The Prez (Devil’s Mayhem MC #3)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

OMARI

My heart thumps as I read the email for the third time, disappointment settling in my gut.

Dear Mr. Williams,

We interviewed a number of candidates for the position of bank teller and we’ve decided to move forward with another candidate.

Although your interview demonstrated your credentials and experience well, your lack of work experience in this field does not qualify you for the position. However, we will keep your application on file …

I toss my phone away and roll over on the hard twin bed in my best friend, Kit’s, guest room. He’s letting me crash here until I get back on my feet. That email is another setback for me.

My late brother-in-law’s cousin said she would put in a good word for me at the bank she works at. She told me I simply needed experience as a cashier and I’d be hired. Since the position had been vacant for close to two months and none of the applicants were a good fit, she was sure I’d be hired.

Yeah, that worked out really well.

Fuck, I need out of here. Kit is my best friend and I love him dearly, but I can’t take living with him much longer. Solely because of his creepy boyfriend that takes every opportunity to make me feel uncomfortable. I told Kit about his behavior, but he said that his boyfriend was playing around, that he doesn’t mean anything by it. It doesn’t feel that way to me, so I only leave my room to use the bathroom or eat so I don’t run into the creeper.

As if on cue, my stomach growls. I roll off the bed and slide on a pair of loose basketball shorts. Before I open the door, I listen to make sure there’s no one in the townhouse besides me. All I hear is the air moving through the vents and a whole lot of nothing else.

Sighing with relief, I step out of the room and enter the kitchen to cook a quick meal so I can escape back into my room with haste.

As I’m grabbing pots and pans, my phone dings. I grab it from the counter and I slide my thumb across the screen to open up my texts. It’s from Kit.

Kit: I’ll be home in an hour. I hope you’re cooking. *smiling emoji*

With a grin, I text him back.

Me: I’ll leave a plate for you in the oven, babe.

I grab all my ingredients and begin making dinner, hoping all the food will finish cooking around the same time. The quicker I can escape back to my room, the better.

Exactly an hour later, I’m fixing Kit’s plate so I can wrap it up for him. The front door opens and I smile, saying to Kit over my shoulder, “I’m glad you’re home. I really need to tell you about my shit show of a day. And you’re just in time. It’s nice and hot for you.”

“Ummm … nice and hot? Show me,” Kit’s creepy boyfriend, Brock says. I whip around, dropping Kit’s plate to the floor as I press into the corner of the kitchen counter. “Aw, don’t be scared. You said it’s nice and hot. Just bend that ass over and let me feel how … hot … it is.” His beady eyes roam lecherously over my body. Without thought, my hand drops over my crotch. He can see nothing but a vague imprint in these loose shorts, but I don’t like how he locked in on my groin.

“Brock, please. I just want to go to my room.” I hate the plea in my voice, but I don’t want trouble. I just want him to leave me alone.

“No one’s stopping you.” He’s literally standing in front of the only exit, effectively trapping me.

I don’t move. I’m hoping I can wait him out and he’ll get tired of standing around and leave, but no such luck. In fact, Brock takes two long strides towards me, boxing me in against the counter. “Come on, now, Omari. I told you.” His finger drifts down my chest, rubbing my left nipple through my shirt. I push his hand away and glare at him, which only makes him grin mischievously at me. “All you have to do is let me fuck your ass and I’ll forget all about that little debt you owe me.”

My stomach twists at the reminder of my debt and how I got into this mess with Brock in the first place.

After I got fired from my office manager position at a construction company so the boss’s daughter could be hired, I was floundering for how to pay rent and have money to live. Luckily, my lease was ending, so I wasn’t at risk of eviction. But I also had nowhere to go. I planned to move in with my sister, but it would have taken too much work to move her kids into the same room to accommodate me.

So, I asked Kit if I could crash in his empty spare bedroom. He welcomed me with open arms and for a few weeks, I was happy, our relationship growing and strengthening. Then his boyfriend moved in. At first, Brock was chill. He even offered to help me out of my bind so I could have some money. He sold pills to students at the local college and wanted to expand. A new nightclub had opened downtown after a massive fire burned down the initial building and he wanted to tap into that market.

I jumped at the opportunity, wanting quick money that would hold me over for a few months until I could get a new place and a new job.

The first few times selling pills in the club were a breeze. I sold out of the product Brock gave me and he gave me an honest cut. But I guess I got sloppy because the club owner caught me selling on his territory a month after I started.

The club owner, who is the president of the Devil’s Mayhem MC, the badass motorcycle gang here in town.

Some guy with a vest that had “Enforcer” stitched on the front pulled me from the floor and told me the boss wanted to see me. After a brief moment of protesting, I followed behind him, knowing I had no other choice if I wanted to keep all my teeth .

The enforcer put me in the office and left me alone for almost an hour.

I’d never been so afraid as when the club owner stepped into his office. His handsome features were contorted into a mask of dissatisfaction. His angular eyes peered down at me, sending me a clear message that I fucked with the wrong business. I shrank in the chair the enforcer pushed me in, wanting to get away from this handsome man’s disapproval.

“You thinking peddling your shit in my club is a good idea? Do you have a death wish?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest. His accented words rolled over me, making me both aroused and afraid.

My lips trembled before I shook my head, not meeting his eyes anymore. He was fucking scary. Even though he looked like an accountant with his white button up shirt, black slacks, and sharp black shoes, he radiated power and authority. “I’m sorry.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” he said, standing in front of me. He held his hand out in my line of sight. I looked up at him quizzically. “The rest of your stash. It’s mine. And everything you made in my club. Hand it over.”

“No,” I whispered. “Your enforcer already?—”

I was yanked out of the chair and my back thudded against the door. I gasped, looking at the president with wide, fearful eyes. I’m not a small man, my weight usually a deterrent from people manhandling me, but this man tossed me around like I weighed next to nothing. I shouldn’t have thought it was hot, but his strength sent a spark of want through me. Though it was quickly tamped down by fear.

His hand went to the front of my throat, squeezing hard enough that I know he could end me if he wanted to. My eyes bulged. “Now listen here, comepinga. You’re going to empty your fucking pockets, then get the fuck out of my club. If I catch you here again, I’ll fucking bury you myself. Entendido?”

I knew enough Spanish to know he was asking if I understood and I fucking did. I emptied my pockets of the cash I made with shaky hands and got the fuck out of there. When I returned home empty handed, no money or drugs, I was in an even worse spot than I was before I started working for Brock. I paid him the small bit of money I managed to save, but he said I was short. The pills they took from me was worth more than the measly few hundred dollars I had saved and I didn’t even have the money I made from that night’s sales. In other words, I was fucked.

Brock’s trailing finger brings me back to the present. That fucking motorcycle club president left me in a shitty position. I mean, yeah, I was selling in his club, but he could have told me not to come back. It’s not like I knew I was encroaching on his territory or I wasn’t allowed to do it. Brock told me to sell there, so I did.

I shove Brock’s hand away again, glaring up at him. “Do not touch me. I told you I’d get you the money I owe you, but not like that.”

Brock’s faux jovial expression morphs into a predatory gaze, his eyes tinged with anger. He doesn’t like to be told no. “Listen to me, you fucking useless fuck. You owe me a fuck ton of money.” I wouldn’t call two grand a fuck ton, but it’s more than I have, so it seems that way. “You ain’t never gonna get it, so you might as well suck my cock and let me fuck you until you’ve repaid me. Now get the fuck in that room and take your fucking clothes off. My dick is hard and I want to sink it into something nice and hot.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” I shout, bringing my knee up into Brock’s balls. He yelps and drops down to the ground, grabbing on to me to keep his balance. “Get off!”

I push past him, trying to get away, but he grips my ankle, pulling it out from under me. I tumble to the ground hard. The wind is knocked out of me, but I curse and kick out at him, landing a good shot to his face. He snarls, but lets my ankle go.

I’m scrambling to my feet when Kit pushes open the door, rushing into the kitchen. The commotion must have been loud from the way he hurries inside. “What the fuck?” he shouts, looking between me and Brock. I glance back at Brock and see blood leaking from his mouth, dripping down his chin. “Brock, what happened?”

Pointing a shaky finger at me, Brock roars, “He attacked me! He came on to me and when I turned him down, he kicked me in the balls.”

“That’s a lie,” I shout, climbing to my feet. “I would never come on to you,” I spit, my lips curling in disgust. I turn to look at Kit, pleading with him to listen. “I told you, he’s been creepy for weeks. This time, he told me I can pay him back the money for the pills I lost if I suck his dick and let him fuck me.”

“Kit, don’t believe him.” Brock wipes his mouth and makes his way over to him. Kit’s eyes bounce back between the two of us. He takes a step back from Brock, but it only lasts a moment. After they have some stupid silent communication, Kit allows Brock to wrap an arm around him and I know I’ve lost. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you. I only have eyes for you, baby.” He rests his hand on Kit’s face and Kit fucking leans into it. Fuck!

“But Brock,” he whines, glancing back at me briefly. “He’s my best friend. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

Brock gives me a dirty look before refocusing on Kit. “Come on, Kit. You’re enough for me. I only want you. I told you when we met I don’t like fatties. You think I had you on a diet to lose those extra pounds so I could try to fuck a fat guy?” Brock scoffs like it’s such an absurd thought .

I wince at the dig. It’s always what someone says when they don’t want to be seen with a chubby guy. Like being plus sized is a bad thing.

That gets Kit totally against me and he turns angry eyes on me. “You tried to fuck my boyfriend? You’re supposed to be my best friend, Mari!”

“Kit, I wouldn’t do that. You know me,” I plead.

He pushes past Brock, who has a shit eating grin on his face, knowing he’s turned Kit against me. “I thought I did. But I come back to find you beating Brock up because he turned you down. You think he’d be with you,” he motions down my body as if he agrees with Brock’s assessment, “when he could have someone whose slim and in shape?”

I hiss, stepping back from Kit as if he slapped me. I look at my best friend. Really look at him. I take in his short stature, his tanned cheeks, long, wavy brown hair he always has in a messy bun on top of his head and his striking green eyes, and of course his trim figure and realize I don’t know him. This isn’t my best friend. Kit is gone, replaced by someone Brock made.

He knows one of my insecurities is my weight. I’ve come to him countless times when my crash diets and workouts and starvation don’t get the weight off. He told me over and over I should love my body and I’m fine the way I am. Looks like his true colors are showing.

“Kit,” I whisper, but I don’t know what I’m going to say. I’m fucking gutted. If anyone besides my sister had my back, I figured it would be Kit. We grew up together, we’ve known each other since we were children. He stood up to bullies on my behalf until I was able to fight for myself. Now, he’s pretending he doesn’t know me, like he doesn’t know my heart.

He raises his hand to stave off my words. “Don’t. Just get your shit and get the fuck out of my house.” A single tear drops from his eye, but he wipes it quickly. “I thought I could trust you around my man. What kind of best friend are you to betray me like this?”

Though sadness clouds my mind and almost renders me mute, I force words out. “The same best friend I’ve always been. I’ve always been loyal. You’ve known me for years and you take the word of some motherfucker you met less than a year ago. In all the years I’ve known you, have I ever betrayed you like that?” Kit opens and closes his mouth a few times but doesn’t say anything. I raise my hand as if to wave him away. “Don’t bother. There’s really nothing left to say. When this piece of shit proves he can’t be trusted, don’t come crawling to me.”

Brock wraps an arm around Kit’s chest, pulling Kit back into him. “Do what he says and get the fuck out. I want my money in a month. You don’t want to know what will happen if I don’t get it.”

I glare at them both before I stomp to the guest room. As quickly as I can, I stuff my things into the few bags I have with me. I’m glad I didn’t unpack my clothes and use the closet like Kit kept pushing me to do. Living out of suitcases makes it so much easier to up and leave.

Kit and Brock are in the living room when I drag my bags out. “Leave my key,” Kit says in a hard voice.

Scoffing, I take it off my key ring and throw it at him. He yelps and flinches away when it hits his arm. “I’m not wrong about him. It’s only a matter of time before you see it too.”

I don’t give either a chance to say anything. I simply storm out, dragging my bags behind me. I get three blocks away before my strength fails me and the tears drip down my face. Breaking up with my best friend over a slimeball like Brock was not something I thought would ever happen. But there’s nothing I could have said to make him change his mind. He wants to believe Brock is a good guy and I’m the villain, so I’ll let him. I won’t beg him when he should know I would never betray him that way.

Pulling out my phone, I look through my contacts and find my sister. Sighing sadly, I press call. When she answers, I cry harder, knowing I look a mess sobbing in the middle of the sidewalk, but I can’t help it. My heart is broken and I feel defeated. Her calming voice talking me through my crying fit is the only thing that gets me to calm down enough to ask, “Hazel? Can I come stay with you?”