by Naomi West
“Thank you all so much,” I said once I was done. “Can’t wait to come back and sing for you all again soon.”
I set down my guitar, ready to grab a drink and bask in the high of a solid set. The music in the PA turned back up, and the audience went back to their drinks and conversation, a few of them still ogling me as I hopped off the stage.
I didn’t make it more than a few steps before a pair of massive men in leather and denim came up to me, their faces in serious expressions. They blocked my path away from the stage, and I stopped in front of them.
“Okay, boys,” I said. “Show’s over for tonight.”
They didn’t budge. One of them crossed his arms over his stout chest.
“Come on, guys,” I said, now feeling a little tense. “Let a girl get her post-set drink.”
“Where is it?” the man on the left said, his voice deep and intimidating.
I had not a single clue what he was talking about.
“What?” I asked.
“You heard him,” said the other biker. “Where is it?”
I shook my head, totally confused.
“Guys, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
That had the opposite effect I was looking for. The two men moved closer, cutting the distance between us down to a few inches. They were now so close that I could smell the whiskey on their breath and the scent of motor oil on their bodies. They loomed over me like leather-clad statues, their eyes narrowed into hard slits.
“The money,” said the one on the right. “Quit playing dumb. We know you’ve got it.”
Money?
“Guys,” I said. “I’ve got about two hundred dollars to my name. If you’re looking for a handout, you’ve come to the exact wrong girl.”
My heart began to beat faster. I realized that these two were heavy-hitters, the kind of guys you sent out when you wanted to squeeze cash out of someone or maybe even rough them up. They were the kind of guys who didn’t take “no” for an answer.
I glanced to the side, looking for a way to get away from them. But they were positioned in such a way that they blocked me off from the crowd, and their huge size meant that no one around could see what was going on.
“I don’t know what you two want, or what money you’re talking about, but you guys are starting to make me scared.”
The smallest hint of a smile formed on the mouth of the man on the left.
“Good,” he said. “Whatever gets you to give us what you owe.”
“I’m telling you,” I said, a feeling of panic beginning to overtake me. “I have no freaking idea what you two are talking about.”
“Bad answer,” said the man on the right.
They moved even closer. Then, with surprising speed, the hand of the man on the left shot out and grabbed onto my upper arm. He squeezed tight, pain shooting through my body.
“You’re hurting me!” I called out, my voice small against the music on the PA and the chattering of the crowd.
I looked around frantically for help, but I couldn’t see anything but the huge men in front of me.
“I squeeze just a little bit harder and I can snap this pretty little arm of yours like a twig,” said the man. “And that’s just what I’m gonna do if the next words out of your mouth aren’t exactly what I want to hear.”
Hot tears formed in my eyes, the pain from the man’s grasp radiating out through my body. I wanted to believe that this was some kind of joke, that I was being pranked. But the pain made it clear that this was as serious as it gets.
I had no idea what to say.
“Hey, guys!” called out the familiar voice of Maxwell.
He slipped between the bodies of the two men, putting himself between me and them.
“What the fuck do you want, Max?” asked one of the bikers.
“There a reason you’re giving my girl a hard time?”
“Because she’s got what we want,” said the man on the left. “And we’re getting tired of her jerking us around.”
“You’re talking about the money?” asked Maxwell.
My eyebrows rose in surprise, and the man let go of my arm. I grabbed onto it, trying to rub away the pain.
“Yeah,” said the man on the left. “We’re talking about the fucking money.”
“The girls are just the talent,” said Maxwell. “They’re not going to know anything about … any of that stuff.”
“What are they talking about?” I asked. “What money.”
“Don’t you worry about it, sweetie,” he said. “Me and the big boys here are going to discuss some business matters. You did great tonight.”
The two men kept their eyes on me, as if they weren’t sure whether or not to let me go.
“Let’s head backstage and we can talk all about this, okay?” said Maxwell.
A moment passed.
“Fine,” said the man on the right. “But you better not be fucking with us.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Maxwell.
Then he turned to me.
“I started a tab at the bar, kiddo,” he said. “Go grab yourself a seat and get whatever you want—it’s on me.”
“Um, sure,” I said.
I didn’t care about having a drink—all I wanted was to get as far away from these guys as possible.
With one last hard look, the men stepped aside and gave me just enough room to slip out from between them. I took in a full breath of fresh air as I finally got out of the little corner they’d backed me into. Once I was away from them, I realized that a drink did sound pretty nice.
I plopped into an open seat at the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry, putting it on Maxwell’s tab like he’d asked. After a time, my heart rate slowed down and I began to feel normal again. I sipped my drink and glanced over at the corner where the men had cornered me. Maxwell and the men were gone.
What the hell had they been talking about? What money were they looking for?
Maxwell had always tried to keep me on the up-and-up with his business dealings, but part of me had always suspected that he was keeping things from me. Was he doing some kinds of deals on the side with the bikers here?
I sipped my drink again, doing my best to put it all out of my head. Whatever it was, it wasn’t my business.
At least, I hoped.
3
Ranger
I didn’t like what I’d seen.
Not one fucking bit.
I threw back the rest of my whiskey and watched as the two thugs went backstage with that weaselly little dork in the gaudy suit. The guy was all smiles and backslaps, like some kind of used car salesman.
I’d known plenty of guys like him before, the kinds who were big on fast talk but low on results. They always had a line of bullshit to try to sell you about why they were short on cash they owed, or why they hadn’t managed to do whatever job you’d assigned them.
Didn’t have any patience for that bullshit. I’d been the vice president of my motorcycle club for long enough to know who were the kinds of guys who’d eventually end up as pains in my ass, and he was sure as shit one of them.
I could tell just with a look—it was a skill I had, and one that had only gotten sharper over the years.
Still, I had to give the guy a little credit. He had clearly been scared shitless stepping into the middle of that situation, and he probably could’ve let the girl take the fall for whatever trouble he was in. Still, throwing a clueless girl to the wolves to avoid trouble was about the lowest baseline of not being a total piece of shit.
And the girl …
She was something else. I wasn’t normally the kind of guy to listen to that chick-with-a-guitar shit—give me some thrash metal any day of the week—but she was pretty damn good. Voice like an angel, and killer body just poured into that skintight dress of hers.
Watching her on stage, her angelic face framed by blonde hair, her soft voice washing over the bar—it was something else. Reminded me of those sirens I’d heard
about back in high school before I dropped out, those beautiful girls who got you all wrapped up in their beauty and made you crash headfirst into the rocks on the shore.
Part of me had wanted to step in and get that situation sorted out on my own. Seeing a pretty innocent little thing like her getting roughed up didn’t sit right with me, not one fucking bit. But I remembered that this bar was the territory of the Heretics, the motorcycle club that we’d be rivaling with.
If I’d gotten involved that might’ve been just the thing to turn the little war between us from “cold” to “hot.” It was bad enough that I was even here to begin with.
Nah, it wasn’t my business. I was here for another reason. Jackson, the bartender here, used to ride with my motorcycle club, the Cold Angels. He was a hell of a guy to have by your side, but once he’d knocked up his girl and had seen the life of a family man staring him in the face, he’d decided that running with an MC wasn’t a smart move. Couldn’t blame him.
So, I was here to check in on him. I wanted to see what he’d been up to, and make sure that the Heretics hadn’t been giving him any shit. I sipped my whiskey and waited for the post-show rush to die down at the bar.
By the time I reached the bottom of my glass, the crowd had died down. And I also caught sight of something else—the girl on stage, seated at the bar. Just seeing her bare shoulders was enough to give me a semi. I felt drawn to the girl, and I couldn’t resist wanting to head up to the bar and take the open seat next to her.
And on top of that, it struck me as strange that her manager, or whoever that was, had just left her there alone. A girl who looked like that wasn’t the type you wanted to leave at a bar like that without a watchful eye nearby.
I wove through the crowd, nodding at a few familiar faces I saw among them. After a few moments, I was right near the girl. Jackson caught my eye, and I gave him a quick uptick with my chin.
“Can I have a shot?” asked the girl to Jackson.
“Um, something strong,” she said.
I saw my in.
“Make that two,” I said to Jackson. “And pour one for me, too.”
Jackson gave me a smile.
“You got it, Ranger.”
I slid into the seat next to the girl and realized right away that she was just as fucking hot up close. The dress was doing all kinds of favors to that tight little body of hers. The soft curves of her legs were on full display, and her tits looked like they were about ready to burst out. It took all the restraint I had not to ogle her like a horny middle-schooler.
“You don’t need to do that,” she said, flicking her stunning green eyes onto me. “My manager has a tab.”
“I insist,” I said, flashing her a smile.
Her expression turned hard.
“How about this,” she said. “I don’t like being bought strange drinks by random men.”
Now that was a surprise. I figured by the looks of her that she was a more delicate type, the kind of girl who’d be more intimidated by a guy like me than anything else.
“Come on now,” I said as Jackson placed the two shots in front of us. “After a set like that you can stand to let a guy do something nice for you.”
“I don’t need any men doing anything ‘nice’ for me,” she said. “And I’m perfectly capable of buying my own drinks.”
“How about this,” I said, trying a new angle. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be alone in a place like this. Makes me feel nervous. Some real bad dudes around here.”
The narrow-eyed expression on her face made it clear she wasn’t going to go for my “concerned citizen” shtick.
“I don’t need guys buying me drinks, and I especially don’t need them looking out for me. Got it?”
She took the shot into her hand and raised it off the bar. For a moment, I thought she was going to drink it. But instead, she set the shot next to mine and got up.
“Enjoy,” she said. “And leave me alone.”
With that, she stomped off and disappeared into the crowd.
Once she was gone, I shook my head in disbelief.
Jackson stepped in front of me and made an impressed whistle.
“Holy shit,” he said. “That girl wasn’t shy about letting you know how the fuck she felt.”
“No fucking kidding,” I said. “Wasn’t expecting that little kitten to have claws.”
I glanced at the shots in front of me—no use letting them both go to waste. Jackson poured a shot for himself and raised it in the air.
“To getting your dick ripped off,” he said with a grin.
I let out a bark of a laugh.
“And not in a good way,” I said.
I took both of my shots into my hand and tapped the rim of Jackson’s with them. One after the other, I downed them and slammed the glasses back onto the bar. The whiskey burned hard on the way down, just how I liked.
“Fucking good to see you, man!” I said, reaching across the bar and giving Jackson a hard slap on the arm. “How you been?”
“You want to know the truth?” he asked.
“Lay it on me.”
“Bored as shit.”
I let out another laugh.
“You kidding?”
“Nope,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I’m happy as hell to have my wife and my little girl, and taking a more stable job like this was a no-brainer, you know?”
“Right,” I said.
“But, shit, nothing beats being on the back of my bike, riding with you and the rest of the Cold Angels, nothing to worry about but getting drunk and making trouble.”
He had a faraway look on his face, as if he was right in the middle of a fond memory from way back when.
“I feel you,” I said. “But you’re telling me that a bar like this doesn’t keep you on your toes?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “I mean, it’s Heretics territory, so shit can get crazy every now and then. But most people, even the fucking bikers, are always on their best behavior. They know screwing around too much will get them on the bad side of the Heretics.”
He looked me up and down.
“Hell, I’m surprised you’re even here.”
“I figure if I stay on my best behavior, they’ll be fine with it. Besides, I wanted to see how you were going, bud.”
A half smile formed on Jackson’s face.
“Appreciate it, Ranger,” he said. “If you really want to do me a solid, you’ll go pick a bar fight. Give me something to do, something to get the fucking blood pumping.”
I laughed.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll take a beer bottle to the side of the head so I can break up the evening for you.”
Jackson grinned.
“You’re a real fucking sweetheart when you want to be.”
I let out another bark of a laugh and Jackson poured me another shot.
As I raised the glass to my lips, my mind went right back to the girl who’d been sitting just to my right only a few minutes ago. I tossed the shot back and set the glass back down on the bar.
“Hey,” I said to Jackson. “You know anything about that girl who I was talking to?”
“The one who shot you the fuck down?” he asked. “Why? Your feelings hurt?”
He grinned, letting me know he was only screwing around.
“Nah,” I said. “She’s just another spoiled-princess type. But I am wondering why the hell she was here on her own like that. If I hadn’t hit on her, some other rough fuck would’ve done it. And he might not’ve taken ‘no’ for an answer.”
Jackson nodded and leaned forward on the bar. The whiskey was starting to do its work, and I was feeling pretty damn good.
“Man, I’m right there with you,” he said. “Did you happen to get a look at that dude she was with? The scrawny guy in the flashy suit?”
“Yeah,” I said. “What about him?”
“That’s her manager. I talked to him personally when he booked the gig here for his girl. I told him what
kind of place it was, and I recommended that he hire someone to look after her while she was here.”
“Sounds like some pretty common-sense shit,” I said.
“No kidding,” said Jackson. “And he was all ‘yeah, yeah,’ and told me he’d take care of it all by himself. But then he showed up with her and …”
“Let me guess,” I said. “He skimped on the fucking protection.”
“Yup,” said Jackson. “Wouldn’t put it past a guy like him to cut corners like that.”
“What a dumb asshole,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “Risking his talent like that.”
Truth be told, I wasn’t worried about the girl just from a business perspective. A girl like her, innocent and beautiful, made me want to do anything to keep her safe.
Then again, with the mouth she’d showed me, maybe she wasn’t all that innocent.
Jackson looked away for a moment, as if considering something.
“Say,” he said. “You want to do me a favor?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You mind keeping an eye on that girl?” he asked.
“You kidding? You think she’d be down with me following her around after that shit she just pulled?”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “She acted like a real brat. But I’m not saying you’ve got to hang out with her or anything. I mean just keep an eye on her from a distance; make sure she gets out of here without getting groped or some shit.”
“Aw,” I said. “Now you’re the one being a sweetheart.”
“Ah, fuck off,” he said. “Just want to keep this place as trouble-free as I can.”
“Weren’t you the one complaining about not having enough to do around here?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But there’s ‘trouble’ and then there’s the kind of trouble that a girl like that can get into.”
Jackson leaned forward on the bar.
“Come on,” he said. “Do it as a personal favor.”
“Fine,” I said. “But you’d better throw in a few more drinks.”
“That I can do,” he said, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.
He poured me a shot and I raised it to my lips. Keeping an eye on her sounded like simple shit, but something about the girl made me think she’d be anything but simple.