“Not yet. You sit here, and when the server comes over, ask about Madison, please. Maybe if they have any new strippers scheduled to dance, too. You know the drill.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“I’m going to walk over to the bar and scan the liquor bottles to see what they have. I’ll pass by that table over there, and if any of them speak to me, I’ll ask about my sister.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going over there by yourself. They look like dangerous criminals, and your father would have my job. We’re already going outside our regular procedure.”
“This isn’t our first recon, Richardson. You know that table would be more receptive if I walk by versus you asking them for information. We have to step outside our box to find my sister. Nothing has worked so far. My gut tells me that they may know something. I don’t know why I get that feeling, but I have to go on it.”
His lips part as he exhales, looking uncomfortable. “Fine, but if anything goes south, you know what to do.”
I concur. “Head for the bathroom and stay there until you’ve neutralized the threat. Call for backup. Never put myself in harm’s way, especially when you’re neutralizing the possible threat.”
“Good. Signal if you need me.”
I flash a wide smile in case anyone’s watching us and start laughing as I stand like we’re not going over a routine exit strategy. We’d come up with this plan a long time ago when we realized my sister was hanging out at some rough places.
“Can I help you?” the bikini-clad bartender asks as I approach. I tap my chin as I gaze behind her, acting like the typical party girl about to go binge drinking. I went to college with many of them, so I know the look well, even if I never partook in their detrimental life decisions.
“Yes, can I please have a margarita on the rocks, but can you put it in that bigger glass?” I point to her Long Island tea glasses.
“It won’t be very strong unless you want a double.”
“If you’ll fix it normal and then top it off with Sprite, that would be perfect.”
Her brow raises, not impressed in the least bit with the changeup. Less alcohol means less money in her case.
I lean in. “I want my date to think I’m drinking, but still have my wits about me. You know, just in case. This is our first date.”
“Ah, that’s a neat trick and smart, to boot.” She winks and goes about making my drink. She sets it on the bar, and as I go to dig out my cash, she holds her hand up. “It’s on the house.”
“Wow, thank you!”
“Ladies drink free as long as it’s not something crazy. The boss doesn’t like to advertise that, though. If we pretend that we’re giving it to a pretty woman for free on the down low, then you’re more likely to tell your friends.”
Laughing, I nod. “I appreciate the honesty.”
I grab the cup, taking a sip. It’s the Sprited-down version of a margarita so I can do recon and not get tipsy. If I weren’t looking for my sister, I’d have a top-shelf double margarita in a heartbeat, especially with Richardson watching my back. I love tequila, but unlike Madison, I don’t indulge often. It’s also a relief knowing I have Richardson around to watch over me if I feel the need to. He’s not interested in me sexually, so I feel safe with him. I can drink without worrying I’ll be unexpectedly taken advantage of by anyone meaning me ill will.
I’m headed back to our table when my hip brushes one of the biker’s arms resting on the back of the plush chair. I pause, feigning shock, even though I did it on purpose. “Oh! I’m sorry about that, are you all right?” I ask, meeting his stern stare.
“Of course, I am, darlin’,” he rumbles, and I glance to the patch on his breast.
“Plague?” I ask. “Wow, how’d you get that name?”
He chuckles, his dark features lighting as he buys into my act. “I like to party, and by the looks of it, so do you. Long Islands aren’t for weak drinkers.”
My smile grows, pleased that the big cup did the trick. “I like to call it my frog drink. It’s loaded with more ta-kill-ya than anything.” I wink to sell the lie better. Politics and acting go hand in hand, so it’s no wonder I’m pulling this off with flying colors.
“I’ll have to give that one a try sometime. Though I usually toss back tequila straight, no need to pussy around when you know what ya want.” It leaves him rumbling with a growl, and I have no doubt in my mind that he’s no longer talking about alcohol. This is where I have to be careful. It’s okay to be friendly—a little flirty even—but if I lead this man on, I’m liable to be raped.
The other bikers’ lips curl with amusement at my term for tequila. The two of them flash cautionary glances over at Richardson, seeing what he makes of this exchange. The oldest of the group speaks up. “You’re trouble, sweetheart, aren’t ya?” His green eyes sparkle, enjoying my attention on their group. He doesn’t strike me as the mean type. The other two are a bit rougher around the edges, but this one doesn’t project that. With the way he gazes over me fondly, I suspect he has a thing for younger women. He’s probably pushing somewhere between fifty and fifty-five. I’m not usually drawn to men that much older than me, but he’s extremely handsome.
“I mean, I could be, but it depends on who’s asking.” I giggle, offering him a wide smile. He doesn’t want to hurt me, just have a good time. It’s the other two that have me on edge. The guy in the middle—Blow, according to his patch—he’s got that just fucked hairstyle, kind of a messy fauxhawk. He wears cocky arrogance all over his perfect features. His plump lips would no doubt be amazingly soft if they were to touch my body. That won’t ever happen, but I can fantasize. It’s the only safe option with him, as this guy screams bad boy.
“Oh, yeah? What brings you in tonight?” I check the flirty older guy’s breast patch. Apparently, his name is Whiskey. Somehow it seems to fit, and I don’t even know him. “You looking to party? We can make that happen. Drop the guy with the stick up his ass and call up a few friends.”
I ignore the dig at my security and go for sweet. “I like your name, Whiskey,” I compliment, and he flashes me teeth, pleased with my praise. I use that as my in to find out what I really want to know. “Actually, I’m already here looking for a friend of mine. Maybe you guys know her?”
“What’s her name, baby?” Plague rumbles, drawing my eyes back to him. His irises are the color of melted dark chocolate. He has short black hair and tattoos peeking out everywhere—some even dot his face in various spots.
“Well, she’s even crazier than I am. Uh, she kind of looks like me…her name is Madison.”
The biker in the middle sits up, his back jolting straight and shoots a dark look at Whiskey. His tense response garners my attention. It’s like a red flag and has me hoping she’s not been hurt by them or anyone else.
I glance to his breast patch again, making sure I got his name right the first time before I ask outright, “Do you know her?” I meet Blow’s hard glare straight on. My sister’s whereabouts are too important to me to be intimidated by this biker.
He stares up at me for a beat before eventually growling. “I may know someone who does… Depends though, who the fuck are you?”
“Alice Compton, her sister.”
Chapter 5
Doubting yourself is normal.
Letting it stop you is a choice.
- Mel Robbins
Found the bitch sniffing around again. She’s here. Right now.
I read the text from Blow three times before it clicks. He’s talking about the woman from before. Alice, something or other. I can’t remember the last name I wrote down, but her first has stuck with me.
Bring her to me. I text back, not giving a fuck if they have to knock her unconscious to get her here. I want to see this woman for myself and find out why she’s so desperately searching for her sister. I’d understand if the chick was underage, but she’s midtwenties, plenty grown to make her own damn decisions.
Whiskey texts me next. Alice
is at BJ’s again.
I know. Blow hit me up. Bring her to me.
He replies while Blow leaves me hanging. She’s got a man on her. Looks like a date, but I’d bet it’s security.
Bring the fucker along. I’ll slit his throat myself if he attempts to step in.
Bet. His name shows up once more with the response, and I shove the phone back in my cut. I had our cuts special made, so we have inside pockets in all of them at our breast. It’s an excellent spot to keep a bulletproof plate—or drugs—depending on where you’re at. Most of us hold our license and cash in it, so we don’t have to worry about bitches trying to be sneaky and jack us while we’re getting fucked up.
I’m curious to meet this bitch and see what she’s all about. Not often does a chick have the guts to go poking around strip clubs and talking to some rowdy looking bikers. It makes me believe she’s got some balls on her, and that piques my curiosity. The brothers haven’t exactly been forthcoming, so I need to check her out for myself.
I haven’t had some good pussy since I was up north, stopping in on Gamble, so I’m sure that’s fucking with my head as well. Gamble was patched as prez while visiting New Orleans, and once I caught word of her club giving her shit, I hit the road. That bitch went through a lot to have to deal with some mouthy motherfuckers pissed off that she has a pussy and the patch. I helped get them in line with her buddy Ghost while hitting some club whore gash and popped smoke back to Texas once I knew she’d be straight.
Maddy’s been the only bitch around much since then, and I’ve only allowed her to suck my cock. Blow’s been dipping into that pussy on the regular, so I’ve held back, letting him take her for a ride. Sure, we have other sweetbutts that try to squirm their way into our beds, but none of them stick out like fresh pussy does.
The brothers take their sweet-ass time. No doubt they’re having a few more drinks while they know I’m at the club. I’m over here twiddling my fucking fingers, waiting on their asses. Fuckers. They went out to relax and shoot the shit while I stuck around and took care of business. Sure, being prez means I delegate a lot of shit, but I still take on a portion of tasks as well. I’m no lazy fucker, and I never will be.
I head for the bar, the prospects scurrying out of my way like frightened rats. Each brother has a prospect sponsored, aside from myself. I don’t have time to hold anyone’s hand in this world, so they have to do it. I just vet their choices in the end and either put them up for a vote or give ‘em the boot to get the fuck out of my clubhouse. With the amount of MCs around this area, we need more numbers, whether I like it or not.
Ammo, Powerhouse’s bitch boy, waits like an eager puppy for me to bark out, “Give me a beer.”
I guess this clown knows his way around weapons. Not surprised since Powerhouse is the same way. Each of my brothers seemed to come up with prospects that’re mini versions of themselves so far; it’s been entertaining, to say the least, to witness it. If anything, I should be able to trust these green motherfuckers in the end, and that’s what matters most in an outlaw motorcycle club. God knows if Rancid’s fucked up ass ever showed his face around here to take me out, like he did with Dog in New Orleans, I need to have a club full of brothers watching my back. He’s kept his cool with me in the past, but the way he works, you never know what to expect. He doesn’t live by the same set of code most of us other prez’s do. Considering he’s the big dog, the prez of prez’s, means no one can touch him for it either.
“Yes, Prez.” Ammo moves like his ass is on fire, popping the top and handing it over.
I nod my gratitude and step outside.
Wrench, Whiskey’s prospect, is in the garage with the bay up, clinking around in there. He’s one hell of a mechanic. He’ll get a patch eventually. He knows how to keep his fucking mouth shut and pitch in around here. He’s always working on someone’s bike or vehicle, whether it’s his or not. I’d give him my vote today if it were his time. He’s got another month or so of waiting around.
The other two dipshits are on patrol. Blow brought in a kid barely eighteen…kid’s a sneaky-ass thief. We call him Mouse since he’s so fucking quiet. You never know when the fucker’s sneaking up on ya. He’s the newest and has at least another year of prospecting before he’s put up for a patch.
Plague sponsored a buddy of his—Manic. We call him that ‘cause the fucker will party until he blacks out. Not only that but when he fights, he goes completely nuts, falls into a straight-up rampage. While he may be a liability, we can use a few fuckers around here with their screws loose. It gives us an edge that other clubs won’t want to touch.
Angel, my enforcer who’s currently out on a job, sponsored Lunatic. His name says it all and makes me question Angel’s thinking. Those two would scalp every motherfucker who crosses them if I didn’t put a stop to it. Bad enough they chop up damn near every kill. I don’t know how they stomach the shit. They’ve bonded in ways I could never imagine with another human being. For women’s sake, I hope no one is ever dumb enough to fall for either one of them. Lord knows one day they wouldn’t wake up. Luna is with Angel now, but when they’re home, he sleeps in the shop, away from the rest of the club. Angel doesn’t want him under the clubhouse’s roof until he’s fully patched. Considering he’s his sponsor, we’ve respected his wishes.
Hearing the telltale signs of multiple pipes headed my way, I turn around and head right back inside. I go straight to my office. I already have the upper hand bringing her to the RBMC clubhouse, but I’ll get some much-wanted privacy in my office. I want to feel her out myself, find out exactly what she’s up to, and if her words are genuine. That’s easier to pick up on without multiple distractions happening around the club.
I’m also curious if her security guy is ballsy enough to step foot in here with her. I’m in a mood today, one where I wouldn’t mind knocking some teeth out. Maybe he’ll provoke me enough I’ll get a chance to. That’d be fun and no doubt scare the shit out of this nosey bitch.
The club door slams a beat later, and my eyes go straight for the security cam I have mounted on the wall in my office. The yard out front is littered with bikes and two swanky black sedans. Apparently, she didn’t ride with one of the brothers unless the dipshit she was with had followed her here. If that were the case, though, I know my brothers would’ve lost him, so Alice must’ve ridden here with him. That knowledge pisses me off. I told my brothers to bring her. What if she’d tried to get away once they were on their bikes? And who the hell does the other cage belong too? While she was doing God knows what with the brothers, dickmunch must’ve called for backup. What a chicken shit little weasel. I mean, it was in his best interest, but still, the pussy must not have any nuts between his legs.
Whiskey is first to duck into the spacious office, followed by Blow. I’m about to lay into them and ask where the fuck Plague slithered off to when the woman in question crosses the threshold to my office. She’s flanked by three non-impressive bodyguards with Plague taking up the rear. At least he had enough sense not to walk in front of them. I swear, sometimes it’s like I’m dealing with a group of fucking toddlers. You don’t let your possible enemy behind you. That’s Common Sense 101. At this rate, I may end up knocking some sense into my brothers instead of the dipshits she’s brought with her.
“’Bout time you pussies showed up,” I grumble instead to my guys, casting my glower to the fine piece of meat standing in front of my desk. I lay eyes on her, and she’s hot enough to make my groin tighten with desire. Rarely do bitches have that power over me right away, and this one has me taking notice. That fire engine red dress she’s got on is like waving a flag at a bull. I want to show her just how badly I can rip her in two.
So, she’s related to Maddy the stripper, hmm? I can see the resemblance, but this one outshines the other, for sure.
Her three suits scan the area—for her safety, I’m assuming. Never mind, she couldn’t be safer, surrounded by a group of motherfucking vipers. We’re not some prep school tra
ined bodyguards either. We’re criminals, the low-ball kind that won’t think twice about fighting dirty. We’re callous and take no shit, so these guys have another thing coming if they believe they could protect her from me. I’m the worst one of them all. Those stick-up-their-ass motherfuckers barely flash a glance in my direction, acting like I don’t exist. That shit irritates me the fuck off, not showing respect where it’s due. People thinking they’re better than me—always have—but this is my house, my club. They need to open their eyes and take notice who’s top dog up in this motherfucker.
“Can I help you?” I ask, flicking my gaze over her from top to bottom. I could stare all day, she’s that fuckin’ fine. Bet she’d look even more desirable on her knees begging for my cock. She’s got full, round tits that’re asking for my dick to titty fuck ‘em. Now, that’d damn sure be the proper way to get me to talk about her stripper sister.
“I hope so,” she replies confidently. I don’t know what I find more attractive on her right now, her big tits, or the fact she’ll meet my intense stare and not falter. She’s not submissive, which has always been an attractive trait on women for me.
“Mm,” I grunt, noncommittal. I can’t believe these fucking suits haven’t said shit about the way I’m eyeing their master. If they could read my thoughts, however, I wonder if they’d act on it? Right now, I’d enjoy ripping that crimson dress right off this uppity bitch to fuck her on my desk in front of everyone.
“I’m searching for my sister. I was hoping you could tell me if you’ve seen her.”
I crack a grin—not a friendly one. “What are you willing to give me for it?” I take pussy, drugs, and cash. I’m guessing she has two out of three to offer me.
She draws in a quick breath, her determination showing as her brow wrinkles. She doesn’t take my bait. “This is a serious matter, I assure you. My sister has been gone for nearly two months now, and her family is extremely worried. I’m worried. Please be sensible about this and let me know if you’ve seen her.” She holds out a photo to me. She’s got clear gloss on her nails with white tips. They’re nothing like the long bright nails I’m used to bitches raking over my back as I fuck them. I guess hers are long enough to make me feel them. We’ll see.
B*stard: Royal B*stards MC (Texas) Page 4
