Free Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC by Britten Thorne

carrying first. Strange, for him. Under most circumstances he thought with his cock first, fists second, and the rest of his pieces after them.
    But he wasn’t quite the same person that he was just a few days ago. Too much had happened since then.
    Maybe I'm getting more superstitious , he thought as he downed three shots in rapid succession to cheers he didn't hear. That was four. It needed to be six.
    Six shots - two for each trouble, downed with each in mind.
    Three lines, done off Trudy's lower back in the bathroom stall.
    It wasn't a good high - it was ugly, and angry, and only Irish's intervention kept fights from breaking out between him and other patrons, and between him and Jupiter. He had a serious beef with the older biker.
    He just couldn't recall what it was.
    "Come on." Irish dragged him away while he considered crushing the withered old face into pieces. He's a part of one of the three, he deserves to be hit . Even in his altered state, Gunner knew that was a bad idea. One strike of his fist would kill the old man.
    The red lights turned darker, dimmer. Strobe lights flashed. “Three what?" He was at the bar with Jester again. Houlihan was laughing at something - if he was laughing at him, he’d have to break his face, too.
    "Mind your business," Gunner mumbled.
    Two more pills to make it three. Jester made him space them out, but Gunner didn’t care, as long as the total was correct. His world shrank to the size of the room, and it wobbled around him.
    Three girls, he declared, gesturing at Trudy, and Valentine who would only kiss him but that was okay, and some other woman he didn’t know - she was dressed right, but did she even work here?
    Who hired her?
    And who was playing all that awful music?
    The room and the party swam before him like he was underwater. Thumbing his dogtags no longer felt like a good luck gesture. It brought physical pain to his chest and he couldn’t remember why. Yes you can. But no, he wouldn’t remember. Let’s finish this night without remembering. We can suffer tomorrow. Tonight’s about brothers.
    But that word made his heart constrict in the exact same way.
    A shot for each punch thrown. That’s three more. They were all in good fun, though, as long as no one’s bleeding it means we’re having a good time.
    Taking that back; sometimes there’s bleeding.
    Someone started a fight onstage. Blustering and posturing, the regular patron and weekend warrior scratched his beard and challenged the room. Any other night he’d have been kicked out and banned.
    But this was Gunner’s night, and Gunner was itching for a brawl.
    “You’re on.”
    Bare knuckles. No weapons. Kiss his three girls for luck.
    Gunner let the man dance at him, tried not to laugh as he bounced back and forth across the stage like someone imitating a boxer. The guy closed in and took a swing. Gunner let him land a hit on his ribs. He wanted the bruises. He wanted that feeling of having the very breath knocked out of him - though this clown couldn’t hit him hard enough for that. He was tall, but lean and untoned. Too skinny to stand a chance.
    He let the guy land three hits (for luck) before breaking open his knuckles on the man’s jaw.
    His three lucky girls following him back to the booth. Gunner had peeled all their bras off before becoming distracted by a need for more lines (three of them) more drinks (three of them). That was six tits. We’re doing okay. We’re holding it together.
    Then three a.m. struck and his world went crooked.
     
     

 
     
    Just because Senna did not believe in the rule of bad things coming in threes didn’t mean that she was immune to its effects.
    She was making no progress on finding her sister.
    Her father’s angry client - or clients, she couldn’t be sure - was surely on her trail. It would be foolish to assume otherwise.
    And she was painfully attracted to a motorcycle gang member who currently held her life in his hands. What if his buddies found out