I tossed the towel into the towel bin under the bar. “Answer a question.”
“Ask it.”
“You came over here to the bar.” I hesitated and motioned along the bar. “And it’s empty. I’m back here alone. And for some reason, no one is sitting here. So, why’d you stop to talk to me if you weren’t interested?”
Ha, motherfucker. Answer that.
He gave me his half-assed grin and crossed his arms. “I like talking to you. Hell, what else am I going to do? I talk to these motherfuckers every God damned day. But just because I’m talking to you doesn’t mean I want your ass on the back of my fucking bike or stopping by my house wanting to know if I’m interested in a new tofu recipe you wanna try out.”
“Why not talk to the girl with the tits?” I asked as I motioned toward Sloan.
“Never been a tit man,” he shrugged.
Bullshit.
He turned toward Sloan who was surrounded by bikers. As she stood and giggled, she pressed her upper arms into her boobs, forcing them to burst out of her tee shirt even more.
Seriously?
He turned to face me and shrugged.
“Bullshit,” I snapped.
He tossed his head toward Sloan. “Tell me this. When she’s thirty-five, what are her tits going to look like? I’ll fucking tell ya. Take off the knee-high school girl gym socks I’m sure she’s wearing, and stuff an orange in each one of ‘em. That’s what. Now, when you’re thirty-five, what’ll you look like? I’ll fucking tell ya that too, just like you do now. Unless she moves to the moon, she’s gonna have to deal with the laws of gravity at some point in time. And, it’s working against her while we’re sitting here bullshittin’.”
He no more than finished speaking, and over the music, noise, laughing, and constant hollering, I heard someone scream.
“You cockfucking sucker!”
I twisted my body toward the scream. A tall muscular man with a military buzz cut stood arguing with a bald headed man with a long beard. The bald man was covered in tattoos, including his head, and looked like he shouldn’t be fucked with. Not even a little bit. His response to Buzz cut calling him a cocksucker was to take a wild swing, which was immediately blocked and countered.
The punch by Buzz cut landed on the side of Baldie’s face, knocking him sideways. As he stumbled, Buzz cut bent his knees slightly and took a defensive fighting stance. It was pretty obvious it wasn’t his first time in a fight. Actually, he looked pretty experienced at what he was doing. I noticed as he stood with his fists raised that he clearly had a Marine tattoo on his very muscular right bicep.
Well, that explains it.
Baldy shook off the punch and growled.
You’re growling? What the fuck?
“Toad, I’m gonna kill you,” he grunted.
As much as I really wanted to see the outcome of the fight, I realized I was at work. I needed to stop this from going any further. Without a doubt, before long it would turn into a barroom brawl and someone would be hurt terribly or killed. At best, the bar would be thrashed. As Baldy threw another punch, Buzz cut blocked it and swung his open right hand toward Baldie’s nose. The sound of the impact was sickening. Well, sickening in a kind of sexy way. Immediately blood began to drain from Baldie’s nose like it was a faucet. I turned to face Axton, who was standing and intently watching the fight as if it were something that happened every night.
Hell, maybe it was.
“I said no fighting in my bar,” I snapped.
“And I told you if there was a fight, it’d be from someone being disrespectful,” he said. “Looks like Pete disrespected Toad. Toad’s kind of a hot-head. And he was a Marine. It’s a bad combo.”
I shook my head. “You said they wouldn’t fight each other. You said that. And, they’re both wearing your vests, so they’re each other. So what, your word’s shit?”
He tilted his head and gave me a look. A look as if I had hit a nerve. Actually not a nerve, but the nerve. The big one. After a few second death stare which had me frozen, he turned toward Otis and whistled a shrill whistle. Immediately, Otis uncrossed his arms, rubbed his face, and took a few steps toward the men who were fighting.
“Pete, Toad, that’s it. It’s over. Whatever the fuck started this, squash it,” Otis barked.
The two men relaxed slightly.
“Squash it,” he growled again.
They both lowered their hands and stood up straight. As if nothing had happened, they shook hands, pulled each other into a bro hug and patted each other on the back. Baldy was still bleeding profusely from his nose. Instinctively, I reached under the bar, grabbed a clean towel, and yelled at Otis.
“Here!”
As he turned my direction, I threw him the folded towel. He nodded his head sharply, and handed the towel to Baldy. Shocked at the immediate and effortless ending of the fight, I turned toward Axton.
“So, if I’d have told you to fuck off and let them go at it, what would you have done? This is your bar after all,” he asked in a sarcastic tone.
“Well, when people fight in here, I have three options, let ‘em fight, call the cops, or.” I paused and reached under the bar and pulled my Glock from my purse.
“This,” I twisted my wrist for him to admire the pistol, and slipped it back under the bar.
“Letting them fight isn’t a real good option, there’s still regular customers in here. It would make me look incompetent and someone might get hurt or killed. And, if someone got killed the cops would come. For what it’s worth, I hate cops. So, that brings me to option two, calling the cops. That’s an option, but not one I want to use. Generally, I tell people to pick, call the cops or stop fucking fighting. Realistically, I’m not pulling the pistol. Not ever. Well, unless someone’s trying to rob me or someone else in here.” I paused and waited for him to respond.
“Model 17?” he asked.
I scrunched my brow and stared, “Huh?”
“Your pistol. Glock model 17. It’s a nine millimeter, 4th generation. Must be pretty new,” he said.
“Oh yeah, it’s a Model 17. I got it about eighteen months ago when I got my concealed carry permit,” I bragged.
“Nice. Well…” He paused, reached for the rubber band, and snapped it against his wrist.
What the fuck with the rubber band?
“Avery, what night’s do you grace the world with your presence here?” he asked.
Shocked at the fact he asked the question, I considered my unpredictable schedule while I mentally formed my response. I wondered why he would ask if he wasn’t interested?
He wouldn’t.
“Tuesday’s, Thursday’s and Saturday’s, almost always. It’s hard to say, he changes our schedules all the time. And I’ve got finals coming up, so it’s anybody’s guess here real quick.” I said.
“Finals, huh? College girl? I would have guessed you a little older.”
“Nope, senior. Criminal Justice, go figure,” I said with a grin.
“Wichita State?” he asked.
“Nope. Southwestern College, down in Winfield.”
“Winfield, huh?” he grinned.
“Yeah, Winfield. You know where it is?”
“Never heard of the place,” he shook his head, “I tell ya what, I’ll come in next week. If you’re here, I’ll see ya,” he said.
I considered giving him my phone number and decided against it. There’s a fine line between acting interested and being a stalker. I definitely had stalker tendencies, and had every intention of stalking Axton, but I didn’t want him to realize it.
“Sounds good,” I said.
So, I guess this is where you leave, and I spend all of next week sick to my stomach trying to decide what to wear to work, taking water pills by the dozen so I can shed weight, and feeling like I’m fat no matter what, right?
He glanced toward Otis.
“Otis, have ‘em saddle up,” he hollered.
Yep. Women’s intuition.
As mu
ch as I wanted to stay and get a few more sentences in, I knew it was time I changed up my game. I hadn’t been successful at picking up a man in several years. Not a meaningful one, anyway. I reached under the bar, picked up another clean towel, and walked toward the other end of the bar without saying a word. It was far too late for me to try the hard to get routine, but I could act less interested than I truly was. Sometimes, less is more.
I watched the men walk outside in small groups and a few individually. In many respects, it felt as if they had been in the bar for the entire night, if not more. In reality, they had been in the bar roughly thirty minutes. After almost all of the men were gone, Axton and Otis walked toward the bar. It seemed strange, because I would have sworn Otis had already left.
“I appreciate you not calling the cops when the fellas were fighting,” Otis said as he reached over the bar.
As I shook his hand, he smiled. “Call me Otis.”
“Avery,” I said.
“What do I owe you for the beers?” Axton asked.
“Well, they drank both cases entirely. So, that’s forty-eight times $4.25, let me check,” I responded.
“$204.00 even,” Axton said.
I turned to face him. “Excuse me?”
“It’s $204.00 even. Forty-eight times $4.25,” he nodded as he pulled three hundred dollar bills from his wallet.
“And you know that because?” I asked.
He turned toward Otis, shrugged, and shifted his gaze to meet mine. “I know it because I know how to multiply. Here.”
He handed me three one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Keep this one, two hundred’s fine, it’s easier.”
“Keep it. It’s your tip,” Axton said.
“And one other thing,” Otis said.
I widened my eyes and smiled as I tilted my head toward Otis. “Yeah?”
“Your friend, Sloan? She says the only way she can leave here is if you say it’s alright. She’s out in the parking lot, afraid to come ask. She wanted me to ask you if you’ll let her off work?” he asked.
That fucking bitch.
I can’t get a fucking ride, and she’s going to leave?
Like now?
Fucking slut.
“She wanted you to ask?”
He nodded his head once.
Axton shrugged.
That whore.
I stepped from behind the bar, shoved my way past Axton and Otis, and walked briskly to the door. As I opened it, I saw Sloan in the parking lot, laughing with one of the guys beside what I guessed was his motorcycle. His back was to me, and the vest he wore was different than the rest of them. It said Selected Sinners on the top and Prospect on the bottom. There was no skull or guns in the center, and no Kansas banner on the vest.
I’d seen the shows on T.V. He was a Prospect; a soon to be member. He looked young, and was probably much closer to Sloan’s age than any of the others. She forced a smile, narrowed her eyes, and waved. I shook my head and stomped back into the bar. As I stepped inside, Otis and Axton were on the other side of the door.
“So?” Otis’ voice trailed along as he waited for an answer.
I looked around the bar. The guy with the ears and his two friends sat at number eight. Another group of four sat at number six, by the back door. The bar, with the exception of them, was empty.
“Fine with me. She’s a big girl,” I huffed.
“She sure as fuck is,” Axton said as he walked past me.
I wonder what he means by that…
Chapter Eight
AXTON
My opinion on women hadn’t changed. Not at all. I never believed a woman had a place in the club, nor would I ever consider it. Therefore, having a woman become an active part of my life wasn’t an option. Women become mentally attached to men through simple exposure and much more so when sex is added to the equation. For me to think for one moment I could have a relationship with a woman, even a friendly one, without her developing some sort of feelings or expectations would be foolish on my part.
I’ve never considered myself to be a foolish man.
My experience with women and sex in the last ten years had been a mountain of one night stands. I’d made every effort to be certain that each and every woman I had been with understood what we were agreeing to. I fuck you, I leave, and there’s no chance of seeing me again. Growing up the son of a Hell’s Angel father, I quickly learned the value of making rules and following them.
It takes a true outlaw; a person who refuses to be governed by the established rules or practices of any group, a rebel, a nonconformist.
Being a member of a motorcycle club requires that all members adhere strictly to bylaws and rules, yet the men place minimal value on the law. A club filled with and based on contradiction. The absolute adherence to the rules allows each and every member to immediately develop an understanding of one’s ability to be trusted. To be dishonest on the side of the law, but brutally honest on the side of being a member of the club takes a different type of man.
Most of the men who rode with the Sinners, or any club for that matter, had their own rules and regulations. Things they hold sacred. At any cost, they’ll adhere to the rules they’ve developed or put in place. Their doing so allows the members of the club to see their strong will, and slowly a trust develops unlike any other.
In the last decade, I had not seen any woman more than once. It was one of my rules. I had not received the phone numbers of any of the women I had sex with. It was another rule of mine. Having the ability to call a woman and have her come suck my cock or fuck me would create temptation to do just that. I’m tempted enough by simply living life, and I wasn’t interested in making my life any more difficult than it already was.
Going to see Avery a second time wasn’t breaking a rule of mine, but it was certainly out of character for me. As long as I wasn’t fucking her, I was convinced I had no rule in place to prevent me from seeing her. I, not unlike other men, tend to try and find a way to manipulate rules to allow a loophole big enough to slide through without being able to be criticized for having broken it.
In being honest with myself, I found Avery to be an extremely interesting person. If she were a man, I could see us developing a solid friendship. The fact she had a pussy between her legs made things fractionally more difficult. A man having a friend with a pussy is like a wolf being friends with a chicken.
Not impossible, but highly fucking unlikely.
“No, she said it was like riding an eight-hundred-pound vibrator. She said she was soaked when she got to town. And never heard of Winfield, huh? You lying fucker,” Avery said.
I shook my head lightly. “I was joking. Yeah, we’re based out of Winfield. I prefer the small town atmosphere; it makes life simple.”
“Well, now you know. Or if you don’t, I’ll guess I’ll tell ya. Sloan and I both live there. We’re roommates. I drive back and forth to this shit-hole to work, but I’m going to move here when school’s out, and she’s coming with me. I like the excitement of a large city.”
“Grow up in a small town?” I asked.
“Yep, Marietta, Ohio,” she responded.
“Hell, never heard of it. Marietta, Georgia, I’ve heard of that one, but not Marietta, Ohio. How big is it?”
“About the size of Winfield, 13,000 people maybe,” she said.
I felt a little relief knowing she would be moving in a matter of weeks. Having her in Winfield, and knowing it, would make not seeing her more difficult. Having her live in a city of 400,000, and being twenty-five miles away would be better for us both.
I chuckled. “Big city life will be an exciting change, I’m sure. And an eight-hundred-pound vibrator, huh?”
She nodded her head and laughed. “That’s what she said. I’d really need to tell you what else she said, but…”
I leaned into the bar and lightly pressed my right fist into my left palm. As I rested my chin on top of my clenched fist, I cocked one eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”<
br />
She looked around the bar. “Give me a minute, I might.”
As she held her index finger in the air, she turned and walked away. After mixing a drink, she carried it to the other end of the bar and handed it to a man who was nursing his last sip from the glass on the bar in front of him. Completely the opposite of most every other biker I had ever met, I’d never been a man who preferred a little meat on the bones of my women. Given an opportunity to decide on my own, my preference was a thin attractive woman with small tits. Watching Avery walk to the other end of the bar was nothing short of painful. Yet more proof I had almost no business continuing with this little friendship we were developing.
As she turned around from her short visit with the man, she wadded up a napkin, stood firm, and shot it like a basketball at the trashcan which was almost twenty feet away. As the ball of paper fell directly into the center of the can, she pumped her fist alongside her hip.
Early spring in Kansas can bring snow, ninety degree days, or a tornado. It’s anyone’s guess and changes from day to day. Today, thankfully, was clear skies, sunshine, and almost eighty degrees. Avery was dressed in shorts, a baseball tee, and canvas sneakers. As she quickly walked back to the end of the bar where I was seated, I found myself admiring her.
Get your shit and go, Slice. This girls gonna cause nothing but trouble for you, and for the club.
As she stepped in front of me, she pushed her hands into her rear pockets and twisted her hips playfully. “So, wanna hear it?”
No, truthfully, I want to leave. If I stay here much longer I’m going to make a mistake.
“Huh?” I stammered as I snapped the rubber band against my wrist twice.
“You want me to tell you what else she said?” she asked as she twisted back and forth.
You cute little bitch.
“Sure,” I said as I continued to stare at her tanned legs and smooth skin.
She s=coughed a laugh. “Your boy Cash has a choad.”
“A what?” I laughed as I sat up straight.
“A choad. It’s a short fat cock. I guess it was about as big around as her wrist, and from what she said, it might have been an inch long. Maybe. Basically, she said it’s this huge head, and no shaft at all,” she giggled as she clamped her thumb and forefinger around her wrist and made a fist.
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