Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

Judge tilted Ophelia’s face up and phrased his order like a request so his wife didn’t twist his nipples off. “Why don’t you and Ria take her to get cleaned up and changed into some of the spare shit from the guest closet? Get her fed, too.” The three women moved for the hallway as Glitch snagged my bag and we headed in the opposite direction. The former chapel dais had been walled over to make our meeting room, but some of the original detailing remained carved into the borders and stairs. Along with the dicks and tits and whatever other shit drunk brothers added. Our own personal touch on the place. Once we were locked inside, I flopped into my seat at the table and drained my coffee. If it wouldn’t be a cardinal biker sin, I’d have climbed onto the table and slept for a month. But of everything in that old church, the table was the one thing we all regarded as sacred. A symbol of our brotherhood, with gavel-shaped legs and the Court of Mayhem crest carved into the top and filled with resin to keep the surface smooth. No one ate at the table. No one kicked their feet up on the table. Hell, I wouldn’t even set my cup down. “Hollywood?” Judge called. And, based on his tone, not for the first time. I blinked. “You bang Ophelia on this table?” For a second, I thought he was gonna sock me in the mouth. Either it’d wake me up or knock me out. I was surprisingly okay with either. Instead, he smacked me upside the back of my head. “The hell is wrong with you? You know I wouldn’t...