Free Chas's Fervor: Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 3) by Chiah Wilder Page A

close to him when he’d intercepted her fall, he’d experienced an electrifying, warm sensation which went from his head straight down to his dick. It was the best fucking thing in the world, and it made him hornier than hell.
    Ever since he’d met Addie, she was all he could think of. Fucking her would be over the top, but he could tell she was skittish about it. Maybe it was the “father of the student” thing she kept jabbering about, but he thought it could be something more. Maybe it was this guy he saw her with, but he doubted it. No, there was something else going on with her he couldn’t quite figure out. There was apprehension and fright behind her pretty green eyes, and Chas was positive it wasn’t because of him. He’d have to dig around to find out what or who caused this hottie such trouble, and when he did, he’d take care of the problem—stat.
    The gavel banged on the table and startled Chas out of his reveries.
    “Quiet, now. Quiet!” Banger yelled. “Church has started, and we gotta talk about the shit that’s been buzzing on the grapevine about Dustin’s charter in Kilson.”
    “We’re still dealin’ with their shit?” Razor said. “Fuck, we voted if they screwed up again, their asses were out, so what the fuck’s there to talk about?”
    Angry voices yelled their agreement with Razor. Several brothers stood up, cursing and slamming fists against the walls and table. “Enough of their shit,” echoed around the hot, cramped room.
    Banger hammered the gavel against the table again. “We gotta talk about it ’cause we don’t know if the rumblings we’re hearin’ are true or not.”
    Hawk stood up, and his six-foot-three stature was imposing. As vice president, he tried to help Banger out when the brothers became too excited over certain issues. His deep voice boomed out, “Shut the fuck up. The prez is talking, and he’s right in what he’s saying. As you know, a while back, a group of us went to Kilson to straighten the charter out, and help them with their arms deal. We told Dustin the score. He was fuckin’ pissed, but he knew what shit would happen if he didn’t get his act cleaned up.” Hawk paused, took a pull on his bottle of Coors, and leaned back against the concrete wall. “The word is the fuckers cleaned up their act for about seven months or so, but now they’re back doin’ the same shit we warned them about. We gotta check it out before we throw out brothers. After all, we’re all Insurgents.”
    “Them fuckers ain’t,” Razor countered. Red-faced from anger, the other brothers tried to calm him down.
    A bone of major contention the mother club had with the Kilson charter was the flagrant and continued use of underage girls for stripping, whoring, and fucking. The brothers understood Razor’s anger and disgust. Several of them had teenage daughters, like Razor, so whenever they heard shit about brothers and citizens abusing teen girls, the blood would rush to their head, and they’d see red.
    “I hear you, brother,” Banger stated. “Kiley’s eighteen and I’d still beat the shit outta any man who tried anything with her, but we gotta make sure what we’re hearin’ is true. If it is, we’ll take the colors away and sever all ties with the sonsofbitches.”
    Razor sat down, mumbling, his words indiscernible.
    As the room quieted for the third time, Banger said, “I’m sending another group to Kilson to check out the strip bar the charter owns. If there are underage strippers, you can fuckin’ bet the asshole badges’ palms are getting greased. Let’s see if they’re dealin’ in hard drugs at their clubhouse, and if they got minors working for them on the streets. Hawk and his group will check it out, and if the shit that’s circulating ’bout them is true, we’ll take back their colors, ’cause no one wearing Insurgents’ colors does shit to minors. Hawk has the authority to close them down and bash Dustin’s face. He can tell Dustin it