by K. Renee
“Fuckin’ cops,” Heart grumbles, and closes his eyes once again.
After a while, gentle snores begin showing that this time he’s dozed off for real. I try to make myself as comfortable as I can on the hard chair, and think about Hannah’s visit, smiling to myself as I realise this is one of the few times that a brother’s actually told the police all he knows. We’ve asked him ourselves, but he really has no recollection of the Ford F-250 hitting his bike. Can’t recall seeing it at all. His last memory is of Crystal’s arms wrapped around him, speeding along an open road. That he has no recollection of seeing her broken body on the ground has got to be better than remembering everything and reliving it over and over again in his nightmares. He must have fought hard but been unable to prevent the bike leaving the freeway, and I can only imagine the panic and fear he would have felt. Thank God for small fucking mercies he’s got no memories at all. I hope the detail never comes back.
Eight hours later and Blade’s entrance marks the end of my shift. Heart being asleep meant the time had passed with no further conversation. My muscles feeling seized, I stand and stretch, then give our enforcer a similar update to the one Beef had supplied to me, and we exchange sorry shakes of our heads. I update him on Hannah’s visit, and once that’s completed, at last I’m free to leave. While we’re all elated to see Heart physically improving, I walk out just like Beef had done after spending time with him, head down and dejected.
Outside the autumn sun is shining, a pleasant temperature, not as harsh as it is in mid-summer. Monsoon season has passed, making it one of my favourite seasons to ride. Starting the engine, I point my bike towards the clubhouse, more than ready to go home, using the miles and the time to give the breeze a chance to clear sombre thoughts from my head and the condition of my injured brother from my mind. But when I arrive at the clubhouse, where I’ve been is obviously written on my face. It’s an expression we all seem to wear when we come back from visiting Heart.
Drummer, our president, standing at the bar, notices and waves me over. Jekyll, one of our prospects, puts a beer into my hand. After a quick look at me, Drum nods to the top shelf where his best whisky is kept. Declining ice with a shudder, but grateful to have something stronger, I pick up the shot glass, knocking the spirit back in a couple of swallows.
“How is he today? Any mention of Amy?”
Sadly, I explain, “I tried, Prez, but he’s adamant he won’t see her. Fuckin’ shame for the kid. She doin’ okay?”
Drum turns and points to where his pregnant old lady, Sam, is playing with the little girl. “Kids are resilient, she’s settlin’ in with us fine. But she needs her father. And Heart needs to see her.”
That he does.
“Hannah came sniffin’ around.”
“Oh? She got anythin’?”
“Nothin’ at all. ‘Cept they may have a description of the fucker who hired the Ford.”
Drum taps his fingers against the bar. “Could be interestin’ if that matches Archer. ‘Bout time they put the clues together.”
I nod. My thoughts exactly. “We gonna make a move on Clyde? Heart still doesn’t know she’s a problem.” Susie Clyde was Crystal’s mother, and as far as I’m concerned should be in the ground for her sins.
“Want Heart to be part of that decision. We’ll set him straight on what she did when he’s in a better state of mind.”
I suppose that’s the right thing to do. Turning around, I survey the room, freshly painted and with all new furniture. There’s no doubt it’s freshened the place up, but the reason for the redecoration is something else that fucker Archer was responsible for, he and his cop friends had destroyed the place using a trumped up search warrant. As I’m glancing around, I see the sweet butts are just coming in, and a good fuck might be just what I need to clear the last few hours from my mind. I nudge the Prez and indicate Paige. “Think I’m gonna give her a try.” She’s been here a couple of months now, but to date I’ve not been with her.
His sympathetic eyes meet mine, and he gives a quick nod. “Yeah, go get laid, Dart.”
He turns back to take a sip of his drink and I wonder how he deals with his pent-up emotions now he’s restricted himself to an old lady. Sure, the fuckings probably good, but having no variety? My eyes fall on the other new girl, Diva. I’ve already seen they’re both up for threesomes. Having two girls service me tonight will surely bring me out of this funk that I’m in. Drummer used to be up for multiple partners before he tied himself down.
Before I move off, having gestured toward the girls I’ve chosen and received their eager nods in response, I ask him, “How can you cope with having just one pussy, Prez?”
He swings around, and a smile comes to his lips. “Ain’t the hardship you’re thinkin’, Dart. One day you’ll find the one, and she’ll be so good that you’ll never want your cock to go anywhere else.”
I laugh, and shake my head so violently my long hair comes loose from my bun. “Ain’t no one girl alive could satisfy me, Drum.”
His lips remain curved as he replies, “Perhaps you just haven’t found the right one yet.” He pauses, and points around the room, indicating the whores ready and waiting. “There are girls you fuck, and girls you make an old lady.”
I chuckle, not persuaded in the least. I’m still moving my head left to right in negative dismissal as I walk away, going over to the Paige and Diva who stand and enthusiastically link their arms with mine. Within moments we’re in one of the crash rooms, clothes scattered over the floor, and I’m lying flat on the bed while Diva sucks my cock into her talented mouth, and Paige sits on my face. God, this is the life!
Tomorrow I could go with another of the club girls, or perhaps one of the hang arounds who come to our parties. A different experience every night. No siree, I’m never going to find a woman who’s got everything I want in one package. Uh uh.
After I’ve come in Diva’s mouth and in Paige’s cunt, I’m totally drained. Having ensured both girls have been satisfied, I send them away and, too tired to go up to my suite, settle down to sleep where I am.
My last thoughts before my eyes close return to Heart. When we thought we were going to lose him, it wasn’t only me who felt the loss, he was my best friend, after all. It affected us all, and some of the soul went out of the club. Heart was our conscience, Heart was a lover, a peacemaker, though he’d fight alongside any brother when needed.
Heart, Crystal, and Amy were our resident family, their love for each other making all of us smile, cheering us up on the darkest of days. When he came round, I thought at least we now had him back. Damaged for certain, that was a given, it’s hard for anyone to deal with the devastation that comes with losing a mate. But what none of us expected was he’d be totally broken.
That man in the hospital bed? I don’t know him at all.
Chapter 2 - Alex
Celine covers her mouth and leans toward me, whispering conspiratorially from behind her hand. “See those two men at the bar? I’d give them both at least an eight, and probably darn near a nine.”
Only vaguely interested, I turn to see what my sister has pointed out, and it only takes a second before I’m agreeing with her assessment. “For whites, they’re okay.” And my, that’s an understatement. The two tall men are stunning, particularly the one on the right. He’s got his dark hair tied up in a man bun, and when he turns my way his features are aquiline with well-defined cheek bones. His stance and bearing show he’s all man, almost too much for one woman to handle. As I watch, he laughs at something his companion has said, then slaps him on the back, drawing my attention to the strange leather vest that he’s wearing. “That one’s not bad. But what’s he wearing?”
Celine narrows her eyes. “The threads show they’re members of the Satan’s Devils,” she tells me. “It’s an outlaw motorcycle club based here in Tucson. Have you not seen them around?”
I haven’t, no, but then I haven’t been here that long. Then I latch onto something she’s said.
“Outlaw?” Now intrigued, peering up through my eyelashes, I risk another glance at them.
“Yeah, they live outside the law. Or that’s the word.”
“Criminals?”
“Christ, girl. Don’cha have bikers where you come from?” As she picks up her glass and drains it, I think about it. No, I don’t think I’ve come across them before, not unless I’ve been driving and had to put up with a group of motorcyclists splitting lanes, making me ultra-careful to keep to my side of the road. Tilting her drink toward the bikers, she continues, “There are rumours they kill people and bury the bodies.”
“Kill? Who? Anyone?” I can’t help shifting nervously and shrinking back into my seat.
She throws me a disparaging look. “Jesus, Alex. What stone did you crawl out from under? No, not random peeps. Just people who cross them.”
Making a mental note not to do anything to upset them, I risk another look, trying to assess just how dangerous they are.
Celine must see that’s she’s made me nervous, and gives a little laugh. “They’re just rumours, Alex. If they were criminals, don’cha think the cops would quickly be along to arrest them?”
They certainly don’t look like wanted men, standing at the bar and enjoying a joke.
“And they own this place. The Wheel Inn. Or so most people believe. That’s why they’re here I expect. To check it’s running smoothly. And to keep trouble away.”
Which they’d have no problems doing just by their presence. You’d have to be mad to take on big, tough men like them. And something about them being tattooed and dangerous, I’m ashamed to admit, sparks my interest. What would it be like to have one of them in your corner? Or in your bed. Especially the one with his hair in a bun. God, I bet he’d know what to do to keep a girl satisfied. Mmm mmm.
Celine resumes the conversation. “I think they’ve gone, or are trying to go legit. They own a number of businesses in Tucson…” She breaks off and looks at me with a gleam in her eyes. “Hey, girl, that’s a thought. They own a strip club.”
I shrug, having absolutely no idea where she’s going with that comment.
“Yeah,” she carries on enthusiastically, “that could be an idea for you. You’re desperate for a job, ain’t cha? And I doubt they’d be worried if you didn’t want to give them your security number.”
It was the wrong time to take a sip of my drink, as I now spit it out all over the table, and my resultant choking fit has the bikers, and everyone else in the vicinity, spinning around to look at me. Feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks, I grab hold of her arm. “What the fuck you talking about? Me? Work in a strip club?”
“Babe,” she looks at me as though addressing a child, “you’ve got no real work experience to offer. What’s the one skill you have got?”
Suddenly I regret telling my sister as much as I had. There were definitely some things I should have kept quiet. But she’s right. Having run away to Tucson with little more than the clothes on my back, the money I had managed to bring with me was fast running out. I’d be unable to rely on her generosity for very much longer, and needed to earn enough to pay my way somehow or other. It’s not that I haven’t been looking for work, I have. But either I’m not wanted as I’ve no resume to offer, or if someone was willing to give me a chance, I baulked at having my name officially entered on employment records. I may be overly cautious, Ron might not even be trying to find me. But if he is searching for me, I don’t want to make it easy for him.
Hopefully he wouldn’t even think of looking here, even if I did come and impose on my sister. Ostracised by my overly strict family when she’d got pregnant and had an abortion at the age of eighteen, I’d kept in contact with her in secret, and as far as I know, am the only one who knows where she ended up. Even if Ron did find out her address, there’s no reason for him to think that this is where I would run to.
Thinking about my plight reminds me how overwhelmed I was by her easy acceptance of my situation, and the help both her and her husband have extended to me. Not only putting a roof over my head, but also refusing much more than a pittance toward the food they willingly share. It is well past time I begin to repay them, and hopefully, manage to bring in enough money so I can put some aside. But a strip club? I bark an incredulous laugh.
She’s looking at me strangely. “I think it’s worth a try.”
I just give a disbelieving look. “Me, a stripper? Working for bikers? You have got to be kidding me. Just look at me, Celine. I’m not the type.” I know what I am. Christ, I find it hard enough to get clothes to fit. Which wouldn’t be a problem if I’m taking them off. I give myself and mental slap around the head. I’m not seriously considering it, am I?
“I’m black,” I add. And coming to Tucson I’m finding it strange how few of us there are.
She tilts her head to one side. “You’re different is all. And from what you’ve said…”
“I said too much, obviously.” My eyes narrow at her.
Her sudden change of subject catches me off guard. “Want another?” She points to my empty glass.
Thank goodness! She appears to be done with her preposterous suggestion.
When I nod, she takes empties and goes over to the bar. I watch as she meanders around the tables instead of taking the direct route, and ends up, oh shit, beside the bikers. Showing such rough types can also be gentlemen, they move aside to let her through, but I can see from here they’re undressing her with their eyes as they do so. Oh, Celine got the figure, looks, and the height. She’s the total opposite of me. As usual, I can’t hide my envy at the way the dice fell.
What they see must be enough to tempt them, but she dismisses the comment they make with a confident laugh, then turns and places her order. As she’s waiting for the barman to bring the drinks, she swings back around and starts having what becomes an animated discussion with the men clad in leather. Anxiously biting my lip, I half look away, but continue watching them out of the side of my eye. What is she up to? But luckily there’s not one glance coming my way to suggest the topic of the discussion seems to concern me. The biker taps something into his phone, and I’m hoping it’s not her number. She’s happily married, or that’s what I thought.
After a few moments she returns, and a fresh drink is placed in front of me. There’s a gleam in her eye that I’m not sure I like.
“Thanks, Celine.” I regard it for a moment, feeling guilty. “You know you didn’t have to bring me out tonight. I’m so sorry I can’t pay my way.”
“Oh shush, girl. It’s good to get away from the house and have a girls’ night out. Craig’s all well and good, but I can go out with him anytime. And I can’t eye fuck the men while he’s around.”
I smile, thinking she doesn’t have to. She landed herself a good’un with him. So, what was she up to? I make a small gesture that no one else would notice. “What was that all about?”
“What?” she replies innocently, but something in her eyes flares.
“You, talking to the bikers.”
She laughs, shrugging it off, and points to the drinks on the table. “You’ll soon be able to return the favour once you’re earning again.”
She’s changing the subject by reminding me of my sorry predicament. I lift my chin and lower it, while thinking it will take a long time before I find anyone willing to take me on. Though, surprisingly, in Tucson it’s not the colour of my skin that’s much of a drawback. There are relatively few blacks in the city, and therefore we’re not seen as any kind of threat. No, it’s the fact I’ve never worked a day in my life that’s against me. A half-finished law degree hasn’t proved to be of any use.
Celine’s looking at her glass, and then peers at me over the top. “Hey, get that look off your face. Things are looking up, girl. I’ve got you an interview. Well, maybe audition’s the better word for it.”
Hang on. She said nothing about this earlier, and that flick of her eyes toward the men at the bar gives her away. Oh shit, don’t tell this m
ama it’s something to do with the bikers. I put my hand to my mouth, suddenly feeling very afraid. “Celine, what have you done?” I hiss. My eyes return to the bar just in time to see the two men disappearing out the back. “What do you mean, an audition?”
“At Satan’s Topless Angels.”
I growl low in my throat, “Which is?” But deep down I already know the answer. The name gives it away.
“The strip club owned by the Satan’s Devils Motorcycle Club.” Her reply is nonchalant, as if she was speaking about nothing more edifying than the weather forecast.
Now my head drops into my hands. What the hell has she gone and done?
“It’s tomorrow morning,” she continues, as if she’s not given me anything out of the normal to consider. “At eleven o’clock.”
For a moment I peer through my fingers, staring at her. What the hell is she thinking? There is no way on earth that I’ll be making that audition. For one thing, the only thing that matters, I don’t have what it takes. All at once, anger takes over as I look at my sister who, though has the same skin colour, unlike me, has been blessed with a tall slender physique, taking after our father. “Celine, just be sensible. Look at me,” I hiss. “I’m short, overweight, and my boobs are totally out of proportion. Hardly stripper material.”
As quickly as mine had, her ire rises to match. “You’re beautiful, Alex, and don’t you ever forget it. And strippers come in all shapes and sizes, they have to. Men are attracted to many different types.”
“Not mine.” My husband had criticised my body for years, not that there was much I could do about it. All the dieting and exercising in the world hadn’t altered the basic shape God had gifted me with. My legs are too short, my breasts top heavy, and as for my ass... I, as Ron had so often said, am a joke.
She waves her hand in dismissal. “It’s what you do with it that matters the most. And boy, have you got some moves.”
Maybe, I have. Who am I to judge? But I’d spent months trying. Not that Ron had appreciated it at all. He’d seen the same video I’d sent to Celine and he’d laughed his head off, before telling me I made him feel sick and walked out, presumably to find a whore to stick his dick into.