Wreckage of My Life

Chapter 1


There’s some buzzing noise coming from somewhere, but my alcohol infused brain can’t process what it is and where it’s coming from.

“Make it stop,” a whiny voice calls from the other side of the bed. 

I crack an eye open and all I see is bare skin. Whoever it is, she has a really great ass, I snort to myself. The sound echoes painfully in my head, making it spin. 

A soft hand touches me from the other side, and my cock jumps in anticipation. I open my eyes again, only to see the bleach blond hair of one of the club whores heading straight for it. She runs her tongue on every indentation of my abs, then finally lower, and lower still, until I can’t take it anymore. I grab her by the hair and move her mouth to where I need it, letting out a loud moan of pleasure when she deep throats me like a pro.

“Hey,” her twin whines and pouts. “It was supposed to be my turn this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” I grab her by the hair as well and bring her head down to my crotch. With one hard move, I yank whore number one off my cock and stick it in whore number two’s mouth, not stopping until I feel her gagging around me. “You got it,” I let out a snarly laugh. Who am I not to give them what they’re asking for, right?

The noise that woke me up stops at some point, but only to start again. I finally realize that it is my burner phone, but I don’t want to look at it just yet. It is most likely my father, and I don’t want to hear his voice until I come. Because I know for sure that hearing it would be a killer for the epic erection I am sporting right now.

With both hands shoved in each whore’s hair, I switch them every so often. They each have their own talents when it comes to giving blowjobs. Since they’re both naked in my bed, might as well put them to good use.

I feel tingles at the base of my spine and shiver in pleasure. I have no reason not to come, so I let it go with no warning. When the one bobbing her head on my cock starts chocking on my cum, I pull her off and bring the other one down. She sucks me dry and licks me clean, no drop going to waste.

“Ah,” I let go of them and stretch my arms over my head. “This is how a man should wake up every morning.”

“What about us?” Number Two is a whiner, I realize with a wince. I don’t like that.

My burner phone starts buzzing again, and I let out a sigh of annoyance when I grab it.

“How about you two help each other out while I take care of some business?” I offer, moving my eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“Are you gonna watch?” Number One gives me a coy smile. She knows I love to watch.

“Nothing I’d rather do,” I wink at her, and she blows me a kiss.

As far as club whores go, they are a dime a dozen. Such is the life for most women who want to be part of a motorcycle club. I usually pick these two because they are good at what they do, and they know what I like by now, so they don’t waste my time by guessing or going rogue on me with new shit.

I finally take my eyes off them to flip open this damn burner phone.

“Yeah,” I growl in it. I know it’s my father, and I know he’s calling to bitch about something.

“Are you done fucking those bitches?” As I was saying.

“Why? You want a go at them? You know where my room is,” I snicker sarcastically. Not that he didn’t fuck around before with the whores who ran from my bed to his. He is the president of the club and has more power than me as his VP. The whores do want to keep their options open.

I am momentarily distracted by Number One and Number Two who are all tangled up in a sixty-nine, licking each other’s pussies like the best dessert. They are very thorough with each other, I muse. I guess somebody’s gotta do that to them, because it won’t be me. I’m more selective about where I put my mouth than where I stick my dick.

“I need you on a run,” my father gets my attention.

“Why me?” I hardly ever go on runs anymore. That’s what we have members in lower ranks and prospects for.

“This one is important,” he growls at me. I can tell he is not happy that I am questioning his decision. “I don’t trust anyone else with it.”

“Where to?” I clench my jaw and pull a cigarette out of the pack I have sitting at all times on the nightstand.

“Wisconsin.” The line goes dead. I close the flip phone with a loud snap and throw it to the side.

“Wrecker,” Number Two moans as she is blindly moving her hand around to grab my cock. 

With my cigarette still in my mouth, I just let her pump me up and down while she and Number One continue licking each other. All I hear are wet, sloppy noises. My eyes just stare at the wall in front of me, squinting through the smoke from the cigarette.

The brief conversation I just had with my father is on a loop in my head. What could he need out in Wisconsin out of all places? We are in Texas. We don’t do business with anyone in the Midwest. Our turf stretches west of here.

The hand on my cock tightens its grip, the whores’ moans getting louder, sign that they’re both coming. With a thud, I drop my head back, close my eyes and come, the sticky mess pooling onto my stomach and around my belly button. I don’t open my eyes when I feel soft lips and tongues licking me clean. 

“Can we stay here today?” one of them asks once they’re done.

“Not today,” I grunt, and, with no little effort, I force myself to get out of bed. I really just want to take a nap. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

I stand with my back to the bed and jump when I feel teeth nipping gently at my buttocks.

“Can we join you? We’ll help clean you up.”

As much as I’d love that, because they are making me a very tempting offer, I got shit to do. I need to figure out what the fuck is going on with this Wisconsin shit.

“Not today. Be gone by the time I’m out.” My voice sounds a little harsher than intended, but then again, I don’t have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings here. They know the drill, and they don’t linger.

Once I am cleaned up, I pull on the same pair of jeans I had on last night but grab a clean t-shirt out of the dresser drawer. My mom always makes sure I have clean laundry. I throw my club cut over and slick my wet hair back. At the last minute, I remember to grab the baseball cap I always have on backwards.

I almost jump out of my skin when I open the door abruptly, and my mother is standing there.

“Geez, Ma, you scared the shit out of me,” I chuckle. “And that’s not an easy thing to do,” I point out. I could’ve put a bullet in her head for fuck’s sake.

Her eyes look sad and full of unshed tears, staring at me like I am about to go to war.

“Don’t do it, Dylan.” 

The tone of her voice makes me pause. Also, she doesn’t call me by my given name very often. That’s really saved for more special occasions.

“What are you talking about?”

“This run he wants to send you on,” she whispers. “Don’t do it. I got a bad feeling about it.”

“How do you know of any runs, Ma?” I throw my arm around her shoulders and pull her into a side hug. “You know you’re not supposed to talk about anything you hear.” I also know that she is usually aware of everything that happens, but she is a great president’s on’ lady, and she never talks about anything. 

Until now.

This is the first time I can remember since I officially joined the MC that my mother came to warn me about something.

“I can’t lose you, too, Dyl.” She is about to start crying now.

“What are you talking about, Ma? Who else did you lose, huh?” I tease her, then try to remember if anyone she was more attached to may have died recently.

“Ever since I lost Wyatt, you’re all I got,” she whimpers.

Ah, my brother. The prodigal son. At least in my mother’s eyes. She would forgive him anything. My father on the other hand, not so much.

My brother, Wyatt, left the family, the club, hell, the state, the second he graduated high school. He wanted to become a lawyer, and being tied to a motorcycle club was not his goal in life. He never wanted to prospect for it, and he always wanted to pretend like he was better than the rest of us.

Although, I remember a time or two when he did take advantage of the perks associated with being in the club. Meaning, the club whores. Little Wyatt learned all kinds of things and had a complete Master’s in pussy by the time he left. 

The thought is making me laugh, a Master’s in pussy. That’s really funny. 

“Wyatt doesn’t want to have anything to do with us, Ma, you included,” I make sure to point out. “He came to visit what, three times since he left fifteen years ago? I’d never see him if I didn’t reach out once in a while.”

“You know why, Dylan. Your father…”

“Yeah, well, he’s right not to wanna see the fucker. He’s a traitor, and he’s lucky we didn’t put a bullet in his head when we had the chance.”

“Dylan, you don’t mean that.” And now she is crying in earnest.

To be completely honest, I do love Wyatt, and I wish he’d never left. But, for my own safety, I do have to always play it like I hate him. Maybe not as much as my father does, but I can’t show any signs of weakness when it comes to my little brother. The walls always have ears, and small shit like that could end me.

“I gotta go now, Ma. Good seeing you.” I give her another hug and leave her crying in the dark hallway. She follows me but leaves space between us. We make it to the general area of the club just in time to see Number One and Number Two walking out of my father’s office.

Their eyes light up when they catch sight of me. “Wrecker!”

My father walks into the doorway, zipping up his pants and smirking like the asshole he is. I hear my mother’s pained gasp behind me, and I know she’s seen the same thing I have. She knows what it means.

Such is life in the club.


Chapter 2


“I’m gonna need you to go by yourself,” my president, also known as my father, tells me when I am sitting in his office. I cringe a little as I wonder if I am sitting in a pool of cum from him playing with Number One and Number Two.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I retort. “We never do solo runs, it’s a club rule,” I remind him.

He watches me with cunning eyes, almost like he was expecting me to react that way. He is up to something, I just can’t tell what. My instincts never fail me, and right now they are telling me that I need to tread carefully.

“Rules can be bent,” he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. “If your president tells you that you need to go by yourself, you do it. You don’t question it.”

“I will question it if I don’t feel it’s right. And a good prez would understand that.”

He is not happy, that much is obvious. I have no idea why he is under the impression that I am that easy to manipulate. I joined this club when I was eighteen years old, spent close to half of my life now as an active member. Not to mention, I am the vice president. I am smart enough to know that whatever he’s trying to talk me into is not kosher.

“What is this about, anyway?” He never even told me what the fuckin’ run was for.

“I have been in contact with the president of the Vipers out east.”

My eyebrows go up in surprise at that piece of information. We’ve always stayed away not only from the east coast, but from the Vipers MC, who run a good chunk of the Midwest. They do the kind of business that we don’t want to be involved in. I can live with gun and drug trafficking. I can’t deal with any sort of human trafficking, willing or unwilling.

“He has some information for us about the Savages’ charter up in Dallas.” That’s been our biggest pain in the ass for the last three years or so. They’ve slowly been trying to entrench in our territory, and it’s gotten bloody at times.

“How does the Vipers’ prez have information on the Savages that would be helpful to us? Since when does Wisconsin care what’s happening in Texas?” I know I sound sarcastic and like a know it all, but what the fuck is this?

“That’s none of your concern,” my father’s fist comes down on the hard surface of his desk, making it shake in place. If I was a lesser man, I’d jump back. Seeing that I’m not, I just smirk at him. I know he hates it when I do it.

“What is my concern then?”

“I need you to ride up there and pick up the flash drive he has with all the information that we need.”

“You are kidding me, right?” I bust out laughing. “If you think I’m gonna ride all the way up to Wisconsin alone,” I enunciate for emphasis, “you’re off your rocker, old man. Time to put you out to pasture,” I continue laughing, my head thrown back in amusement.

The click of the safety on my father’s gun sobers me right up. I look at him and all I see is the barrel of the gun. He is standing up now, leaning over his desk, ready to blow his son’s brains out if necessary. I know he’d do it too if he thought it’d help him any.

“Any other questions?” he growls at me just as there’s a knock on the door.

“No, just a recommendation,” I smirk knowing that if I get this bullet to the head, it’ll be worth it. “Go on this run to Wisconsin yourself.” I see his face getting redder with each passing second, and his finger is twitching on the trigger. “Alone,” I add for good measure.

I never take my eyes off his, and I see the resolution on his face when he decides to pull the trigger. I’ll finally be free of the fucker.

The door to his office bursts open, and I can only hear heavy breathing behind me. I can’t turn my head that way seeing as I have a gun pointed at my forehead.

“Wrecker,” my mother’s voice comes off a lot stronger than I’ve heard it in a long time. “Someone’s been calling the club phone looking for you. She said it’s urgent.”

There’s a moment of complete silence. My father’s hand is still pointing a gun to my head, I am grinning at him, and my mother is frozen somewhere behind me. We are such a wholesome family. The American dream, really.

“Are you going to finish this?” I lift my chin at the prez, daring him to do what he started. He’s taught me not to ever point a gun unless I mean to shoot. Based on that…

In an unexpected move, he pulls the gun away from my head, and, as he points it toward the ceiling, he sets the safety back on.

My mother’s sigh of relief echoes through the room that’s filled with anger and resentment.

“This conversation is not over. Get the fuck out,” he growls at me. He then looks at my mother. “Arlene, stay.” 

By the tone of his voice, I know that nothing good will happen in here once I leave the room. I can’t save my mother from my father’s wrath, and I know she will later pay for barging in like she did, however, I can save her right in this moment.

“I need her for that message.”

“What, you need your own personal assistant now? Like you’re a sissy boy?” Prez’s voice is filled with disgust.

“Pretty much,” I chuckle and give him the finger. I then grab my mother by the arm, quite forcefully, and I march her out of the office.

“Dylan,” she starts, but I cut her off.

“What the fuck were you doing eavesdropping like that? You wanna die?”

I know she busted into the room like that because she was listening at the door. If my father ever catches wind of her doing that, she’ll be dead on arrival.

“I will if that means saving your life.” She sounds offended now, but I don’t have time to care. I let go of her and go straight for the bar. I need a strong drink, no matter if it’s only ten in the morning.

“Dylan,” she whispers after me. “There really is a message for you, though.”

“Who was it?” I don’t care about any messages, especially if they are from a female. There's no one out there that can have anything for me that I want to hear.

"She said her name was Mia," she continues like she can't tell that I don't give a shit. 

"Don't know anyone by that name," I shrug and signal for the prospect to get me a shot of tequila paired with a bottle of beer.

"She said she had something really important to tell you," Ma insists. She is kinda getting on my nerves now. I already told her I wasn't interested in whatever this was about.

“I don’t know who that is, Ma,” I throw the shot back and shake my head. “And I don’t care either.”

“Dylan,” she tries again.

“Stop fuckin’ calling me that,” I snarl into her face, startling her into taking two steps back. She should be scared of me, not bugging me with things that are not important.

“That’s your name.” She is scared but she is standing her ground, and I have to respect that. Maybe that’s where I got my stubbornness from. I always assumed it was from my father.

“Well, you can go call your other son by his given name,” I chuckle sarcastically, knowing that I’m hurting her with my comment. Chats with Wyatt are pretty few and far between. “The big time attorney-at-law. The apple of your eye,” I continue, and she winces.

“Dylan,” she steps back to the bar and leans against it. “I know you’re not happy, and…”

“And what? You’re gonna save me from all this shit?” I open my arms wide to encompass the entire room. Not very many people are around at this time of day, with most of them sleeping off whatever orgy they partook in last night, and the rest on runs or patrolling the area.

“I will if you need me to,” she whispers and looks around, like she’s scared of being heard.

“Maybe you should’ve picked a different sperm donor way back when,” I start laughing uncontrollably. God, I’m such an ass.


I snap. I grab her by her thin arm and pull her closer to me until my nose is inches away from her face. I am so angry right now, I am foaming at the mouth. The look on her face only proves that I look crazy in this moment.

“I told you not to call me that. Not to ever call me that. I am Wrecker,” I spit into her face. “Say it with me. Wrecker.”

What she says next completely shocks me to my core.

“She says she has your son.”

I let go of her arm and push her off me like she’s got the leper.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What son?”

“Mia, the girl who called here,” Ma starts explaining. “She said she has your son.”

“I don’t have a son,” I snarl at her like she’s slow. “In case you can’t remember.”

There’s finally fire behind her normally dull eyes when she squares her shoulders and prepares to rip me a new one. She’s finally acting like she is alive and not just my father’s rag doll.

“Well, apparently, you do, Dylan,” she enunciates my name, and I almost want to crack a smile. “He is three and a half, and he lives in Illinois.”

“Ah, well, that’s a problem right there, Arlene,” I get into her face again when I call her by her name instead of Ma like I normally do. “I haven’t been to Illinois in at least five years, maybe more. That’s hard math to prove wrong,” I snicker and signal for another shot of tequila. 

“She said that she moved to Illinois from here. Four years ago,” my mother’s voice sounds firm, compelling me to listen to what she has to say in spite of myself and the alcohol currently running through my veins. “She was a club whore.”

“Ah,” I nod in understanding. “You should’ve led with that one then.”

The disappointment I see on her face at hearing my words sobers me up a little, and it also shames me a little more. This is no joking matter what she just told me. How the fuck did this happen? And who in the fuck is Mia to begin with? And how does she know he is mine if she was a club whore?

I turn my back away from Ma and stare at the wall, focusing on one small dot until everything else goes blurry.

I may have a son.

Chapter 3


After my fourth or so cup of coffee, plus a gallon of water down my throat, I am finally sober enough to call this Mia chick. I still don’t know who she is or what she looks like. Absolutely nothing comes to mind when I say her name. I don’t even know her last name.

I squint at the piece of paper my mother shoved in the front pocket of my jeans earlier, right before storming off. With not so steady hands, I dial the number scribbled on there, then wait.

After three long rings, I finally hear a breathy voice, murmuring, “Hello” into the speaker. Yep, she’s definitely a club whore. They all seem to sound the same.

“Who’s this?” I bark into the phone, and I hear her clearing her throat, like she’s about to go for a round of bullshit.

“This is Mia. Who’s this?”

I ignore her question and just go for what I need to know. “Mia what?”

“Mia Smith.” 

Her name means nothing at all. My brain is working overtime, trying to recall ever fucking anyone by that name.

“Any other names you go by?”

“Sugar,” she sounds even breathier than before, and that’s when it hits me. Son of a bitch. I threw this whore out of the club four years ago because I caught her stealing from us. Now she’s telling me that she took off with my baby in her belly?

“What do you want?”

“I was pregnant when I left, didn’t realize until I got here. We have a son. He’ll be four in a few months,” she continues the charade. And the way she says we, like we’re a couple, is making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Where is here?” I pretend not knowing, even though Ma already told me she was in Illinois.

“I’m in Illinois,” she confirms.

“Where in Illinois?” I growl at her. This is like pulling teeth. I have zero patience for her bullshit.

“North. Lake County,” is all she says. 

All kinds of red flags come up when she says that. The area she is talking about is fairly close to Wisconsin. What are the odds of this happening right when my father tells me he wants me to go there on a solo run? I don’t believe in coincidences, and this situation stinks to high heaven.

“What do you want?”

“I thought you’d wanna meet him.” I swear she’s chewing on some gum, and she just blew a fucking bubble. She doesn’t sound like she cares one bit about what my response would be. I even doubt she has a kid at this point.

As if on cue, I hear crying in the background. Mia puts the phone down, and her voice becomes muffled, but I can still hear what she’s saying.

“Ethan, what the fuck did I tell you about getting food on your shirt? I don’t buy you shit so you can ruin it, you ungrateful brat.”

A door slams closed, then it’s quiet again until she comes back to me.

“Sorry about that,” she blows another bubble. “The baby needed me.”

“How do you know he’s mine if you were a club whore? The title itself proves that you did not fuck only one man in here, or woman for that matter.”

“He looks just like you, Wreck,” she whines. God, I fuckin’ hate whiny ass females with everything in me. My phone beeps with an incoming text, and when I look, I freeze. There’s a picture of a little boy, looking all sad. He’s got Wyatt’s eyes. The thought hits me out of nowhere. And since me and my brother have the same fuckin’ eyes, this little boy has mine, by default.

“What do you want me to do about it?” I am testing the waters here. I will obviously take care of my kid if DNA testing proves that he’s mine, but I want to see where she’s going with this.

“Well, I was hoping you’d…”

“How much?” I cut her off. I knew she’d want money. Why else would she call out of the blue like this? Almost four years later to boot.

“Fifty thousand.” Her voice changes in a split second, she is not the whiny bitch from a minute ago. Now she’s just a bitch.

“For what?” I snort like the asshole that I am.

“For your kid, you asshole.” Yeah, gloves are off, and she doesn’t need to hide who she is anymore. “I gotta feed him and buy him clothes all the time. The little fucker won’t stop growing.”

My heart is beating out of my chest at hearing her words. I may be a thug, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knowingly allowed my kid to live with an abuser. I need to play it smart.

“I want a DNA test,” I growl into the phone. “Once that’s done, I wanna see him.”

That seems to throw her off, which only makes me even more suspicious. “Why?”

“If he is my son as you say, why wouldn’t I want to meet him?”

“But you never cared, and he’s close to four,” is her reply, confirming that she is not very smart.

“That would be because I just found out today that he existed,” I talk slowly to make sure she can process the information.

“Oh,” she blows another bubble.

“Yeah. Oh.” Jesus Christ, I really hope this kid didn’t take after her in the smarts department. “I’ll get a DNA test set up, and then…”

“Why do you need that? I already told you that he looks just like you. And I sent a picture as proof.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me,” I start laughing in earnest. “I need actual proof. Once I got it, I’ll wire the money and we’ll get together so I can meet him.”

“Oh okay.” She doesn’t sound as sure of herself as she did when she told me she wanted me to fork over fifty grand for a kid of whose existence I just learned about.

“Is this a good number for you?” I verify before hanging up.

“Uh, yeah, it’s my number.” Mia sounds completely out of it. Now I wonder if she is high.

“I’ll be in touch.” With that, I disconnect the call. There’s not much I can say, besides, I need to get on this asap. If that’s my kid, no way he can continue living with her.

I walk out of my room at the club and walk toward where our computer whiz guy is located. Shortie comes by his name honestly, I almost smirk when I about run him over. He smacks into my chest so hard, he falls back into his chair.

“What the fuck, man,” he mumbles in his squeaky voice. “You could’ve knocked.”

“Yeah, but where would the fun in that be?” I lift my foot and push at his chair to get him spinning.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he manages to grab onto the desk with both hands when he turns that way, and I stop. I don’t need him to pull the equipment to the ground, especially now that I need his help.

“I need you to do something for me,” I drop into the chair he keeps for guests. “It’s personal.”

“Not club related?” he verifies, and I shake my head no. If it’s club related, he’d have to run it by my father before he does anything for me. There may be a club whore involved, but this has got nothing to do with the club.

“Okay, what is it about?” he pulls the pencil he has behind his ear and grabs a small notepad, ready to take notes.

“I need you to do a check on Mia Smith…”

“Sugar?” His eyebrows about get lost in his hairline, that’s how surprised he is. His voice also goes up another octave, which I didn’t even think was possible.

“You remember her?” I eye him carefully.

“Yeah,” he gives me a stupid grin that can mean only one thing. He fucked her. I almost roll my eyes at the thought, because who hasn’t, but I don’t want to hurt Shortie’s feelings either.

“Anyway, she called today. She says she’s had my kid almost four years ago.” I don’t miss the angry glint in his eyes when I mention that, but I don’t say anything about it. 

He must’ve had it bad for Sugar. I can’t imagine her being extra nice to him out of the goodness of her heart, not based on today’s conversation.

“I need you to track everything down, up until she left here. Where she went, who she met with, the date of birth of this kid she says is mine.”

“So you want a full background check on her,” he asks for confirmation.

“Fuck yeah. I need to know everything.”

Movement from the doorway makes me spin my chair around. My eyes clash with my father’s, an ugly smirk on his face.

“Can I help you?” I raise an eyebrow in question.

“Where’s your mother?” he grunts.

I shrug in annoyance. “I didn’t know I was her keeper.”

“You were the last one seen with her,” he retorts with resentment coating his words.

“Yeah, so? That was what, two hours ago? Is it a crime scene now?”

“Stop being a smartass. What was so important that she had to tell you?” he prods. He is acting like the doesn’t know anything, but I got a nasty feeling that he may know more about this than I think.

“It was personal,” I spit out, matching the tone of his voice.

“Personal?” he laughs, slapping a hand on his thigh. “There’s nothing personal when it’s in my club.”

“This is not your club,” I point a finger at him. “It’s our club.”

“Yeah? See this?” he points to the patch stitched onto his cut. “That makes it my club. And you’re here only because I tolerate you.”

“Fuck off,” I turn my back to him, noticing Shortie’s eyes bouncing between the two of us, unsure of how to proceed going forward.

With a muttered curse under his breath, the door slams behind me and my father is gone.

“You shouldn’t talk to him like that,” Shortie warns me. “He could have you killed. Hell, he could have me killed too only because I was sitting here minding my own business.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that shit, Shortie,” I stand up and pat his shoulder a little too forcefully, jolting him forward.

“When do you need this information by?” he throws the pad of paper and pencil on the desk, then interlocks his fingers and flexes them in and out, like he is warming up for all the typing he’ll have to do.

“Yesterday,” I call behind me as I walk toward the door. “Don’t let me down, Shortie.”

I step out into the hallway and let out a huge sigh. How did this day get from me waking up with Number One and Number Two sucking me dry to hey, you have a son and I need you to pay me fifty grand if you want me to continue feeding him?

My day is completely wrecked now. I need to find something to occupy my mind.

I need fun.

(c) Andie Bale 2022

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