ninety-pound German shepherd acted like a big baby anytime Python entertained.

“He’s making me nervous,” she squeaked. Crystal had a beautiful face, killer body, but a voice like an ice chipper. Sharp and screechy.

“He’s harmless.” Python slung his arm around her. “It’s me you gotta worry about.” He waggled his eyebrows and when she laughed, he kissed her. She couldn’t squeak while they kissed.

Nobody would’ve suspected the six-foot-five, hard-ass biker to be a light touch, but give him a sob story and he fell for it—every time. Can’t make rent or your ex is late with the check? Call Python. Your kid wants the latest high-tech toy? Call Python.

Crystal sat up in bed and the sheet fell away from her bangin’ body. Python smiled at who he was sure would be Ecstasy’s next headliner.

“So, like I was saying, do you have any ideas?” she asked. “Is there some costume you’d like to see? Maybe I could—”

Python leaned in getting directly in her line of vision. “Babe, with your body, you could wear a burlap bag and the guys would be coming in their pants.” He adjusted her hand over his painfully hard cock. “I’m really not interested in conversation right now. I just wanna fuck.”

“Sure.” She cuddled into him, pushed back the sheet, and crawled down his body. As soon as her wet mouth clamped down on his dick, he was a goner.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Life was good. He had his Harley, his club, his brothers, and two hot women in his bed—one who was currently tonguing his dick.

Happy fuckin’ birthday to him.

The door creaked open slowly and a short, thin blonde dressed in black pants and a white button-down shirt froze in the doorway. Her outfit resembled what someone would wear while waiting tables. Not exactly sexy, yet something about the way this girl looked all innocent and insecure could definitely work in her favor.

Cobra hadn’t told him he’d hired another dancer, but this one could definitely rock that costume of the chick that lost her sheep. Little Peep something. She had that innocent look going on for sure, maybe a little too innocent.

He flashed his shittiest grin, held up the joint, then waved her toward the bed. “Don’t just stand there, babe. Strip down and join the party.