First Ride (The Slayers MC Book 1)

by Tara Oakes

  “H—hello. I’d like a taxi please,” I speak shyly into the receiver once the operator picks up.

  “Where from and to, hon?” She asks automatically. I can hear some kind of typing in the background and it sounds like she’s chewing on some gum.

  I give her the information she asked for.

  “That’ll be twenty three dollars and about an hour ‘till the driver reaches you.”

  My heart sinks. An hour! I’ll be late for work! On my first day!

  I can’t risk losing the job before I even officially start it, and the thought of handing over twenty-three dollars for the lift will eat away at me, I just know it. That alone could pay for one of the gymnastics classes that I want to put Sasha in.

  I bite my lip and weigh my options silently. “Oh. I’ll find another way. Sorry to waste your time, ma’am.”

  The clicking on the other end of the call is the only response I get.

  Great. Now what the fuck am I gonna do? I can feel the second hand on the imaginary clock in my mind ticking by as more and more time is wasted. I have no choice. I’ll have to drive myself. If it becomes an issue, I’ll just explain that my ride fell through. I’m sure he’ll understand, I mean, he’s a reasonable guy, right?

  An image flashes through my head of him staring down at me yesterday when I tried to hand over the cash he’d given me. I swallow hard. Okay, maybe he’s not a reasonable guy. I’ll just tuck my car in one of the farthest spots in the back lot and hide it. It’ll be dark, I tell myself. He’ll never even see it.

  Smiling to myself with my little covert plan in place, I grab my bag, my keys, my sunglasses and head out to work, locking up the apartment. We were robbed once and I know the feeble front door is no match for anyone with half a mind to get in, not to mention half of the windows don’t even lock properly, but it’s a habit so I work the key in the old door handle.

  It’s late afternoon and there’s just a little bite to the air that tells you night is coming. I breathe deep, always having loved this time of year. There’s a crispness to the air that only late summer can offer. For the handful of years I was away at college in Miami, I missed this, always trying to find some kind of hint of it but never being able to.

  There were two different seasons there. Hot and Hotter.

  My student loans had barely covered the expensive tuition, so I almost never came home. Maybe if I had, I’d have been able to tell how bad things were getting for my family, would have been able to step in before things got as bad as they did.

  I shake my head. Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty and there’s no use crying over spilt milk. Things are what they are. I’m only glad I got here when I did otherwise Sasha would probably have been put in foster care and mom would have ended up on the streets.

  Life may be hard now, but it’s nothing compared to what it could’ve been. I tell that to myself over and over whenever things feel hopeless and it usually snaps me out of it real fucking fast.

  Once inside the Honda, I perform the usual ritual and close my eyes tight while starting the ignition. The Gods take pity on me tonight and it starts on the first try.

  Wow! This must be my lucky day.

  I throw my sunglasses on, look over my shoulder while taking the car out into the street and head off to a fresh new start, a new beginning.

  Things are looking up.

  Finally.

  ~*~

  The loud music is the first thing I notice as I turn the corner into the front lot of the club. The deep beats of the classic rock spill out into the open air every time the front door is opened.

  The neon lights are turned on even though the sky is barely starting to darken. I guess this place fills up early. Almost every single spot in the front is full, with row after row of cars. All except the first row, of course, which houses about three dozen motorcycles meticulously lined up all facing the same way.

  I didn’t realize the Slayers were that large of a group.

  Driving past the bikes, I hug the side of the building until I clear into the small private lot directly behind the structure. This is the employee’s lot, filled with shiny new cars no doubt belonging to the dancers. I know someone who used to dance here years ago and she told me she could clear somewhere in the neighborhood of seven or eight hundred a night. That’s what made me come in here one day and ask for the job even though I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Eyeing each of these fancy cars makes me wonder if I’d made a mistake, second-guessing the decision I’d made. I slow down to take in all of the models. Acura, BMW, Mercedes, Lexus. My God. They’re gorgeous.

  A loud honking sound blares out behind me, causing me to jump and I instantly look into the rearview mirror at a set of blinding white headlights. Pulling over quickly, I park my rusty Honda into a corner spot and let the cherry red convertible Corvette that was waiting impatiently pass.

  It swings wide into one of the first spots and shuts off the blasting music as the engine is cut. She’s busy talking on her cell phone animatedly as I cautiously gather my things and walk toward the employee entrance. As I pass her brand new car, I can’t help but notice the vanity license plate that says CANDYCANE.

  One look at the buxom woman sitting behind the wheel smoking her cigarette and I understand completely where the moniker comes from. She has gorgeous red flowing hair that matches the paint of her car.

  “You lost, darlin? This lot’s for employees only.” There’s a biting edge to her words. She gets out and follows me, leaving her expensive car behind.

  Her tight red dress barely manages to hold her in, and the sky-high clear plastic heels she wears don’t balance well on the gravel we walk through, so her already swaying hips accentuate themselves.

  “I know,” I reply. “Dawson told me to park here.”

  Her eyes light up at the mention of his name. “Did he, now?”

  I smile my lips tightly, trying to read her. As soon as we reach the large metal door, it swings open, with a leather-vested man that I recognize standing guard.

  “Ladies,” he greets us and steps aside allowing us room to pass.

  “Hey, Esè. Busy out there tonight?” Candy takes her lipstick-stained cigarette from her painted lips and tosses it onto the ground to smash with her Lucite heel.

  Her perfectly toned and tanned leg is on full display and the young kid can’t help but stare. “Uh--uh, yeah. Full house. Hey, Angel.”

  He greets me but his eyes don’t leave her thigh as the skintight dress nearly rides high enough for him to see her goods.

  I nod. “Molly. My name’s really Molly.”

  He doesn’t hear me as he’s practically drooling over the Jessica Rabbit doppelganger next to me.

  “Well, which is it, hon? Angel or Molly? We got enough girls in there to remember names of, we don’t need one that has two.”

  “Molly. I have no idea why Dawson calls me Angel,” I explain.

  That catches her attention. “Oh … I see. Dawson gave you a nickname, hmm?” She shares a conspiratory look with Esè.

  I turn to her, not at all liking the implication at all. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Sure, she’s taller than me, no thanks to her stripper heels, and has bigger boobs than me, but I can take her if I need to. All I’d have to do is push her over and she’d fall off her four-inch platforms.

  She laughs. “Nothing, darlin’. You should ask him what his nickname for me is.”

  I don’t know why, but I feel a lump form in the base of my throat. I hate the little name Dawson’s given me, but I somehow suddenly feel protective of it.

  I look her in the eye, trying to read her. She’s being passively-aggressive, and not straight out bitchy. I don’t get her.

  “Although,” she adds as she steps aside to pass me. “He only calls me it when he’s fucking me.”

  Esè clears his throat chuckling to himself as she stalks off into the building toward the dressing room. />
  A tight vice squeezes my lungs as I process her claim. He fucks her. She fucks him. Of course she does. Look at her body, at her car. That’s the type of chick that someone like Dawson would bang, not me. I have no idea why I was even worried about signals getting crossed between the two of us, worried about getting on the wrong side of his Ol’ lady, “baby”.

  I have nothing to worry about. He’s got his hands full with Miss Candy Cane over there. All I have to do is keep my head low, stay under the radar and collect my pay.

  Piece of cake.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAWSON

  Nothing clears your head like the loud rumbling of a tailpipe and cool air whipping by your face.

  The sun is setting behind me, turning the sky some sort of purple shit, and I take it in, heading on the interstate toward the club. With only a handful of bikes in line behind me, we cruise like we own the fucking road.

  We do. At least in this part of the state.

  There are plenty of other Slayer chapters spread out across the U.S. but we’re the biggest, the strongest. No one messes with us or gets in our shit, unless they have a death wish.

  It’s a reputation that precedes us, and one we’ve earned well. Tonight we had to act to secure it as some things were getting out of hand.

  Most clubs have some sort of niche that earns them their money. The Kingsmen run protection, the Slayers run guns and pharmaceuticals. We don’t make the shit, we simply move it along.

  I run a tight fucking ship, and when one little piece of the equation starts acting up it threatens the whole damn operation. I was nice enough to overlook the first few mumblings from the Russians we buy our guns from. I’m a capitalist, I understand the fair market system better than most.

  Yeah, prices will ebb and flow, fluctuate some. But when I get word that prices are about to double and shipments have been late, then it’s time for me to pay a visit. These guys think that just because they don’t see me that I’m not aware of all the shit they try to get away with.

  Needless to say, after today, I doubt they’ll be acting up for a bit. Every once in a while, you just need to remind people who they’re dealing with. Overall, I think it went well. I got what I wanted without having to kill anyone tonight.

  One guy got shot in the foot, but that shit don’t take long to heal. He should be grateful I didn’t pick his leg instead. Now that, that keeps you in bed a couple months.

  With business out of the way for the night I know my boys are ready to unwind. We pass over a hill, just high enough to see the bright lights of the club shining below, and it’s like a beacon calling us home.

  ~*~

  Random voices and laughter fill the walls of the main room as we enter, all eyes turning to us, clearing out of our way. The night is in full swing, with three girls up on stage, small crowds around the pool tables, and a line at the bar.

  I see Uno, one of the older brothers, wave me over to the corner where he’s got a group of Slayers set up. I nod. I’ll get there when I’m good and ready. Gryff and Chase pass by me to join the fun and more than a couple of sweetbutts fall in line, following after them, ready to take care of them for the night.

  “You guys all good?” I ask loudly to be heard over the music to Esè, the prospect, as he helps tend the bar.

  He’s juggling a handful of long neck beer bottles. I relieve him of one of them, right from the middle, and threaten all the rest as they nearly topple from his grip. He manages to catch them though without losing but a drop.

  I smile and nod to him. “Good catch.”

  He rolls his eyes knowing I did it on purpose. I just love hazing the shit out of these kids although Esè’s been here a while, nearly earned his patch. Almost. I’ve got a few more things for him to do first, to prove his loyalty.

  “Baby’s got the new girl running table service. Hasn’t dropped one tray yet,” he updates me while sliding the drink orders across the bar to the waiting patrons.

  I take a long sip of my cold beer, leaning back against the edge of the wooden bar while scanning the crowd for her. It doesn’t take long before I find her, holding a large plastic tray with several beers high above her head, squeezing in between groups of people.

  The tight white shirt she has on is stretching to cover her as she contorts herself to avoid crashing. I relax and take it all in. A short denim skirt, although personally I’d like to see it shorter, hugs her little hips as she walks. Tan, curvy legs carry her through the room with their little muscles flexing. Well-worn red boots move across the floor.

  She has no idea I’m watching her and that’s how I like it. She’s the kind of girl who deserves to be admired from afar, too innocent and self-conscious where she’d tense up if she knew that a guy like me was fucking her with his eyes.

  I see her mouth move, her perfect lips, naked of any lipstick shit on them speaking to a table of college-age kids before she bends down to start handing out bottles.

  My eyes instantly set on her tits as I get a grade-A view and I feel my cock twitch. So do the gaggle of horny frat boys that widen their eyes at the view, causing my fist to ball and clench.

  What the fuck?

  That’s what hard-up bastards like that come here for; the hot chicks serving them drinks and the girls dancing naked on the stage. That’s what’s making me money. Why the fuck am I getting worked up that Angel’s one of them?

  “I met the new girl.”

  I break my stare from Angel’s tits and look over my shoulder. “Yeah? What do you think of her?”

  Baby leans forward from the other side of the bar.

  “Hey, Baby! Can I get a beer?” Some guy, who I’m pretty sure is a regular, interrupts our conversation.

  She looks sideways at him. “In a fucking minute, when I’m good and ready, Fred. Go sit your ass down and the new girl will bring it to you.”

  He does as he’s told and I laugh to myself while taking a long sip, nursing my beer. Baby can take care of herself, being as tough or more than even some of my own guys. She should be. She’s the Ol’ lady of one.

  “She’s got potential,” Baby answers my earlier question. “Catching on real quick. The guys seem to love her.”

  I grit my teeth and turn my back in Angel’s direction, not wanting to see anymore of her table of customers hitting on her. “I can see that.”

  Now fully facing Baby, I can see the smirk on her lips, knowing she’s just baited me. I’m a stupid ass for falling for it. “How’s your Ol’ Man?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “As good as can be expected. Counting the days ‘till he gets out of that hellhole.”

  Stitches, Baby’s Ol’ man, is locked up in the pen nine hours away across the state. He’s not serving a long sentence compared to our standards but it’s still a bitch for them to deal with. Every few weeks, she visits him for a few days like she just did.

  I’ve served my time, hell, we all have, but it’s gotta fuckin’ suck in their case. Baby found out she was knocked up just a couple of days after Stitches got jammed up. She’s been having to deal with all this by herself although we try to help as much as we can.

  Stitches is family, Baby is family.

  Until he gets out, I’m gonna look after his Ol’ lady and his kid as if they were my own. Although, even with time for good behavior, there’s no chance in hell he’ll get out before the kid’s born.

  It’s a raw deal, but Stitches knew the risk, knew the consequences when he took the oath and put on his leather for the first time. That’s why we have brothers prospect for a couple of years before they earn their patch. They need to know full well what they’re getting into. There’s no way out, except in a coffin at some point. Once a Slayer, always a Slayer, until the day you die.

  “Hey, Angel!” Baby calls over my shoulder, smirking to me as she does it.

  I roll my eyes. She’s playing with fire, dancing around this, trying to get me to show some sort of reaction, any reaction regarding the new girl.

&nbs
p; “Yep?” I hear her answer as she pulls in next to me, leaning over the bar so that her tits press up against it, plumping up. I can’t help but eye them, just being able to see a tiny bit of white lace down at the bottom.

  “Need you to bring this beer,” Baby pops off the cap of a green glass bottle and hands it over to her trainee, pointing to where Fred is sitting, “to that guy over there.”

  Angel grips the beer. “Sure thing.”

  Baby looks from Angel to me before smirking and leaving us to take care of the customers waiting at the other end of the long bar.

  “You fittin’ in alright?” I grumble while swirling my beer bottle.

  She jumps a little. “Oh! It’s you. I didn’t realize it.”

  I stifle a laugh, knowing that all she’s seen of me as she wedged her way close to the bar were the patches on the back of my cut. Right now, in this club, there are about thirty patches just like it walking around and I’m sure she’s become used to it.

  The only thing that sets me apart from all of them is the one of a kind patch on the front below my left shoulder that says “President.” None of these other fuckers have that one, and for good reason. None of them do what I do, have sacrificed what I have to get it.

  I peek over and see the flesh of her neck begin to turn deep pink and I decide to play with her a bit. Turning to her, I lean in.

  “Oh? Do I really blend in that well, Angel?” I’m practically whispering in her ear. Her lower lip drops just the slightest bit before she gulps. “I thought by now we knew each other better than that.”

  I see her throat constrict as she swallows. “I—I should get this beer going while it’s still cold. And your baby’s watching.”

  I step back. My baby? Since when the fuck do I have a baby?

  Angel disappears into the crowd and I can feel my brows still scrunched in confusion. Baby’s near the register, having watched the whole thing. She gives me a sarcastic thumbs up.