Velvet Ivy (The Nighthawks MC Book 1)

by Bella Knight

  “You gotta have an endgame,” said Ivy, “some type of plan. I went back to school, got my associate’s in business. Don’t tell Di, but I’m learning about running a bar from Dion and cooking from Ky. If Di catches me, I tell her I was helping out for a minute. I came back late after a semester, from a two-week bartending course. The cooking school is major expensive. I just want to serve ordinary bar food anyway, —sliders and fries and poppers and stuff.”

  “Like Sonic?” asked Lissa, who snagged a piece of crab sushi.

  “Yeah,” said Ivy, “but with adult drinks!” They both laughed.

  “I never thought past getting discovered,” said Lissa, “now I’m too old.”

  “Fuck that shit,” said Ivy, “you’re fabulous. What about a hair or nail salon? Or a studio that does classes in acting and singing and dance?”

  “The studio sounds nice,” said Lissa. She laughed, “I’ve taken enough classes, I could sure teach them!”

  “Take some business classes, too,” said Ivy, “you don’t want anyone taking you for a ride.”

  Lissa laughed as Ivy drank some miso soup, “Already done that, bought the T-shirt.”

  “I know a great realtor,” said Ivy, “when you’re ready to buy studio space. And someone to help you invest your money.”

  Lissa laughed, “You gonna make me an empire girl?!”

  “Good plan,” said Ivy.

  “You gonna tell me how to get the best dates?” asked Lissa.

  “First, figure out how to dress. Bikers like a little leather. Doctors like lace. Or, get creative, do both.”

  Lissa laughed, “Got it!”

  “Have costumes in your wardrobe. The cheerleader one works well. Have glasses and a plaid skirt… and a white shirt, too.”

  “Ooh, seen that movie. Schoolgirl, right, with pigtails?”

  Ivy laughed, “I use red glasses for that one. And your leathers can be a dominatrix one. And don’t wear spike heels, no matter what Di says. They can get caught on carpets, and you can break something. I wear Capezios.”

  “I noticed that. Dance shoes, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Ivy, “oh and don’t be afraid to dance and rock out, or shoot pool, or play poker with the clients.”

  “Okay.”

  She shrugged, “Might as well enjoy yourself!”

  “Amen, sister!” said Lissa. They both laughed.

  They spent a long afternoon dressed up in torn jeans and ancient T-shirts to work in the room. Some clients heard the noise and walked around to watch.

  “Hey,” said a guy they’d never seen before, in black leathers. He was black, with gray eyes and long fingers, “I’m Jackson. What you ladies up to?”

  Ivy stood and, smiled, “You wanna watch, you pay.”

  “How much?” asked Jackson.

  “Twenty each. Then you get to choose which one of us to date, ‘cos you were here first.”

  A man built like a long, black string bean, with ripped jeans and corded shoulders, walked up behind his buddy, “What you doing, Jackson?” he asked.

  “Hey, Holt,” he said, “I was just getting to know these ladies.”

  He took out a twenty and laid it on the edge of the tarp. Holt, confused, did the same thing. Ivy passed out masks, and suggested they stand back. Ivy and Lissa blew off the extra grit from sanding the columns, the bookshelf, and armoire. The men laughed as both Ivy and Lissa put on masks and gloves and eye protection. They picked up the silver spray paint, shaking it back and forth, and Lissa picked up the gold. They attacked the furniture, using smooth, even moves, with a lot of excess hip-shaking and leg movements. The guys put on the masks, stood back, and watched. They watched as the girls completed the first coat.

  Ivy stood back, smiling, and put down her spray can. She stripped off her gloves and eyewear.

  “We’re dirty, boys. You want to help us get clean, it’s a hundred an hour, and two free drinks.”

  Holt laughed, “Three drinks and an appetizer. Hear you guys serve food. I’m hungry.”

  “Three drinks, two appetizers each. A hundred-and-twenty-five an hour,” said Lissa. Ivy smiled back at her, impressed.

  Holt reached into a pocket and took out two hundred, “What does the extra seventy-five get me?”

  “Let’s find out,” said Lissa. Jackson couldn’t get his money out fast enough.

  They had the first round of drinks, and sliders, and fries at the bar. The girls kicked off their ancient tennis shoes, and took the men, sock-footed, to the bath. They sipped drinks and laughed before Lissa ordered the men to “wash themselves good.”

  The clothes came off and were hung up on hooks over the door, and Lissa had fun making the men condition her hair right. They had sex on the edge of the Jacuzzi. Once again, Ivy was happy that she had remembered to stock the wooden condom box there. They both ended up on opposite walls, Ivy taking Jackson seated, facing him, stroking his back as he slid inside her, groaning as she rose and fell, using his shoulders for leverage.

  Lissa took Holt on the low shelf separating the showers from the Jacuzzi. Everyone showered again and had fun toweling each other dry. They shot pool and danced. Holt and Jackson left, joking with each other as to who was the better lover after Ivy gave them cans of Coke for the road.

  Di groaned about them working on their days off, but the other girls were busy with a group of doctor bikers. She took the money with ill grace and went back to doing the books.

  Ivy and Lissa tied their hair back, put their shoes back on, and went out to spray everything out back on the tarp with a clear sealant. Then, they went back to Lissa’s room. Ivy taught Lissa how to pound grommets into hang fabric on hooks, and how to use fabric glue to paste the fabric on the walls. They wore masks and glasses so they didn’t die from the fumes. They used the gun to tack up the edges and worked their way down.

  They took a break for dinner, barely able to move their arms, “That be super stinky,” said Lissa, chowing down on grilled chicken and veggies smothered in a cheese sauce.

  Ivy sipped her Coke and spoke cutting up her own chicken, “You can stay with me tonight,” she said, “bed’s big enough!” They both laughed.

  Di popped her head in when Ivy and Lissa were putting their plates in the dishwasher, “We need you,” she said, “got some ladies wanting other ladies.”

  Ivy snorted, “You said you didn’t want us working on our days off,” she said.

  Di flipped her off and stalked back to the front. Ivy laughed.

  “Clean sex again?” asked Lissa.

  “No,” said Ivy, “we treat them like queens.”

  She ran back, and put on a soft, silk, chemise in blue, and put on makeup, —a rush job. Lissa wore a soft silk peignoir in pink and a matching soft silk chemise. Her makeup was flawless. They both wore their Capezios.

  The ladies were from a lesbian bar, tired of dating each other, wanting more. There was a doctor, an accountant, an x-ray tech, and a professional dancer, —all black and Asian women.

  Ivy and Di fussed over them, got them drinks, talked about hair and nails and the baking summer heat; they laughed about nothing. They went to Ivy’s room, after conning Ky and Dion into moving two of the smaller red couches in there. Ivy played her softer rock, and they made it a girl’s night, —hair and nails and drinks… and increasing nudity. They all took off their shoes. The accountant, Mindy, talked about how much she hated her job. Avanti, the doctor, suggested they not talk about work. Ivy kissed Mindy, and took her to the bed, and massaged her shoulders. Avanti joined them.

  “I’m sorry, Mindy,” she said, “Sweetie, I’m just here to forget about all that.”

  Mindy kissed Avanti, “I know,” she said, “I’m an idiot!”

  They kissed, long and languid and slow. Ivy left them to it, and put on some Sting, taking it down a notch.

  “Come back,” called Avanti. Ivy climbed back in bed with them.

  They touched one another, long and slow and sensual. Ivy vaguely registered that L
issa had called for a bottle of champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate, but she forgot all of that in the slow build of pleasure. Ivy lay behind Mindy, stroking her back, while Avanti spread her legs, and licked her thighs in slow circles, making her arch and moan.

  Ivy smelled the sharp smell of nail polish. She hoped Lissa was using her own, not hers, but she hadn’t heard the door open if she did. Avanti kissed Mindy’s clit, and Mindy swallowed a scream of pleasure. Ivy kissed Mindy deeply, thrusting her tongue in and out, kissing her neck and shoulders. Mindy came with a cry, and Avanti rolled over. Ivy reached over her head for wipes and wiped down Mindy.

  Ivy came out from behind Mindy, and Avanti took her place on her back. Ivy kissed them both, and Mindy languidly stroked Avanti’s hair. Ivy used flicks of her tongue to explore Avanti’s body, smiling at her moans of pleasure. She kissed her mouth again, then sucked each breast, then explored her stomach. She reached down and cupped her hand over her clitoris, finding the little button with her finger. She licked and tongued her way down. She made Avanti cum, back arching. Mindy kissed her. Ivy went farther down, exploring the other woman with her tongue. Avanti came, again and again.

  “Hey,” said Lissa, handing Ivy a Coke, when Ivy came up for air, “you’re hogging the bed.”

  Ivy got up, put her Coke on the floor, and put on a thong and a see-through cami top, both in purple. She stole a pillow and reclined on the floor as Lissa and her two ladies, Jenna and LaDonna, bit and licked each other on the bed.

  The ladies helped themselves to champagne, (Ivy her Coke), and strawberries, while reclining on the couch, laughing. Mindy was languid, slow, but Avanti was energized. She took a bottle of almond oil from a basket in the corner and rubbed it on Mindy’s feet. She selected a shimmery pink nail polish from what, to Ivy’s relief, was Lissa’s box of nail goodies and cosmetics, and painted Mindy’s toenails.

  Ivy took a brand-new nail buffer out of its plastic and buffed Mindy’s nails. Avanti came through with the nail polish for the other hand, and then a top coat. Mindy relaxed, sipping champagne from whatever hand wasn’t being worked on.

  “My god,” she said, “I’ve got to do this more often.”

  “Once a month,” said Avanti, “we’ll come together.” They all laughed.

  “Sorry about the small space,” said Ivy, “we’re giving Lissa’s room a makeover, and it will be even better than this one when finished,” she said.

  “Excellent,” said Avanti, holding out her glass for Ivy to top up, “we’ll come back, then.”

  “Champagne’s out,” said Ivy. Both women made pouty faces. She reached back and found her phone on the floor, “more strawberries? Wait, Ky made a key lime pie.”

  “Pie?” said Avanti and Mindy. Ivy ordered it.

  Ky, dressed in black pants and a mesh shirt, came in with cherry champagne under his arms, and a silver tray, and a tiny table with bites of chocolate silk. Then raspberry cheesecake, and key lime pies interspersed with little squares of caramel chocolates.

  “Oh. My. God,” said Avanti, “I’m moving in!” They laughed.

  Ivy topped off their glasses, “To decadence!” said Avanti.

  “To decadence!” said Ivy and Mindy. They touched glasses and drank.

  It took hours, but finally, they wore the women out. They put on peignoirs, helped them dress, and took them back, giggling, with another bottle of champagne and fresh glasses, to the Lincoln for Damian to drive them home. They both showered, blow-dried their hair, and wrapped themselves in robes. They stopped by Di’s office. She handed them six hundred, each. They locked the money in their separate floor safes, and backed out, stumbling with exhaustion.

  Ivan was in Ivy’s room, taking out the emptied bottles and glasses, the now-empty tray and table he took away.

  “Bless you,” said Ivy, “who changed the sheets? And the pillowcases?”

  “I did,” said Ivan, “I hope I did well.”

  Lissa laughed, “Boyfriend, you rock.”

  “Thank you,” said Ivan, blushing, “I will let you ladies sleep.” He carefully maneuvered out the door.

  “Fuck me,” said Lissa, “I can’t move.”

  Recovery Ride

  Working an extra day didn’t improve Ivy’s mood. Damian brought carloads of tourists —men, women, heterosexuals, homosexuals, people who needed a break and had money to burn. Tourist season was in full swing. Conventioneers—doctors, plumbers, lawyers, salespeople —came in droves. The ladies of the Palomino Roadhouse quickly became exhausted and hired freelancers to come out. Di schmoozed the older clients and took care of some herself.

  Amid the chaos, Gina didn’t call about the bar, and Arsenal was in Colorado at a certified Harley mechanic training course with a few of the others from the Nighthawks. Ace helped a buddy complete a huge construction project up at Lake Tahoe, and bartended there at night. He sent long e-mails with ideas for the club. She kept Juan and Jorge in the loop. Henry, Numa, and other club members took turns coming up and taking Ivy out for rides, even short four-hour ones. They took her to Lake Havasu and Lake Mead.

  Once, they went to Lake Tahoe to steal Ace for a long dinner at a restaurant near the pier, and ride along the lake.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” Ace carped, “I can’t wait until the bar sale goes through.”

  Henry laughed, “Then you’ll be up to your ass in alligators getting it ready to open.”

  Ivy and Henry laughed, “I can’t imagine swinging a hammer these days,” said Ivy, “I barely sleep as it is.”

  “Eighteen-hour days,” said Ace, “gotta hate ‘em.”

  “At this rate,” said Ivy, “I won’t need you at all and I’ll be able to buy my daughter’s school.”

  “Buy a horse barn or a building or a horse,” said Ace, “above the tuition. It’ll endear you to them no end.”

  “Could they use some painted ponies? We’ve got some rescues, real gentle. Be good for the kids, and we won’t have to pay the feed or vet bills to keep them alive anymore,” said Henry.

  “Henry works with a rescue society,” explained Numa, “more critters on that farm than anyone knows what to do with.”

  “I’ll find out.”

  She sent a text to Dr. Hoit. They finished their peppercorn steaks, and potatoes, and the pesto tortellini, and headed out for a ride before Ivy and Ace had to fall over from exhaustion. The air was warm and sweet and heavy with the smell of the water. They stopped at a beach, and sat on rocks, overlooking the water.

  Dr. Hoit sent back a text in the affirmative. Henry got her number to set up the trigger transfer in Ivy’s name to endear her to the school.

  “Did you read what I wrote?” Ace asked Ivy.

  “Good god,” said Ivy, “some of those e-mails are sent at three am. Do you ever sleep? And, yes, go ahead and get the vendor squared away, and I’ll sign the paperwork with the lawyer on Tuesday. We don’t even have the property yet!”

  “We’ll get it,” he said confidently, “I’m making sure we have every plan in place before we get started. Did you like the demos of the bands I sent you?”

  “Yes,”’ she said, “go with the first two. The last one was all screaming and no beat.”

  “Shut up about the bar,” said Henry, “let the woman watch the water in peace.”

  They sat there until Ivy nearly fell asleep. She stood up suddenly, “Someone get me two Cokes and get me to my bike. Gotta head back out before I spend the night here in the sand.”

  “Meet us at the convenience store we passed on the way in,” said Henry, “I’ll see Ace off and see what I can rustle up.”

  Ivy hugged Ace, and said, “Right behind you, Kemosabe,” to Henry. Henry laughed, and they all got on their bikes.

  “So much for a day off,” said Ivy, putting on her helmet.

  “Better than a stick in the eye,” said Numa.

  “True,” said Ivy, and they headed off to find sustenance before their ride.

  The desert night was balmy.
Numa and Henry kept Ivy awake by blasting Lynyrd Skynrd so loud it made their ears bleed. Ivy put in her code and waved goodbye to her friends. She wound her way around Damian’s Lincoln, parked her bike in its spot, wiped the bike down, and pulled down the side tarps. She stumbled in a back way, put up her leathers and pulled off her boots. She stripped down and put her clothes into a laundry sack. She cleaned up in the sink, pulled on an ancient Aerosmith T-shirt, and fell asleep about a half second after she laid down.

  She barely made it through the next week, reminding herself that Arsenal would be done with his course by the time the madness died down. She got by on the occasional e-mail and call from Arsenal, and the deluge of e-mails from Ace. She saw the Vegas attorney twice a week, getting everything ready for the liquor license and food service licenses and the health inspection. She got ready to order food and liquor, finding the best vendors in the city with the help of Charmaine. Charmaine was funny and happy, despite, as she put it, “being busier than a tornado.” Charmaine talked to the realtor Gina nearly every day.

  Gina said, “That girl’s waiting till the price hits rock bottom. I’m hearing you and your partner are busier than I am.”

  “My boyfriend’s’ in Colorado. He says he barely eats and sleeps. He’s learning how to build, tear down, and repair Harleys from scratch.”

  Charmaine went on, “Where your boyfriend at? My husband is on me like white on rice to learn how to fix them Harleys. He’s an auto mechanic at a little shop off of Paradise. Says there are so many bikers in a sunshine state, be like printing money.”

  “Harley Specialists Certified Course at the Colorado Mechanics Institute at Grand Junction, Colorado,” said Ivy, “it will take him a year, which is a very long time to be separated, but he says he loves it.”

  “You do what you love, it’s not like working,” said Charmaine.

  “Word,” said Ivy.

  “No fucken way am I letting that happen!”

  5

  Vegas Grief