Sandy
I’d always performed in an altered state of being. When I got on stage, I never did so as Sandy, I was always Texxxas. And, when I went home, Texxxas remained in the dressing room, where she belonged.
It left Sandy immune to everything that happened in the club, and allowed her to live a life unaffected by the men who lusted over Texxxas.
The process had worked well for me.
Until now.
It seemed that lately Texxxas was spending all her time on stage thinking about Smokey. My two worlds were somehow colliding, and I didn’t like the result.
“Fuck yeah,” someone screamed. “Look at her big fucking titties. I’d like to stick my cock between ‘em and…”
“Skinny little bitch needs fucked,” another hollered.
“Show us your tits!”
“Yeah, show us your tits!”
I turned slowly, gyrating my hips to the beat of the music, wishing all along that I hadn’t given any notice. I regretted not walking in and simply quitting. For the first time since I started dancing, I felt guilty for doing so. It wasn’t because I perceived the profession as wrong, because I didn’t.
But I could no longer separate the real me from the make believe me, and the girl who was on stage was slowly falling for a man who asked her to stop performing.
And I hadn’t.
As I turned toward the front of the stage, I heard shouting from the entrance of the club. It grew louder and louder, and then I saw Craig rush in the direction of the commotion. I tried to focus on the music, lose touch with whatever might be happening, and simply make it to the end of the song without becoming an emotional mess.
“Show us your pussy,” someone hissed.
“Fuck yeah! Take that fucking bikini off!”
One of the men who was shouting got up and began to climb on the edge of the elevated platform where I was dancing. I glanced at where Craig normally stood, only to realize he hadn’t returned.
The overeager patron pulled himself onto the side of the dance floor, rose to his feet, and began writhing to the music as he shuffled toward me.
“You’re a sexy little bitch,” he said, his tongue thick from the alcohol he’d consumed. “Come here. I’ll help you get that top off.”
Still dressed in my bikini, I folded my arms over my chest in protest of his offer. “Get off the stage!” I said through my teeth.
“Hey motherfucker,” a familiar voice shouted. “Get the fuck away from her!”
I looked up.
Oh shit.
Smokey and another man were mere feet from the front of the platform and coming in my direction as fast as they could maneuver around the tables.
The music stopped.
Short of the commotion in front of me, the club fell silent.
“What the fuck?” someone shouted.
A group of men stood from their table and turned toward Smokey and his friend.
“What the fuck, dude?” one of them said. “She was getting’ ready to show us her puss.”
While his friend continued toward the stage, Smokey spun to face the three men and began a very one-sided fight.
In my time at the club, I’d seen many fights, several of which involved bikers, but I’d never seen three guys get their asses kicked that quickly. In three or four punches, and what appeared to be one headbutt, the three men were on the floor at Smokey’s feet.
I glanced to my left.
Smokey’s friend, who I now recognized as a club regular named P-Nut, had climbed onto the platform. Upon seeing him, the man who was approaching me pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open with a click!
Oh shit.
“He’s got a knife!” I shouted.
P-Nut glanced at the knife, and then looked at the man and grinned. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Why are you smiling?
“Better bring more than that if you wanna fuck with the Nut,” he said, laughing as he spoke.
The knife-wielding man took a quick step toward him.
P-Nut extended his arms and curled his fingertips toward his palms as if inviting the man to come closer. “C’mon, motherfucker. Come cut the Nut.”
With my mouth agape, I stared in disbelief.
What’s wrong with you?
He’s got a knife.
The man lunged forward and swung the knife wildly toward P-Nut’s chest.
P-Nut blocked the swing, gripped the man’s wrist, and then extended his arm straight. While the man’s eyes widened, P-Nut thrust his open hand against the man’s elbow, breaking his arm with a loud crack!
The man screamed in pain and the knife fell to the floor.
A few quick fists to the man’s midsection followed, and then he fell to the floor in a pile. Clutching an arm that now dangled at an awful angle, the man began to blubber.
“You broke…my fucking…you broke my arm!”
P-Nut shrugged and reached for the knife laying at his feet. “Shoulda listened, dumbass.”
He picked up the knife, put it in his pocket, and then looked at me. “Name’s P-Nut.” He reached for my hand. “C’mon. I’ll help you down.”
Still in shock from what I’d seen, I accepted his offer and then glanced toward where Smokey had been standing. Just a few feet from the edge of the platform, and now in an all-out barroom brawl, Smokey was swinging his fists toward anyone who got near him. Most men were running toward the door, but everyone within arm’s reach was being pummeled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Craig rushing toward him.
“Hey, you Dwayne Johnson looking motherfucker!” P-Nut shouted from beside me. “Stay away from him!”
Craig looked up, and his eyes immediately shot wide. After coming to a complete stop, his hands slowly raised above his shoulders.
I glanced to my left.
P-Nut held a gun in his hand, and it was pointing right at Craig.
Oh, God.
Please don’t...
“Stay the fuck away from him,” P-Nut said, waving the pistol to the side. “Just step to the side, and everything’s gonna be cool. We’re just takin’ her home, and those fellas was bein’ disrespectful to her.”
Craig stood, frozen in place, with his hands raised to shoulder height.
The man on the platform floor continued to cry out in pain, and there were no less than six men on the floor below us doing the same. After walking me to the edge of the platform, P-Nut shouted at Smokey.
“Smoke!” he yelled. “Time to roll.”
Smokey, holding a rather limp man up by his shirt, pounded him once more in the face with his right hand. After dropping him to the floor, he turned toward me.
“You’re done working here.” His voice was stern. “It’s over.”
The thought of having him lose trust in me was crushing. I leaned over the edge of the stage. “I gave notice, I was just--”
His eyes narrowed and his forehead creased. “O-ver.”
I swallowed heavily. My guess was that he just took possession of me, and as weird as it seemed, I loved it.
I fell into his arms as if I didn’t have a care in the world. As he caught me, I looked up. “Okay.”
He lowered me to the floor, scanned the club, and upon seeing no threats, pulled off his kutte. He handed it to P-Nut and then took off his wife beater.
“Put this on,” he said.
“Go ahead, Smoke,” P-Nut said. “I got your back.”
Smokey looked at me with angry eyes. “Stay between us,” he demanded.
I pulled his shirt over my head. “Okay.”
With Smokey leading the way, the three of us walked past the overturned tables and toward the door. When we reached the entrance, the two doormen, who were also bouncers, were standing there.
“Step aside fellas,” Smokey said dryly.
“Let ‘em through,” I heard Craig say from behind me.
They stepped to the side of the door.
“Smokey, wait,” I said.
“I want you to meet someone.”
He spun around and shot me a hard look. “What?”
“I want you to meet someone,” I said sheepishly.
Obviously still on an adrenaline rush from the fights he’d been in, he glared at me as if I had asked him to jump off the San Francisco Bridge. I tilted my head to the side. “This is Craig. He’s my best friend.”
Craig cleared his throat. “Her gay best friend.”
Smokey gave the two doormen and angry glare, glanced at Craig, and lifted his chin ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you.”
I shrugged and then put on an awkward smile. “This is my baby’s daddy.”
“I’m not your baby daddy,” Smokey growled. “I’m your Ol’ Man.”
With my eyes still fixed on Craig, my mouth curled into a prideful grin. “Didn’t take long, did it?”
He gave me the thumbs up.
“Mail my check?”
Craig simply smiled.
“What was that about?” Smokey asked.
“Inside joke,” I said.
That night I walked out the door of the club for the last time, with my Ol’ Man leading the way, and P-Nut watching our backs.
And, it felt right.
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Nine
Smokey
It seemed odd mentoring a prospect when I normally didn’t allow anyone close to me other than the small group of people I trusted. Trusting Tank was different than mentoring him, but he was slowly making strides toward gaining my trust, nonetheless.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get in this club, believe me,” he said. “I had that feeling of brotherhood in the Corps, and after they wouldn’t up my tour, I lost it. I miss it, and the only place I think I can get it is in an MC.”
I took a bite of my burger. “Why wouldn’t they up your tour?”
“PTSD. Said I was a threat to my fellow Marines.”
“Damned shame,” I said. “Couple of the patches are vets, and they’ve got PTSD, too. Sucks.”
He shoved a handful of French fries in his mouth and nodded. “I deal with it different than most, I suppose.”
“What do you do to deal with it?”
He grabbed another handful of fries. “Go to the range.”
“I shot him a surprised look. “That’s it?”
“Flying bullets make me happy.”
I couldn’t decide if his response made me nervous or not. “Suppose it depends on which direction they’re going.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Whether they’re coming at you, or going away from you.”
“Shit,” he said. “I’ll take ‘em either way.”
“I prefer the ones that aren’t flying in my direction.”
“Either way’s exciting.” He nodded toward my pistol. “See you carry a piece. Gives me peace of mind knowing that.”
“Gives me peace of mind, too.” I slapped my hand against my pocket. “Just like the American Express Card. Don’t leave home without it.”
“I’m with ya on that.”
Tank was in his late twenties by my guess, and had spent ten years in the military, all of which was in combat. He was average height, and way above average size, hence the name Tank. His head – still sporting a military crew cut – seemed to sit on top of his muscular shoulders, and he didn’t have the “V” shape that most men sought. He was simply big. And muscular.
One of his massive biceps was adorned with the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor, and the other was tattooed with what I suspected was his unit number, and several names.
I assumed the names were of Marines lost in combat, but didn’t ask.
“Soon as your done finger fucking those fries, we’ll go check on that job,” I said. “See if my guy’s done with it or not.”
“How many jobs you do at once?” he asked.
“Depends. Sometimes one, sometimes five or six. Right now, Cholo’s keeping me pretty busy with a few, and I’ve got a couple others that I’m doing. Need as many as I can, though. Got a kid on the way and all.”
“That chick move in yet?”
“Nope. We’re moving her this weekend.”
“Need any help?”
“We got it covered.”
“I’m serious.” He flexed his bicep. “I love liftin’ heavy shit.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
I’d always said you could tell who your real friends were by who showed up on moving day, and the fact he offered made me feel good about him being a solid dude.
He grabbed another fistful of fries, and bit the tips off half of them in one bite. “If you decide you need some help, I’m serious. Just give me a holler.”
“Will do.”
“My Ol’ Lady left me when I was in Afghanistan. I don’t know, when I see a fucker like you settling down with some chick, it gives me hope.”
“Fucker like me.” I chuckled. “What the fuck’s that mean, prospect?”
“No disrespect, but you’re a fucking asshole,” he said.
I laughed. “No argument from me on that.”
As he finished devouring his fries, I considered what he’d said about being ditched by his Ol’ Lady while he was at war. I normally didn’t feel sorry for anyone, but I began to feel sorry for him to go through such a loss while he was fighting for his country’s freedom.
“Suck’s about your Ol’ lady,” I said. “Leaving like that.”
“Standard Operating Procedure for wives of Marines,” he said. “Seems they all do it, eventually.”
I shook my head. “Damned shame.”
“I want a woman who I can trust. Tough, considering I don’t trust anyone.”
“You trust me?” I cocked an eyebrow, and waited for his response.
He finished his handful of fries and then shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t given me a reason to yet. If you want to gain my trust, you’ll have to earn it. Suppose the same goes for you, right?”
I pursed my lips and nodded. He was slowly earning my respect. In time, I was sure trust would follow.
“C’mon,” I said. “Let’s beat feet.”
“Sorry, Boss. I got to hit the head and drop a deuce. Be back post haste. Those greasy fries are goin’ right through me.”
“I don’t need all the gory details about you taking a shit, prospect. Hurry the fuck up.”
While he was taking a dump, I sent Sandy a text message and asked how her day was going. It seemed strange caring about someone other than Eddie, P-Nut or myself, but it wasn’t something I had to tell myself to do, which led me to believe I naturally cared about her, the baby, or both.
She responded with an emoji of some sort that I wasn’t able to discern, as her iPhone and my Android didn’t communicate well with each other when it came to smiley faces and other like-minded shit.
I grinned, pocketed my phone, and checked my watch. We’d been in the restaurant for almost an hour, which was a long time for me to sit in one place during the day. When I was about to get up and leave, Tank came out of the bathroom.
“Take my advice, you’ll wanna use the women’s restroom if you gotta go.”
I stood and shook my head. “I’m good. Let’s roll.”
We walked outside, and no more than reached the parking lot, when Tank spotted someone leaning over my bike. Before I had a chance to say anything, he took off in a dead run toward the guy.
“Hey, motherfucker, what are you doing?” he shouted.
The guy, who was leaned over the gas tank, stood and turned to face him. His face did little to hide the fact he’d been caught fucking with something he knew he surely shouldn’t have been.
Knowing that the man hadn’t done any damage, I paused to see just how Tank would handle the situation.
“I was just--” the man stammered.
Tank stepped in front of him, partially blocking my view. “Just what?”
“I was, uhh--”
Tank punched him in the gut, then kicked
his legs out from underneath him. The man fell to the asphalt at Tank’s feet.
“When a motherfucker takes too long to answer,” Tank said as he kicked the man. “That’s when you can tell a lie’s coming.”
He kicked the guy in the gut a few more times, and he immediately covered his head with his arms, hoping to protect his face from any boot damage.
Tank shoved his heel against the man’s hip, rolled him onto his back, and then pressed his boot to the man’s throat.
“Don’t ever fuck with a man’s bike. Don’t look at it, breathe on it, take pictures of it, and you damned sure better not touch it.”
“O-okay.”
Tank lifted his foot. “Get the fuck outta here.”
The man rose to his feet, looked at me, and then turned and ran behind the adjoining restaurant.
Tank turned toward me. “Fucking shit head.”
I chuckled and then shook my head. “Fifteen years of riding, and that’s the first time anyone’s ever got near my shit.”
“Burns my ass when a man fucks with my sled.”
“Apparently.”
“Sorry I jumped him. Shoulda let you handle it, but that’s just how I roll.”
I slapped him on the back. “You did good, prospect.”
He didn’t know it, but he just earned a few points toward gaining my trust, and a few at earning a little more respect.
Hell, at the rate he was going, he’d be running with P-Nut and me in a few years.
“I’ll take that help moving Sandy if it still stands,” I said.
He turned toward me and nodded once. “Might keep me out of trouble.”
“Plan on it, then.”
I always wanted a little brother to harass, and realized Tank just might be able to fill those shoes.
With Sandy moving in, the pregnancy going without a hitch, Eddie healthy and happy, and Tank to harass, my life was looking up.
Or, so I thought.
Chapter One Hundred Forty
Sandy
Cholo, Lex, and Tank had just left, leaving P-Nut, Eddie, Smokey and me at standing in the living room looking at a stack or cardboard boxes. I’d minimized my belongings to personal effects and a few pieces of furniture that Smokey and I agreed would be well-suited for his home.
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