The Price of Peace   The Dutchmen MC book 3

This gritty romance is aimed at a 17+ audience and contains some themes and scenes some readers may find triggering.

Carrie picked up an armful of empty liquor bottles and threw them into the big gray trash can she kept in the back corner of the main lobby. The music pounded through the lobby area of the old hotel. Parties, drinking, drugs, and fucking happened every night of the week, but on weekends, the place ramped up to a different degree.

The hotel had been abandoned years ago as the area surrounding it filled with industrial buildings and warehouses. The Tiger Clan MC moved in and made it into their compound. The U-shaped building had two floors, with a makeshift courtyard in between. It used to have a pool, but someone had filled it in with dirt. The rooms on the left wing were for the club members, and the right wing contained the whorehouse. Carrie seldom went over there. There was a large metal Quonset hut out back that once housed the maintenance equipment and now served a different purpose. Carrie never set foot in it.

A random drunk man grabbed her ass and squeezed hard. The thong she wore did nothing to shield her. “Show me your room?” His liquor-filled breath was sour in her face. He wasn’t a member of the club but a customer.

“I’m owned and off-limits,” she stated in a monotone voice as she picked up another pile of debris. She pointed to the dog collar around her neck with the tag that read Grizzly.

The man’s bleary eyes barely registered the name as they wandered over her bare breasts. All club women, whether they were collared or worked in the right wing, had to be in thongs, heels, and nothing else while serving in the lobby. Heavy makeup and long teased-up hair were the expected uniform.

The man reached out and flipped the dangle hanging from her pierced left nipple. “Preddy,” he muttered.

Carrie cringed. As the President of the Tiger Clan MC’s private piece, she was excluded from servicing anyone but him. Grizzly often ordered her to blow his officers while he and the other members watched. Occasionally, he let someone fuck her as a reward for some big favor or job, but it was rare. Ratchet had complained more than once about Grizzly dangling her pussy in front of him, but never letting him use it. Mostly she was there simply to clean up after the Tiger Clan president, keep order in the main room, make sure there was food in the kitchen, and spread her legs for Grizzly when he got the urge.

The drunk reached for her breast, and she stepped back. “I’m not available. You need to go over to the right wing to get laid.”

The man stared at her owlishly as he weaved on his feet.

“Carrie! Get your ass over here!” The bellow came from across the room where Grizzly held court from the wingback chair he called his throne. She ignored the protests of the drunk man and walked as gracefully as possible to Grizzly’s side.

Four men surrounded him on stained, mismatched sofas and loveseats. Three of them—Ratchet, Spinner, and Blunt—were members. She’d never seen the other man before, and since he wore no colors, she guessed he was a hangaround looking to become a prospect.

She was right.

“Get us a bottle and pour us some shots. This is Angel. Don’t let the name fool you.” Grizzly grinned. “He’s anything but holy.” The man let out a barking laugh.

Carrie nodded and hurried to take care of Grizzly’s order.

“Fuckin’ Dutchmen out of Red Wing have a sweet deal going. I’m taking over that shit.”

She heard Grizzly’s declaration as she turned away from the group of bikers. Plenty had come from Grizzly’s mouth about the Dutchmen over the years, including his absolute hatred for their president, Iceman. Carrie had no idea why.

She returned to the men and expertly poured shots for them. While she did, Grizzly opened a small bag of white powder and tapped a pile onto a handheld mirror. Carrie’s teeth gritted together, but she kept her mouth shut. Best to act like furniture when Grizzly got high. The man was unpredictable when sober, and his volatile nature ratcheted up several degrees when he used.

He used a lot lately.

Grizzly tossed the shot back with a long “Gahhh,” and picked up the mirror. Four neat lines were laid out along with a hundred-dollar bill. He rolled it up and quickly snorted two of them, one in each nostril.

“Goddamn!” He leaned back, eyes red and watering. He sniffed several times and rubbed his red nose with his hand. “Fuck, that shit’s excellent.”

The other men took their shots and partook of the coke. At least she thought it was coke. Might be meth, might be crushed pills or something else. Drugs flowed freely through the club, and she stayed as far away from them as possible. It wasn’t hard. Grizzly kept his stable of women fed with drugs, but had not forced Carrie into partaking. He claimed it was too expensive to be given to a woman he already controlled. She was okay with that in some respects. The few times he made her smoke weed in front of the members, she’d gotten incredibly high, and it reminded her of the night Grizzly bought her.

On the other hand, it had made it easier that time to suck Ratchet’s cock while the club watched.

Carrie stood next to Grizzly, eyes down, bottle in hand, and stayed statue still. She kept her face schooled in a blank expression, not smiling or frowning. Just blank. She’d had years of training in hiding her thoughts and emotions.

Grizzly regarded the new guy, Angel, with bloodshot eyes and continued to sniff and snort. “How much you said you got?”

“’Bout five kilos, including the one I brought you. Not much, but there’s more coming. Small quantities are easier to hide than big ones. You wanna keep the fibbies out of your hair? That’s the best way.”

Angel’s voice was deep and clear. He had an accent that stated he was born somewhere other than Minnesota. A light drawl that made Carrie think of Texas or one of the Southern states.

“Fuckin’ Dutchmen,” Grizzly repeated. “They got the perfect transport with that marina of theirs and the bar to hide the money. Iceman. Fuck.” The older man grinned, showing stained teeth. He snorted once more. “I have a deal I’m working on that will fuck that bastard right in the ass. Won’t see it coming.”

Angel held up his glass in an unspoken order. Carrie stepped forward to fill it without looking at him as he spoke. “What kind of deal? Canadian?”

Grizzly chuffed out a laugh and held up his own glass. “You don’t get to know that shit until you get patched. Right now, you’re still a fucking prospect.”

Carrie filled his glass robotically. As furniture, she heard a lot of club business. More than she should, and if Grizzly ever suspected she knew anything, her days would be numbered.

“Those kilos got you in the door. Get me more and I’ll see about upgrading that cut of yours to full membership. Where did you get it?”

“You don’t get to know that shit until I’m patched.”

Carrie froze as Grizzly got quiet. The other two bikers did the same. The Tiger Clan president might be amused, or he might explode and shoot someone.


She sighed in relief when he threw back his head and laughed loudly with a wide open mouth.

“Goddamn fuck, that’s fucking funny!” He sucked back the shot in his hand and gestured for another one. He slapped her on her bare ass. “What do you think of our Angel here, Carrie? Fine addition to the club, eh?”

Carrie smiled. “Whatever you think is best.”

Grizzly grinned. His dilated eyes glowed in his altered state. “I think it’s best if we give Angel a warm, wet welcome to the club.”

Dread hit her stomach and it must have shown on her face. Grizzly grabbed her arm and jerked her down, spitting at her as he changed from jovial to enraged. “You got a problem hearing me, bitch? I said, give my new friend Angel a warm, wet welcome. Get on your fucking knees. Right here, right now.”

She swallowed and forced herself to go blank again. The nasty carpet was rough against her skin as she knelt between Angel’s knees.

“I appreciate the gesture, but isn’t she yours?” Angel said somewhere above her head. “Only for your use?”

“Yeah, she’s my little whore. Bought her off her mama years ago. Trained her myself. Knows how to suck a man off the right way, know what I mean? Think of this as a reward that I’m allowing you to enjoy her mouth on your dick. Her pussy belongs to me, but once in a while, I’ll give it to my favorite people. Right now, you’re one of them. You want to fuck her? Get me more kilos of that premium shit.”

He reached out a booted foot and pushed Carrie’s hip. “Get on with it, bitch.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this. It might not be the last, either, but someday it would. Soon, if she had her way. Her status as Grizzly’s private pussy oddly gave her some protection. Not many of the membership messed with her. She was one of the few that didn’t spend any nights earning the MC money on the other side of the hotel. For the last six years, she’d pretty much only serviced one man. Endured was more the word she thought of when Grizzly wanted to fuck. She’d learned to hide, to do what she needed to in order to survive. One day, she would escape.

Today was not that day.

She reached for the heavy belt buckle, and her fingers fumbled as she tried to open it. Angel brushed her hands away and undid it himself. She raised her eyes and for the first time, took in the face of the new man Grizzly brought into the club.

His eyes. God, his eyes. A true gold with dark brown rings. His hair was a dark, dirty blond, the top half pulled back in a ponytail, and the scruff on his face was slightly darker. Slouched back like he was in the boxy chair, his stomach didn’t protrude, showing he was fit. He was a big guy anyway, and Carrie estimated he would tower over her five-foot-seven-inch height, even with the addition of the four-inch heels she wore. He had to be a big guy as the size of the huge cock he freed from his jeans indicated.

Those eyes stared into hers for a long moment. Something let go in her middle. He wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t know why she thought that. There was nothing in his gaze that showed compassion or pity or any other emotion. Snake eyes, some people might call them, but there was something in them that called to her.

Grizzly bellowed for someone to bring him another bottle of booze, and Carrie heard several sets of boots clomp closer for the show. Angel broke her stare by lifting his cock with his hand and pointing it at her mouth. His other hand encircled the back of her neck, but he didn’t put any pressure on it.

“Goddamn, that’s hot!” someone behind her stated.

Five minutes, she thought. It’s only five minutes. Her head descended, and she took the large head into her mouth, sliding down as far as she could go. Angel’s hand stayed on her neck, but he didn’t thrust down her throat or force her movements. In fact, he let her control the depth and the pressure she gave. She felt grateful to him for allowing that. It was bad enough to be surrounded by ogling club members. You’d think they’d never seen a sweetbutt give a blow job before, but it was true that she was off-limits unless Grizzly was in a generous mood. Watching her perform was a treat in their world, and anytime she was told to get on her knees, the entire club showed up to see. There were hoots and hollers as she bobbed her head up and down.

Someday, she’d never have to do this again.

His dick hardened further, and his fingers tapped her neck several times. She took that to be a warning. Sure enough, he came frothing into her mouth.

She kept up the suction until she got every drop. She hated swallowing but had gotten used to it enough that she had control over her gag reflex. His taste wasn’t bad. Almost sweet.

“Fuck, I want one of those,” one voice breathed in awe.

Grizzly let out a guffaw. “Make me some fucking money, and you can have one.”

Carrie released Angel’s satisfied cock and wiped her mouth. The men around applauded, and she wished not for the first time that she could disappear into the floor. A full shot glass appeared in her line of vision, and she leaned back to take it from Angel’s hand. She looked up into his eyes and tossed back the liquor, taking away his taste. It burned a long path to her stomach. She didn’t like it and avoided drinking as much as she did the drugs, but she thought if she refused, Grizzly would take it as an offense and make her do something or someone else. Angel tucked himself back in his pants. His expression was unreadable. Blank. He came, but he might as well have been a statue for all the emotion he showed. Angel? More like a stone gargoyle.

“Damn good, isn’t she? Get me more coke, and I might let you fuck her.” Grizzly snorted another two lines and sniffed loudly.

Carrie heard Ratchet make a hard chuffing noise, but Grizzly either didn’t notice or ignored it.

Angel’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’ll get you more.”

ML Nystrom

Author  of MC and Contemporary Romance.