I made a face because seriously, that was gross. “Well, I’ll wait for him a little bit longer.”
Trip backed up to sit on top of empty stool to my left. “Not much of a party girl, eh?”
“Not really.” I never had been. When I turned twenty-one, Lanie and I had bought a bottle of boxed wine to celebrate an age I wasn't sure I'd make it to. So it wasn't a surprise that we'd celebrated way too much. The next morning, when I was hunched over the toilet seat puking my guts out, I swore I’d never do it again. Three years later, I’d kept my word. On the rare occasion I'd drink half a beer or maybe a glass of wine.
Party animal, I know.
His fingers swept over the sides of his mouth, brushing the yellowish hair of his goatee. The look on his face was pure sin. “I’ll keep you company then.”
“Why thank you.” I shot him a smile, still keeping an eye on his mouth's movement to catch any gag reflexes though I was grateful to have someone to talk to. “If I start to bore you, feel free to go hang out with other people.”
Trip rolled his eyes and pressed the bottle to his mouth for a long drink. “Whatever you say, baby.” He smirked. "You likin' the new job?"
Not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to lie, I shrugged a shoulder. "It's coming along, but I'm still looking for another one."
He leaned toward me. His face serious. "Dex bein' a dick?"
I didn't mean to do it but the laugh just kind of burst out of my chest. Wasn't Dex the first person Blake thought of when he saw someone had upset me? That should have been a sign of what I was getting myself into. If Trip immediately guessed, I could only imagine what that guy must have done to earn a reputation of pissing people off.
"Why you laughin'? I'm right, aren't I?" Trip grinned.
I had a record for putting my foot in my mouth so I shrugged instead, still laughing just a little bit.
It was Trip's turn to shrug. "He's as moody as can fuckin' be, baby. Always got somethin' up his ass."
So, so true. But I wouldn't admit it outright like that. They were friends, after all. It would be like me hearing someone call Lanie a bitch. I could call her a bitch but no one else could. "He definitely had something living up there a few days ago."
Blonde brows rose. "Was it his dad’s shit?"
"I have no idea." But I wondered for all of a second what had been the cause. Then I realized I didn't give care because it didn’t matter. A dick is a dick.
"You tell me if he's givin' you a hard time," Trip said. "I'll beat the dumbfuck out of him." His blue eyes flicked to the side. “He’s got so much in him, it’ll take a while.”
Something really reassuring settled in my chest at his offer. I couldn't help but nod and pat his arm. "Sonny called his kneecaps, you can have the rest of him."
He chuckled. His eyes had drifted down to where my hand rested on his forearm, his gaze sliding up and over my elbow, stopping on my bicep. My sleeve had rode up my arm at some point. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand clench open and close. His baby blue eyes flicked up to mine, his expression confused and curious.
Trip's lips parted for a moment before closing. Once, twice, three times.
I'd done this enough times to know what he wanted. Where his confusion stemmed from. Extending my arm out so he could take a better look at the scarring, he winced and instinctively reached out to touch it. It wasn't a good-looking scar. The flesh looked gnarled and silver-white against my healthy skin. After four different surgeries, I'd stopped caring what it looked like. Seeing it in the mirror didn't bother me anymore but I hated the looks I'd get from people.
Like I was broken.
Like there was something wrong with me.
I lost the name my mom had so carefully chosen and became a medical term.
A hand came down to smack Trip's fingers away. "What the hell are you doing?" Sonny asked, pushing himself between our two stools, his amber eyes going back and forth between Trip and I.
Trip didn't even seem bothered by Sonny's reaction. The look on his face was a little relaxed and a little more confused. "Hangin' out," he answered vaguely, keeping his gaze on Sonny.
Sonny narrowed his light colored eyes at his friend before turning his attention to me and pulling down my shirt sleeve as if it were a second thought. There were times when I'd catch him looking at my arm with an expression of pure, painful remorse. Like it'd been his fault that I'd gotten sick. Or maybe it hurt him to see it. I didn't know and I wouldn't ask. If I didn’t make a big deal out of it—AKA pretend there was nothing different—no one else would either.
"Ris, I'm going out for a minute with a friend," he whispered into my ear, putting both hands on my shoulders and squeezing.
A minute? Ha.
I tilted my gaze up to look at him over my shoulder. There was a pretty brunette standing just behind him, a possessive hand clasped on his arm. Interesting. "Okay. Is it fine if I go home or do you want me to hang out here awhile?"
He smirked and squeezed his grip. "You can go home. I'll be there later." The gross ass smirked again. "Way later."
I faked a shudder.
With more pressure to my shoulder, I saw him reach out to slap Trip on the back. He gave him a hard look that I didn't understand before disappearing into the crowd behind us.
A woman squeal loudly to my right and I found Luther leaning against a high countertop table with a young—probably around my age—girl tucked on his lap.
Gross.
Trip must have recognized the look in my eye because he laughed, either forgetting all about what he'd seen or choosing to push his question aside. “You get used to it.”
Not trying to be rude because obviously Trip knew Luther, I covered my dry gag by looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “But she’s… young enough to be his daughter.”
“She’s younger than his son, baby.”
I sucked in a breath way too loudly that made Trip smile wide. “But… but… how? Why?” Luther wasn’t going to win any awards in the beauty department. He wasn’t one of those men who had gotten better with age, or even aged gracefully. He was okay looking but that was as far as I’d compliment him.
Trip looked at me with a straight face and laughed, his beer bottle shaking in his hand. Once he settled down, he shook his head. “Because some girls don’t care if a man’s old enough to be their daddy as long as he’s the Prez.”
“The Prez?”
Trip nodded.
What the hell was the Prez? Even if he was the President of the United States, I’d have to get paid at least a few grand to go anywhere near his lap. Yuck.
“The Widows?”
Trip slapped a hand over the right side of his leather vest over where the white patch was stitched. “What else would he be the president of?”
I ignored his smart ass comment and focused on the men hustling around, messing with each other. "There's a lot of you guys."
“We got chapters all over Texas and the Southwest.”
Hmm. I still didn’t have a single clue what exactly it meant to be in a motorcycle club besides what I saw on television, or hell, the stuff my mom had told me about years ago when the club was mixed up in drug running. She hadn't told me much but it was enough to know that twenty-five years ago, the WMC wasn't a group of people that valued family and community service.
Though now, even after Sonny had explained that the Widowmakers had changed their ways, they probably still didn't hold bake sales but whatever.
As nice as Trip seemed, I figured I should probably hold most of my questions for Sonny. If anyone was going to laugh at me for asking dumb things, I’d rather it be him than someone else.
“If you would've gotten here last month you could've gone to our rally,” he mentioned.
"What do you at a rally? Get together?"
Trip nodded, clinking his bottle against mine. "We all drive down to Galveston and," he smiled wickedly, "party for a couple of days."
It was impossible not to miss the implication in his
face. He had trouble written all over him, making me snort. "I bet you guys just party."
"We do," he insisted with another grin, his fingers inching up his neck to scratch at a two-inch scar that scissored his skin. "Now. Ten years ago... that'd be a different story."
That was something to think about and ask Sonny about later. I shoved that plan into the back of my head and raised my eyebrow at Trip instead, just as the same girl squealed once more. We both looked back at Luther and the twenty-something who had her face buried in his neck.
Sheesh. That was disturbing. I was pretty sure that Luther was definitely older than my dad. Yuck.
There were plenty of other men scattered around, some in their forties and younger who weren't unattractive, sure they were kind of hairy and had tattoos that would probably give me nightmares, but they weren't eyesores. So I didn’t understand why the girl was hanging all over Luther of all people. There was something really hard about his face that made me a little wary and added to the comment Trip had made about the club's activities ten years ago. If anyone had a face of a lifetime worth of doing risky things, it was Luther.
If Trip was right—and I knew he was—then the girl was just like any other little gold digger. Or groupie! She wanted the top dog even if he was in his fifties or sixties. And not so attractive. And more than likely had wrinkly balls, which I couldn't even figure out why I would think about to begin with.
Gag.
We talked a few more minutes about some of the people around us. Trip pointed out those who were native to Austin and his club.
I looked back over at Trip and raised my eyebrows, sliding the glass of juice I'd been holding away from me. "I guess I'm going to go home."
"Want me to walk you to your car?"
The incident the night before flashed through my brain. Friggin' Dex. "Nah. I parked close by."
"You sure? Son might kill me if something happens to you."
I snorted. Total Sonny. Threatening people left and right. "It's fine. He's a pussy cat."
"Are we talkin' about the same person?" Trip laughed. "The day you showed up, he said he'd break both my legs if I tried anythin' with you.”
“Aren’t you his best friend?”
He scrunched up his face, making the harsh lines of blonde facial hair seem pretty darn cute. “And?” Trip leaned back, shaking his head.
The mental picture of my half-brother breaking someone’s legs made me grin. "It's really okay." He didn't need to know my car was back at the shop's lot. I mean, it was close by. Squeezing his forearm, I smiled at him. "Thanks for keeping me company."
"Baby, trust me, it's a pleasure."
I gave him a lopsided smile. "Bye, Trip."
Wiggling my fingers at him in goodbye, I hopped off the barstool and shimmied my way through the thick crowd of strangers. I'd barely pushed through the doors when the loud roar that could have only come from a group of motorcycles filled the air. The small group of people hanging outside smoking cigarettes were murmuring, but the louder the roar got, the louder their voices did too.
Six or seven bikers slowed their motorcycles to a crawl in front of the bar as I made my way down the block. Someone close by started yelling, but I wasn’t paying attention to what was being said as I kept my eyes on the bikers. They weren’t wearing leather vests like the rest of the WMC. They also didn’t look relaxed and ready to have a good time like everyone else did either. Instead, their faces were pulled tight as they drove by. Bodies stiff with something that was the opposite of friendly.
And that was my mistake of the day.
I should have gone back inside and asked Trip to walk me out. I should have, but I didn’t.
And that was my second mistake. I should have just looked at the bikers, and then hauled my ass as quickly as possible to my car. But I didn’t do that either.
I moseyed because I was tired. It was then, in my nosey nature and slow feet that two of the men in the street turned to look at me in a way that wasn’t a warm, appreciative gaze. It was a look that took in as much appreciation as a lion held for a gazelle before slaughter. It was a calculated thing.
But I’m an idiot and by that time, though it was too late, I walked faster down the sidewalk to the annex parking lot; Dex and Slim appeared from up ahead. They stalked down the block, keeping their eyes locked on the group parked behind me. Only when they saw me hopping over wide jagged cracks in the pavement, tugging my short, white shorts down my legs, did Dex veer in my direction.
Crap!
His dark eyes were locked on me. Raking me. Grazing me. Swallowing me. But whether it was in approval or just plain annoyance, I had no idea. To be honest, I didn’t care. Dex was a dick. A good-looking dick—a very good-looking dick—but a dick nonetheless.
And he. Looked. Pissed. Well, more pissed than usual and that was saying something.
“What in the fuck are you doin’ walkin’ to your goddamn car alone again?” he growled, swear to God, growled as he cut the distance between us. “Didn’t we just talk about this yesterday?”
It was my hormones. The hormones that raged through my body right before I started my period made me insane. I know it. Every girl knows it.
So obviously, they made me stupid. Because I looked behind me before slowly turning around to face my boss, taking in the angry, pulsing vein lining his neck. “Me?”
Slim paused midstride, looked between the two of us and kept walking toward the bar, throwing up a peace sign at me on the way.
Wuss.
“Who the hell else would I be talkin’ to, babe? You’re the only goddamn person walkin’ to their car at night by her fuckin’ self.” He put way too much emphasis on the last two words.
I whipped the keys out of my front pocket and spun them around my index finger, talking myself back from losing my temper because that was clearly the road I was going down. What I really wanted to do was throw the keys at his face but that wouldn’t exactly be the smartest thing to do. “You don’t have to talk to me like that.” I added a mental ‘asshole’ in my head.
Dex was in my face the second the words were out of my mouth, so close I could feel the heat from his skin. “We just had this talk yesterday. No more walkin’ to your car alone. You hear me? I know you’re still pissed off but it ain’t that big of a deal, babe. I already told you I say and do stupid shit when I’m pissed and you were in the wrong fuckin' place at the wrong time. It ain’t much to get over.”
Maybe throwing the keys wouldn’t be that stupid if it was either that or clipping him with my car’s bumper.
"Did you or did you not call me a fucking idiot?" The strained silence he answered with was enough to confirm what I was already sure of. Thank you very much. "Being in a better place at a better time, boss, you still would've said what you did only I wouldn't have heard you." I ground out. "That doesn't make it better. I haven't done anything to you, and you act like… like I stole your Christmas presents as a kid.”
His right eye started twitching but he didn’t deny the thought.
So I shrugged at him. What else was I supposed to do? “Tell me what I did.”
The pause was dramatic before he huffed out, "No." Dex's lips tightened in a hard line, not saying a word to argue with the fact that I was right. "You didn't do nothin’.”
“What is it then? Because I’m not from here? Did I breathe too loud? Or because —”
“None of that. I already told you, you need to learn to grow a thicker skin, babe. Shrug it off, it ain't that big of a deal."
Someone was going to get stabbed, and that person was named Dex.
Unfortunately the same person that needed to get stabbed was the same one who would sign my paychecks. I had to grit my teeth. I wasn't going to apologize for not having a thick skin, as he put it. "I can't shrug off you being a jerk," I snapped. “Obviously, you don't really like me and that's fine. You’re pissed right now again for some reason, so I’m going to leave,” in hindsight, I should have ended the sentence right
then. But I didn’t. “Before you make me cry, your perfect highness.”
Two things happened to Dex’s hard face. I could see him physically flinch at the same time he sucked in a low, barely audible breath. Then he just stared at me. Eye to eye. Me having to look up at him because while I wasn’t short, he still towered over me.
Dex lifted a hand to press his fingertips to his upper lip. Silent. His odd shade of blue eyes were penetrating mine, probably hoping that I’d go back to my state of being a quiet, avoiding wuss. “Look...I'm sorry.”
Did he say he was sorry?
"I can be a fuckin' asshole sometimes," he kept going.
Well, I wasn't going to argue with him on that point, though I wasn't exactly positive why he felt obligated to care whether or not he'd hurt my feelings. Probably because of Sonny. I could only imagine what he'd threatened him with.
Under Locke Page 8
