by Joanna Wylde
“Well, don’t bother waiting for Painter,” Maggs said, rolling her eyes. “He’s had his full patch for three months now. He hasn’t manned up yet, it’s not gonna happen.”
Em frowned.
“It’s not like that,” she said, shaking her head. “I was into him, okay? Liked him a lot, actually. But he blew it. He cares more about not pissing off my dad than being with me.”
“To be fair, your dad has a bit of a reputation,” Dancer said, her voice dry. “He shot your last boyfriend. Thinking about that’s gotta mess with a man’s head.”
I looked at Em with new interest, trying to remember who her dad was. Oh, yeah. Her dad was Picnic. Picnic? What kind of name was that? Almost as weird as Horse …
“What the hell is up with all these names?” I demanded abruptly, swaying in my seat. They all looked at me blankly. “Picnic? Bam Bam? Horse?!? Who names their baby Horse? And what the hell is Ruger all about? His name is Jesse, for God’s sake. I met his mom and she told me.”
They all burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, feeling put out. It was a serious question.
“You thought they were real names!” Marie asked, losing it again. “It’s funny because I know exactly how you feel. I asked the same question. Horse is a fucking ridiculous name, isn’t it?”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Is that a trick question? I don’t want to insult the guy you’re marrying. Also, he’s scary. He has a metal bat and likes to carry around duct tape. All he needs is black plastic garbage bags and he could be a serial killer.”
I leaned forward and jabbed a finger to make my point.
“I know these things. I watch TV.”
Marie snorted so hard margarita came out her nose.
“Horse’s real name is Marcus,” Dancer said, giggling and rolling her eyes. “He’s my brother, by the way. Horse is just his road name—like a nickname, you know? Most of the guys have ’em. Girls, too. Dancer’s my road name.”
“What’s your real name?”
“No comment,” Dancer replied primly.
“Agrippina,” Em declared proudly. “I shit you not.”
Dancer blew a stream of frozen margarita at Em through her straw.
“Traitorous bitch.”
“Are you fucking with us?” Kimber asked, looking between them. “Agrippina? After Agrippina the Younger or Agrippina the Elder?”
We all looked at her blankly.
“Mom had a thing for Roman history,” Dancer said after a pause. I shook my head, trying to follow the conversation. The drinks weren’t helping. Oh, yeah. Road names.
“So why is he called Horse?” I asked. Marie blushed bright red and looked away.
“Ha!” Dancer said, smacking the table for emphasis. “Horse says he’s called that because he’s hung like one. But I know the real reason. When he was a kid—like three, four years old maybe?—he used to carry around this little stuffed horsie all the time, slept with it and everything. One day he and I got in a fight and he started hitting me with it, over and over again. Mom took it away from him and gave it to me. He started following me around crying, ‘Horsie, Horsie,’ all the time, and it stuck.”
Marie’s eyes opened wide.
“Are you fucking serious?” she asked. Dancer nodded, her face full of the kind of evil glee only an older sister can express. “Holy shit, that’s hysterical.”
“His dad insisted it was because he had a big dick, right to the day he died,” she continued. “But I swear to you—it’s because of that stuffed animal of his. Don’t let him fool you.”
“Did you ever give it back to him?” Em asked breathlessly. Dancer shook her head.
“I still have it,” she declared. “And I promise you this, Marie. The day you marry his stupid ass, I’ll give it to you. That’ll keep him in his place.”
We all lost it again. Kimber poured another round of margaritas from the king-sized pitcher she’d found in Ruger’s kitchen. This party wasn’t ending anytime soon.
“So are all the names like that?” I asked when I could speak. “I mean, shouldn’t bikers have cool names, like Killer or Shark or Thor’s Revenge?”
“Thor’s Revenge?” Maggs asked, raising a brow. “Are you serious?”
“That’s just silly,” Em broke in. “Road names stick because something happens to make ’em stick. You know, a funny story or something stupid someone does. You earn them—just like any nickname.”
“Emmy Lou Who, for example,” Dancer said, blinking innocently. Em’s eyes narrowed.
“Shut the fuck up, Agrippina.”
“Seriously, they also serve a purpose,” Maggs said. “If people don’t know your real name, makes it harder for them to rat you out to the cops.”
“So what’s ‘Ruger’ all about?” I asked. “He’s been called that forever.”
“I have no idea,” Dancer said, frowning. “You’ll have to ask him—Ruger is a gun brand, that might be it. Picnic got his because he threw a guy through a picnic table.”
“Speaking of …” Marie said. “We haven’t finished talking about Em’s situation. You need to get your dad to back off, babe. Nobody will date you so long as he keeps shooting your boyfriends.”
“He didn’t shoot him because he was dating me,” Em snapped. “It was a hunting accident and he’s fine. The fact that he was cheating on me is a total coincidence.”
The women burst out laughing again, while Kimber and I stared.
“Go ahead and keep telling yourself that,” Dancer murmured.
I made a mental note to learn this story as soon as possible.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Em declared. She looked around the table, searching for a new victim. Her eyes reached me, filling with sudden, unholy glee. “Like … hmmm … So tell us, Sophie. What’s the scoop with you and Ruger? You guys fucking or what?”
Everyone—even Kimber—looked at me. Kimber stared, silently urging me to speak. I kept my mouth shut and shook my head.
“Shit, I have to do everything,” she burst out. “Okay, here’s the whole story.”
Ten minutes later they knew far too much about me and Ruger, and I’d silently vowed never to tell Kimber anything again. Ever. Not even where I stored the toilet paper, because that’s how untrustworthy she was.
“And he just tucked in his dick and walked away?” Em asked for the third time, clearly awed. “He didn’t even start yelling or throwing shit?”
I shook my head. I should’ve been embarrassed, but I was a little too drunk to fully appreciate my humiliation. Stupid Kimber. Backstabbing bitch.
“He’s a man-whore,” Kimber declared, shrugging. “Who knows why guys like that do anything? Instead of wondering why he did it, we need to focus on the real problem. How do we get them into bed with each other?”
“No!” I said. “I am not sleeping with him. Didn’t you get the whole point of the story? That would fuck things up for me and Noah living here.”
“Don’t be stupid, it’s already fucked up,” she told me. “I was all in favor of avoiding him, but then you crossed the Rubicon!”
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked.
“Means we need to adjust our plan of action. Avoidance is no longer an option.”
“No, what the hell is a Rubicon?” I asked her. Kimber sighed heavily, clearly frustrated.
“It’s the river that separates Cisalpine Gaul from Italy,” she said. “It’s where Roman generals used to leave their armies before returning home, as a sign they weren’t a threat to the Roman Republic. Two thousand years ago, Julius Caesar had to make a decision whether to obey the Senate or bring his troops home with him, starting a civil war. His legions crossed the Rubicon, which led to the end of the Republic. Not officially, of course. Augustus was the first to acknowledge dicatorship openly. Fuckin’ turning point in Western civilization, dumbass.”
We all stared at her, eyes wide.
“Where the hell did you learn
all that?” I asked her. Kimber rolled her eyes.
“College,” she said. “I have a history minor. Christ, is there a law that strippers can’t read or something? Now, please, focus. All of you.”
“My mom would like you,” Dancer said. “She would like you a lot.”
Kimber shrugged.
“This whole situation is like a great big zit that needs popping,” she continued. “The damage is already done—your face looks like shit and no concealer’s gonna cover it. You might as well squeeze hard and get your money shot. You’ll both feel better afterward.”
“Ewwwww …”
“That is the least sexy thing I’ve ever heard anyone say about sex,” Maggs announced. “For the first time in two years, I’m kind of glad Bolt’s in jail, because there’s no damned way I’d touch his cock tonight after that.”
“I call it like I see it,” Kimber declared. “Now, let’s figure out the best way for Sophie to start screwing Ruger without letting him think he’s won.”
“Kimber,” I growled, lunging toward her. I bumped the pitcher of huckleberry margaritas instead, which splashed across the table, dousing Maggs, Dancer, and Marie with sticky, sugary, boozey deliciousness.
Everyone burst out laughing again, and this time Dancer actually did fall off her chair, which made it even funnier.
“That’s what you get for making fun of my historical analogies!” Kimber howled at us gleefully. “I am the QUEEN. You do what I tell you, bitches!”
“You’re crazy,” I announced, dipping a finger into the puddle on the table and tasting it. Sooo good. What a waste. “But you’re right about one thing. I may be a petty, selfish person, but I don’t want him to win. He always wins. I think you might be right about popping the zit, though.”
“This is an important discussion,” Maggs said solemnly, holding up a hand to halt us. “And as the senior old ladies present, Dancer and I will moderate it as soon as we get changed. Is it okay if we dig through your closet?”
“Sure,” I said. “Here, let me come help you find something.”
“No worries,” Dancer said, giggling. “We’ll find it. We know our way around the apartment already.”
I smiled at her happily.
“Thanks again,” I told them all. “I can’t tell you how amazing it was to come here and find everything all fixed up. Noah loves his room, too.”
“It’s what we do,” Maggs said. Marie grinned at me, then shivered, rubbing her arms up and down.
“This stuff is cold. Let’s get changed,” she said, and the three women took off down the outside stairs.
“I’m going to get some hot water to pour over this mess,” I said, contemplating the Great Margarita Lake. “There’s got to be something we can use in the kitchen.”
We trooped into the house, and I rummaged through Ruger’s kitchen cupboards until I found two big mixing bowls, which we used to pour hot water over the table. Then we flopped back in the chairs and Kimber made herself useful for once, asking the question that’d been eating at me all night.
“So, you really a virgin?”
“Mostly,” Em said, rolling her eyes.
“Oooh, mostly,” Kimber said, leaning forward, practically quivering with curiosity. “We’ll get back to that in a minute. Now tell me what’s up with the V-card. How old are you, anyway?”
“I’m twenty-two,” Em said. She didn’t seem to mind the questions at all. Kimber wasn’t the only one with boundary issues. “And I’m a virgin because I haven’t wanted to just do it with some random guy to get it over with. But every non-random guy I meet is scared of my dad. To be fair, he really is scary. My sister stands up to him, but it seems like I never can. Now I’m stuck at home, while she’s loving life in Olympia. She’s my little sister—still can’t figure out how that happened.”
“Have you always lived at home?” Kimber asked, her eyes wide with something like horror. “No wonder you’re a virgin!”
“No, I lived in Seattle for my first semester of college,” Em explained. “But I didn’t really know what I wanted to be, and as soon as word about my dad got out, the guys stayed away from me. Didn’t help that he showed up at my dorm one day and made a public announcement that any guy who tried to get me naked would lose his dick.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered, eyes wide. Kimber swallowed.
“That’s hard-core,” she admitted.
Em rolled her eyes and threw up her hands in disgust.
“That’s my dad. Mom used to keep him under control, but she’s been gone for a while now. He’s the club president, so it’s not like there’s anyone to stand up to him.”
“What about this Painter guy?” I asked. Em groaned and dropped her head to the table, banging it dramatically.
“Painter,” she said. “Painter is a pain in my ass. He was a Reapers prospect until a few months ago. Got his patch now. He seems to like me, he’s flirted with me, and he’ll scare off other guys who come around me, yet when I tried to jump his bones in the dark he ran away like a fucking chicken. Every. Single. Time.”
Kimber shook her head knowingly.
“Yup, scared of daddy,” she said. “Lost cause, babe. You need to find someone else.”
“Yeah, I know,” Em said, her voice wistful. “I could kind of understand it back when he was a prospect, so I cut him some slack. Prospecting’s hard work. But he’s got his colors now. He needed to put up or shut up, so that’s over.”
“Damned straight,” Kimber said, banging her fist down on the deck table. The whole thing rattled and we all jumped a little. “Let’s go to Spokane next weekend, the three of us. The way I see it, Maggs, Marie, and Dancer have to rat you out, because they’re part of the club. But me and Sophie? We’re free agents. Let’s get your card punched with someone disposable, and then work on finding you a man who’s not a fucking pussy. This Painter guy is full of shit.”
“Actually, I’ve been talking to someone online,” Em admitted, flushing a little. “I really like him. A lot. We’ve been chatting for a couple months, but we just started calling each other sometimes. I’m pretty into him, but I kept hoping Painter—”
“Screw Painter,” Kimber declared. “He’s not a real man. Maybe your online guy isn’t either, but we’ve got your back. See if he’s available next week, let’s get this thing done. We’ll meet up in a public place. Get our own hotel rooms, so we can make sure you’re safe.”
Em’s eyes grew bright. The whole idea seemed sort of half-cocked to me, and I frowned.
“Okay …” she said. “Wow, I can’t believe we’re going to do this. But what about Sophie? I don’t think Ruger would want her going out like that.”
Suddenly I didn’t care how stupid it sounded. Ruger wasn’t in charge. Fuck him. Nothing quite like flaming shots to give a girl courage.
“I’m in,” I declared. “He doesn’t tell me what to do.”
“Seriously?” Em asked, peering at me in the darkness. “We’d really just go out and do this?”
“Why not? Ruger’s not my boss. And Kimber needs to get out sometimes, too. We’ll check this guy out and make a call for you about whether he’s worthy. There’s always more guys if he’s not. Trust me, if Kimber can’t find you a man, he doesn’t exist. She’s like a sexual bloodhound. Always has been.”
“Damned straight,” Kimber said without a trace of embarrassment. “I’ll ask Ryan if he can watch Noah for you, Soph. He owes me. He gets to play poker every single week, and when I was pregnant I told him that if I was sober, he should be sober, too. He totally ignored me. Also, he bought me a minivan. A fucking minivan. What kind of man does that to a woman?”
I started giggling. Em joined me, and then all three of us were laughing, and I’m still not entirely sure why. We were still cackling like drunken hyenas when Marie, Dancer, and Maggs got back. They looked funny in my clothes, particularly Dancer, who was way too tall and more than a little too curvy. She’d found some yoga pants and an old T-shirt, both of which w
ere extremely tight in critical areas.
“Bam is going to love this,” she said, twirling for us and shaking her ass dramatically. “If he’s home tonight. Anyone know the schedule?”
“Party tonight for the brothers coming in,” Marie said. “Guess some kind of big club meeting is going down? Horse will be here in about an hour to give us rides home. Me and Maggs are throwing together breakfast tomorrow, if anyone wants to help. They’ve already lined up a pig to roast for the afternoon, so all we need to worry about is snacks and sides.”
“I can do a Costco run in the morning,” Dancer said. “Em, wanna come with?”
“Sure,” she said. “Dad said they’ll be done with church around four. You can come out anytime after that, Sophie.”
“Church?” I asked, startled. Dancer snickered.
“That’s what they call their meetings,” she told me. “No idea why, just always been that way as long as anyone can remember. Nothing to do with us, though—club business. Don’t worry about that. Your job is to have fun at the party.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to the party,” I said, losing some of my bravado. “After Ruger’s little tantrum, I think it might better if I stayed home.”
“Not happening,” Dancer said firmly. “Whatever’s between you two—and don’t think we’ve forgotten, that conversation was interrupted just when it was getting interesting—needs to be resolved. Otherwise you’ll kill each other at this rate. Going to the party is perfect.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll either lose his shit or he won’t,” she replied. “I mean, some guy is going to talk to you at some point. Ruger loses it, we’ll see some action and you’ll get things figured out. He doesn’t, you’re off the hook and life can get back to normal. Either way, we’ll be there to watch it all, and in the end, it’s really all about us, right?”
“Um, this may shock you, but Ruger can be scary,” I said. “I don’t want him losing his shit. It’s happened before and it wasn’t nice.”
“It’ll be okay,” Maggs assured me. “These things work out at the Armory, no worries there. Maybe a good fight will clear his head.”