Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)

Fisting the gavel resting on the table, I rapped it once. “Matchsticks, you’re taking notes.” I looked over at the potbellied biker. Another thing I’d abolished was set duties. The only three positions were president, VP, and master at arms. I had no time for secretaries or treasurer. We worked better if we were all equal with the barest authority overseeing.

“Sure thing, Prez.” Matchsticks pulled the large binder that sat in the center of the table toward him and turned to a fresh page. His stubby fingers curled around a pencil, ready to begin.

I sighed. My head was a motherfucking pickax, but being here … putting things into action helped my temper and soothed the overwhelming helplessness I’d suffered sitting at home.

“Everyone know what happened the past few days?” I glanced around the table. The jokes and gossip halted, everyone ready for business.

“Yes. Details have all been shared,” Mo muttered.

The door suddenly swung open, spewing forth the female equivalent of my motorbike-riding soldiers. There was no hint of sequins or perfume. They were business. They were ruthless. They were Pure Corruption.

“Nice of you to join us, woman.” Dodge, an excellent mechanic with only nine fingers from a bad factory accident, eyed up Molly as she sashayed into the room. Molly had been with us from the beginning, running the many businesses our Club owned.

More females entered behind her.

They were soft and sexy—but there was an undeniable hardness about them. Something no amount of working in an office or climbing the corporate ladder could achieve. They’d seen evil. They’d married men on the fringes of society. And they helped run our empire with utmost loyalty.

They were also the perfect weapons in spying and covert operations. Secrets were rarely divulged when pried by a gun-slinging biker. But deliver a pretty smile and feminine charms … answers flowed like fucking candy.

“Nice to be here, husband.” Tossing her blonde curls, Molly held her head high as she made her way to the chairs ringing the edge of the room. “Did you miss me so much? Or was it because I left you passed out from that thing I did last night and went to work without saying goodbye?”

Men chuckled.

These women were different from ordinary gigglers or whores. These women had been rigorously questioned, chosen, and tested to become patched members as much as their men. And they provided invaluable feedback on certain missions and trades.

However, just because they lived and breathed this place, it didn’t mean they knew everything. They weren’t privy to the recent trafficking or the greyish areas of our life. I protected them from things they wouldn’t understand.

The back of my neck throbbed as the room swarmed with members.

There was no space with the new arrivals; the air turned claustrophobic. The entire fucking Clubhouse needed an overhaul—we’d outgrown the building—but until we secured our future goals, we couldn’t move or renovate. Wallstreet’s orders.

The four women threaded around the room, smiling at their husbands and nodding respectfully in my direction. They all knew the rules: If you swear allegiance, you behave accordingly.

In a few moments, the women sat in their designated chairs and trained a menagerie of green, brown, and blue eyes on me.

“Sorry we’re late, Prez.” Jane, a mousy brown–haired woman, who, according to Muffet was a fucking dynamo in the bedroom, smiled.

Cleo never took her eyes off the newcomers, looking as if she’d never seen a woman before.

Silly Buttercup.

Didn’t she know me by now? Of course I would run my Club differently. How many nights had we stayed up late, switching the rules and brainstorming ways to improve this livelihood we’d been born into? Ultimately, I’d designed this Club in her memory. I’d created a place of peace for others, all while I lived a life of torment without her.

“Right, back to the meeting. You all know what we’ve been working toward. None of what we’re about to discuss will be new. However, we do have a new member and it’s up to us to inform her.”

The wives all turned their attention to Cleo. Interest and friendship sparkled in their gaze. Jealousy and pettiness was not allowed—they knew that. It was the one thing I was fucking strict on.

“Cleo.” I looked at my woman. My heart fucking swelled until it thrummed against my ribs. “What you’re about to hear is everything we’ve been working toward for four years. Not only was it put into effect to avenge your life, but also to save the lives of so many others.”

“Damn straight,” Mo said, tense with retribution.

“Eh, Kill?” Piebald’s wife, Melanie, piped up.

I cocked my head. “Yes?”

Her blue eyes landed on Cleo, her eyebrow raised. “You can’t honestly expect us not to focus on the first woman you’ve ever brought to a meeting. Who is she?”

The other women nodded. “It would be handy to know.”

Molly flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Kill doesn’t have to answer, girls. That is Cleo Price. Dagger Rose princess. Amnesiac survivor. Long-time lover of our president.”

Cleo’s jaw hung open.

I wasn’t surprised. Molly had an IQ to rival mine.

Not that that’s hard with how fucked up my brain currently is.

She was also sharp and quick-witted and kept the small business owners in line with just one stare.

“And now you’re one of us.” Feifei smiled. Her dusky skin and Chinese origins made her look like a perfect doll. She’d been an ultimate temptress, stealing Dodge’s heart and joining our family.