Taking The Heat Read Online Free PDF Page A

back of his chair.
    “Fuck no, it wasn’t harsh. She was a childish bitch. She started talking about being exclusive as soon as I cut the shit off her head. And I’d already gave her my speech about all we’re doing is having sex, and she agreed. I fucking swear, finding a good bitch is impossible,” I hesitated and leaned into the edge of the table.
    “But I did give her dumb ass a ride to Corn Dog’s house. Left my place, rode to the Dog’s, and dropped her off in the driveway. Fucking bitch waved as she walked up the drive like I was doing her a solid,” I chuckled.
    Otis picked up his cup of coffee, shook it, and rolled his eyes, “That’s some funny shit right there, I can’t believe you did that. Well, I really can’t believe she did it. Heard from the Dog yet?”
    I shook my head, “Nope. Not a fucking word.”
    “Probably still fucking that poor girl. Been five years without pussy, he’s got some catching up to do,” Otis laughed.
    I grinned at the thought of Corn Dog taking five years of frustration out on Sloan. Maybe his personal sexual taste combined with the absence of pussy in his life for the five years he spent in prison would mesh well with Sloan’s desire to be filled with biker cock. As I stood from my seat and tossed the empty cup in the trash can, I shook my head and laughed.
    “You ready?” I chuckled, still laughing at the thought of Corndog and Sloan.
    “Suppose so. Damn this sun feels good,” Otis said as he stood.
    Sitting outside at the local coffee shop was a guilty pleasure of ours. People walking into the store always admired our bikes, and the more brave souls would often ask questions about the club, our bikes, or our cuts. Spending time watching the customers go in and out provided confirmation of just how fucked up Wichita’s east side Starbucks coffee drinking society really was.
    I tilted my head toward the bank on the other side of the street. “We’re just going right over there. I need to get this shit deposited as soon as they open. You can sit on your bike while I go in if you want.”
    I had taken the majority of my pay, tax free combat pay, and what little money I hustled from side work and invested roughly half of it into a barbeque joint and two rental houses in Winfield. I purchased the rental houses after bank foreclosure, and got one for $7,500 and the other for $9,000. By my calculations, each should provide between $400 and $500 a month of income. The barbeque business was already established, and it came complete with everything I needed from wait staff to meat smokers. $50,000 wouldn’t buy much of anything in a large city, but in a town the size of Winfield, it had potentially purchased my retirement. Income from the restaurant and rentals, combined with what little work I did on custom bike building allowed me to enjoy my days without necessarily having a job.
    As we pulled out of the parking lot of the coffee shop and into the street, the light at the corner changed from green to red. As we slowly rolled to a stop at the intersection I tossed my head in the direction of the light above and twisted the throttle. Age and level of maturity always seem to be tossed aside when two men are riding side by side on motorcycles. Otis alternated glances between me and the light as he nodded his head and revved his motor. The sound of the obnoxiously loud exhaust being thrust into the cars behind us would support their thoughts of bikers being obnoxious tattooed pieces of shit. As the light turned green, I released my grip on the clutch and twisted the throttle tight. Two clear advantages I had over Otis were the high performance engine I had built, and the weight of my bike. At nearly nine hundred pounds, I didn’t have to worry about the front tire coming up off of the ground under hard acceleration. As the rear tire screeched and the bike lurched forward, I watched in amazement as Otis shot past me as if I were parked.
    What the fuck?
    After shifting