Crucifixed (Royal Bastards MC: NYC Book 2) by B.B. Blaque (best books to read for self development .TXT) 📕

clubhouse, locked me in, and made me get clean. When I got right, they never let me near their product—or anyone else’s—again. The Bastards were grateful for what I’d done. I killed the guy, they said. I don’t remember it on account of bein’ in a blackout rage. The next thing I knew, I was a prospect and then gettin’ patched out. I never slept on the streets again and finally had a family.

It was no secret that I’d been a pubic hair away from becomin’ a priest. I mean, I was a long way from slippin’ into a collar, but in the scheme of things, I was a hang-around who was thinkin’ long and hard about becomin’ a full priestly patch. Clearly, that wasn’t my callin’.

Giovanni was dead. Crucifix was alive and had everything he wanted—except her.

Then came the day when Fi saw me out on the street. We recognized the grown-up versions of each other immediately. She was wearin’ a habit and I was a proud member of the Rotten Apple chapter, wearin’ my rag, covered in tattoos, slidin’ onto my bike. We tried to ignore what we saw, but it was too late. When she came over and started in about what’d happened, I flew off the handle and everything came spewing out.

A brand new kinda Hell began with that one glance. I was gonna have her, die tryin’, or lose my fuckin’ mind from lovin’ her.

1

New York Groove

Years later . . .

It was great to be back in the City after all that time in La-La Land. Too many palm trees and not enough hustle could make a New Yorker lose his fuckin’ mind. I had to be sparing with that shit ‘cause there wasn’t a whole lot left.

Royal Bastards Video was rockin’ and FOCUS and Nixx were gettin’ all their bullshit worked out. I was just glad to be back in my own territory. Blayze and them guys had been really cool about us bein’ out there and knew we weren’t tryin’ to step on their dicks, but still—it wasn’t the Big Rotten Apple. It wasn’t the Mounds Bar with our tits and asses shakin’ under the black lights. As I pulled up in front, it looked like I had a welcome home party goin’ on. All the guys’ bikes were parked in front and Rattler was bouncin’ since FOCUS was still on the left coast. I barely made it off the bike before he and Froot Loops ran over to hug me.

“Brother, man! It’s been too fuckin’ long!” Rattler smacked at my back. “Do you even remember what real food tastes like after bein’ out there? I know there ain’t nothin’ good in Hollywood.”

It was the God’s honest. There’s no food like New York City food, no matter what the fuck ya say. I’d been dyin’ for a bagel loaded with scallion cream cheese, bacon, and egg. I woulda gladly settled for some stupid dirty water dogs from the vendor on our corner. Los Angeles had some good shit happenin’, but food wasn’t on the list.

“You’re tellin’ me! I’m surprised I haven’t wasted the fuck away to nothin’! A man cannot survive on pussy alone, and I don’t give a fuck who tries to say different.”

I slapped hands with Froot Loops and headed toward the door. I needed to eat, get my dick sucked, and have someone without too much glitter tuck me in with a nightcap. Jet lag was gonna be a bitch.

“Hey, can one of ya get Cassie to order me a calzone and a stuffed spinach slice from Tony’s around the corner? Rattler . . . you do it, bro’, since you’re the one who brought up food!”

“Fuck you, man! Tell her yourself!”

I glared back at Rattler. He’d been doin’ my job and FOCUS’ when we were out west, but he needed to remember his place.

“Yo, don’t forget yourself, motherfucker! I was gone. I didn’t die. So unless you know somethin’ I don’t, I’m still the president and you didn’t magically step into my boots. Get on it, VP. I’ll be in the office.”

He’d get over it. Rattler always thinks way too much of himself, and that can be an issue sometimes. I was back and still wore the president’s patch. He wasn’t gonna step into my spot or FOCUS’ as sergeant at arms. He was lucky we didn’t kick him off the board entirely. The shit with him dealin’ to his girls and all that fucked-up Vicious mess had him skatin’ on thin ice.

A few of the chicks ran up to hug me and Rock Candy brought over a bottle of somethin’ and two glasses. Looks like she’s the one tendin’ to me tonight.

Even gettin’ back to the same ol’ pussy was good. New York chicks aren’t plastic—except for some noses and tits. They know what I like and are more than happy to give it to me, even if it is sorta kinky. If one of our girls wouldn’t get into my shit, she’d always be a tiny infraction away from gettin’ the boot. I didn’t need a different bitch every night. I just needed to know if I said kneel, they’d drop like a lead weight. Patience was somethin’ I didn’t have a lot of when I was horny, and if I picked someone, they needed to be ready.

Rock Candy knew how it worked and called back on her way to the dressin’ room, “I’ve been very sinful while you were gone, Crucifix . . . . I need to confess somethin’ really awful.”

She giggled and pushed through the door to Transformation Station—the girls’ dressin’ room.

Fuck, I don’t need all that shit tonight. Suck my dick and lemme get some sleep.

As soon as she walked out with the nun costume, I grabbed her arm. “Sorry, kid. Not tonight. I