Making The Cut (Selective Sinners MC #1)

by S. D. Hildreth

  “The girl with the, uhhm,” he turned and looked over his shoulder.

  “The uhhm black hair?” he said as he turned around.

  “Yeah, the black hair and the huge tits. We’re lesbians,” I smiled.

  “That’s hot,” he said under his breath.

  “Uh yeah, not so much really. She’s got herpes, she’s dyslexic, and she’s a fucking vegan. Her huge tits make for some interesting times, but we’re always eating really weird shit, she never pronounces my name right, and can’t balance a checkbook for shit,” I sighed.

  “Oh fuck, seriously?” he gasped.

  I scrunched my nose, looked down at him, and whispered, “Yeah, and we’re roommates. I remember once the checkbook said we had $2,102.00. I went shopping. They denied my card after the second pair of jeans. Ends up we had a $122.00. It’s kind of a pain in the ass sometimes.”

  “Oh, yeah. I meant the herpes, that sucks,” he whispered.

  I shrugged, “Not so much. Hell now that I’ve got ‘em too, at least I don’t have to worry about catching it anymore. But the itching is a motherfucker.”

  I bent down slightly and started rubbing my inner thigh with my left hand as I waited for him to respond.

  He looked like he was going to barf. As he pushed himself away from the bar, I smiled and pulled my hand from between my thighs.

  “I was joking. She doesn’t have herpes,” I smiled.

  “She don’t?” he said as he leaned toward the bar.

  “Nope,” I responded as I shook my head lightly.

  “Dyslexic vegan?” he asked.

  I shook my head, “Nope. Actually she’s a stripper. She dances at Jezebel’s on Sunday nights. You should go see her tomorrow. Her stage name is The Portuguese Princess.”

  “She’s Portuguese?” he asked.

  “Yeah, half,” I nodded.

  As much as I tried to hold it together, I began to laugh. He sat and stared at me as if my head was on fire. Giggling at the thought of Sloan stripping, and the guys tossing dollar bills at her, I attempted to stop and apologize for bullshitting him. At least he was a pretty good sport about listening to it all. As I started to tell him I was joking about everything, I heard a thunderous roar from the parking lot, and it seemed as if the walls were vibrating. At the same time as everyone else in the bar, I turned to face the door.

  Immediately after the noise and vibration stopped, I turned toward Heineken bottle and blinked my eyes, “What the fuck was that, a tornado?”

  He raised his eyebrows slightly, “Sounded like a bunch of bikes; a whole hell of a lot of ‘em.”

  As I noticed the front door open out of my peripheral vision, I turned toward the end of the bar. A guy who appeared to be no less than seven feet tall stood in the opening. Tanned from what I suspected was a lifetime of riding, he stood in the opening and quickly scanned the bar. As he turned and looked over his shoulder, I swallowed heavily at the sight of what appeared to be the three dozen bikes in the parking lot. Something about seeing that many bikes and bikers together was oddly exciting.

  The panty scorching kind of exciting.

  Bikers are fucking hot.

  “There ain’t anywhere to sit, but there’s plenty of places to stand,” he shouted into the parking lot.

  “I’ll take my check,” Heineken bottle sighed.

  “Ditto,” the guy beside him said.

  “Yeah, time to get,” Budweiser bottle whispered as he tossed a bill onto the bar.

  My eyes widened as the men started walking into the bar. They kept coming, and kept coming, and kept coming. All of them were wearing biker vests with patches all over them. Some had patches on the front the others didn’t. The backs of the vests all had the same logo; Selected Sinners on the top, Kansas on the bottom, with a skull and two crossed guns in the middle. The bar was beginning to look like a scene from a movie. One where the bikers walk in and everyone else stands up and leaves.

  As the huge biker stood beside the door with his arms crossed, another man walked in and stepped beside him. He was tall, but not as tall as the giant. There was a certain presence about him as he stood and talked, as if he was the one everyone should be paying attention to. He had a few days growth of beard, and short wavy hair with slight specks of grey. Under his vest was a black sleeveless tee shirt with some writing on the front of it which was mostly obstructed by his vest. As he turned and quietly talked to the taller man, I squinted and walked to the end of the bar closest to them. Although a steady stream of bikers continued to stroll into the bar, I couldn’t shift my focus from the shorter man who was doing the talking. Now standing amongst a sea of other bikers, I had to get a closer look at him. Something about him commanded my attention.

  Everything about him commanded my attention.

  The muscles on his biceps flared as he raised his left hand to his face and spoke to the tall man. With his head turned and his mouth partially covered by his cupped hand, I looked down at his boots, and slowly up his body until I focused on his leather vest. He was the type of man a girl fantasized about but was afraid to ever admit it to anyone. A small black rectangular patch with red embroidery was over the chest of his vest. I narrowed my gaze and stared. When I finally reached the end of the bar, the writing on it was clear.

  President.

  Well, Mr. President, you’re hot as fuck.

  This could be one wild assed night.

  AXTON

  Although being in a bar was part of being a biker, it wasn’t one of the things sitting high on my priority list. Being raised at the hand of an alcoholic father and never knowing my mother, I formed an opinion about alcohol early in life. I’ve heard the children of alcoholics grow up with either an affinity for alcoholic beverages or a hatred for them. As an adult, I was clearly on the side of hatred.

  I stood beside Otis and studied the bar, the customers, and the staff. Without much thought, I reached down and snapped the rubber band against my wrist. I pulled it tight, released it again for good measure, and turned to Otis. As we spoke, I noticed the bartender staring in our direction.

  You must be the firecracker.

  “Well, looks like they were right. Nice little joint. And Jesus H. Christ, the tall chick has the biggest titties I’ve seen in a bit,” I said through my teeth.

  “How many of ‘em you think will actually show up, Axton?” Otis asked.

  After the poker run, a local group of riders had expressed interest in our club. They explained about a small local bar with great service, a good atmosphere, and as far as they were concerned, the joint was biker friendly. To top it off, the men described the two typical weekend waitresses as a tall thin firecracker and her even taller friend with tits the size of basketballs.

  The description of the women, in itself, was enough to gain the interest of everyone within earshot; and we voted to try the place out. Contrary to television shows and modern myth, 1%er motorcycle clubs don’t walk into a bar and start fighting the patrons and raping the women. The Selected Sinners, at least on my watch, made every effort to conduct themselves in a manner which would generally be perceived as respectful and within the limit of most laws. We were, however, a group of outlaw bikers; and when alcohol was added things generally got very interesting real quick.

  “Hard sayin’. Don’t suppose it matters, does it? Guys seemed to me to be a couple of wannabes. Hell, we needed to go somewhere anyway,” I paused and looked around the bar.

  I cupped my hand and raised it to my face, “It looks like the place is going to clear out anyway. Imagine that.”

  “Barmaid is coming to the end of the bar, Axe. Little bitch is burnin’ holes through your cut. She must be the firecracker, huh?” Otis said as he nodded toward the bar.

  “Being the other girl over there has tits the size of Pete’s head, I’d guess she’s the firecracker, yeah. I’ll order the first round,” I chuckled as I nodded toward the tall thin bartender.

  Her face was thin like a long distance runner who had spe
nt a lifetime eating raw vegetables and tofu sandwiches. Her features were chiseled and she was an attractive young woman. Her hair was a little longer than shoulder length and light brown; about the color of a glass of tea. She sure wasn’t too scared to stare, that was for God damned sure. As she stood with her eyes fixed in my direction, I began to walk toward her. As I approached, she leaned onto the edge of the bar, looked up, and smiled.

  “I’m Avery. The other girl is Sloan. I only have one rule, no fighting in my bar. What can I get you?” she said without taking a breath or blinking an eye.

  “Avery, huh? Damn the luck, we were just getting ready to start an all-out biker brawl. I’ll notify my Sergeant at Arm’s to try and keep the fellas limited to some light pushing and shoving, maybe a little grab-ass, how’s that?” I said jokingly as I tilted my head in Otis’ direction.

  For a young girl she wasn’t easily rattled. As she rested her elbows on the bar and her chin in her hands, she stared into my eyes and waited for what I guessed was my drink order. I smiled lightly, inhaled a short breath and arched my back. As I exhaled, I leaned closer to her and began to speak.

  “I’m Axton. For drinks, I’d say to start, I’ll just keep it simple. The fellas will start ordering their own here pretty quick, just put it all on one tab. I’ll pay it when we’re done. So, why don’t you get me about thirty-five Budweiser’s? That’ll leave a couple extras, but some of these fellas are likely to drink theirs in one gulp. It’s been a long hot day.”

  “Thirty-five, huh? Alright. I’ll get on that. As far as the fighting goes, we clear?” she asked without expression.

  As I stood and thought of something smart-assed to say in response, she raised one eyebrow. Something about a girl who was respectful but not afraid to stand her ground was appealing. Different. As much as I tried not to, I smiled slightly as I nodded my head.

  “You made yourself clear, yeah. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll say this. The men are all respectful, as long as they’re treated with respect. They won’t fight each other, that’s for damned sure. So, as long as the few people left in here treat ‘em with respect, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. If someone says somethin’ slick or decides they want to try their luck at fighting one of ‘em, I’ll say there’s not much I can do to stop it. The big man behind me is Otis. It’s his job to keep everyone in order. So, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler at Otis. Now how about those beers?” I slowly raised my eyebrow to match the one she still hadn’t lowered.

  She lowered her eyebrow and grinned, “Let me get started on those beers, Axton. Hold on for just a second, I’ve got two questions.”

  She turned toward the other side of the bar, walked out the end of it, and disappeared around the corner. As I stood and waited for her to return, I wondered what it was about her that made me want to stay. Typically, I’d tell any other waitress or barmaid to go fuck herself. Something about this one was different. Maybe it was the fact that she appeared to have not one ounce of fear in her. I turned toward Otis, shrugged, and winked. As the men all found places to either stand or sit, she returned to behind the bar with a case of beer. A thin kid followed directly behind her and placed another case on the bar. As he turned and walked away, she dropped the case of beer on the bar between us.

  “I’ll open all of these and just leave ‘em here on the bar in the box, it’ll keep ‘em colder. How’s that sound?” she asked as she opened the cardboard box.

  “Sounds good,” I nodded.

  As she pulled an opener from her rear pocket and began popping the lids from the bottles, she looked up and smiled. Without shifting her focus to the bottles, she opened them as she studied me.

  “So, the two questions, you ready?” she asked as she continued to open the bottles effortlessly.

  Without thinking, I nodded my head, “Yep.”

  “First question. It says Slice on your vest. Is that your name?” she asked.

  “Nope. Name’s Axton, next question.”

  She bit her lower lip, stopped opening bottles and stared.

  “I want to be on the back of your bike before the summer is over. What are the chances of that?” she asked.

  God damn, this girl’s got guts.

  They were right, she is a little firecracker.

  As she bit her lower lip again and waited for an answer, I gave my response. As I heard myself speak, I realized what I was saying and what I was thinking were in clear contrast of each other. Something about this girl was getting to me, and I didn’t like it at all.

  “Well, I’d say your chances are two-fold,” I paused and stood up straight.

  “Pretty God damned slim…”

  “And not at all,” I nodded.

  Strangely, I stood and waited for her to respond. What little I’d seen of her I suspected she’d have something smart-assed to say; something immediate, but well thought out. She talked about as fast as Otis swung his fists, which was quicker than most human minds had the ability to comprehend.

  She didn’t disappoint me.

  “Well, I’ll take the pretty God damned slim option for five hundred, Axton,” she paused and began to open the remaining bottles in the case.

  “There’s something about you…I’m going to guess you haven’t got much use for a woman, other than letting her suck your cock or give you a little pussy whenever you want it. You probably don’t trust ‘em, don’t like ‘em, or maybe a little of both. I want on the back of that bike of yours. And although I may suck your cock or give you a little pussy, I won’t do it until after that ride’s over. Think about that. Guess that’s all I’ve got to say; for now anyway. Here’s your first twenty-four Bud’s,” she said as she shoved the case of beer across the bar.

  You’re a gutsy little bitch, aren’t ya?

  “I’ll do that,” I nodded.

  I turned and slowly walked toward Otis, attempting unsuccessfully to hide the grin on my face. As I stepped in front of him, I literally tried to wipe the smile from my face with the back of my hand.

  “God damn, boss. What was all that about?” he asked as he nodded his head toward the bar.

  “She’s a talkative little bitch,” I responded as I gazed her direction.

  I watched as she stood there and stared our direction as she opened the remaining beers. I shifted my gaze to the open bar, which was now close to empty; short of Sinners. I took a deep breath, held it, and turned to face Otis. After I exhaled, I tilted my head Otis’ direction and spoke sternly as I focused on Avery.

  “Bartender’s off limits. Spread the word to all the fellas. I don’t give a shit about the girl with the tits, but the skinny bitch is hands-off.”

  After a short pause with no response, I turned and looked at Otis, “We clear?”

  “Crystal, Slice,” he chuckled, “I’ll let ‘em know.”

  “One more thing,” I breathed.

  Otis turned toward me and raised one eyebrow comically.

  “Get two of the fellas to get in a fight,” I chuckled.

  Otis shifted his stance and faced me directly, “Get in a fight?”

  I nodded my head, “Yep. I want to see how she reacts. She said her one rule was no fighting in her bar. Hell, get Toad and Hollywood to fight. Or Toad and Pete. Shit, Toad’ll fight anyone. But get two of ‘em to fight, and tell ‘em to be prepared to stop as soon as you tell ‘em to. I’m going to the pisser,” I nodded.

  Otis shook his head, chuckled, and grinned, “You got it, Slice. One fight, comin’ right up.”

  As I slowly walked toward the bathroom, I smiled to myself.

  Well, I guess we’ll see how little Miss. Avery handles herself when things go to shit.

  AVERY

  Axton, after having stepped close enough for me to actually look at him, was as handsome of a man as I had ever seen. He was attractive in an although I don’t know you, I’d let you pin me against the wall, get a fist full of my hair and fuck me kind of way, not a pretty man with a two hundred dollar haircut and clo
thes that looked like he was trying just a little too hard. His good looks set aside, who he appeared to be made him even more appealing. The outlaw biker garb he was wearing added to his good looks. His jeans were far from new, but not trashy looking. His boots were worn, but not old and shitty. The leather vest over what was left of his tee shirt fit as good as I supposed a leather vest could, but it added to his don’t fuck with me demeanor, which was a large part of what made him so damned attractive.

  At least to me.

  One thing I really liked about talking to him was how his mouth curled up into a shitty little smile. More of a smirk really, but it would be my guess it was about as much of a smile as a person could coax from him. Hell, he probably didn’t even know he was doing it.

  As the various bikers walked up and took bottles from the two cases of beers I had opened, most nodded their heads or said hello in some fashion, but none stood at the bar or spoke to me. Two customers remained at the bar, but not for much longer; they were in the process of paying their bills so they could leave. The two groups who sat at the high tops, as well as the two more sitting in booths looked like they were in for the long haul. I quickly looked around the bar, did the math, and realized there were just about enough spots for all of the bikers to sit, but almost none of them were, at least not at the bar. As the two men who remained at the bar left their payment for their tabs at the same time, I collected their money and walked to the register in hopes their absence would cause the bikers to feel more comfortable about sitting at the bar.

  As I closed the register, I noticed Axton leaning on the end of the bar. As I studied him out of the corner of my eye, I quickly remembered I had no tits whatsoever, and probably no chance of ever convincing him to take me for that ride. Bikers love big tits. Hell, everybody loves big tits. I glanced into the dining area and couldn’t help but notice half a dozen bikers gathered around Sloan. I crossed my arms over my chest and slowly walked toward Axton. As I got closer to where he stood, he clasped his hands together and leaned into the edge of the bar. I attempted to form my sparse, skinny lips into a duck face and gave up right about the time I was directly in front of him.